Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)
Title: Tales of Telcontar (#3592)
Author: Senta
Chapters: 131
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Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings
Description: A collection of ficlets and short stories mostly written for the AA list weekly challenges, now extended and polished
A mixture of angst,fluff,humour and drama
Further characters will be added together with the stories
With thanks to Raksha, Virtuella and Deandra for their editorial work, Deandra for suggesting the title and Michelle for the prompts that inspired these stories.
Published: 22 Sep 2007
Updated: 07 May 2018
Warnings:
Type: General
Characters: Aragorn,;Arwen,Faramir,Eowyn,;Eldarion
Chapter 1 - The Gift of Dawn
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.
The Gift of Dawn
With grateful thanks to Raksha.
“Wake up, ion nîn!” Aragorn called, gently shaking the sleeping child.
“Ada? Why are you waking me?” Eldarion sat up. “It is still dark.”
“I want to show you something. Dress quickly, there is no need to wash or comb your hair.”
Eldarion beamed. The washing of his ears, face and hands by his insistent nanny was a morning chore he would gladly avoid. Eldarion scrambled out of bed and pulled on the clothes his father held out to him. Aragorn helped him fasten the laces in the dim light of a single candle.
The King took his son by the hand and led him through the halls of wood and stone, where the royal family were spending a few pleasant days with the Prince and Princess of Ithilien. They passed a few guards, and a bleary-eyed maidservant beginning chores in the kitchens; but most of the great house was still and silent.
“Where are we going, ada?” asked Eldarion.
“To the stables, for Iavas has given birth to her foal,” his father told him, leading the little boy outside to the spacious and comfortable building where the horses were kept.
Lamps illuminated the end stall. Faramir and Éowyn stood in the shadows, keeping a watch over Faramir’s chestnut mare.
Iavas stood over a small foal whose coat was still damp from birth. The delivery had been difficult, keeping Éowyn and Faramir from their beds for most of the night. Aragorn had kept watch with the Prince and Princess, using his healing hands to calm the mare. Like her mother, the foal was chestnut with a white blaze. The infant had already tried twice to rise on her slender, wobbly legs; but had not yet managed to stand.
Still holding Eldarion’s hand, Aragorn petted the foal’s head, “ Come now, you can do it!” the King coaxed the newborn, then stood back.
The foal whickered, then began to rise, the long legs trembling with the effort until she stood up on them. She did not fall! Eldarion watched in wonder as the little animal tottered to her mother’s side. Iavas nuzzled her baby affectionately.
“She is beautiful!” Eldarion exclaimed. ”What is her name?”
“You may choose, for she is to be your horse once you are both old enough,” said Faramir. “We thought it was worth waking you early to see her stand for the first time.”
Eldarion’s face lit up. He rushed to hug the Steward. “Thank you, Uncle Faramir, I think I will call her Amaurea, since ada woke me so early to greet her. How clever she is to be able to walk so soon! My sister couldn’t walk till she was a year old!”
“Horses grow up quickly, like kittens and puppies,” Aragorn explained.
“I wish I could grow up so quickly!” Eldarion lamented. “Then I would be tall and strong like you, ada, and a Ranger, and I wouldn’t need any more lessons!”
Faramir chuckled.
"You would have to take many lessons to become a Ranger," his father told Eldarion solemnly. "You would have little time to play."
Eldarion frowned, considering the information.
"I will take you back inside now,” said Aragorn. "Iavas should have some peace and quiet while she gives Amaurea her breakfast.”
The boy cast a final thrilled glance at his new treasure, who was now greedily suckling her mother's milk.
Eldarion felt like he was walking on air as he accompanied his father back to the house. The sun rose in the Eastern horizon, promising a glorious day.
A/N
This is an extended version of a story written for the prompt “Early” on the AA Discussion list.
I hope to post more of these short stories soon.
"Amaurea" means “Early Day” in Quenya. Iavas is Faramir’s chestnut mare, a wedding gift from Éomer .She was introduced in “Shadow and Thought”.
Chapter 2 - Partners in Crime
Partners in crime
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha
Aragorn grimly surveyed the scene of chaos. The trade agreement on which he had laboured all morning was scattered across the floor, the parchment torn to shreds.
Eldarion’s puppy, Nimrodel stood beside Aragorn's desk, wagging her tail.
Aragorn called a servant and bade her summon his son.
A few minutes later Eldarion arrived. “You wanted to see me, ada?” he asked innocently. “ Ah, there is Nimrodel; I could not find her!” The puppy ran to him and licked his hand.
“And how did she come to be in my study?” Aragorn asked severely.
“Um, maybe the door was open,” Eldarion said evasively. He looked down, unable to meet his father’s stern gaze.
“A dog cannot open a closed door,” said Aragorn. “Look at me, Eldarion! There is nought to gain by studying your feet.”
“She must um have um followed me in here. I wanted to look at your model soldiers.” He gestured towards a collection of ornate bejewelled warriors that a visiting envoy had given his father.
“I have told you are not allowed in my study without permission,” said Aragorn. “ Just look at all the damage the pup has done! An important treaty – ruined!”
“Bad, bad dog!” Eldarion shouted at Nimrodel. The puppy whined and her tail drooped between her legs.
“You should not blame her,” Aragorn admonished his son.
“She chewed up your papers,” Eldarion replied, a trifle sulkily.
“Puppies do chew things, it is their nature,” said the King. ”However, if you had not disobeyed me by coming in here, you would not have led Nimrodel into trouble. Take her outside, then return and I will decide best how to punish you.”
“I am sorry, ada.” Eldarion blinked away a tear. He led Nimrodel from the room, his eyes downcast. It was hard to tell whether boy or pup looked guiltier.
Just then Faramir arrived, a parchment tucked under his arm. ”Whatever has happened here?” the Steward asked in dismay.
“Nimrodel decided to chew up the trade treaty with Rhûn,” Aragorn told him.” I had just spent three hours working on it.
“Maybe she is too high-spirited a pup for the Citadel,” Faramir lamented. "I regret not having chosen a quieter pup for the lad, but Nimrodel was the fairest and strongest of the litter."
“We would not be without her, mellon nîn, so do not blame yourself. She is a good-natured creature, just mischievous, as all younglings are. But what brings you here? I thought you were occupied with the City renovations today.”
“I am, but I thought of some new details to add to the treaty.” Faramir spread his parchment on the King’s desk. Aragorn perused it carefully. His features slowly relaxed into a smile.
“This treaty is far better worded than the one Nimrodel chewed!” the King beamed, clapping Faramir on the shoulder affectionately.
A few minutes later, Eldarion returned in a state of growing apprehension. “What is your will, ada?” he asked.
“Do I have your word you will not come in here without permission again?”
“Yes, ada, I promise.”
“I want you to sweep up this mess,” Aragorn said sternly. Then he smiled. ”Later, if you do it well, I will tell you the story of Huan, the greatest hound ever to live."
“Thank you ada!” Eldarion embraced his father then gladly set to work.
Outside in her kennel, as if sensing the young Prince’s relief, Nimrodel wagged her tail.
A/N This is an extended version of a story written for the prompt “Guilty” on the AA Discussion list.
Chapter 3 - Morning has Broken
Morning has broken like the first morning,
blackbird has spoken like the first bird.
Praise for the singing! Praise for the morning!
Praise for them, springing, fresh from the Word! - Eleanor Farjeon (1881–1965)
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.
With thanks to Raksha
A Tale of Telcontar
Aragorn rose silently from the bed so as not to disturb his sleeping wife. He stood for a moment looking down at her in the pale light of dawn, which streamed through the window.
Her beauty always made him catch his breath. Now with her cheeks were slightly flushed with sleep, framed by her flowing dark hair, black against her white nightgown and the pillow, Arwen looked fairer than ever. He was a privileged man indeed to have her to wife. Sometimes, he could hardly believe his good fortune that he was free to awaken every day beside her.
He crept into the adjacent dressing room, almost stubbing his bare toe on the washstand as he did so. Faramir’s home in Ithilien was still relatively unfamiliar to him; as was the freedom it offered to escape briefly from his royal duties.
Quickly, he splashed water on his hands and face then changed out of his night attire, donning his oldest riding clothes. He paused to kiss his wife lightly on the cheek. Arwen stirred slightly, smiling in her sleep. Aragorn tiptoed softly from the room.
The kitchen was already a hive of activity. A young maidservant brought a mug of ale and a plate of bread and cheese at his request, looking only slightly surprised when he elected to sit and eat it at the kitchen table.
A few minutes later Éowyn appeared, accompanied by a bleary- eyed Faramir. The servants seemed accustomed to seeing their lady at this hour, less so their lord. Aragorn rose to embrace his friends.
“I often ride at dawn, unlike my sleepy husband,” said Éowyn, taking a bite of crusty bread, still warm from the oven. “I breakfast here in the kitchen as I did in Meduseld. It is the warmest place to be at dawn.”
“It promises to be another hot day,” said Aragorn. ”I am glad we are riding before the sun is too high in the sky.”
”A pity the Queen does not wish to join us,” Faramir lamented. ”She has told me she loves the countryside.”
“My beloved Undómiel prefers the evening,” said the King. ”She will just about be ready to eat breakfast when we return. I hope to ride with her under the stars one night while we are here.”
“It will be evening today ere we set out if we do not hurry,” said Éowyn, tapping her foot impatiently, having already finished her makeshift breakfast.
The three friends made their way to the stables, where dismissing the grooms, they saddled their own mounts.
They rode across the lush countryside, east into the sunrise. Like a blood red ruby, the sun crept above the horizon painting the sky in glorious hues of pink and mauve. The dew sparkled on the grass and the air felt fresh and sweet.
The breeze blew Aragorn’s hair behind him as he rode. He laughed out loud for sheer joy. On a morning such as this, the ranger in him could leave the King's cares behind and take pleasure in the bright clear dawn, if only for a little while. It was enough.
A/N This is an extended version of a story written for the prompt “Morning” on the AA Discussion list.
Chapter 4 - Let Sleeping Kings lie
Let Sleeping Kings Lie
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate
With thanks to Raksha and Julia
Released early from his lessons because his tutor was unwell, a bored Eldarion made his way to his father’s study. Ada had said he was working on some dull but important documents. Maybe he could be persuaded to play a game with the collection of model soldiers that Eldarion so liked instead for a little while? The brightly coloured and bejewelled models, a gift from a visiting ambassador, held a great fascination for the young prince. Ada had confided in him that playing with model soldiers was much more fun than working even when you were very old, as his father undoubtedly was.
Eldarion passed the guard at the end of the corridor, who smiled and greeted him.
The boy tapped on the door of the study, but received no reply. Strange, for he was certain ada was planning to spend all afternoon working there. He listened carefully. A strange and raucous sound suddenly emanated from the room.
Although he was forbidden to enter without permission, Eldarion opened the door.
Aragorn was slumped back in his chair with his mouth wide open, snoring loudly, his papers scattered around him.
Eldarion was about to creep quietly away when his little sister, having escaped the care of her nurse, toddled past him through the open door and ran to her father. She was clutching a doll almost as big as herself.
“Ada, look at my dolly, she has a pretty pink bonnet and shawl!” Farawyn cried. (
Aragorn’s only reply was an especially loud snore, which made both children jump.
“What is wrong with ada?” Farawyn asked, her lower lip trembling.
“He is just asleep,” her brother replied. “We must not wake him or he might be cross with us as we are not supposed to be in here.”
“I will leave dolly’s new bonnet and shawl for him to see,” said Farawyn. “They will keep him warm. Naneth says people get cold if they fall asleep without a cover over them.”
The children tiptoed from the room, quietly closing the door behind them.
***
A little later, the Queen went in search of her husband. “Will you have tea with me, my love?” she asked brightly as she entered the room. She then caught sight of Aragorn and burst out laughing. Stifling her mirth, she hurried off in the direction of Faramir’s study.
The Steward was engrossed in a document on grain tariffs when Arwen entered his room.
“Faramir, you must come with me at once to Estel!” Arwen demanded.
“My lady! Is the King unwell?” Faramir asked anxiously, springing to his feet.
“No, nothing is wrong. I just want you to come and see him,” Arwen replied laughing at the very thought of what she had just witnessed.
Queen and Steward made their way to the King’s study, where they both stood, shaking with mirth.
“I wonder how many flies he has caught? Or has the colour of that shawl frightened them away?” Arwen giggled.
“We should wake him,” said Faramir. ”What if the servants come in?”
“Dolly is cold and wants her bonnet and shawl back!” announced the Farawyn, running into the room.
“Lady Farawyn, come here!” called the little girl’s nurse from along the corridor.
Arwen rushed out and called to the servant. “I will look after my daughter now. You may go Miriel.”
“Yes, my lady,” said the nurse curtsying. She disappeared in the direction from which she had come.
Arwen returned to the study just in time to see her daughter remove the doll's frilly bonnet from Aragorn’s head and bright pink shawl from his chest. The little girl then kissed her father.
Aragorn blinked and open his eyes. ”What is the matter?” he asked a trifle tetchily.
“You were snoring when I came to ask you if you would take tea with me,” said Arwen sweetly. “Faramir is invited too.”
“I do not snore!” said the King. “Ada does not snore, Farawyn.”
“Dolly snores then, “said Farawyn wrapping the pink shawl around her plaything.
Unable to feel out of sorts any longer, Aragorn picked up his little daughter and hugged her. "Bring dolly to tea, there might be some of her favourite cakes to eat," Aragorn said smiling.
"Girls!" snorted Eldarion.
Queen and Steward smiled at each other. The afternoon’s entertainment had been most amusing.
A/N This is an extended version of a story written for the prompt “Entertainment” on the AA Discussion list.
In my long stories, Aragorn is notorious for his snoring.
Tolkien said Aragorn had daughters but did not name them; Farawyn’s name is my invention.
Chapter 5 - All through the Night
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate
While the moon her watch is keeping
All through the night
While the weary world is sleeping
All through the night
O'er thy spirit gently stealing
Visions of delight revealing
Breathes a pure and holy feeling
All through the night. -Harold Boulton
With thanks to Raksha.
Dedicated to Julia
Aragorn and Arwen fondly surveyed their sleeping son.
“He grows more like you every day, Estel,” said Arwen contentedly; observing, beneath the roundness of the sleeping baby's face, the hint of the father’s high cheekbones and strong chin.
“At least he has your nose, vanimelda,” the King replied dryly. “Are you ready to leave now?”
“I hope Eldarion will not be afraid if he awakens and we are not there,” Arwen fretted. "He is not accustomed to being in Ithilien. Everything will still be strange to him.”
“He has his nurse and knows Faramir and Éowyn. They will take good care of him,” Aragorn reassured her.
The Queen pressed a final gentle kiss to her son’s forehead before following her husband outside to the stables where their horses were already saddled, awaiting their riders.
The full moon bathed the countryside in a gentle silver light. The clear sky was dotted with a myriad of twinkling stars.
“How fair the stars are here!” Arwen exclaimed. “They always seem slightly veiled in the City.”
They urged their horses forward, savouring the feel of the wind in their hair. The fresh night breeze carried the sweet scent of wild roses.
Aragorn led the way uphill until they came to a stream he had seen with Faramir and Éowyn that morning. It rippled over the rocks before cascading down the hillside.
“How beautiful! The water is sweet music to my ears!” Arwen exclaimed, dismounting from her horse and kneeling beside the stream. ”It reminds me of Imladris. I could hear the waterfall every morning when I awoke.”
“Do you miss your home?” Aragorn enquired anxiously, joining her by the bank.
“You and Eldarion are my home now,” she replied, kissing him tenderly on the lips. “As the long years passed, my heart remained untouched, I feared that I might never know the bliss of marriage and motherhood. Then when I saw you in Lothlórien my heart was changed . At last, I knew hope.” She looked up at the stars. “See how our forefather, Eärendil smiles down upon us tonight!”
The horses cropped the fresh grass while Aragorn drew Arwen in a close embrace, whispering soft words of love in her ear.
A mother badger and her cubs emerged from their set amongst the trees, oblivious of the two-legged interlopers. The mother and the little ones drank from the stream. Then the cubs started to play, chasing and tumbling on the bank. The King and Queen of the West watched the badger family, entranced, until an owl's hoot caused the mother to hurry her brood back to their den.
Long they sat there, watching the stars and listening to the sweet song of the nightingale.
A/N
The events take place later in the day after “Morning has Broken.”
I hope my readers in the USA are enjoying their holiday.
Some of these Tales of Telcontar will be multi chaptered, depending on what ideas come to me, though each chapter should be a complete ficlet in itself.
Chapter 6 - Music hath Charms
The characters are property of the Tolkien estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, - Congreve.
“How could you, Estel?” Arwen demanded as soon as Aragorn entered his wife’s sitting room. Her beautiful face was alight with fury. Beside her, stood an equally irate Éowyn.
“I am sorry, vanimelda. The meeting went on longer than expected. Prince Imrahil wanted to discuss coastal fortifications after the debate on trade was over. I completely forgot we planned to take the children to see the jugglers, as did Faramir.”
“This is the third time this month you have both forgotten a promise you made,” Éowyn said sternly. “I suggest you tell Faramir that if he wants company this evening, he can stay with you. I am remaining here with the Queen.”
“As for you, Estel, I have no wish for your company at supper tonight. You can dine alone in your chambers,” Arwen said haughtily. “ Eldarion and Elestelle were very upset that their fathers were not there to take them out as you promised.”
“I am sorry,” Aragorn repeated.” I did not wish to cause pain to you or the children. Next time, I will insist the meeting concludes at the proper time.”
“You promised me that last time,” Arwen said coldly, unmoved by her husband’s attempts to apologise.
Knowing it was pointless to argue with either lady when they were so angry, a crestfallen Aragorn went in search of his Steward. He found Faramir sitting in his apartments looking equally despondent, having found an irate letter left for him by his angry wife.
“Arwen is as angry as your lady,” Aragorn explained. “ She told me to seek your company and dine in my own rooms with you tonight and no doubt sleep there too!”
“Éowyn bids me do the same,” said Faramir. He glumly followed the King to his chambers.
The two men found Aragorn’s rooms to be cold and uninviting. The King only used them occasionally and the servants had had no time to prepare them for his use. It took only a moment for both men to decide to seek solace in a tavern on one of the lower levels.
“It is good for a King to mix freely with his people and learn their needs,” said Aragorn, by way of excuse. He rummaged amongst his clothing for old cloaks and tunics for himself and Faramir.
“Indeed so,” said Faramir “Our wives can hardly complain since they deny us their company tonight! The Silver Crown usually has good ale and a warm fire to sit by. I used to go there sometimes with Boromir when we were both off duty.”
000
The two men were soon sitting in the cosy inn in the sixth circle, their hoods drawn around their faces to avoid recognition. They sipped a mug of ale apiece, wondering why the tavern was so packed that night.
“Have you come to hear Minohtar play?” asked the innkeeper, bringing them a plate of crusty bread and cheeses.
Aragorn and Faramir merely nodded, not wanting to betray their ignorance of the name.
A hush fell over the gathering, when in the far corner; a man picked up a lute and began to sing. His voice was unexceptional, unlike his skills with the instrument. The haunting song of love and longing he played, brought tears to the listeners’ eyes.
He then performed a familiar ballad, which most of the people joined in, including Aragorn and Faramir.
“You two have fine voices,” said a serving girl, coming to refill their glasses. “No woman could resist either of you, were you serenade her!”
Aragorn snorted.
“That could be a good idea,” Faramir said thoughtfully, tossing the girl a coin.
“Why not? We could but try!” said the King, draining his glass and feeling somewhat more confident. "Maybe Arwen will recall how I was singing the Lay of Lúthien on the day we first met?"
King and Steward hurried back to the Citadel and positioned themselves outside Arwen’s sitting room window and began to sing.
“ O, thou my glorious Evenstar, I have always gladly greeted you. This heart has never betrayed you!” sang Aragorn’s rich bass voice in Quenya, so that the servants would not understand.
“Éowyn, fairer than the sun, glad was I when your hand I won!” sang Faramir in Rohirric; his warm baritone blending nicely with Aragorn’s deeper voice.
The servants hovered around, enjoying the impromptu concert.
Suddenly the door opened and Arwen appeared. “You are just in time to read Eldarion a bedtime story,” she said smiling and kissing her husband’s cheek. “Faramir, Éowyn is just coming.”
Aragorn embraced his wife. ”Will you forgive me, beloved?” he asked.
Arwen’s tender kiss to his lips was the only answer he needed.
King and Steward exchanged relieved glances as they bade one another goodnight.
000
Faramir carried Elestelle in his arms as he walked back to his apartments with his wife.
“I wish you would sing for us more often,” said Éowyn. ”You have a beautiful voice, which I love to hear.”
The Steward at once began a lullaby for his daughter. The little girl listened entranced then fell soundly asleep.
“That is amazing!” exclaimed Éowyn. “She has been fretful all evening.”
“It is said that the Valar created Arda itself from music. So maybe magic is indeed contained in a song?” Faramir mused.
“Only if the singer has sufficient skill,” said Éowyn, smiling at her husband.
A/N. Aragorn’s song is from Wagner’s Tannhäuser. This is an extended version of a story written for the prompt “Music” on the AA Discussion list.
These stories form part of a collection, "Tales of Telcontar". Thank you to Deandra for suggesting the title.
Chapter 7 - Winter Wonderland
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Winter Wonderland
The Characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate
With thanks to Raksha and Deandra
When it snows, ain't it thrilling,
Though your nose gets a chilling
We'll frolic and play, the Eskimo way,
walking in a winter wonderland. – Smith and Barnard
One cold winter’s morning and the King and Queen of the Reunited Kingdom lay curled in each other’s arms, loth to leave their warm bed. For once, Aragorn had no official duties until the afternoon and could rise at a leisurely pace.
“The baby is kicking,” said Arwen, referring to the child she was expecting in a few weeks’ time. “Eldarion will have a lively playmate!”
“How blessed I am to have you, our son and another little one soon,” said Aragorn kissing her tenderly.
“I hope we can fill our home with children to share our love with,” said Arwen.
A tap came on their bedroom door disturbing their peace.
“My lord, my lady!” a servant called. “Prince Eldarion is upset and his nurse requests that you come.”
Aragorn slid out of bed, pulling a thick robe over his nightshirt. “You stay there, my love, “ he said. “ I will fetch our son to us.”
Aragorn found his four-year-old son kicking and screaming in the hands of his nurse.
“What is the meaning of this, ion-nîn?” the King asked sternly.
“I want to go out and play in the snow and nanny won’t let me!” Eldarion raged. “It isn’t fair! I’ve never seen snow before and I don't want to stay in bed! I won't!" He stomped a bare foot defiantly.
“I deemed it unwise to expose the Prince to such weather this soon after a cold,” the woman replied in a weary voice. Mistress Idril had joined the household three months past, after Eldarion's beloved first nanny had grown too old and frail to keep up with the child. It seemed this woman, the sister of the governess of Hurin's grand-daughters, was not up to the task either, though she was but in her middle years.
“Come here, Eldarion! “ Aragorn ordered. His heir shuffled over to him, small hands clenched into fists. Aragorn placed his hand on the boy’s forehead. "Hmm, he seems well enough. Has he coughed or sneezed this morning?”
“No, my lord, not since last Tuesday,” said the nanny.
“Some fresh air should do him good then so long as he is warmly dressed, “ Aragorn said briskly. “Eldarion, tell Mistress Idril that you are sorry and then I will take you outside after breakfast.” He decided to discuss with Arwen whether it was time to find a nanny better able to control her young charge’s temper and less eager to mollycoddle him. He had no desire for his heir to grow up wilful and over cosseted.
“I am sorry,” Eldarion said obediently with a polite bow.
“I will take him to his mother now,” said the King.
Aragorn swept up the child in his arms and carried him back to the bedchamber where a somewhat anxious Arwen awaited them.
“What ails him? Is he ill?” the Queen enquired, putting her arms around her young son when Aragorn placed him in the bed between them. “What is wrong, ion nîn?” she enquired of Eldarion.
“I’m going to see the snow!” the boy exclaimed joyfully. “Nanny would let me go out but ada says I can!”
Aragorn laughed. “His nanny feared it would be bad for his health, but snow never did me any harm as a boy. It seems wondrous when you are young, but not when you have to travel long distances in it,“ he said. “You were just a baby the last time it snowed in Gondor. It used to snow every winter in the North where naneth and I grew up.”
“What is snow made of?” Eldarion asked.
“It is frozen rain. Water turns to ice when it is very cold,” Arwen explained.
“You can play lots of special games in the snow,” said the King. ”I will show you as soon as we have dressed and eaten our breakfast.”
Eldarion beamed. It was not often his father had time to spend the morning with him
**
After breakfast, Aragorn and Eldarion, both warmly clothed, went outside into the Royal Family’s private gardens. The sun was now shining and the white covered garden looked quite magical. The snow shimmered like diamonds in the winter sunshine.
Clutching tightly to his father’s hand, Eldarion walked through the snow as gingerly as a cat that disliked getting its feet wet. The young Prince was somewhat reassured when he found he could walk on it without falling. His father scooped some of the snow up to reveal that underneath; the grass was still there.
“When I was your age, I loved the snow,“ Aragorn told his son. "Sometimes I would be excused lessons and allowed to play outside making snowballs."
“What is a snowball?” asked Eldarion.
“I will show you.” The King formed a handful of snow into a ball and threw it at a tree. Rather wistfully, he recalled all the times when as a grown man, he had gained a respite from his cares as Chieftain by engaging in a lively snowball fight with Halbarad. He missed his friend and kinsman still, though Faramir had filled the yawning gap left in his heart. He could hardly engage in a snowball fight with his Steward, though. There were always watching eyes and wagging tongues ever on the look out for behaviour considered unseemly for a King or a Steward in Gondor. He only dared to be less than regal during his times away from the Citadel. He missed the simplicity of the North with its lack of stifling court etiquette.
Just then, Faramir and his daughter Elestelle joined them in response to a message Aragorn had sent. The Steward and his family were staying in the Citadel for the Mettarë celebrations. Elestelle ran towards Aragorn. He scooped her up in his arms and hugged her. The little girl smiled happily, looking delightful in a blue fur trimmed cloak.
Eldarion scowled. ”Girls!” he muttered under his breath.
Aragorn put Elestelle down and turned to speak to Faramir.
The moment his father’s back was turned, Eldarion scooped up the snow as his father had shown him and hurled it at Elestelle’s back. It hit her on the shoulder and splattered all over her pretty cloak. Elestelle’s lower lip trembled, but she maintained a composure worthy of a daughter of two great Houses.
“Boys!” she said with all the scorn she could muster.
“Eldarion!” chided his father, “That was very naughty of you. We shall return indoors if you do not behave!”
“I just wanted to play,” said Eldarion. ”I’m sorry, ada.”
“You told me of making a snowman in your youth, mellon nîn,” Faramir said to the King. “ Could we make one with our children?”
“An excellent idea!” enthused the King and set to work with a will on the body, helped by his son, while Faramir and his daughter made the head. Both children worked happily, their earlier quarrel quickly forgotten
The fathers then took their children to the kitchens to ask the servants for coal and a carrot. The little ones watched wide-eyed as their fathers gave the snowman eyes, a nose and a mouth. They then gathered twigs to make him some arms.
“Doesn’t he need clothes to keep him warm?” asked Elestelle.
“He has to be cold or he will melt and turn back into water,” Faramir explained.
“Poor snowman!” said Elestelle sadly.
Aragorn and Faramir exchanged glances. It was maybe time to take the children back indoors before they became too attached to their snowman that would most likely be melted by the morrow.
Just then, an older girl came running towards them. It was Faramir’s niece. “Uncle Faramir, Strider!” Elbeth exclaimed. “ Aunt Éowyn said I might miss a Quenya lesson and play in the snow for a while. Their Nurses are waiting for Eldarion and Elestelle with hot milk and buns.”
The younger children made only token protests at being taken back indoors. Their hands, feet and noses were starting to feel cold.
While the two men were absent, Elbeth made two snowballs then concealed herself behind the snowman.
As soon as the King and Steward came into sight, she hurled snowballs in quick succession at them, hitting both with deadly accuracy.
“Elbeth!” exclaimed Faramir, slightly winded from the impact of the snowball.
“This calls for revenge!” Aragorn exclaimed, hurling a snowball back at Elbeth. She ducked and successfully avoided it. Grabbing another handful of snow, she threw another at the King. This time he dodged it and it hit Faramir instead.
All thoughts of decorum forgotten, the two men replied in kind. A fierce snowball fight was soon in progress as they strove to hurl snowballs at Elbeth and each other.
From an upstairs window, Arwen watched smiling as the three outside frolicked in the snow as if they were all as young as Elbeth. It seemed that even Kings and Stewards remained little boys at heart.”You will be born into a happy home,” she whispered tenderly to her unborn child.
A/N Wishing all my readers who celebrate it, a peaceful and Happy Christmas.
This is an extended version of a ficlet written for the prompt “Snow” in the AA Group
Arwen is pregnant with Farawyn who appears in some of my stories.
Elbeth is Boromir’s daughter by a kitchen maid. She first appears in “Shadow and Thought.”
Chapter 8 - More haste,less speed
More Haste, less speed
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
With thanks to Raksha.
“How I long to see Arwen and Eldarion again!” Aragorn exclaimed to Faramir as the two men rode abreast through the lower levels of the City. They had been away from Minas Tirith for several days touring the outlying fiefdoms. After what had seemed endless sessions of attending feasts in their honour and judging petty grievances, they were glad to be home again.
“I can hardly wait to see Éowyn, Elestelle and Elbeth,” Faramir said longingly, wishing it had been possible to ride through the Citadel unrecognised, but knowing it was impossible when followed by their guards. He paused to smilingly accept a bunch of flowers offered by an old woman. Meanwhile, a man lifted up a child to see Aragorn and receive the King’s blessing.
They had reached the market, which was even more crowded than the rest of the City with citizens milling around the varied array of stalls.
“It is good to see the market flourishing,” Faramir said in a tone loud enough for the surrounding people to hear, knowing some comment was expected of him.
Aragorn forced himself to smile at his subjects, ardently wishing it were not a market day so that they could travel at a faster pace. A sudden thought struck him. He had returned without suitable gifts for his wife and child! King and Steward had been showered with hand woven blankets, baskets and gifts of delicacies, but none of those would delight either Arwen or Eldarion.
His eye was caught by a stall a few paces ahead, which sold colourful jewellery and trinkets.
“I need to buy a gift for Arwen. Maybe this stall will have something?” he told Faramir.
“I bought new saddles for Éowyn and Elbeth in Lamedon and a doll for Elestelle,” Faramir said rather smugly, dismounting together with his King. “It was while you were healing a child with a fever.”
“My Lord King and my Lord Steward!” The stallholder bowed low, his eyes alight with awe and joy. “This is a great honour indeed, that you should visit my humble stall. What may I show you? I have amethyst and topaz, tourmaline and tiger’s eye, agate and amber, rose quartz and...”
“I will take this, please.” Aragorn gestured towards a pretty necklace of roughly polished amethysts. Arwen had fairer jewels by far, but he felt she would like these simple, colourful stones that many of the common folk of Gondor wore. His keen eyes scanned the stall for a gift for Eldarion. He spotted some carvings of horses in an onyx type mineral. ”I should also like one of the model horses.”
“They are yours,” smiled the stallholder. “They are far from my best pieces, though. I keep those under the counter in case of thieves.
Before Aragorn could say anything, the man had dived under the stall and started rummaging in some boxes.
“See, I have some river pearl necklaces,” said the merchant placing them on the stall. He disappeared under it again. “And silver bracelets.”
“They are very nice but I just..” The trader had vanished under his stall again before Aragorn could finish his sentence. The King struggled to hide his impatience, not wanting to hurt the man’s feelings. Beside him, Faramir tapped his foot.
“I have some silver brooches carved, I believe, by Dwarves here somewhere,” said the man. “If you would just wait one moment.” He pulled out another box and looked inside.
“Not today, thank you, good merchant,” Aragorn said in desperation as about forty brooches of dubious workmanship were presented for his inspection. ”How much do I owe you for the necklace and the horse?”
“They are a gift, my Lord King,” said the trader. “I require no payment. They are but trinkets!”
Aragorn knew to refuse would be an insult.
“Thank you,” he smiled. ”I will take this too.” He selected the nearest brooch, wanting to give the man some money for his wares. His shabby clothing suggested he did not earn a great deal selling his simple jewellery. The wealthy people of Minas Tirith had somewhat more elaborate tastes.
“But my, lord, that one is far from being the fairest! “ the merchant protested. “How about this brooch set with a sapphire, or this one inlaid with pearl?”
“I will take the pearl one,” Aragorn said firmly.
“You have not yet seen my finest necklaces,” the trader said eagerly. “I have some designs inspired by Elven-craft.”
“I am sure they are beautiful,” Aragorn said tactfully. He espied a tiger’s eye pendant that he was certain would appeal to Elbeth. “I will have that pendant and that is all.” His patience exhausted, he finally resorted to the tone of command he used as Chieftain and King.
“Yes, my lord!” The man looked startled.
Aragorn softened his words with a smile as he handed the man a handful of coins, far more than the purchases were worth. With a sigh of relief he remounted his horse.
000
A little while later, having stabled their horses, King and Steward were finally on the way to their apartments.
“At last I shall see Arwen and Eldarion!” Aragorn said joyfully.
“I feared you would never escape that merchant,” Faramir said dryly.
“So did I,” the King replied. “Greetings, Lady Morwen!” He smiled at Arwen’s lady in waiting as she passed him, her head dipped in a respectful curtsy.
“Greetings, my lord.”
“How fare my wife and son?” the King asked.
“They are well, sire,” the woman replied. “ The Queen has just left to visit the market together with the Lady Éowyn and the children. She has given me the rest of the day off as she expects to be gone for several hours.” She hurried on her way, oblivious to the dismayed expressions of the two impatient husbands and fathers.
Alas, all their haste had been in vain.
A/N
This is an extended version of a ficlet written for the prompt “Impatience” on the AA List.
Chapter 9 - The Vase that was Broken
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been,nor will be made from this story.
The Vase that was Broken
With grateful thanks to Raksha
“Tell me a story, ada, please!” Eldarion pleaded. He was sitting with his father in his mother’s sitting room eating his tea. The Queen had taken Farawyn to visit Éowyn for a few days and the young prince was bored.
“What sort of a story?” asked Aragorn.
“A tale of your battles and brave deeds,” said Eldarion.
The King began to tell his son about how they had fought the orcs and the cave- troll in Moria, using his spoon to illustrate how he had wielded Andúril. Before long, father and son had risen from the table and were mock-fighting enthusiastically.
A sudden loud crash brought the game to an abrupt halt.
“Oh, no; we broke naneth’s vase!” Eldarion exclaimed.
Aragorn surveyed the scene in horror. All of Arwen’s vases looked much alike to him. He seemed to recall that this was a special one; a family heirloom that had belonged to Celeborn and Galadriel and had been made for them before the breaking of Beleriand. He gingerly picked up the fragments.
Eldarion frowned. "Naneth will be cross." He looked up at Aragorn, his small face earnest. "I did not mean to break so old a thing, truly, ada."
Aragorn caressed the child's tousled black hair. “ It was not your fault, ion nîn,” he reassured his son. "I should have known better than to mimic a battle with you in Naneth's sitting room. Let us send for Uncle Faramir and see if he can help.”
The Steward, who was working late to allow Aragorn to spend more time with Eldarion, appeared within a few minutes and inspected the damage. “ I fear it is beyond repair,” he said. ”At least it does not look to be very valuable.”
“It is!” Aragorn contradicted. “ It is Elven workmanship dating from the First Age. It had pride of place in my lady’s room.”
“I have rarely been in your lady’s private rooms, so had little chance to appreciate its beauty,” Faramir said diplomatically. “ I suggest we summon the City’s craftsmen and find a vase of equal beauty ere she returns.”
“A good idea, mellon nîn, always you think of something!” said Aragorn, clapping his friend on the shoulder.
The King’s enthusiasm for the plan abated somewhat after spending much of the day inspecting the wares of a seemingly endless procession of craftsmen, all of whom had dozens of vases to show him. Aragorn’s head began to ache at the sight of each additional vessel of silver or gold or multi-coloured glass. Eventually, with Faramir’s help, he chose a silver vase encrusted with sapphires and rubies. It seemed well made and was quite costly, but the expense would be worth it if it staved off Arwen’s wrath.
Aragorn went to bed weary and slept badly, dreaming he was being buried under a mountain of vases of every hue and description imaginable.
The King’s heart was in his mouth when his Queen returned and took her accustomed place in her sitting room. He decided to wait for her to notice the vase before confessing his mishap with her treasured heirloom.
Suddenly, she espied the new vase and her eyes lit up. “How beautiful!” Arwen exclaimed. “And how thoughtful of you to buy me a surprise gift, Estel!”
“I fear your grandparents’ vase was broken while Eldarion and I were playing,” the King said sheepishly.
“The priceless heirloom?” Arwen looked puzzled. “That is silver inlaid with pearl and I put it away safely as soon as Eldarion could walk. The one that was there was a gift from the Harad Ambassador, which I always considered hideous! How could you fail to notice the difference? Men are so unobservant!”
Aragorn sighed with relief, before ruefully realising he had wasted a good deal of time and money.
Arwen picked up the new vase and studied it. Then, embracing her husband lovingly, gave him a tender kiss.
Returning his wife’s loving embrace, Aragorn decided the vase was worth every coin after all.
A/N This is an extended version of the ficlet I wrote for the prompt “Mishap” on the AA list.
Arwen’s priceless vase was created by Raksha and appears in chapter 4 of “A Time to Reap.”
Chapter 10 - Playing with Fire
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been made from this story.
Playing with Fire
With grateful thanks to Raksha
The fire burned low in the hearth of the King and Queen’s private sitting room one evening in late spring.
“Would you like me to fetch more wood, my lord?” asked a servant.
“No thank you,” said Aragorn. ”The evening is warm; and we shall only stay here until Prince Eldarion's bedtime.”
The girl bobbed a curtsey and scurried from the chamber.
Arwen bent over her needlework while the King watched his son playing.
Three-year-old Eldarion, clutching his toy horse, moved nearer to the glowing embers. “No!” Aragorn said sternly. “Do not go near the fire. It will hurt you.”
Reluctantly, Eldarion moved back a few paces; his eyes still fixed on the hearth.
“I worry for our son,” said Arwen, putting her sewing aside. ”These past weeks he has become enchanted by fire. He keeps trying to approach the flames; no matter how many times his nanny or I tell him to keep away from it. No, Eldarion!” she cried, dragging her son back from the hearth.
“I fear children are curious,” said Aragorn. He looked troubled. Eldarion was the apple of his eye and he would rather cut off his right hand than see any harm come to his son.
Eldarion returned to playing with his toy horse, pretending to race it across the floor. Arwen turned her attention back her embroidery, satisfied that their son was safe in his father’s care. She frowned in concentration, putting the final stitches to an embroidered rose that looked real enough to sweetly scent the chamber.
After a few minutes had passed, Eldarion toddled purposefully back to the glowing ashes. Aragorn watched him intently, a look of anguish in his grey eyes. This time he did not admonish his son. He simply watched the child’s every move. The little boy stared at the embers for a few moments then reached out towards them. He screamed as his chubby finger touched the glowing fire.
Aragorn, who had been poised like a cat behind his son, now swept up the weeping child. He plunged Eldarion’s finger in the water jug, and then placed his hands over it to ease the pain. Arwen kissed her son’s cheek and murmured soothing words.
“It hurts!” said Eldarion once his sobs subsided. ”Bad fire, won’t touch it again!”
“I am taking my son to bed,” Arwen said, glaring at Aragorn. “I shall speak to you later!” She strode from the room, her child in her arms.
000
“How could you, Estel?” Arwen raged when she joined her husband for dinner an hour or so later. “You were watching our son and you let him get hurt!”
“It pained me deeply to allow it to happen,” Aragorn replied. He picked at the beautifully cooked food on his plate with little appetite.
“You deliberately allowed him to burn his finger?” the Queen demanded, her eyes aghast. "How could you?"
“When I lived in Gondor many years ago under the guise of Thorongil,” the King replied, “a kindly Guardsman and his wife befriended me. They had three children, their youngest being a little boy of Eldarion’s age. Like our son, the beauty of fire charmed him. One day, when his mother’s back was turned, the lad plunged his arm into the flames. His clothing caught fire and he was badly burned. I tried my utmost to heal him, but his injuries were beyond any man’s aid. He died in agony later that night. He was a fair child and it still grieves me to think of him. When I was small, I once touched some embers like Eldarion did tonight. Ever after, I had a healthy respect for fire. It was hard to see our son in pain, but it was a fleeting hurt, that should be healed by the morrow. Yet the memory of that pain will return whenever Eldarion even thinks to approach a flame. I could think of no other way to protect him, especially since our duties necessitate that we must often leave him in the care of others.”
Arwen looked across at her beloved and saw that his eyes were wet with tears. She patted his hand tenderly. It seemed that even after almost six years of marriage, there was still much to learn about her husband. “It seems some lessons must be harshly taught,” she whispered.
“I hope I shall never again need to teach so painful a lesson,” Aragorn said sadly. “I felt that I, too played with fire tonight.”
A/N When I was a child accidents such as Aragorn describes were all too commonplace as open fires were the most usual method of heating. Some child experts even recommended encouraging a child to touch a glowing ember while held by parent in the hope of preventing tragedy. As a very small chills, I once touched the embers like Eldarion did while my Mother’s back was turned. I was wary of fire ever afterwards.
This is an extended version of a prompt written for the AA List Prompt “Fire”
I assure my readers I do not condone any form of child cruelty. The story is about a very different time.
Chapter Three of “Mask of virtue” is now posted.
Chapter 11 - A Dainty Dish
A Dainty Dish
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
Now, wasn't that a dainty dish
To set before the King? – Traditional nursery Rhyme.
With thanks to Deandra.
“So how are you enjoying your visit to Gondor?” Prince Imrahil enquired of Merry and Pippin. Imrahil and the Hobbits were sitting by the fire with Aragorn, Arwen, Faramir and Éowyn after a convivial dinner.
“It is very nice - that is, apart from the food,” said Merry.
“That grieves me to hear,” said Aragorn. “I instructed the cooks to prepare their finest dishes for you.”
“It is not good simple Hobbit cooking, though,” said Pippin. “All those fancy dishes smothered in sauce so you don’t know what you are eating hardly! And they never serve mushrooms! Don’t they grow them in Gondor, Strider?”
Imrahil raised his eyebrows at Pippin’s casual form of address to the King. He refrained from commenting, as Aragorn seemed not to notice. “Mushrooms, Sir Peregrin?” he said in a horrified tone. “No lord or lady of Gondor would eat such a common food! Poor peasants, who cannot afford to eat any better, gather them in the woods.”
“When I was a Ranger, it was a pleasure to come across some mushrooms and cook them for my supper,” said Aragorn. “Pippin is quite right. Mushrooms should be served at the King’s table.”
“Your guests would be shocked, my lord,” Imrahil cautioned. “You are King, though; your word is law.”
“When I was serving in Ithilien, my men introduced me to the delights of mushrooms. Éowyn often instructs our cook to prepare them in Emyn Arnen,” said Faramir. “My father would never have had them served at his table, though.”
“The people of the Mark enjoy mushrooms, too,” said Éowyn.” If our Kings can enjoy them, I cannot see why the lords of Gondor cannot!”
“It is hard to change the closed minds of Men, I fear. Unlike the Elves, they do not appreciate the fruits of Yavanna that grow wild when they have sufficient coin to buy those that are cultivated.”
“I believe it is because many of the City folk cannot distinguish a mushroom from a toadstool,” said Faramir. ”Therefore, rather than run the risk of being poisoned, our lords prefer not to eat them at all!”
The rest of the company nodded, thinking that Faramir had most likely explained the puzzle. The conversation moved to other matters.
A week later, the King’s birthday was celebrated with a State Banquet. All the highest ranked lords and ladies were invited, and the invitations were gladly accepted. As special friends of the King, Merry and Pippin were the guests of honour.
The guests enjoyed a appetizing creamy soup, which was followed by some sort of vegetable stuffed with crab and covered with breadcrumbs. The guests then partook of a stew, before feasting on a selection of desserts.
“What a delicious meal!” exclaimed Imrahil. “The cooks have surpassed themselves!”
“We made good use of the crabs you had sent from Dol Amroth,” said Arwen sweetly.
“I did not recognise the flavour of the soup nor the vegetable you served with the crab,” said the Prince of Dol Amroth. “It was most enjoyable though.”
Most of the lords and ladies murmured their enthusiastic agreement.
“We’re glad you liked our favourite mushroom recipes from the Shire,” said Pippin.
“The soup recipe has been in my grandmother’s family for ten generations,” Merry added.
“We have been eating mushrooms?” Imrahil looked aghast.
“From your words the other night, I surmised that you and the rest of the nobility had never eaten them,” said Aragorn. “Therefore, I asked Merry and Pippin to instruct my cooks in the best ways to prepare them. From now on, mushrooms will be served at the King’s table regularly. I had forgotten just how much I enjoyed them until Merry and Pippin reminded me. Why should the lords shun a food, because the common folk enjoy it? If a food is good enough for my lowliest subjects, it should be good enough for their King, too.”
“I have learned a valuable lesson tonight,” said Imrahil. “It seems we all have much to teach each other.”
“ Indeed! We decided we liked the food here after all once we became accustomed to it,” said Merry.
“We would like to take some recipes from Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth home to the Shire,” said Pippin.
“I will send a message to my cook and request that he copy out my Household’s favourite dishes,” Imrahil told the Hobbits. “Perhaps you would allow my cook to sample some of your recipes too?”
“When we return home we will collect all our favourite recipes and despatch them to Gondor,” said Merry.
“Let us drink a toast to all our peoples and their culinary traditions,” said Aragorn. He smiled at the Hobbits, recalling a long ago birthday he had celebrated at an inn in Bree. The mushrooms had tasted as good then as they did today, despite the humble surroundings. He reminded himself that the simple pleasures of life were often the best.
A/N
This is an extended version of a story written for the prompt "Mushrooms " in the AA Group.
Chapter 12 - A Price above Rubies
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been made from this story.
A Price above Rubies
Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies.- Proverbs 31.9-11. The Bible.
Based on an idea of Raksha's
With grateful thanks to Deandra
Aragorn had spent an enjoyable hour sparring with Faramir. King and Steward had been honing their skills with sword and bow, before Faramir left to spend a few days with his family in Ithilien. The two men had parted in good spirits. Aragorn was looking forward to spending the rest of the day with his wife and children. He hummed contentedly to himself as he approached his wife’s solar.
“May I see Andúril, Ada?“ asked Eldarion as his father entered the chamber, his sword still at his hip. The little boy ran to his father’s side.
“You may look, but not touch; the sword is very sharp,” Aragorn cautioned.
“Did you defeat Uncle Faramir?” the little boy asked. “I wish I could have watched.”
“You shall, next time you have no lessons,” Aragorn promised. “Uncle Faramir defeated me with the bow while I bested him with the sword. It was a close contest, as usual.“ Aragorn unsheathed the weapon and held it while his son studied it longingly. “You will have your own sword once you are grown up. Eldarion, I promise you will have a truly splendid one.”
“No other sword could be as fair as this,” Eldarion said wistfully, stroking the hilt. ”But, I will kill lots of bad men with it!”
“Estel, Eldarion, I do not like such talk, or naked blades indoors!” Arwen chided. She was pacing the room, trying to pacify a fretful Farawyn.
“I am sorry, my love,” Aragorn said contritely, sheathing the weapon. “Is Farawyn teething again?”
“I fear so,” Arwen sighed. “She has been crying most of the day.”
“Shall I hold her?” the King volunteered.
“Thank you, Estel,” said the Queen, gladly handing over her daughter. “I will leave her with you while I help Eldarion’s nanny put him to bed.”
“I’m not tired!” Eldarion protested. “Why do I have to go to bed before the sun does in summer?”
“Little boys need their sleep so they will grow up to be big and strong. and grow tall enough to wield a sword,” said Aragorn. “I will come and tell you a bedtime story later, ion nîn,” he promised as Eldarion left with his mother.
The King tried to settle on his favourite chair. He rocked Farawyn in his arms. Still she cried. The King sang an Elvish lullaby. Farawyn cried all the louder. Aragorn tried a healing touch to soothe his daughter. She continued to wail dolefully. The King stared desperately round the room for a means to distract her. A beam of evening sunlight was playing on his sword. “Look at the pretty jewels, see how they sparkle!” Aragorn cried, reaching for the sheathed weapon and showing the baby his sword hilt in a bid to distract her.
Farawyn’s eyes lit up. Suddenly, she clamped her mouth down on the hilt and started to chew it contentedly. Usually, Aragorn would have been horrified to have his precious sword used as a teething ring. The silence, though, was blissful. Farawyn looked so pleased with herself; he had not the heart to take it away from her. The hilt was solid mithril, so she could not do it any harm and he had cleaned it after his bout with Faramir earlier that day.
“Farawyn has finally settled!” Aragorn said delightedly when Arwen returned.
“Fancy letting a baby chew on a sword hilt!” his wife scolded. “Give her to me now. It is time for her to be fed, while Eldarion is waiting for the story you promised him.”
Aragorn was engrossed in telling his son a tale, about how he fought off a dozen Orcs single-handedly, when a servant interrupted to say the Queen required his presence at once.
“I will finish the story tomorrow, ion nîn,” said Aragorn kissing his son on the brow. He called to the nanny in the next room to take care of Eldarion and hastened to his wife.
Arwen, her face pale, was gazing fixedly at Andúril’s hilt. “There is a jewel missing!” she exclaimed. ”Farawyn must have swallowed it! How could you be so irresponsible? My poor baby!”
Aragorn took the sword from her and studied it. A large ruby was missing. “It should not do her any harm,” he said.
“It could have sharp edges and cut her inside!” Arwen fretted. ”You are a Healer, you must be able to do something!”
“It is smooth and small enough to pass through her when nature takes its course,” Aragorn said with more confidence than he felt.
The baby had begun to cry again, and Aragorn reached to take her from his wife.It was impossible to tell though, whether it was the commotion, pain from her teething or the fact she had swallowed a jewel, that was distressing her. The King carefully undressed the baby and gently felt for any trace of the ruby, but could find none. She reacted indignantly by biting his fingers when he felt in her mouth. Arwen, meanwhile shook out Farawyn’s clothes, but could find no sign of the stone.
Unable to do anything else, Arwen reluctantly put Farawyn to bed just as the servants arrived with their dinner. Though neither had much of an appetite, they picked at their meals in silence. Aragorn was uncomfortably aware of the fierce glare his wife favoured him with throughout the course of it.
When bedtime came, Arwen banished her husband to his dressing room. She spent the night dozing fitfully, expecting any moment that her baby would be taken violently ill.
Aragorn became increasing infected by his wife’s fears. As a Healer, he knew the stone was unlikely to cause harm, but as a father he was terrified that some harm would befall his beloved child. When he fell asleep, he was plagued by hideous nightmares of having to cut into his little daughter to retrieve the ruby when it blocked some vital organ, while Master Aedred shook his head and pronounced the child dead. The King cried out and woke up shaking in distress just as the cock crowed, heralding dawn. A wakeful Arwen took pity on him and permitted him to join her in the marital bed. Farawyn slumbered peacefully in her cradle.
The King and Queen were glad when the maid arrived bearing their morning tea. The girl set the tray down then hovered hesitantly by the door.
“What is it, Nienor?” enquired the Queen.
“Nothing, my lady, save the housemaid found a red stone under the rug this morning. She thinks it’s a ruby and that she should tell you, but the housekeeper says it must just be a glass bead and she shouldn’t bother you over such trifles.”
Arwen hugged the astonished Nienor. “That is the best news anyone could tell me!” she exclaimed. “You may have the rest of the day off. First, though, send the housemaid to me; she shall be richly rewarded!”
An hour later, the King and Queen were breakfasting in the solar. The stone had been identified as the missing ruby. A craftsman had been summoned to replace it in the hilt and the housemaid given five silver pieces as a reward.
“I am so sorry, I was angry with you, my love,” Arwen said contritely.
“I deserved your wrath. I would never forgive myself if any ill befell my children,” Aragorn replied.” They are a treasure far above any rubies in value.”
A/N Tolkien wrote that Aragorn and Arwen had daughters but did not name them.
I assure readers I have not abandoned my other stories.
This is not a prompt story, but can be taken as a Tale of Telcontar.
Chapter 13 - Seeking the Sun
Seeking the Sun
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been made from this story.
With grateful thanks to Raksha.
I walked from door to door in the July heat until my feet were blistered and bleeding. It seemed no one wanted to employ a seamstress of low degree. There were far too many such as I seeking employment in Minas Tirith; women who knew only enough of the homely arts to tend their families in some smallholding or croft. I was neither broideress nor tailor. I possessed only my mother's old sewing kit and some experience in using it. And all I had left to wear were the clothes, now growing dirty for want of a place of my own to wash them in, that I had stuffed in a sack when my man and I had fled our cottage on the Pelennor before the Southrons had burnt it down. I spent the last of my small hoard of coin several days ago.
Some folk have advised me to ask the King for assistance. Never! I am widowed because my husband followed the Northerner to the Black Gate, where no man in his right mind has ever ventured! Who is this man who calls himself King anyway? Lord Faramir should rule, as did his longfathers before him. This usurper from the North must have tricked him into surrendering his birthright! And what manner of a Man marries an Elven witch? How can such a union be natural?
I feel faint now with hunger. Even the taverns will not employ me. I suppose they want comely wenches who can laugh with the customers. I suspect all can read the sorrow in my eyes, for I cannot hide it. They see the grief of having not only lost my husband, but my parents and sister too, to the Black Shadow. And my baby, my helpless unborn child; was also lost. I know there is one way a woman can always earn a crust, but how could I do that? 'Tis a thing worse than death!
Sometimes I think my soul is dead already. My body simply waits to follow.
I pause because my legs refuse to take one more step. I hear murmurs from a crowd that has gathered in the street. The people look and point, their faces impatient. What do they await? I ask a woman what is happening and she tells me the King is due to pass by. I have no wish to set eyes on the cause of my misery. I try to turn away; only to stumble upon a stone and almost fall. Then an idea comes to me. I am as good as dead, so this usurping foreigner can put an end to my misery. Maybe I can first strike a blow to avenge my husband? I stoop, ignoring the aches in my wearied bones, and pick up the stone.
It surprises me how small the procession is. Just a handful of horsemen ride into view. The man wearing a gem upon his brow in the middle of the group must be the King. The others all wear the black and silver livery of the Tower Guard. A woman rides at his side. She is garbed in the finest silks. I hear her laughter as she turns her face away from me, toward the tall rider. Is this the Elf he brought to be our Queen? What could she know of care and loss? I push my way to the front and cry, "Shame on you, King Elessar for leading good men to their deaths and leaving the women to starve!" I aim the stone. He turns to look at me. His eyes! I have never seen the like. He seems to gaze into my very soul. I see the expected flash of anger; but then his eyes soften with a look of concern and something else. Kindness? I do not understand! The stone slips from my grasp. My sight dims and I sink to the ground.
When I regain my senses, I am lying on a soft bed, much to my surprise. I expected to be in prison. My worn garments have been replaced by a nightgown of fine linen .A woman in Healer's garb sits at my bedside. She smiles at me and asks whether I would like food and drink. I eagerly accept. No doubt I will die soon, but at least I shall eat first. I greedily devour the broth and watered wine that is brought to me. The Healer then brings me a robe and tells me that I shall soon receive a visitor. To my amazement, only a few minutes later, the King himself enters the room!
I had no intention of doing so, but find myself inclining my head respectfully. I keep my head bowed, not wanting to meet those eyes again.
"Look at me!"
I want to resist but cannot. I find myself meeting his grey gaze. His voice is stern but his eyes are filled with compassion.
"What is your name, Mistress?" he asks.
"I am Niniel, daughter of Alcarin, widow of Hador, a seamstress," I tell him.
"And what is your quarrel with me?" he demands.
I find myself pouring out my story to him. He listens intently, saying nothing.
"Mistress Niniel, try to remain calm," he says at last. "A woman in your condition..."
"What condition?" I interrupt bitterly.
"Surely you know you are about five months gone with child, Mistress?" the King says.
"You mock me, lord!" I retort. "I miscarried of my child after my husband died following your banner!"
Just then a woman enters, wearing a silver-grey cloak over a dark blue gown. A fairer lady I have never seen. She is more radiant than the stars. She places a gentle hand upon my belly. "You are indeed with child," she says. "I sense its life force waxing strong within you. Doubtless you were carrying twins and lost one of them while the other thrives. It is not uncommon."
I burst into tears: tears of joy that something of my husband still stirs within me and tears of sorrow that I have no way to support a child.
The woman tries to comfort me. I realise she is none other than the King's Elven bride. I think I was wrong when first I saw her. This lady is no stranger to sorrow. Mayhap she is a fitting Queen for Gondor after all.
"But Mistress, since you were destitute and starving, why did you not seek help?" the King asked once my tears subsided. "Steward Faramir first opened houses of refuge for the war-torn in March; and I have added more since I entered the City.
"I did not want charity," I replied. More tears welled up in my eyes. Was there no dignity left to me?
"It is no charity to offer work to a skilled seamstress," said the Queen, smiling.
"As King, it is my duty to help my people," said Elessar.
I look at him and at that moment I know I love him. Not of course, as a woman loves a man, but as a flower must love the sun.
A/N. This story was inspired by Pentangle's wonderful "Conversion”. The idea is used with her permission.
This is an expanded version of a story written for the “Prompt “Eyes” in the AA Group.
A Tale of Telcontar.
Chapter 14 - Hunger and sleepiness recur
Oh, a-hunting we will go,
A-hunting we will go;
We'll catch a fox and put him in a box,
And then we'll let him go! - traditional
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.
With grateful thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
We do not weary of eating and sleeping every day, for hunger and sleepiness recur. Without that we should weary of them. So, without the hunger for spiritual things, we weary of them. Hunger after righteousness—the eighth beatitude. – Blaise Pascal.
“I caught nothing.” The dejected look on Faramir’s face made his words superfluous. “I saw a doe with her young, but could not bring myself to kill either. It is not as if we are about to die of hunger.” He flopped down in the forest clearing beside his friend and King.
“Nor would I have killed them either in your place,” Aragorn conceded. “I just feel as if I were starving. I did not see as much as a rabbit, and my attempts at fishing were equally fruitless. This stream contains naught but tiddlers! I am thankful that Arwen would not permit us to bring Eldarion this time, much as I yearn for him to be old enough to join us.”
Faramir turned away and rummaged in their packs, not wanting the King to see the look of sorrow in his eyes. Aragorn had treated him as a son, almost since they first met, but now the King’s own flesh and blood was approaching his seventh birthday, Eldarion was becoming old enough to keep his doting father company during these excursions in the wild. Aragorn was a loyal friend, but Faramir knew it would be only honourable to volunteer to remain behind once the King’s heir could accompany his father.
“I would have both my sons beside me,” Aragorn said firmly, sensing Faramir’s thoughts. He gripped Faramir’s shoulder and turned him around to face him. “I will need you more than ever, ion nîn, when Eldarion is with us. I would not take him without you joining us. It would not be the same at all!”
“You honour me,” said Faramir, deeply moved. He cherished these outings all the more, given the opposition from the Council and their Guards at the King and his Steward going out unescorted. It took all of Aragorn’s considerable strength of will to escape from the strictures laid upon him. Aragorn and Faramir knew they could occasionally safely leave the City in the capable hands of Arwen or Imrahil. The Queen understood all too well that her husband’s heath would suffer if he were kept caged within the City walls and she trusted Faramir alone to guard him with his life.
“I have my reasons,” Aragorn grinned. “Arwen will scarcely permit me to ride two leagues out of the City without you, far less Eldarion!”
The two men laughed. They began gathering firewood, which was in far more abundant supply than anything to cook with it.
“Who else would endure your snoring save I?” Faramir teased. He nimbly dodged the King’s feigned blow.
“The fact you are with me, though, does nothing to fill our bellies tonight!” Aragorn grumbled, returning to their original subject. He rummaged in his pack for their cooking utensils.
“We do have the blackberries and hazelnuts we gathered earlier, and some mushrooms we can cook,” Faramir informed him, trying to raise his lord’s spirits. “Then there is the bread we brought with us.” Thus saying, he tipped a meagre handful of small mushrooms into a pan, while Aragorn skilfully kindled a fire.
The two friends began their meagre supper in grim silence, trying to ignore their rumbling stomachs.
“We should have brought more supplies with us,” Faramir said, swallowing a final mouthful of the tasteless, unripe mushrooms.
“That would have defeated the object of this hunting trip, though,” Aragorn replied. “Arwen was praising the new cook’s skills last week, and I was telling her how well a Ranger could live off the land.” He laughed mirthlessly, before taking another bite of stale bread and washing it down with water. “Before we set out, she told me the details of the cook’s plans for the week. I boasted that we would dine in an even more lordly fashion on what we caught ourselves. Tonight, Arwen will be feasting on tomato soup, steamed trout with roast potatoes, and blackberry syllabub washed down with fine wine for dessert!”
“At least we have the blackberries,” said Faramir, pulling a face as he nibbled an especially sour one. “And most of the houses of the City will have tomatoes on the vines of their gardens, including yours and mine. How I wish I had a plate of venison before me now!”
“Or even roast mutton!” said the King rubbing his stomach wistfully. He laughed suddenly. “Just listen to us! We sound like a pair of Hobbits, thinking of naught but food!”
“We could always return home early,” suggested Faramir.
“I think I would rather go hungry than have Arwen tease me for weeks,” Aragorn replied ruefully, sprawling his long legs comfortably on the grass.
Faramir nodded. “Éowyn would never let me hear the last of it if we returned now. I have been looking forward to our venture into the wilds for weeks now! It is so difficult to find a few days when we are not obliged to hold audiences or attend Council meetings.”
“I have been counting the days that I could leave stone walls behind for a little while,” Aragorn replied. He found life at Court far more restricting than his Steward after so many years of wanderings as a Ranger. “Come; let us make preparations to sleep. Perhaps we will have better luck tomorrow.”
No sooner had the dishes been washed in a stream and the bedrolls laid out side by side, than it began to rain. Even though the two friends huddled together for warmth, they grew increasingly cold, hungry and miserable.
“I wish I were in my nice warm bed with Arwen beside me,” Aragorn said glumly.
“I thought you said you missed sleeping under hedges!” Faramir teased.
Aragorn’s only reply was a grunt.
Worn out after their day’s exertions, King and Steward eventually fell asleep, only for Faramir to be awakened by his companion’s loud snoring. He wished fervently that Éowyn were beside him instead. His wife never snored!
The Steward suddenly noticed that it had stopped raining. The clouds had dissipated, leaving a clear sky in their wake. Countless stars twinkled overhead, fairer by far than priceless jewels. A sudden feeling of joy overwhelmed Faramir. Wishing to share it, he gently elbowed Aragorn awake. “Look!” he said in a hushed tone, “I had almost forgotten the wonder of a starry night!”
Just then a comet streaked across the heavens. The two men watched it in awe.
“Did you make a wish?” Aragorn asked Faramir, smiling.
“Only that everything would stay just as it is,” said the Steward. ”What more could I want than Gondor at peace, the hand of the fairest lady that lives, children to surround me and the love of a father I thought I would forever be denied?”
“Some breakfast maybe?” teased Aragorn. “But you speak as wisely as ever, Faramir. All I ever wished for has now come true. There were many times I wandered the wilds, when I wondered if I would ever have the crown of Elendil, and with it my beloved’s hand in marriage, and a son at my side to cherish. Then I would look at the stars and hope would spring anew.”
No longer caring about their empty stomachs, King and Steward lay watching the stars until Eärendil vanished over the horizon with his ship. Then they slept, contented. Soon they would be constrained by duties of State once more, but tonight they would simply enjoy being Rangers together.
TBC
A/N This is an expanded version of a ficlet written for the prompt “Wish” in the AA Group and forms the first chapter of a four-chapter story.
The author does not condone blood sports. Aragorn and Faramir only hunt for sufficient to eat.
Chapter Four of “Mask of Virtue” is now available and a new ficlet “Drawing the Eye.
A Tale of Telcontar.
Chapter 15 - A bush suppos’d a bear!
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
Or in the night, imagining some fear,
How easy is a bush suppos’d a bear! - Shakespeare
With thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
“Please, Naneth, let me go camping with Ada and Uncle Faramir,” begged Eldarion.
“Faramir and I would take good care of him,” said Aragorn, his tone almost as pleading as his young son’s. “It would be but for two nights and we are not going far. The countryside here in Ithilien is not beset by dangers. We could quickly return home, were any problems to arise. What harm could Eldarion possibly come to? Faramir and I enjoy returning to the Ranger way of life whenever we can be released from our duties. I have waited so long for a child of my own to take out in the wilds with me and share all the things that fathers and sons do!”
“Very well,” Arwen conceded. Loth though she was to be parted from her son, the prospect of a few quiet days with Éowyn and the other children at Emyn Arnen was appealing. Eldarion was a delightful child and she loved him dearly, but there were times she feared she did not give Farawyn as much attention as she had given her eldest. It would be good to devote some time exclusively to her little daughter.
“Thank you, Naneth, I promise I’ll be good!” Eldarion rushed to gratefully hug his mother, almost knocking her over in his enthusiasm. He hastened off to pack his possessions while Arwen instructed her husband and Faramir in great detail as to how they should care for the boy. They listened patiently while struggling not to show their amusement at her fretting over their safety, warnings to remember to tell Eldarion a bedtime story, to take care not to let him fall in river, to protect him with their lives and to keep him clean. Aragorn’s eyes met his Steward’s and both men struggled to restrain their amusement. Arwen seemed to think they could hardly take care of themselves, never mind a child!
000
The next morning, the three set out for some woods but a few miles from Faramir’s home. Aragorn and Faramir selected a campsite near to the river so that they would have water for their needs.
Eldarion sat quietly while his father and Faramir caught trout from the Anduin for supper. “May I try?” he asked after his father had caught a fish.
“It is getting late now, you may try to catch your own dinner tomorrow,” Aragorn promised.
“Please, Ada, I want to catch a big fish!” Eldarion cried in a voice loud enough to warn every fish for miles around that a hungry little boy was eager to make a meal of it.
Aragorn and Faramir exchanged amused glances. ”Very well,” he conceded. “You may try for a few minutes.”
“Thank you, Ada!” Eldarion cried joyfully.
The King put a finger to his lips reminding his son that a fisherman needed to keep quiet in order to be successful
Eldarion lapsed into silence. To his delight, he was rewarded when a fish took his bait.
“Well done, ion nîn!” said Aragorn, humanely despatching the trout. “Go with Uncle Faramir back to the campsite now and he will show you how to prepare it for supper.
Eldarion watched as Faramir expertly prepared the plump trout for cooking.
Aragorn caught a second fish. Deciding they had sufficient for their needs, he handed it to the Steward to prepare. He asked his son to help him collect firewood, explaining that ash and yew logs burned best, while willow made but a poor fire. Eldarion scurried amongst the trees picking up sticks and handing them to his father to identify. Aragorn was in his element, rejoicing in the all too rare opportunity to spend time teaching his son about life as a Ranger. When their arms were so full of kindling they could carry no more, farther and son returned to the campsite where they rejoined Faramir
As if by magic, Aragorn lit the fire by rubbing two sticks together. Faramir put the fish on to cook in a pan they had brought with them. Eldarion thought it smelled delicious. He felt much hungrier than he usually did.
While the meal was cooking the men pitched the tent they had brought in deference to Eldarion’s tender age. The boy tried to help, albeit not very successfully. Aragorn indulgently righted his mistakes, remembering with wry amusement his own first experiences of making camp and sharing his memories with Eldarion and Faramir.
“The food is cooked now!” Faramir announced.
Soon the three were tucking into a hearty meal of streamed trout together with potatoes and carrots they had brought with them. They had also brought juicy apples and pears.
“This is much more fun than having food sent up from the kitchens. It tastes better, too!” said Eldarion, tucking into his supper eagerly.
“You are fortunate, ion nîn,” said Aragorn. “Last time Uncle Faramir and I went camping, we caught nothing and went to bed hungry!”
Eldarion pulled a face.
“We still had a good time, though,” said Faramir. “We saw some shooting stars.”
“I’d like to see shooting stars,” Eldarion said eagerly. “May I take first watch?”
“We have no need to keep watch in a safe place like this,” Aragorn told him. “And I fear you only see shooting stars at certain times of year.”
“Please, Ada?” the child begged.
Aragorn exchanged an amused glance with Faramir. “Very well,” he agreed, humouring his son.
After singing Elvish songs that Aragorn recalled from his childhood, and telling Eldarion about Eärendil and his ship, one of the boy’s favourite bedtime stories, the two men settled down for the night inside the tent.
Eldarion remained outside keeping watch. The boy felt very grown up and important. He would keep the wild animals away from Ada and Uncle Faramir. Maybe, he might even see a shooting star to tell naneth about! At first, the low murmur of his Ada’s and the Steward’s voices provided companionship, but then they fell silent, as did the birds in the surrounding trees. Even the horses became silent as they ceased grazing and slept. Eldarion started to feel very alone. The night had come so fast, and the clouds hid the moon! He was tempted to wake his father, but he was a big boy now, far too old to be scared of the dark.
Shapes loomed around him, dark and menacing. He could hear rustling. What if a bear lurked in the bushes? Then he saw a distant glow. He recalled the dragons in the tales that his father and Lord Legolas had told him: Ancalagon the Black, who was slain by Eldarion's own great-grandsire; and the Dragon of Erebor. He liked to pretend that Smaug, his favourite toy, was a real dragon. But didn’t real dragons eat people along with their horses? The glow grew brighter and flames shot up in the air. Eldarion screamed in fright.
“What is wrong, ion nîn?” Aragorn, who had been watching his son all the time, came immediately to his side. Faramir followed.
“There’s a dragon in the bushes! It will eat us all for its supper!” Eldarion cried, rushing towards his father and flinging his arms around his waist.
“Do not be afraid! Uncle Faramir and I will keep you safe,” said Aragorn. “Come here,” He scooped up Eldarion in his arms and sat beside the campfire with his son.
“I will go and investigate,” said Faramir, drawing his sword. “I think I know what our ‘dragon’ might be.”
Trying hard not to tremble, Eldarion snuggled on his father’s lap and buried his head against the broad shoulder. Aragorn gently rubbed the child’s neck and shoulders, using an Elven healing art to calm the boy.
A few moments later Faramir returned grinning. “Our ‘dragon’ was a party from my White Company, sent by the Queen to keep an eye on us,” he explained. “I chided them for letting themselves be seen and frightening the boy. Those youngsters would not have survived five minutes in more dangerous times! I shall tell Beregond to take the men on extra training exercises. Do you think we should take Eldarion home?”
“There is no need,” Aragorn whispered, placing a finger to his lips and gesturing towards his young son, who, overcome by weariness and excitement, lay sleeping peacefully in his arms.
TBC
Chapter 16 - Enough is equal to a feast.
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.
With grateful thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
Enough is equal to a feast. - Henry Fielding(1707-1754)
Aragorn awoke when a ray of sunlight streamed through the open flaps of the tent and warmed his face.
On one side of him slept Eldarion, contentedly snuggled against his father, his fright of the previous night forgotten. Curled against Aragorn’s other side lay Faramir, whom Aragorn had come to love as another son. The King was a happy man. He had a family after many long years of waiting.
Eldarion stirred. At first wide eyed at his strange surroundings, the little boy was swiftly reassured by his father’s presence. “Ada, I need to get up!” he said urgently. ”But what about the dragon outside?”
“The dragon was but a neighbouring camp fire,” Aragorn reassured him. ”I will come with you, ion nîn; you are perfectly safe.”
“I will make the breakfast while you are gone,” said Faramir. He sat up, yawning then stretched like a cat.
When father and son emerged from the trees, Aragorn led the child to a nearby stream and splashed cold water on his hands and face, telling the boy to do likewise.
“It is freezing!” Eldarion complained. ”The water nanny brings me to wash in is always warm.”
“Rangers wash in cold water,” Aragorn assured his son solemnly.
“I didn’t think Rangers needed to wash?” Eldarion protested.
“Yes, they need to keep clean, just like everyone else,” his father told him.
Eldarion was silent, pondering whether his chosen career was quite as good as it appeared to be.
“I had thought we might go swimming later,” said Aragorn. “But as you do not like cold water, maybe that is not such a good idea after all.”
Eldarion was thoughtful for a moment. He had learned to swim in the huge bath in his father’s private apartments and had been longing to try ‘real’ swimming outside with his Ada and Uncle Faramir. ”Perhaps it is not too cold for swimming?” he conceded.
“It will feel warmer when the sun is high in the sky,” Aragorn promised him.
“The porridge is almost ready,” Faramir announced when Aragorn and Eldarion arrived back at the campsite. The Steward ladled the gruel into three bowls.
Eldarion tasted it and pulled a face. “I don’t like porridge!” he announced. “I always have bread and honey for my breakfast at home.”
“I fear you will not make a Ranger, then,” said Faramir. “This is a typical Ranger breakfast.”
Eldarion’s lower lip trembled. Aragorn realised that a disturbed night and fear of a monster had been an ordeal for the usually sunny- natured seven year old. He hugged his son. “It is only when you are quite old that you enjoy such a simple breakfast,” he said. “Why I remember when I was in Moria with the Fellowship…”
Eldarion’s eyes brightened. He loved his father to tell a story. Faramir, almost equally attentive, drew closer as the King began.
“I was loth to enter the mines of Moria,” Aragorn began. “I had been there before in my travels and it is a frightening place, dark and cheerless, though once it must have been magnificent.”
“Lord Gimli told me it was a vast City of great splendour for the Dwarves,” Eldarion said eagerly.
“That is true, ion nîn,” Aragorn replied. ”Alas, when I was there, it was deserted, the Dwarves all slain or fled. We travelled for three days and two nights, our only light being Gandalf’s staff. The paths were steep and treacherous. It was not a pleasant place. I feared I would never again see the light.”
“You were scared, Ada?” Eldarion sounded incredulous.
“I was indeed,” Aragorn confessed ruefully. “It would not have been too bad, if only we had been able to eat a hearty meal. This porridge would have been a feast there. All we had to eat was stale bread and dried meat.”
Eldarion pulled a face, trying to imagine such unappetising fare.
A sudden thought struck Faramir and he rummaged in their packs, emerging with a jar. “Look!” he said, ”I have found some honey to put on our porridge and there is a cow with her calf over there. Perhaps she will give us fresh milk to drink!”
“You are familiar with cows?” Aragorn looked astonished. “You never cease to surprise me!”
“As we have our own herd at Emyn Arnen, I like to take an occasional turn with the milking. I first learned to milk when I became a Ranger.” Faramir replied. He rose from the campfire; a bowl in his hands, and cautiously approached the cow.
“Your Uncle Faramir has a way with animals,” the King explained to his young son.
“Can I learn to milk cows?” Eldarion asked.
“When you are a little older,” said Aragorn observing Faramir deftly dodging a well-aimed kick from the cow he was milking. ”I think this cow would prefer her calf to drink all the milk! I think we have enough now, mellon nîn,” he called. ”Come back before you get injured!”
A few minutes later, the trio were relishing a breakfast of porridge with milk and honey, while Eldarion had warm milk to drink.
“I shall tell naneth that we had our very own feast!” Eldarion exclaimed.
“And I am certain she will tell the cook to prepare an especially nice meal for us when we return home tomorrow, ”said Aragorn.
“I wish we did not have to go home so soon!” said the little boy. “I like camping, though I miss naneth.”
“So do I,” said Aragorn smiling. “She will be pleased when we return. You can tell her that Uncle Faramir and your Ada hope to bring you again soon to sleep under the stars.”
Eldarion jumped for joy, almost knocking over his porridge.
“We will make a Ranger of you yet!” said Faramir grinning.
TBC
Chapter 17 - The child that is not clean and neat
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
The child that is not clean and neat,
With lots of toys and things to eat,
He is a naughty child, I’m sure—
Or else his dear Papa is poor. - Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894), Scottish writer, poet. “System,” A Child’s Garden of Verses (1885).
With thanks to Deandra.
Be sure to keep him safe and keep him clean. Arwen’s parting words had caused Aragorn to gain more than one new grey hair over the past two days. Faramir looked equally troubled.
Long had the King tried to persuade his wife that at seven, Eldarion was old enough to accompany his doting father and the Steward on a hunting trip. Arwen had finally given her reluctant consent with more conditions than many a legal document.
It had been simple enough to track and catch their meals, easy to teach the boy how to follow a trail, tell him that no creature should be killed merely for sport, but only when hunger made it necessary and then quickly and cleanly. It was even possible to teach a lively lad to keep quiet, but to keep one clean was impossible.
Eldarion had been spotlessly clean after swimming with his father and Faramir the previous day, but that was before they had encountered a patch of swampy ground. Ignoring his son’s protests that he wanted to play in the mud, Aragorn had risked injuring his back by carrying his son through an especially swampy patch of ground, which he had deemed it unsafe to ride across. The King had never imagined that such a slender young boy would feel as if he weighed like a mumak to carry any distance! All his efforts were for naught; somehow the child still became covered in mud.
“If we return Eldarion to his mother like this, she will never let us take him out again!” Aragorn told Faramir grimly
As they approached Emyn Arnen, much to the King’s relief, they found a stream.
“The Valar be praised!” exclaimed Aragorn. “We can give Eldarion a bath.”
Faramir rummaged in their packs for a towel and soap.
“I will help you undress, ion nîn,” said Aragorn. ”We shall soon get you nice and clean for naneth.”
“I don’t want to wash!” Eldarion protested. ”It’s too cold to take off my clothes!”
“It is no colder than yesterday when you enjoyed our swim together,” his father said firmly.
“That was swimming, not washing!” Eldarion scowled, trying to wriggle away as his father started unlacing the child’s tunic. ”Only girls like being clean!”
Meanwhile, Faramir, using the brush they usually used to groom their horses with, tried to remove the dried mud from the young Prince’s clothing. He had by far the easier task as Eldarion writhed like an eel once his father had coaxed him in the water.
At last both Eldarion and his clothes were passably clean and the travellers continued on their way.
As they approached Faramir’s home, King and Steward exchanged relieved glances. Apart from his windswept hair, Eldarion looked almost as presentable as when he had simply been playing in the gardens of the Citadel.
“Arwen should be delighted how well we have cared for Eldarion,” said Aragorn. “There is not a scratch upon him and he is clean.”
“Éowyn will be so impressed that she will allow us to take Elboron as soon as he is old enough,” Faramir smiled contentedly. They rode through the gates, greeting the guards. As soon as they reached the stables, they handed the horses over to the care of the grooms.
“The Queen and Lady Éowyn are in the garden,” the head groom informed them.
As Aragorn approached the garden, he quickened his steps when his keen eyes spotted his wife tending a bed of daisies. Eldarion ran on ahead towards his mother.
Arwen rushed to embrace her son.
“I had a wonderful time with Ada and Uncle Faramir," Eldarion told her excitedly. “I helped Ada gather firewood, and we went swimming, I even caught a fish for my supper!”
“Beloved, I have missed you and Farawyn so much!” Aragorn said, approaching his wife to embrace her.
Arwen recoiled. ”You are covered in mud, Estel!” she exclaimed. “You badly need a bath!”
Just then Éowyn approached from behind the hedge that enclosed the herb garden. Faramir made to kiss her, only to be indignantly pushed away. “Ugh!” she exclaimed. ”You smell worse than an Orc. Go and wash at once before the children see you like this!”
Crestfallen, the two men slunk away.
“Whoever would have thought that Éowyn slew the Witch King?” mused Faramir. ”As I recall, the Pelennor fields were extremely muddy at that time. Surely she did not accomplish the deed without getting dirty?”
“Arwen never said a word about how well we had looked after Eldarion,” Aragorn said glumly. “One would think Ranger’s wives would appreciate a little dirt!”
“It seems we only receive a warm welcome when we are clean!” said Faramir ruefully leading the way to the bathing chamber. The servants were already bustling to and fro with buckets of hot water to prepare a bath for the men.
“Still was it not wonderful being Rangers again in the wild?” Aragorn replied. “What more could a man desire than the freedom to go camping with the son of his body and the son of his heart and a fair wife to return to? Our welcome will be warm once we are scrubbed!”
The End
A/N
This chapter is an extended version of a ficlet written for the prompt “Clean” on the AA List.
Chapter 18 - The Storm
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
O my soul’s joy,
If after every tempest come such calms,
May the winds blow till they have wakened death!
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas
Olympus-high, and duck again as low
As hell’s from heaven! - William Shakespeare (1564–1616), British dramatist, poet. Othello, in Othello, act 2, sc. 1, l. 185-9.
With thanks to Raksha and Deandra
Aragorn paced restlessly across the chamber, oblivious to the fine tapestries and furniture that adorned it. The room felt oppressively stuffy after a day of humid heat.
A summer storm now raged outside in the gathering dusk, the wind and rain beating fiercely against the windows. Lightning flashed against the darkening sky, while overhead the thunder roared like an angry dragon. How many times had he craved shelter when the elements raged outside? How often had he envied the Bree folk safe and dry in their snug houses? He had lost count long ago. Now he lived in sumptuous surroundings, well protected from the wind and rain. Yet, he found he missed them! Somehow, he felt less than fully alive, sheltered as he now was from nature’s fury.
“You remind me of a wild horse, chomping at the bit,” said Arwen, looking up from her embroidery. ”Go and get some fresh air, ere you wear a hole in the carpet!”
“My guards would never let me!” Aragorn said glumly.
“What became of the Ranger I married?” asked the Queen. ”You spent many a year evading being seen, if you so chose. It should cause you little difficulty in slipping past the guards unnoticed!”
“Your words are wise, vanimelda,” said Aragorn, kissing her tenderly. Snatching up his cloak, and pulling the hood closely around his face, he slipped through the maze of corridors, skilfully dodging his guards. He made his way outside, silent and stealthy as a cat.
The King walked briskly until he came to a secluded corner of the Citadel gardens. The thunder and lightning had ceased now, leaving in its wake heavy, drenching rain and a refreshing stiff breeze.
Aragorn cast aside his cloak and lifted his face towards the heavens, rejoicing in the feel of the cool water as it ran down his face. His hair was soon drenched and plastered to his face, but he cared not.
Soon his clothing was soaked. Cold rivulets of rainwater trickled down his neck. Impulsively, he peeled off his tunic and shirt, allowing the rain to run freely down his bare chest and back. He closed his eyes. The breeze gusted fiercely against his bare skin. It seemed almost to caress him, making him feel invigorated and truly alive. He felt as if he could dance with the sheer ecstasy of feeling as one with nature; a child of wind, and storm and sky
Suddenly, his keen senses heard a twig cracking, as if trodden underfoot. Startled, he opened his eyes and made to snatch up his discarded clothing. It would not do at all for a King to be caught like this, half naked and dripping. The servants and nobility would think their new lord a madman!
“Estel! I could not resist joining you.”
It was Arwen. She came barefoot, dropping her cloak at her feet to reveal a simple linen gown beneath.
“Beloved, you surprised me!”
Arwen laughed, a sweet musical tone that always made her husband’s heart soar. ”A Peredhilcan be as stealthy as a Ranger, and even closer to nature,” she said. ”At Imladris I would dance beneath the waterfall and revel in the feel of the spray. Come, dance with me!” She pulled him close, her breath warm against his skin.
Aragorn kicked off his boots and they laughingly began to dance across the grass, oblivious of the downpour. Slowly the rain ceased. The moon emerged from behind the scudding clouds, bathing the dancers in a silver glow.
Aragorn studied his wife’s lovely features. She looked fairer than ever in the moonlight, her hair dishevelled and damp, while her gown clung becomingly to her graceful figure.
Suddenly they stopped dancing. Breathlessly, they stood gazing at each other. Aragorn pulled his wife close and kissed her. She returned the kiss, her slender fingers caressing his skin, her warmth and nearness setting his body ablaze. The tempest in the heavens had abated, but nature had kindled another storm within their hearts, one of a very different kind, but no less fierce in its passion.
A/N This was the sole entry for a contest with the theme of “Nature” as the challenge.
The events take place a few weeks after Aragorn and Arwen’s marriage.
I have posted the first chapter of a new angst laden story “Dies Irae” on this site.
Chapter 19 - Roses have Thorns
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
No more be grieved at that which thou hast done,
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud,
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. – Shakespeare
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may:
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying. - Herrick
Roses have Thorns
“He is just so perfect! I think he has Éowyn’s eyes,” Faramir said for about the hundredth time. “My own son will become Steward after me!”
“Not for a very long time, I hope. I like the Steward I have now,” Aragorn said dryly. He stretched out his long legs and shifted to a more comfortable position. The two men had been banished on a hunting trip by Arwen, as soon as Faramir had been told the joyful news and glimpsed the new baby. The midwife had declared that Éowyn was exhausted and needed to rest.
Aragorn and Faramir had dined on stewed rabbit and then caught another for the pot. Their hunting completed, King and Steward relaxed sprawled on the grass in a sunny glade in Ithilien watching the swallows dart to and fro overhead. The summer air was perfumed with wild roses. Nearby, Roheryn and Zachus grazed contentedly on the lush grass, their riders having removed their tack.
“I must give Éowyn a special gift to thank her for the child she has given me,” Faramir said thoughtfully. “A mithril pendant of the emblems of the Houses of Eorl and Húrin might please her.” He suddenly became grave. “I should like a gift for Elestelle too. I should never wish her to think she is any less dear to me than the baby. I shall love them both equally. I shall never neglect her, or Elbeth.”
“I know you never would, mellon nîn,” said Aragorn. “I should love to have a daughter next.” For a moment he felt melancholy that his friend had two children already. Much as he and Arwen desired another child, they still only had Eldarion. He forced himself to cast such thoughts aside and share his friend’s joy.
The two men fell into companionable silence contemplating their hopes and dreams for the future.
The afternoon grew warmer. The two friends shed their outer tunics; there were none save the birds to see them informally attired. Aragorn grew sleepy and was soon snoring softly, his head resting on a bank of moss.
Faramir smiled indulgently at his friend. He was determined to stay awake. Despite his happiness, a feeling of growing unease was pricking at the edges of his consciousness. He berated himself for his foolishness. The sun became hotter, while the chirruping of the grasshoppers sounded almost like a lullaby. Faramir’s eyelids grew heavy. He had had little sleep the night before.
Aragorn was awakened by a loud cry. He leapt to his feet, instinctively reaching for his sword. He turned in the direction of the cry and beheld Faramir struggling to free himself from the thorny branches of a rose bush.
“I nodded off and fell into the bush,” Faramir said sheepishly. “I had forgotten it was behind me.”
Aragorn regarded him with a mixture of sympathy and amusement. “A rose bush is not a good place to sleep!” he remarked extending his hand.
“I had forgotten it was behind me,” said Faramir taking the proffered hand and trying to get up. “Ouch!”
“I had better cut you free.” Aragorn grimaced in sympathy. He raised Andúril and hacked at the bush. Faramir rather gingerly freed himself, wincing in pain as the sharp thorns tore his shirt and dug into his back.
“You are hurt! Let me see!” Aragorn ordered.
Faramir ruefully presented his bloodied back to for his friend’s inspection.
Aragorn carefully removed the twigs and leaves, which were sticking to his Steward’s back. Faramir’s white shirt was now speckled with blood. ”You have been badly scratched,” he commented wincing in sympathy.
“It feels like it!” Faramir said wryly.
“I have brought my healing supplies,” said Aragorn. “Arwen insisted that I bring them. She always fears some ill will befall us, for some strange reason!”
“Ladies do tend to fret, Éowyn is just as bad” said Faramir. “Still, your wife has been proved right.” He laughed inwardly that his feelings of unease had foreboded such a ridiculous accident.
Aragorn fetched his satchel from the far site of the clearing and rummaged in it. “Your wife is correct. There is not a scratch on me!” he said a trifle smugly. “You had better take your shirt off so that I can tend your injuries.”
Faramir cautiously removed his shirt and propped himself on his elbows. Aragorn carefully removed the remaining thorns embedded in Faramir’s upper back, and cleaned the scratches with water from his flask before applying some calendula salve. Faramir sighed contentedly as the stinging eased. “It could have been far worse,” he said “If the scratches had been over my face, I would never have heard the last of it from Éowyn, especially as next week there is the reception with the Ambassadors from Dale to attend.” Rising to his feet, he pulled his shirt back over his head. “Thank you, mellon nîn!” He hugged his friend gratefully.
By now the sun was starting to sink. “I think we should return home in time for the cook to prepare rabbit pie for supper,” said the King.
Faramir was thoughtfully studying the branches that Aragorn had lopped from the rose bush. “I think I will take the blossoms home for the ladies. It would be a pity to leave them here to wilt. They smell so sweet. Éowyn loves roses.”
“As does Arwen. I will cut them while you load our saddle the horses. You have had enough of rose bushes for one day!” said Aragorn. He set to work with a will, choosing the finest blooms for his beloved wife and good friend.
A few minutes later the two men were riding slowly homewards. Faramir noticed that Aragorn was holding Roheryn’s reins rather awkwardly. His eyes moved to his friend’s hands, one of which was marked with blood. “You have hurt yourself!” Faramir exclaimed in concern.
“It is only a scratch, no real harm is done” said Aragorn. “Alas, though, it seems that Arwen is quite correct in that I seem unable to avoid mishaps!”
Faramir grinned. “As ever, your lady speaks the truth!” The smile froze on his lips as a sudden feeling of dread assailed him. He heard an almost forgotten voice from long ago, as clearly as if the speaker were standing beside him. “Ride home to your lady with all speed, ion nîn. She has need of you and the King’s healing hands!”
“What is the matter?” Aragorn enquired seeing the frozen, far away look on Faramir’s face.
“My mother just spoke to me,” said Faramir. “Éowyn needs us to return at once!”
Aragorn did not hesitate. Faramir was farsighted and given to visions. ”Then let us make haste!” he said, urging Roheryn to a gallop.
TBC
Chapter 20 - Love never ends
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. – The Bible. 13.8
“Lady Éowyn is very ill,” the midwife said grimly. “The aftermath of the birth has gone very badly. The women of Rohan are strong it seems, but I still fear for her life, my lady.”
Arwen moved to the bedside and anxiously felt Éowyn’s brow. “If only I had not told Estel and Faramir to go hunting so soon after the babe was born! Éowyn should have her husband beside her to comfort her. She is in dire needs of my Estel’s healing skills. My father taught me, though, how to mix healing brews for women in childbed. I shall see what I can do.” She squeezed Éowyn’s hand. “Be strong, my friend, I will return soon.”
“I just want to sleep,” Éowyn whispered.
0000
Éowyn knew not for how long she slept. When she awoke, the sun was streaming through the bedroom window. A dark haired woman was sitting beside her. For a moment, Éowyn thought she was the Queen. Then the woman lifted her head and smiled at her. She had never seen the lady before. Yet she looked oddly familiar.
“I have long wanted to meet you, my daughter,” said the strange woman.
“Lady Finduilas!” Éowyn cried with a sudden flash of realisation. “But you are dead! Does that mean I am too?”
Finduilas shook her head. “That is your choice, my daughter. Long have I desired to speak to you, but not until today did Lord Námo grant me leave.”
Éowyn sat upright and studied Faramir’s mother. She had always imagined her as pale and sickly, but this woman looked to be glowing with health and vitality. She had often been told that Faramir resembled his father in appearance, but the warm gentle eyes that looked at her now were her husband’s, as were the slender hands and graceful demeanour. Next to the Queen, she was the fairest woman Éowyn had ever beheld.
“Faramir sees you as the most beautiful woman that ever lived, daughter,” said Finduilas, apparently able to sense Éowyn’s thoughts. “He loves you dearly and you have made him very happy. You are exactly the bride I would have chosen for him. With your colouring, my blue cloak suited you far better than it did me. I always looked better in scarlet, like the Queen.”
“You think so? I lack the sophistication of the ladies of Gondor. Neither do I have the mental abilities of Faramir’s people. Most likely I will die many years before my husband!” Somehow it seemed easy for Éowyn to tell Faramir’s mother all her deepest fears.
“My son knew many a lady of Gondor and found them all wanting compared with you,” said Finduilas. “You have more spirit and joy of life than the quiet women of this land, and yet you also carry Númenorean grace, as well as the pride of the House of Eorl, through your grandmother needs you to take him away from his books and make him smile. As for the mental gifts of his people, the King’s friendship will see he never lacks for a chance to use them.”
Éowyn noticed that Finduilas had ignored the last of her confidences. She wondered if the lady had come to lead her beyond the circles of the world. She felt oddly calm, as if nothing mattered any more.
“Is there anything else you would ask me, child?” said Finduilas.
“Why did Faramir’s father not love him?” said Éowyn. “That makes me so angry. Who could be more lovable than Faramir?”
Finduilas looked saddened at the question. “They were too alike,” she explained. “Denethor saw in Faramir what he could have been, had he been cursed with less pride. He did love him, but he feared Faramir’s powers of mind and strength of will, and fear can destroy love.” She wandered over to the crib where Éowyn’s newborn son lay sleeping. “Now this little one is more like unto you, and perhaps my Boromir; he will be a great prince and leader of men, but at heart a warrior rather than a lore-master. Elestelle has the far-sight of both Faramir and Denethor, and the love of music that I gave to my son. . Poor little ones, they will know less of their mother than Faramir did of me!”
“No!” cried Éowyn. “I won’t leave my children, I won’t!”
“Then fight, daughter! Fight for life, as fiercely as you fought the Witch King! Lord Námo gave me leave to come to fetch you, but I would rather not break my son’s heart again by doing so!”
“Faramir!” groaned Éowyn. ”It will destroy him to know I died bearing his child!”
“And should you live to bear more children, you will easily bring them into the world,” Finduilas said gently. “I have called for my son to bid you farewell, but it is your choice whether you go or stay. Your kinsfolk are eager to greet you beyond the circles of the world, while others who love you just as dearly desire you to abide with them here.”
“I will fight to stay with Faramir and my children!” Éowyn cried. She tried vainly to struggle to her feet. The baby started to cry.
“We will meet again one day, my child. I am proud of you.” Éowyn felt the gentlest of kisses upon her brow as she sank back upon the bed. She knew no more.
000
It was dark when Éowyn woke again. Faramir was sitting at her bedside tenderly holding her hand. Aragorn and Arwen stood at the foot of the bed. A large vase of sweet scented roses stood on a table by the window.
“Praise the Valar!” said Faramir. “You are awake my love!” He raised a glass of water to her lips and supported Éowyn while she drank Tears glittered in his grey eyes.
Aragorn moved forward and felt her brow. “The herbs Arwen gave you worked, “ he pronounced smiling. “We were very worried about you.”
“I had the strangest dream, Faramir,” said Éowyn. “I saw your mother.”
Faramir turned pale. “When Aragorn and I were on our way homewards,” he said slowly, “I suddenly heard my mother’s voice in my head telling me to return at once. We rode home with all speed.”
“There are many things we do not understand,” said Aragorn, smiling at them both. “Maybe the Lady Finduilas was indeed granted leave to return within the circles of the world for a little while in your hour of need. Those we held dear are beyond our sight, but I believe they continue to lovingly watch over us and the Higher Powers permit them to offer aid when our need is greatest.”
Faramir’s eyes were moist as he whispered “Thank you, naneth.” He felt a gentle touch upon his brow. His mother’s kiss; or was it simply a draught from the open window?
The End.
Chapter 21 - Star of Wonder
O star of wonder, star of light
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
With thanks to Raksha
O star of wonder, star of light,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect light. - John H. Hopkins
“Is that not a more suitable task for you, or Eldarion’s nanny?” Aragorn asked his wife desperately.
“I have a meeting with the Embroiderers' Guild while the nurse has the day off to visit her family,” Arwen explained. “I know you have a free afternoon.”
“Well could not one of the nursery maids stay with Eldarion then?”
“You should know by now that our son needs a firm hand when it comes to having new clothes fitted,” Arwen said sternly. ”Last time he wriggled so much that the tailor could not alter his tunics to fit him properly. Eldarion simply hates standing still for tailor's work. He does not inherit such wildness from me!”
Aragorn fidgeted uncomfortably beneath his wife’s keen gaze. Eldarion was not the only member of the House of Telcontar who found it difficult to keep still while he had new garments fitted.
“Very well, vanimelda, I will see that Eldarion’s clothes for the Mettarë feast are fitted correctly,” conceded the King, sighing deeply.
000
“Please stand still, Master Eldarion,” begged the tailor, a short plump man with a nervous air about him.
“Do as you are told, ion nîn,” said Aragorn sternly. “Surely you want to look smart for the Mettarë Feast?”
“I hate having to wear silly clothes to attend feasts!” Eldarion grumbled in the jaded tones of one who had dozens of such occasions, rather than the three he actually had. “When you were a Ranger, Ada, did you have to dress up for Mettarë?”
Aragorn shook his head. ”The life of a wandering Ranger is a hard one, my son. We moved around too much to keep animals for food; our feasts were usually whatever we could scrounge on the day and a bottle or two of wine if we were near enough to a stash of provisions." He thought back to those cold nights of early winter spent with his men in the wilderlands. Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment remembering Halbarad and others of his Rangers who had perished in the long struggle against Sauron. "As for dressing up,most of us owned only the clothes we stood up in and a change of linens. We spent more coin on our weapons than on the cut of our cloth.
The tailor looked so shocked he dropped the bolts of silver-gilt black and gold cloth he was holding.
A sudden flash of inspiration struck Aragorn. ”If you are very good, we will celebrate Mettarë in traditional Ranger fashion before it is time for the feast.”
“Thank you, Ada!” The cloth was again knocked from the tailor’s hands as Eldarion ran to embrace his father. From then on, Eldarion stood so still and quiet that Aragorn started to fear that something ailed the boy!
000
“Is it wise to go riding with Eldarion with so little time left before the feast?” Arwen fretted. “It is bad enough when you fetch the mistletoe from Dame Gudrun!”
“That is why I fetched it yesterday, so I would have time to take Eldarion out today,” said Aragorn. “We are not going far and the weather is good for travelling. There is no snow or ice underfoot.”
“I will see that they are back in time, ”said Faramir, who was hovering at his lord’s side.
“Very well, but do not be late for the feast!” said the Queen. “I will call for the servants to bring you some hot drinks to have before you go. I do not want any of you taking a chill!”
0000
A short time later, Aragorn, Faramir and Eldarion rode out through the City gate, followed closely by several guards. It was a cold, grey winter afternoon. Dusk was starting to fall on a day that had had never really been light.
“I am curious about these Northern Ranger customs of yours,” said Faramir, bringing his horse alongside Aragorn’s. ”In Ithilien, we had a bonfire and stood around it to toast the coming year and pray that the darkness would not prevail.”
“They are very simple,” said Aragorn. ”I only hope it will not be too cloudy to observe all the traditions. We begin here.” He reined Roheryn to a halt beside a large holly bush bedecked with brilliant red berries. The King dismounted and intoned “Yavanna, gracious giver, who desserts us not entirely in darkest winter, for this symbol of renewal, we thank thee.” Drawing his sword, he cut several sprigs of the dark green leaves and distributed them amongst the party, telling them to wear it on their cloaks. The King pinned Eldarion’s sprig in place telling his son. ”We wear the holly leaves as a symbol of hope that the land will be renewed. Holly is a very special plant as it is still fresh and green even in the depths of winter. The Elves have long cultivated it.”
“Where are we going, Ada?” asked Eldarion once they had remounted.
“Just as far as the copse yonder,” said Aragorn, gesturing towards some trees about a mile distant. “It should be dark by the time we get there.”
“Why does it have to be dark, Ada?” the little boy asked.
“You will see, I hope,” said Aragorn looking up anxiously to the sky. To his relief the clouds were parting as the last of the grey winter daylight faded. He urged Roheryn forward, narrowly avoiding a large stone in their path.
“Ranger festivals are very dull!” Eldarion remarked once they reached the unremarkable copse and halted before it.
“I doubt your father would bring us out here if there were not something important to see,” Faramir chided gently.
Aragorn’s keen gaze was searching the heavens. He smiled whenhe found what he was seeking. “Look above the tallest tree!” he cried, pointing upwards towards the Star of Eärendil, which gleamed like mithril against a small patch of velvet blue sky. ”Now make a wish!”
The company ceased chattering as they concentrated on their heart’s desires A great stillness descended as they contemplated the shining star. Even the horses were quiet and the owl ceased her hooting
“A! Elbereth Gilthoniel! silivren penna mírielo menel aglar elenath!” Aragorn started to sing softly in a rich, clear tone.
Faramir felt tears pricking his eyes. To watch Gil-Estel rise in a sky unshadowed by the Enemy still made him shiver with joy.
Aragorn finished the hymn and then gestured to the others to join in. They all knew the words from the oldest soldier of peasant stock to the King’s young son.
“I think I like the Ranger traditions, Ada!” said Eldarion as they rode homeward.
“Every year we would look at the star and see it as a sign that the light was always there, however dark the path before us might seem,” said Aragorn. “By Elbereth’s grace, the Star of Eärendil led me safely home.”
A/N this was written for the “Leaf and Stone” Yule Traditions challenge.
Wishing all my readers a peaceful and happy Christmas. Special thoughts to anyone who is alone or having a difficult time at present.
Aragorn and Arwen refer to “At the Rising of the Moon” also on this site.
The song Aragorn sings is found in LOTR and translates as
O Elbereth Starkindler,
white-glittering, slanting down sparkling like a jewel,
the glory of the starry host!
A Tale of Telcontar.
Chapter 22 - The Gate of the Year
The Gate of the Year
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year
'Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.'
And he replied, 'Go into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way!'- Minnie Louise Haskins 1908
With grateful thanks to Raksha
It seemed that half of Minas Tirith wanted to see the new King light the Mettarë fire. For the first time in living memory, the people of Gondor celebrated the festival with hope. Many had lost loved ones and fighting continued in the South and East, but Sauron was no more, the air was no longer foul with ash, but fresh and sweet, and the King had returned.
Anxious not to detract attention from the King and Queen, the Steward stood a little to the side. He pulled his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. Faramir's memories were still painful at times, as were his war wounds, yet he was well content. A year ago, the future had seemed so bleak with the Enemy's threat growing daily, his brother departed on a desperate mission and his father’s moods turning ever more strange. His father and brother were now gone forever, but he had a new lord and a new life.
Faramir watched as Aragorn, his Queen at his side, walked amongst the people. Despite the chill in the night air, the King wore no gloves and reached out towards those who approached him. Faramir thought how very unlike his father the King was; where his father had been cold and distant, Aragorn was warm and easy to approach. That the common folk loved Aragorn was plain for all to see; from the smiles on their faces, to the lovingly made gifts they offered to him and his lady, all of which were received with as much gratitude as if they were priceless jewels.
A herald blew a silver trumpet and the crowd fell silent. “My dear people,” Aragorn said in a loud voice. “We may no longer mark the New Year on this day, but we do mark a new beginning for our beloved land. We have walked though the night of shadow and sacrifice into the light of new hope. Let the light in our hearts be rekindled with Anor’s strengthening rays!”
A guard handed Aragorn a flaming brand. He flung it into the heart of the bonfire, which quickly caught alight and flared up.
Faramir found himself shuddering, but not from the cold. His father had tried to burn him alive on such a fire! He recalled nothing of the terrible events, yet fire at times disturbed him deeply. Suddenly, he felt very alone. His beloved brother was no more. Éowyn’s presence would have hearted him, but she was needed beside her brother in Rohan for a while yet. He swallowed hard and took a step backward; thinking to melt into the crowd ere anyone could notice his disquiet. Then a firm yet gentle hand grasped his shoulder. Healing warmth flooded through his body at the touch. Startled, he turned and found himself looking at his King.
Aragorn said nothing, but his grey eyes were filled with kindness and compassion. The Star of Elendil that encircled his brow reflected the light from the blazing fire. As Faramir looked at him, living flames seemed to dance upon the King’s brow and brightness surrounded him. Faramir relaxed, warmed by a sudden, joyful realisation: light had returned Gondor in the person of the King himself.
Chapter 23 - Strong, and of good courage
Strong, and of good courage
Be strong, and of good courage; dread not, nor be dismayed – The Bible..22
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.
With grateful thanks to Raksha
Faramir slowly picked his way through the rubble, his head bowed. Although weeks had passed, an acrid smell still lingered in what remained of the House of Stewards.
As he neared his destination, his steps grew even slower. Others had offered to carry out this task for him, but this was meant for him alone. Only a Ruling Steward or the Rightful King was meant to touch an object of such power. In a few days, the King would come and Faramir intended to hand over what was now rightfully his. Faramir hoped only he would have the strength to carry it out. His still healing wounds throbbed painfully.
He had been insensible when his father brought him here to burn him - and yet sometimes he felt as if he remembered brief flashes of what had happened that day. Or maybe it was simply his imagination trying to comprehend the horror of how Denethor had died? He repressed a shudder.
The Steward knew that what remained of his father had been decently interred, so he would not have to face that gruesome sight. The stone table was still here though, where Faramir had been laid to burn. He was certain what he was seeking was here too. He doubted any mortal fire could consume it.
Faramir found the object in a corner, covered in dust and ash. Cursing himself inwardly for not bring a sack, he scooped it up in his cloak and carried it to his rooms.
His mission accomplished, Faramir sank on to a chair. He took deep breaths to steady himself. He could hardly give the palantír to the King, as it was, filthy and covered in ash. Cautiously, he unwrapped his cloak from around the Seeing Stone. He called for a servant to bring a cloth and cleaning materials.
“Does aught ail you, my lord?” enquired the girl, seeing his pale face. ”Can I help you?”
“I am well, thank you. You may go now.”
How Faramir wished he could entrust this task to another! He could not take the risk though of letting any unwary soul touch the stone that had destroyed his father. Sauron was no more, but it was still a powerful object. Taking up the cloth, he started to clean away the dust and grime. The palantír seemed undamaged by the fire. When Faramir began to polish it, it tingled and seemed to come aliveat his touch. He tried to avert his eyes from the Stone, but they were drawn there as if by some unseen force. Then he saw the hands; withered and contorted with agony. His father’s hands! Faramir shook with emotion.
When the Steward regained his composure, he was seized by nausea. Somehow, he managed to wrap the palantír in a several layers of cloth and stow it carefully away.
***
“I have brought you this, my lord. It is yours by right.” Faramir placed the shrouded object on the King’s desk and bowed low.
Aragorn studied his Steward anxiously. The man looked pale as a ghost and very fragile. The King hoped fervently that Faramir would be strong enough for the high office with which he had entrusted him. ”Are you well?” he enquired. ”Is there anything I might do to aid you?”
“I am well, sire; thank you. The performance of my duties is aid enough. Here is the Anor-stone that my longfathers have held for you; I have found and cleaned it. If I might be excused?”
Aragorn nodded. “Remember, you may come to me at any time,” he said as Faramir departed.
The King unwrapped the bundle and picked up the palantír. Almost at once he saw the withered hands and dropped the object back on the desk, shuddering in revulsion. Faramir, the son of the owner of those hands, had retrieved it from the Rath Dinen where the young man had nearly met his death, and brought it here to him! Faramir possessed strength far greater than Aragorn could ever have imagined. This younger son of Denethor’s was proving an extraordinary man. Together he hoped they could renew the greatness and glory of Gondor.
A/N. Written for the AA Group Prompt, “Strong.”
Chapter 24 - By the River
By the River
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has, nor will be made from this story.
By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. - Psalm 137
With thanks to Raksha
The moon emerged from behind a sea of swirling clouds, which made it appear to sail across the sky. Faramir noted a golden ring around it. What bitter irony, that the likeness of the thing that destroyed his brother should appear tonight of all nights!
Showing he had lost none of the ability to move silently learned as a Ranger, Faramir evaded the Guards and made his way to the stables. He saddled his horse and made his way through the silent City streets. The Guard on the gate knew him and let him pass without questioning him.
Faramir rode down to the river. The water looked almost black in the moonlight. The stars seemed veiled tonight, as if the Star Kindler was loth to show her treasures to Men. Faramir wondered what had he hoped to accomplish by coming here on the anniversary of his brother’s death? Was he hoping to again catch a glimpse of the vision that had come to him when Boromir died?
Faramir closed his eyes, trying to recall Boromir as he once had been. Hideous images assailed his thoughts of his brother heavily outnumbered and struck by a hail of arrows. His shoulder, still paining him at times from the strike of a single arrow, throbbed in the damp February air. The Steward wondered how greatly Boromir had suffered. Had he called for him or their father? If only he could have offered him the comfort of a loving brother’s presence as he breathed his last!
Faramir could no longer contain his emotions. He sank to his knees and sobbed as if his heart would break.
So great was his grief that he did not hear the horse approaching, nor the rider dismount, and make his way towards him. He started only when a hand clasped his shoulder.
“Easy now,” said a familiar voice.
“My lord!” Faramir tried vainly to rise, only to find his legs were too numb.
“Easy now,” Aragorn repeated. Unexpectedly he crouched beside Faramir and enfolded him in a tight embrace.
Much to his shame, Faramir found the tears flowing all the faster. The strong arms that held him, reminded him of his brother. Aragorn said nothing. He simply crouched on the riverbank supporting Faramir, rubbing his back and the Steward’s painful shoulder. Faramir wondered at his lord’s uncanny ability to sense what he was feeling.
After a few minutes Aragorn said gently, “Come now, your brother is not here, trapped within the circles of the world. He would not want you to sit on a freezing river bank when you could be warm and safe within doors!”
Faramir finally managed to rise, albeit with a discreet helping hand from the King. “I keep wondering, did he suffer much?” he whispered, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes.
Aragorn shook his head. ”No, I swear he did not. Let your heart be at rest. Boromir died quickly, and was not in great pain.”
“I am glad you were with him,” said Faramir. ”How did you know I would be here tonight?”
“I recalled what date it is too, and kept a look out for you lest you needed a friend.”
“Did the Guards not try to stop you, sire?”
“Do not forget that I, too was a Ranger!” Aragorn chuckled.
The two men stood on the bank staring at the river. The moon finally emerged fully from behind the clouds. The silver orb reflected in the rippling water had an eerie beauty. An owl gave a haunting cry. A great sense of peace descended over the grieving Steward.
“It is beautiful, is it not!” said Aragorn. ”I have several times escaped the Guards to bring my lady here, though not in February!”
King and Steward turned away from the water and returned to their horses. They rode swiftly to the Citadel. Faramir wished the distance were further. He dreaded returning to his lonely room. He could, of course, summon a servant to stay with him, but a near stranger’s company was worse than being alone. Much to the younger man’s surprise, Aragorn followed him to his apartments.
“I will brew you some herbs, and then stay with you until you sleep,” the King announced.
“But what of your lady, sire? Will she not fret?”
“Arwen understands. She is no stranger to sorrow,” Aragorn said simply.
Faramir disappeared into his dressing room to change into his night attire. When he emerged, he was dismayed to discover the King building up the fire.
“My lord!” he protested. “You should not wait upon me!”
“Becoming King has not rendered me incapable of performing tasks I used to do every day!” Aragorn said with a smile. “I needed a good fire to make some tea!”
Thus saying, he took a pan from the hearth. “Drink this!” he told Faramir, pouring a cup of a hot, fragrant brew for the Steward, and another for himself.
Faramir leaned back against the pillows sipping his tea. The fire blazed cheerfully giving the room a comforting glow. On a chair by the hearth sat the King, also drinking tea. Faramir realised he still had much to learn about this new lord who treated him so kindly, almost like a father or brother. His eyes grew heavy. Tomorrow, it would all no doubt, seem like a dream. The day he had dreaded so much was past. Next year when the anniversary of this day came, he would have Éowyn beside him. Tonight hope had appeared again in an hour of darkness.
A/N This is an extended version of a ficlet written for the AA Group prompt "River". I am publishing it today to mark the anniversary of Boromir's death.
Chapter 25 - A day at the Houses
A Day at the Houses
The physician must not only be the healer, but often the consoler - Harriot K. Hunt
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Virtuella and Raksha
Humming softly to himself, Aragorn, flanked by two guards, made his way to the Houses of Healing for his weekly visit. Out of all his duties, healing gave him the greatest satisfaction. Not only was it an opportunity to help his subjects, but also to meet them and learn about their joys and sorrows.
Dame Idril, a plump and pleasant faced woman in her middle years, who cared for many of the women and children, met him at the door, a troubled expression on her face. “I am glad you are here, my lord,” she said. “A woman was brought in with a high fever yesterday. She is very agitated and in great distress.”
“Athelas should help her,” said Aragorn and followed the woman in what had become a familiar routine as she ordered a servant to bring some hot water.
Within the hour, the sick woman was sleeping peacefully, her mind calmed and the fever abated by the athelas and Aragorn’s healing touch.
“Who else requires my help today?” Aragorn asked.
“Old Finnwyn is much troubled by painful ulcers on her legs, but I have no idea if she will see you or not,” said Idril. “She is quite a character!”
“Why not ask her?” Aragorn suggested.
He followed Idril to Finnwyn’s room and waited outside the door.
“No, it isn’t proper, having a man in my room, it isn’t!” shouted an old woman’s voice from within.
“He is the King and a great healer too,” Idril reasoned.
“Well, he’s still a man, and I am not having a man in my bedroom,” Finnwyn said firmly. “I’ll box his ears if dares come near my bed, king or not!”
Idril emerged from the room and closed the door behind her. ”I fear the lady says no,” she replied.
Aragorn smiled wryly. ”She is not the first patient to refuse my help, and it is her right. I will send you some Elven salves which should aid her.”
Just then, Aragorn’s friend and fellow healer, Aedred, appeared. ”Pardon me, Mistress Idril,” he said, “but the Warden would welcome the King’s help in treating a man with a badly fractured leg. Poppy juice is not easing his pain.”
Aragorn followed the Rohirric healer to a room where the Warden, Tarostar, was trying to set a broken limb. Two assistants held down the writhing and screaming patient. Aragorn hastened to the bedside and gripped the man’s hand, laying his other hand on the sweat soaked brow. ”Easy, now, easy!” he said in a compelling yet soothing tone. He then closed his eyes and held his hands a few inches about the injured leg.
The patient’s breathing eased as the pain lessened. “Thank you," he whispered. He managed a faint smile. Aragorn then sent him into a healing slumber while his injury was treated.
“Thank you, my lord,” said Tarostar. “It should be a simple matter to set the broken bone now.”
“There is another patient I will take you to see,” said Aedred. ”One Amras, who was until recently apprenticed to a carpenter until he was dismissed for idleness. He is troubled by pains in his limbs, which render him unable to walk, and none here can find the cause. Master Tarostar has examined him, as have I. You are our last hope of determining his malady!”
“I am certain if anything serious ailed him, you would have found it,” said Aragorn. ”Nevertheless, I will see what I can do.”
Amras started to moan quietly as Aragorn and Aedred entered the room, and when Aragorn examined him, he screamed louder than the patient with the broken leg. Aragorn held his hands a few inches above the man’s limbs and frowned at his findings. ”This is a strange malady indeed, Master Aedred,” he said, winking at the Rohirric healer. ”The only way we can help this poor fellow is to amputate all his limbs, which I suggest we do immediately!”
With a loud cry of alarm, Amras leapt from the bed and grabbed his clothes. Still wearing his nightshirt, he fled from the room.
Aedred burst out laughing. ”One of your most miraculous cures yet, my lord!” he chuckled. ”We suspected he was in search of free bed and board, but had no way of proving it!”
“I could sense his limbs were sound” said Aragorn and grinned. ”Of course he had no way of knowing that. I doubt he will trouble you again unless a genuine malady afflicts him! Now who else do you want me to see?”
“I think that is all for today as -” Aedred was unable to finish the sentence because he was interrupted by a servant telling him that a youth had been admitted.
“You are welcome to come with me if you have the time, my lord,” said the healer as he bustled off to see his next patient.
“I am always happy to assist you,” said Aragorn, easily outpacing his companion.
They found the boy, who appeared to be about seventeen years of age, lying on a bed looking rather pale and clutching his chest.
“What happened, lad?” Aragorn asked kindly.
“I went to visit my sweetheart and we were just exchanging a kiss.” The boy flashed scarlet.
“Only a kiss?” Aedred asked sternly.
“I swear it was, master,” said the boy. ”Her brother objected, though, as he came back from market at just the wrong moment. He punched me and I fell against a table.”
“Let me have a look and see what the damage is,” said Aragorn, while Aedred helped the unhappy boy to remove his tunic and shirt and covered him with a blanket. ”Now where does it hurt?”
“Here,” said the boy, gesturing to the ribs on his left side.
“I fear you have two cracked ribs, lad,” said Aragorn as he skilfully examined the youth. “I will ease your pain as best I can, but you will have to rest while they heal. And resting includes not visiting young ladies with protective brothers!”
“Yes, Master Healer,” said the boy who obviously did not recognise the King, though he looked puzzled when Aragorn eased his pain by holding his hands a few inches above the injury before applying a salve made from comfrey leaves.
“You can stay here overnight,” said Aedred. “You ought to be able to go home tomorrow. I will fetch you a nightshirt to wear.”
He left the room, accompanied by Aragorn.
“I think he will be well, but send for me if he has any difficulty breathing during the night,” said Aragorn.
“Injuries like this must seem very mundane for a healer who has healed the Black Breath and terrible battle wounds,” Aedred remarked.
“How much better things are, though,” said the King. “A few years ago, a boy of this age would be fighting orcs, I have seen far younger ones die among the Northern Dúnedain fighting for their lives and everything they hold dear. I would prefer by far to be tending the victims of love rather than war.”
A/N. This is an extended version of a ficlet written for the prompt” Bed” in the AA Group. A Tale of Telcontar.
I have not forgotten “Coastal Tales” and hope to resume them soon.
Chapter 26 - Hunting the Dragon
Hunting the Dragon
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.
With thanks to Raksha.
"Brave Beren killed the wicked monster, Carcharoth. They all lived happily ever afterwards,” Aragorn told his son.
“Truly?” asked Eldarion. “There were no more monsters in the kingdom?”
“Not one,” Aragorn said firmly. “It is time to sleep now, ion nîn. I will tell you another story tomorrow.” He bent and tucked the covers around the little boy.
“Where is Smaug?” Eldarion asked sleepily.
Aragorn glanced around the room. He could see no sign of Eldarion’s favourite toy. “Is he not in bed with you?” the King asked, feeling under the covers. There was only a wriggling small boy there. Aragorn sighed. Doubtless, the toy was on the floor under the bed. Dropping on his hands and knees, he prepared to investigate. He found a ball, some marbles, and a half eaten cake, not to mention a great deal of dust. Of Smaug there was no sign.
Sneezing, Aragorn got to his feet, determining to have a stern word with the maid who was supposed to clean Eldarion’s room each morning. “Smaug is not there,” he told his son. “You will have to sleep with another toy tonight. What about Shadowfax?” The King picked up Eldarion’s toy horse from a shelf as he spoke.
“I don’t want Shadowfax! I want Smaug!” Eldarion’s lower lip began to tremble.
“Don’t cry, ion nîn, ada will find him for you,” Aragorn said reassuringly, repressing an inner groan. Arwen was attending an important meeting of the Weavers Guild and he had blithely assured her that he could settle Eldarion to sleep before she returned. “Your nanny will sit with you for a while I find your toy,” Aragorn told his son after vainly searching the rest of the room.
After checking with the woman that she had not seen the toy, Aragorn went in search of his friend and Steward. Faramir was good at solving problems and would surely know what to do. The Steward was fortunately in the Citadel to attend a Council Meeting upon the morrow.
“I wondered if you might know, since you grew up in the City, which craftsman made Smaug?” Aragorn asked after telling his friend his dilemma. “I thought we could tell the man we urgently required another dragon.”
“Have you forgotten, mellon nîn, that the toy was a birthday gift for Eldarion from King Thranduil?” said Faramir.
Aragorn buried his face in his hands. He could hardly send a messenger to Eryn Lasgalen to return with a new toy that night.
“A toy dragon cannot have flown too far,” Faramir said hopefully. ”We will just have to hunt for it in all the places where Eldarion has been this day. The guards and servants can assist us.”
Soon Aragorn’s apartments were in an uproar as every cushion was moved, every chair looked under, and every cupboard turned out. The cook even looked in the ovens, while the Master of Hounds searched the kennels. High and low they searched, but there was no sign of Smaug.
“Whatever is going on?” Arwen answered, entering with two of her ladies.
“Eldarion has lost his favourite toy, vanimelda, and cannot go to sleep without it!” Aragorn explained. “We have hunted everywhere in vain!”
“Have you tried the Great Hall?” asked Arwen.
“Eldarion does not go in there!” Aragorn protested.
“Don’t you remember anything?” chided the Queen. “I brought him in to see you in your crown and robes this morning after you had judged the prisoners.”
“Of course!” said Aragorn. ”I have had such a busy day that this morning's judgments seemed to have passed a long time ago!”
King, Queen and Steward made their way to the Great Hall. There on the throne, grinning at them with finely carved jaws, sat Smaug.
Aragorn grabbed the toy and bore it in triumph to his son’s bedchamber only to find the child sleeping peacefully with his chubby fingers clasped around Shadowfax.
“I gave Master Eldarion his toy horse and told him to go to sleep,” said the nanny in reply to Aragorn’s query. “Good as gold, he was!”
King and Queen exchanged a rueful glance before placing Smaug on the bed and tiptoeing from the room.
“Eldarion was fast asleep clutching his toy horse!” Aragorn informed Faramir who was waiting outside. “Thank you for helping me search for Smaug.”
“I know how much a favourite toy means to a child,” said Faramir. “ I truly loved my wooden horse and a brightly covered picture book when I was Eldarion’s age.”
“I had a set of carved Elven warriors that I would play with until the colours wore away,” said Aragorn. “And then there was my favourite wooden sword....”
“Come and join us for dinner, Faramir,” said Arwen. “You can both tell me more about your favourite toys while we eat.”
“An excellent suggestion,” smiled Aragorn and after we have eaten I must show you the latest books I have acquired for the royal library."
Faramir’s eyes lit up with childlike joy.
Arwen suppressed a smile. It seemed that little boys never truly grew up.
A/N This is a longer version of a ficlet originally written for the AA Prompt. “Hunt”
This ficlet is complete in itself, but will be continued with a companion story.
A Tale of Telcontar.
Chapter 27 - The Silver Tree
The Silver Tree
The characters are the property of the Tolkien estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
Sleep was slow to come to Faramir. His heart still ached for the loss of his brother and because of the manner of his father’s death. Many good things had happened too; the coming of the King, his love for the Lady Éowyn; the defeat of the Dark Lord, and his own rescue from the Shadow, but when he was in his room late at night, alone in the silence and darkness, sometimes his mind was troubled by all that had happened within the past months.
Inwardly berating himself for his low spirits, Faramir decided that the best remedy for brooding was to be found in work. He rose from his bed, lit the candles and pulled on a shirt and breeches, then settled down at the small desk in the corner of his chamber to study a report concerning repairing the main gate of the City.
A tap came at his door, so softly at first, that Faramir thought he had imagined it. Then again, louder, accompanied by the sound of someone softly calling his name.
Faramir went to the door and opened it. To his amazement the King stood on the threshold, holding a lantern.
“My lord!” Faramir exclaimed, bowing low. “How might I be of service?”
“There is no need for such formality, Faramir.” The King smiled. “I trust I did not disturb your rest? I saw your candle burning and hoped you were awake. I should like to show you something, if you would care to come with me. Bring your cloak, the night air is quite chill.”
”Of course, my lord.”
Faramir hastily snatched up his cloak and blew out the candles. He followed the King as they softly made their way through the almost deserted corridors, nodding a greeting to the guards on duty.
Once they were outside, it was almost as bright as day in the clear moonlight. Earlier rain had left the air fresh and clean and faintly perfumed with spring blossoms. It was the kind of night that poets sang about.
Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted seeking her mate.
“Come!” said Aragorn leading the way towards the Court of the Fountain. “I came out earlier for a breath of air and saw this. It is too fair to keep to myself, and I thought at once, that you were the man most likely to appreciate it.”
He hurried ahead with great long strides, which the Steward, still recovering from his wounds, found hard to keep up with. He understood now why the Hobbits referred to the King as Strider. Their footsteps echoed on the flagstones.
Aragorn paused and waited for the younger man to catch up. “I am sorry,” he said contritely. “Sometimes I forget I am no longer alone in the wilds!”
Faramir could think of no reply. He still did not quite know what to make of his new lord. Already he loved and admired him, but the King also baffled him at times.
“Look!” said Aragorn as they rounded a bend. He stopped and gazed upwards.
Faramir followed his gaze and gasped in awe. The new White Tree had blossomed the day before. Faramir had thought that one of the fairest sights he had ever seen when the flowers, bathed in the fountain’s droplets, sparkled in the sun. But the moonlit tree looked not only beautiful, but also truly enchanted. The white blooms had turned to silver and seemed to glow against the midnight sky. “Surely Nimloth itself could not have looked fairer!” he exclaimed.
“I thought you would enjoy seeing our new White Tree thus,” said Aragorn. He gripped Faramir’s shoulder.
The Steward felt a surge of warmth and healing, not only for himself, but his beloved land, already beginning to blossom beneath the Returned King’s touch.
A/N
Verily this is a sapling of the line of Nimloth the fair; and that was a seedling of Galathilion, and that a fruit of Telperion of many names,
And Aragorn planted the new tree in the court by the fountain, and swiftly and gladly it began to grow; and when the month of June entered in it was laden with blossom. – Tolkien
A sequel to my story “The White Tree”. A Tale of Telcontar written for the LOTRGFIC Challenge “Out on a Limb” .
Chapter 28 - Waters of Life
By the waters of Life we sat together,
Hand in hand, in the golden days
Of the beautiful early summer weather,
When skies were purple and breath was praise – Thomas Noel 1799-1861
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain
With grateful thanks to Raksha for her help
A gift for Julia
This is where I found the stream, my lady, just up here,” Faramir explained.
Aragorn smiled at the Steward and took his wife’s hand, helping her up the steep slope. He had long desired to show her the hidden lake, Faramir’s discovery of which had restored both King and Steward in body and soul.
Today was the anniversary of the King and Queen‘s marriage and together with their Steward; they were taking a rare break from their duties and exploring the slopes of Mount Mindolluin. Arwen had finally decided that now Eldarion was fully weaned, he was old enough to be left for a full day in the care of his nurse.
Arwen gazed upon the stream in delight. Its clear waters sparkled like diamonds in the June sunlight. “It reminds me of fair Nimrodel!” she said. Kneeling beside it, she cupped her hands and drank deeply.” Never before have I tasted water so sweet outside of the Elven realms!” she exclaimed in delight. “It would further gladden my heart to see the lake from whence this stream flows.”
“I will lead you up the mountain to it, beloved,” said Aragorn, smiling at his wife’s obvious delight.
“I will await you here,” Faramir announced.
“You are welcome to join us, mellon nîn,” said Aragorn. “We do not plan to go swimming, so you need not worry about respecting the Queen’s privacy.”
Although Arwen could swim, she did not especially enjoy it, unlike the two men. The King was secretly relieved. He feared disrobing here to go swimming in the lake with his beautiful wife might arouse feelings, which would be far better suited for their bedchamber than for this hallowed place.
“I would rather stay here and admire the view,” said Faramir. "I am not especially partial to climbing mountains.”
Aragorn smiled at him gratefully, acknowledging his tact. He had wanted Faramir to come with them, feeling it was only fitting that the Steward should show Arwen the stream he had discovered. Yet he yearned to be alone with his wife when he showed her this special place.
“We will return soon, farewell for a while.” Patting his friend on the shoulder, Aragorn took his leave of the Steward and offered his wife his arm to escort her up the mountainside.
Arwen’s Elven grace made her surer of foot than her husband. Soon it was she who guided and aided him as they toiled up the steepest part of the path.
Aragorn became slightly apprehensive as they rounded the final bend. Was the lake truly as beautiful as he recalled? Sometimes, it seemed almost like a dream, the short time he had spent there with Faramir and experienced the nearness and the blessings of the One.
“Let me go first now.” He tightly gripped Arwen’s hand. Together they emerged onto the plateau.
His fears were groundless. If anything, the mountain lake was even fairer than when he had first beheld it. The clear blue sky reflected in the peaceful waters, while an air of wondrous tranquillity pervaded the atmosphere. The scent of fair blossoms perfumed the air while graceful butterflies danced amidst the flowers. Even the birds sang more sweetly here. Graceful swans glided across the lake’s surface while the breeze rippled the flowers and grasses that grew along the verdant shores.
“Estel!” Arwen’s beautiful eyes sparkled with sheer joy. “This place is wondrous fair! See, here is the niphedil you told me of!” She knelt on the grass and tenderly caressed the fair white blossoms. For a moment her eyes filled with tears at the memories of the parents who had taught her to love these blooms and the grandmother in whose now deserted realm they grew so freely.
“Arwen!” Aragorn knelt beside her and tenderly stroked her hair. “I did not realize that such sights would make you homesick. Maybe I should not have brought you here. Forgive me!”
“There is no need, Estel. Home is where you are at my side,” she assured him fervently. “And how can this not be my home since the flowers that bloomed for my foremother rise up to greet me! I will not swim, but I would taste the water.” Thus saying, she pulled off her shoes and stockings and waded into the shallows, lifting the hem of her gown free of the water. She laughed joyfully as the waves rippled over her bare feet.
Aragorn hastily shed his own footwear and rolled up his breeches to his knees. He joined her. Hand in hand, they encircled the lake. The birdsong grew ever more rapturous.
“The birds offer me sweet music!” she exclaimed, “I must dance!”
Aragorn sat on the bank and watched her, enthralled. Her graceful form seemed almost to float above the grass. Her beauty and charm had not dimmed since that long ago day when he had first glimpsed her amongst the birches at Rivendell. In his eyes, marriage and motherhood had enhanced her loveliness even more.
Her voice soared in an ancient lay, more rapturous than the nightingale.
No longer content merely to watch, Aragorn joined her, though he felt clumsy by comparison. Her soft cheek caressed his and memories flooded back of the time they had spent together in Lothlórien. Her song was filled with an ecstasy he had not heard since those long vanished days of bliss when they had trodden barefoot on Cerin Amroth.
Wearied at last, they sank together on the bank and Aragorn took her tenderly in his arms and kissed her. "Vanimelda, how I love you!” he exclaimed.
“I love you more with each day that passes, Estel!” she told him, returning his kiss. How she delighted to feel his strong arms around her!
They knew not for how long they tarried there, savouring each other’s nearness and exchanging tender kisses.
Suddenly, the breeze ceased and the birds fell silent. It were as if all nature held her breath in eager anticipation.
Arwen grasped her husband’s hand tightly, sensing they were no longer alone, but in the highest Presence of all. The One was there, and they were a part of something so immense that no words could ever describe it. They were blessed by that Presence, telling them they were, and ever would be, the Children of Eru, granted an especial grace throughout eternity.
Arwen sensed yet another blessing; new life was stirring within her.
King and Queen rose to their feet and reverently bowed their heads.
Hand in hand they descended the mountainside to rejoin Faramir, the light still shining in their eyes.
Chapter 29 - A Gift For Faramir
Summary: Faramir receives an unexpected gift.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. The story was written for pleasure not profit.
With grateful thanks to Raksha.
The crisp autumn leaves crackled under Faramir’s booted feet. He smiled at the memories the sound evoked: the glad days of childhood, when he and Boromir ran and played together. ’Twas a pity that he was now too old for childish games! He was only snatching this brief respite in the crisp air because the preparations for the King’s return were making his head ache after a very busy morning.
Aragorn had been spending some time at Legolas’ Elven domain together with his Queen and his foster brothers. He had sent a message that he would call on Faramir and Éowyn on his way back to Minas Tirith. It would be good to see his lord and friend again, Faramir thought contentedly. The King had only been gone for two weeks, but Faramir had missed his companionship and their regular debates over lore and history, a subject dear to the hearts of both men.
Faramir stood looking over his lands. The fields had yielded a rich harvest and now lay fallow until the spring planting. The trees, so green in summer, now bore varied brilliant hues of orange, gold and bronze. Even all these years after the defeat of the Dark Lord, Faramir never failed to appreciate the beauty of the land at peace and give thanks for it.
The sound of leaves crackling behind him made Faramir start. Whoever could be there? He had told his guards that he wished to take a solitary walk. Faramir spun round, his hand upon his sword. There, much to his surprise stood Aragorn. And the King was not alone either. Aragorn bore a wriggling hound pup clasped tightly in his arms.
“Well met, my friend!” Aragorn exclaimed. “I would embrace you, but as you see, my arms are rather full!”
“It is good to see you!” Faramir replied. “Forgive me, but I did not expect you until later. Éowyn is preparing a feast in your honour.” He moved forward to clasp his lord’s shoulder in greeting, and then held out his hand for the puppy to inspect. Faramir, accustomed to both the slender greyhounds of Dol Amroth and the larger, shaggier wolf-killers of the Mark, looked appreciatively on the animal. The pup was very young but would be quite big in maturity, with a good bone structure, a short and smooth grey coat, and soft eyes that fixed on his. The pup sniffed Faramir’s fingertips and began to enthusiastically lick his fingers, then his palm. “Quite a fine puppy!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “What is its name?”
“That is for you to decide, my friend,” said Aragorn. “Elladan and Elrohir have been breeding hounds from a pair that Master Elrond left behind for them. Some say they are descended from Huan himself, though their true ancestry is long lost in the mists of time. I have seen many a fine hound, but the Rivendell breed are the most loyal, intelligent dogs that ever I have known. Not only do they track all manner of dangerous creatures, but they are both the guards and playmates of children. ”
“This is a wondrous gift indeed!” said Faramir. His face was alight with joy.
“No Man deserves him more,” said Aragorn. “I could not wish for a better Steward, or a more loyal and loving friend.” He handed the pup to Faramir as he spoke. The little creature nosed and licked the Steward’s face before settling contentedly in his arms.
Later that night Faramir and Éowyn sat together on the sofa in front of a roaring fire. The children were all tucked up in bed asleep while the King and Queen and their family had departed for the City. The Lord and Lady of Ithilien sat quietly, enjoying each other’s company in the hour before bed. The puppy lay stretched across both their laps, his head pillowed in the crook of Faramir’s arm, while a gently wagging tail rewarded Éowyn’s caresses of the little creature’s flank.
“He is almost as good a gift as a horse,” Éowyn mused. “The other hounds seem to have quickly taken to him. You are a lucky man, Faramir!”
“I believe I am the most fortunate man alive,” Faramir replied planting a tender kiss on her lips. “I am blessed with you and our children; I have the best of lords, our land prospers, and now I even have an Elven hound! Could any other man be as glad as I am?”
Faramir was about to say more, but was silenced by the puppy licking his face. Its eagerly wagging tail brushed across Éowyn’s cheek. It seemed the latest addition to the family would be as contented as its lord and lady.
A/N. This story was written as a birthday gift for Raksha then revised and entered for the Teitho Contest where it was placed third.
Chapter 30 - Before it was Broken
Title: Before it was Broken
Rating: G
Theme: Letters
Elements: Thank you letter
Beta: Raksha and Virtuella. With grateful thanks.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Arwen could delay the dreaded task no longer. Eldarion was asleep, watched over by his nurse, Estel was at a meeting of the Council, she had no engagements that morning, and for once, no one was desiring an audience with the Queen of Gondor and Arnor.
Sighing, Arwen sat down at her desk and dipped the quill in the ink. She had told Estel of her dilemma over breakfast that morning, but her husband had simply laughed. “It cannot be that bad,” he had said. “A simple note of thanks will suffice.”
“But the Peredhil do not lie!” Arwen had protested. “It is truly hideous! Yet, I would not hurt the feelings of two kind and well meaning friends.”
“You excel at diplomatic skills,” Estel had assured her. Then with a kiss on her cheek and another on Eldarion’s dark curls, he was gone, leaving Arwen with the object of her nightmares.
The Queen studied the vase again. 'Hideous' was only one way to describe it. 'Garish' would be an equally apt description. About a foot tall, the vase was decorated with a clashing array of purple irises and yellow tulips, far too lavishly embellished with thick bands of gold leaf, under the rim and at the base, which overshadowed the flowers and made it glitter so brightly that it would hurt sensitive eyes to look upon it for long. Estel had told her that gold was highly prized in Southron lands .which meant that the ugly vase was a gift betokening great respect. This only added to Arwen’s dilemma. She must thank Lord Tahir and Lady Adiva properly, but how could she without lying?
Her eyes wandered across the room to where a beautiful vase of silver, inlaid with pearl, stood holding a few sprigs of evergreens. The cherished heirloom, which had belonged to her grandmother, was exactly what a vase should look like, elegant and understated, so that the eye was drawn to the greenery or flowers and not the container they stood in.
But then, the Elves had dwelled for centuries in temperate climes where abundant flowers and foliage flourished, unlike the Ambassador from Harad and his lady.
Arwen took a deep breath and began to write
My dear Lord Tahir and Lady Adiva,
It was kind of you to think of us this Mettarë
That much at least was true; the Haradrim had no similar festival, their desert clime having little variation in seasons or length of days.
How thoughtful that you should remember how much I love flowers.
Another sincere sentiment, Lady Adiva had noticed that the Queen’s sitting room was never without a vase of whatever flowers were in season. She was not to know that of all flowers Arwen liked irises and tulips the least, considering them stiff and formal. Tulips originated in Harad and were much prized there as a rarity that flourished only in the cooler highland regions. Irises, too grew in the region, and as for the hue, Arwen made no secret that purple was a favourite shade of hers. Who was to know that she much preferred the humble violet to the haughty iris?
I will think of you both whenever I behold your kind gift.
Arwen paused. Much as she would like to, she could hardly consign the vase to the back of a cupboard, or donate it to be sold for the poor. Tahir and Adiva were fairly regular visitors. But the thought of using such a monstrosity to display flowers when she had such beautiful vases made her cringe!
“Naneth!” A miniature whirlwind burst through the slightly open door as Eldarion toddled towards his mother.
“My apologies, my lady, I could not catch him!” the breathless nursemaid gasped as she vainly pursued her charge.
“He can stay with me for a while. He is almost due to be fed.” Arwen dismissed the girl with a smile. She handed her son one of the quills off her desk to play with. His chubby little legs exhausted, Eldarion started to crawl around the floor, brandishing the quill in a manner reminiscent of the way his father held Andúril.
Arwen returned to contemplating her letter, but something, maybe a mother’s instinct, caused her to look up after a few moments. Eldarion had crawled towards the table where the precious pearl inlaid silver vase stood and was about to pull off the cloth.
“No, Eldarion!” Arwen cried sternly, leaping to her feet. Reaching a decision, she called for her maid.
An hour later, and after a full and sleepy Eldarion had been returned to the nursery, Arwen returned to writing her letter. On the table a vase full of greenery still stood, but instead of her cherished heirloom, it was the gift of the Harad Ambassador and his wife. Better that she should endure this monstrosity for a time in order to still enjoy something of nature that meant so much to her kind, rather than have Eldarion shatter the heirloom that had been cherished in her family for centuries.
She picked up the quill and concluded.
The vase will most useful for my sitting room, as I love to always have flowers about me. It was just what I needed this winter.
I hope you will both visit us very soon and look forward to seeing you and hearing all the latest news about your children. Maybe your youngest would like to play with Eldarion?
Arwen smiled as she signed and sealed the letter. Maybe as a mother of five, Adiva knew that treasured processions had to be locked out of the way of lively young children and had considered something that she had not?
‘Perhaps the vase was not such a hideous gift after all?’ Arwen mused. And was not an even greater gift that former enemies could now be good friends? She gave the letter to a servant to deliver, inwardly congratulating herself that every word was true!
A/N
This story is a prequel to “The Vase that was Broken”
http://lindahoyland.yolasite.com/the-vase-that-was-broken.php
Arwen’s favourite vase is mentioned in “A Time to Reap” chapter 4.
http://lindahoyland.yolasite.com/a-time-to-reap.php
Lord Tahir and Lady Adiva appear in “Dies Irae”
http://lindahoyland.yolasite.com/dies-irae.php
Written for the LOTR Community March Challenge - Letters.
Chapter 31 - Be fruitful and multiply
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No Profit will be made.
And God said unto him, I am God Almighty: be fruitful and multiply; a nation and a company of nations shall be of thee, and kings shall come out of thy loins; The Bible - Genesis 35.11
With grateful thanks to Deandra
By any standards the chamber was magnificent. Fine tapestries and paintings covered the walls; a carpet woven with the motive of the White Tree covered the floor. Thickly cushioned, comfortable chairs were arranged round the room, while many priceless and beautiful ornaments adorned the room.
To the three man pacing across the floor, they might have been in a prison or a wretched hovel for all the attention they paid to their surroundings.
"She is too young," Faramir said grimly.
"My mother was even younger when I was born," said Aragorn.
"Those were dangerous times and Lord Arathorn needed an heir," Faramir replied. "Even so, Lady Gilraen's father objected!"
"As do all fathers when their daughters marry, I believe," said Eldarion, trying to appear older than his twenty-two years.
"I welcomed your union with my daughter," Faramir protested. "She is just too young to be a mother yet! Now, I was seven and thirty before I married. "
"Elestelle desired to be wed as soon as we came of age as much as I did!" Eldarion retorted. "And we both eagerly desired a child of our own as soon as the Valar would grant us one."
A loud scream, followed by a woman shouting "I will kill him!" came from the adjoining chamber, stopping all three men in their tracks. Faramir looked as if he might be about to throttle Eldarion until Aragorn stepped between them.
"Peace!" said Aragorn, laying a hand on each of the younger men's shoulders, both to comfort and restrain. "Elestelle is young and strong, and has the best of care; all will be well."
"You would not be so calm if it were your daughter!" Faramir protested. "It is all very well for you to be so cheerful!"
"And what makes you think I am calm now, mellon nîn?" Aragorn said, his voice gentle. "Elestelle is as a daughter to me too."
"I know. It is just..."Faramir slumped wearily onto the couch. Eldarion continued to pace restlessly.
"The waiting seems endless." Aragorn finished the Steward's sentence as he sat down beside him. The two men smiled understandingly at one another. They had supported one another on many occasions such as this before.
"It has been twelve hours already!" Eldarion fretted. "Surely that is too long?"
"You took almost a day and a night to be born," his father informed him. "First babies tend to take their time to arrive!"
"I cannot endure much longer of this waiting!" said Eldarion approaching the door as if desiring to charge through it, then changing his mind.
"Young men are so impatient these days!" Faramir remarked.
"I recall a certain young man, who the morning after his daughter was born, could hardly wait to see her again," said Aragorn.
"It only seems like yesterday," Faramir said rather wistfully.
"I remember the first time Eldarion and Elestelle played with one another," said Aragorn. "He stuck out his tongue at her, before pulling her hair!"
"Adar, please!" Eldarion protested.
An ear-piercing scream rent the air. Then everything went silent.
The three men froze as if turned to statues. Then a child's cry pierced the stillness.
The door opened a narrow crack and Arwen's head appeared. "You have a healthy son, ion nîn!" she announced, smiling broadly at her firstborn.
"And Elestelle?" Eldarion enquired anxiously.
"She is well too. You will see them soon." Arwen's head disappeared and the door closed firmly behind her.
"I am a father!" Eldarion whispered, a look of awe on his face as the news sank in. His features relaxed and he beamed from ear to ear. The new father and the two grandfathers hugged one another delightedly. "I have a son to take out riding with me! We shall go on long camping trips together and I will teach him to hunt and fish and...."
"The babe has not even partaken of his first meal yet!" Aragorn chuckled. "He needs to walk before he can ride! As he is old enough, though, I am looking forward to teaching him some of my old Ranger skills."
"We can take him to my old Ranger haunts," said Faramir. "We will watch the sun go down over Henneth Annûn."
The two older men became so engrossed in their plans for their grandson that they started when Éowyn announced that the new father could see his wife and son. Aragorn and Faramir made to follow. "You must wait here," she said sternly. "Elestelle will not want any save her husband in her chamber. "Seeing the older men's crestfallen looks, she added." Maybe you can see them tomorrow."
"You never change," Faramir said somewhat ruefully. "You are still my fierce Shield maiden!"
"My grey hairs tell a different story!" Éowyn retorted with a wry smile, shepherding the new father inside the chamber and closing the door firmly behind them.
Aragorn and Faramir slumped dejectedly onto the couch. "It is bad enough waiting for a child to arrive, but then not being permitted to see it!" Aragorn lamented.
"The proprieties have to be observed," said Faramir, trying to cheer himself up. "Maybe Éowyn will bring the lad out to see us for a moment."
"New mothers dislike being parted from their young even for a moment," Aragorn pointed out.
"Elestelle will need to sleep soon," Faramir said hopefully. "Maybe we can see the babe then?"
The door opened and a jubilant looking Eldarion emerged. "Adar, Uncle Faramir, come and meet my son!" he cried.
Joyfully, the two grandfathers followed him inside. Elestelle, wrapped in a fine velvet robe, was sitting up in bed clutching a small, shawl wrapped bundle in her arms. "How do you like your grandson?" she asked, smiling and pulling the shawl aside to reveal the most beautiful baby either man had seen, at least since the birth of their own children. The infant's head was covered with a fuzz of dark hair and he stared at them with as yet unfocussed blue- grey eyes. Perfect tiny fists uncurled and seemed to reach out towards them.
The hearts of the King and his Steward swelled with pride. Faramir wondered whatever his father would have thought, that a child of his line should be kindred to his most hated rival; a man who had turned out to be a far more loving father to Faramir than his own sire ever was. Boromir would have been pleased, he was certain, that a scion of their house should be destined to one day to wear the Silver Crown.
The King laid a gentle hand upon the infant's head. "Be thou blessed!" he said solemnly. "He is a fair child indeed," he told Elestelle, kissing her lightly on the brow. "Today is a glorious day, not only for us, but for all the peoples of the Reunited Kingdom!"
Aragorn choked back a tear. This was not just their grandchild, but also the heir to the throne of Gondor and Arnor. The line of Kings would not be broken. In this child, flowed not only the blood of Lúthien and Elendil, but also that of the great House of Húrin, loyal guardians of Gondor for almost a thousand years. It was fitting indeed that in a single child, the two ruling houses were made one, and a scion of both would one day sit upon the throne.
A/N I wrote this story a while back for a LOTR GFIC Group Challenge, but somehow overlooked posting it here.
My recent double drabble "Love at First Sight" explores Aragorn's thoughts about his grandson in more detail.
Chapter 32 - A Sting in the Tale
Title : A Sting in the Tale.
Summary: Eldarion plays a prank with disastrous consequences.
Disclaimer: The characters, places, and recognizable events mentioned belong to Tolkien. This story is written only for entertainment.
Rating: PG
A Sting in the Tale
Eldarion had decided that he did not like Uncle Faramir. The Steward was so dull and sedate. He was usually to be found discussing what the grown ups called “affairs of state” with Eldarion’s ada when the little boy wanted to play. He was not even Eldarion’s real uncle, just a dull grown up who happened to be his ada’s best friend. Worst of all, tomorrow Uncle Faramir was going fishing with the King. Eldarion had begged to be allowed to accompany them, but his ada said he was not old enough. Sometimes ada and Uncle Faramir would stay away for days on end. His naneth had told Eldarion that it was because they both used to be Rangers and needed to go out into the wilds sometimes, but Eldarion did not like it all. Even his naneth was very busy nowadays with his new baby sister. Eldarion did not like babies any better than he liked Uncle Faramir!
If that was not bad enough, Eldarion had so hoped that when his ada had returned early from the council Chamber that they could play this afternoon, but before he could even ask his ada for a game of ‘hide and seek’ Uncle Faramir had arrived and Eldarion had been sent outside to entertain himself. Again, the Steward had taken his ada from him!
At least he had the company of two boys near his own age today, sons of his ada’s guards. They did not know any stories, though, or how to track a squirrel through the gardens, or how to imitate a birdcall. It was even dull playing “hide and seek’ with them as they were too easy to find. When Eldarion played with his ada, the King seemed able to vanish into thin air!
It was a warm afternoon and the nursemaid was drowsing in the shade of a vast oak, leaving the three boys to their own devices.
It seemed the oppressive heat was even affecting the King and his Steward. Eldarion saw the two men come outside in their shirtsleeves, so engaged in earnest conversation that they hardly noticed the admiring stares of two of the lads and the sullen glare of the third.
Eldarion tried vainly to catch his ada’s eye, but the King never noticed his son and soon went back indoors, leaving his Steward sitting on a bench perusing a sheaf of papers.
“I hate him!” Eldarion exclaimed vehemently after the King closed the door and once he was certain that he and his playmates were out of earshot.
“Who?” enquired Hador, the eldest son of one of Aragorn’s captains.
“The Steward!” snapped Eldarion.
“Lord Faramir?” The other boy sounded shocked. “But he is a good man and a great war hero!”
“He is so dull,” Eldarion insisted. “And he didn’t ride out to defeat the Dark Uncle like my ada!”
“He was brave enough not to run away from the Witch King,” said Hador. “My ada said his courage saved most of his men.”
“His wife killed the Witch King,” Eldarion said scornfully, “and the dragon creature he rode. Uncle Faramir just ran away from them!”
“I still think he is brave,” said the boy, then seeing the look on Eldarion’s face added hastily. “But your ada is the bravest hero of all.”
“Let’s play something,” said Valandil, a tousle headed boy, the son of a sergeant in Aragorn’s Guard.
“We can’t play ball or hide and seek or she’ll wake up,” said Eldarion glancing towards his nurse.
The three ambled along the path leading to the herb garden, which was left to grow somewhat wild, the better to encourage such medicinal herbs as nettle and dandelion to thrive.
Valandil’s eyes lit up when he caught site of a large clump of herbs on the far side of the nettle patch. “Will anyone notice if we pick some of this?” he enquired.
Eldarion shook his head. “It is only goose grass. Ada keeps some to treat people who are hurt with it, but he says comfrey works better usually.”
“We can play cleaver’s tag with it,” said Valandil. “I try to hit you without you knowing and see how long it will stick to your clothes.”
The three boys were soon chasing one another around and hurling sprigs of the plant at each other until their tunics and breeches were quite covered in the leaves.
“Someone’s coming!” Eldarion warned, his hearing sharper than that of his fellows. “Shush, or nurse will make us go back inside.”
It was not the nurse who appeared from round the corner though, but Uncle Faramir. The Steward now wore his customary black tunic and breeches and was attired as if for a meeting. He carried his cloak across his arm. Eldarion knew that his ada sometimes took a shortcut this way, as there was a gate in the wall directly opposite the Court of the Fountain. A sudden idea struck Eldarion. He could make the ever so dull and serious Uncle Faramir look ridiculous. It would serve him right for taking so much of the King’s time. Hiding in the bushes he took a handful of the sprigs of cleavers and prepared to take aim.
“No!” whispered Hador urgently.
“Why not?” Eldarion retorted in a whisper.
“We’ll get into trouble,” Hador replied.
“We won’t as he’ll never know it was us!” As Faramir rounded the bend, Eldarion took aim and landed the handful of sprigs in the middle of his back. The Steward immediately stopped in his tracks and looked around him.
Eldarion heard rustling as his two companions made themselves scarce. Suddenly afraid, he started to run. If his ada found out he would be angry and disappointed with him for being so disrespectful to Uncle Faramir. Uncle Faramir would be angry too, and hurt that Eldarion should play such a prank upon him.
The little boy ran like the wind, dodging around the trees and bushes in the overgrown garden. He could hear Uncle Faramir behind him in hot pursuit. Suddenly his foot caught on a root and he stumbled. Unhurt, Eldarion scrambled to his feet. Then a sharp pain pierced his arm and the sound of loud buzzing reverberated in his ears. He had tripped over a wasps’ nest!
“Come, Eldarion, I will not let them hurt you.”
Strong arms seized the frightened boy and pressed his face across his broad chest. A cloak was flung over his head. Eldarion had no idea Uncle Faramir could run so fast. Even so, he was frightened, as the buzzing grew louder. He felt another sharp pain, this time on his hand. He could hear other voices now. A door opened and he was thrust inside. The door closed again.
Terrified, Eldarion realised he was in a summerhouse. He looked out of the window. The wasps were buzzing around Uncle Faramir still. The Steward ran towards Eldarion’s naneth’s fishpond and jumped in. A few minutes later he emerged, dripping and covered in pondweed. Worse than that, his face looked red and swollen. Eldarion suddenly felt ashamed and started to cry. He didn’t like Uncle Faramir, but he didn’t want him to get hurt. His own arm and hand throbbed painfully. The Steward stumbled. Two guards who had rushed to the scene of the commotion hastened to help him. Then his ada appeared and hurried to Uncle Faramir’s side. Eldarion knew his ada was going to be very angry with him. The King was scary on the rare occasions his fury was unleashed.
A moment later the summerhouse door opened and his ada called to him. “Are you hurt, Eldarion?”
Before the little boy could answer Uncle Faramir replied, “He was stung. You should tend his hurts first.”
“Where?” the King demanded, his voice anxious.
Eldarion held out his throbbing arm and hand for his sire’s inspection.
“Some vinegar will soon ease that,” said Aragorn. “Captain, will you carry him? Take him to my study. His naneth is, alas, at a meeting. Where is his nurse?”
“She collapsed with hysterics when she saw the wasps,” the Captain said glumly.
“Women!”
The bedraggled procession soon arrived at the King’s study. Servants were waiting with hot water, towels, blankets, and a flask of vinegar. Aragorn told them where he wanted everything and then dismissed them. He spread a towel on the couch and helped Uncle Faramir sit down. The Captain put Eldarion down on a chair and Aragorn hastened to his side.
The King started to clean the two small red wounds on Eldarion’s hand and arm. The boy noticed that his ada looked old and drawn. “Never go near a wasp’s nest again!” Aragorn chided. “I shudder to think what could have happened had Uncle Faramir not been nearby! There, some vinegar should ease the stinging. You are lucky that wasps rarely leave their stings behind, unlike bees. How did this happen?”
Eldarion swallowed hard.
“We were playing a game,” Uncle Faramir suddenly said from across the room. The Steward was struggling to remove his sodden tunic. His eyes met Eldarion’s and they locked briefly. Aragorn raised his eyebrows quizzically. The Steward then exchanged a look with Eldarion’s ada that the boy did not understand. “I see,” the King said. “Now, son, you will have to wait for the stinging to go away. Tell me at once if it gets worse.” He tenderly wiped the tears from the little boy’s face.
“Yes, ada.”
Aragorn pressed a light kiss on Eldarion’s brow then turned his attention to Uncle Faramir, helping him to finish undressing and swathing him in towels and blankets. The Steward seemed to be covered with stings over much of his arms, face and neck. He made no complaint as the King, kneeling beside the couch, cleaned the stings and dabbed them with vinegar. Aragorn’s face was grave as he tended his Steward.
Forgotten, Eldarion sank into the chair, trying to make himself invisible. Uncle Faramir was so brave. He had not cried at all, unlike Eldarion, and his stings must be very sore indeed! The boy realised that he did not hate Uncle Faramir after all. He was just cross that he took up so much of his ada’s attention. In fact he would not mind being like him when he grew up, if he were not like his adored ada.
“I will send for some ice, mellon nîn,” said Aragorn, rising from his kneeling position. “It might ease you.” He went outside to summon a servant.
Eldarion raised his head. ”I am sorry,” he said.
“You did not know the consequences of your foolish prank,” said Faramir. “I am certain you will have learned your lesson and will be more careful of the wasps in the future.”
“I promise,” said the boy. “I’ll not go near the nasty creatures again, nor play silly pranks on you."
"Wasps are useful creatures,” Uncle Faramir said gravely. "If you respect them and leave them alone in future, they will not hurt you again."
"I will do my best," said Eldarion.
“I know it upsets you that I spend a lot of time with your ada,” said Uncle Faramir. “My duties demand that I do, and he is not only my Uncle, but also my friend. Not only that, but I owe him my life, as much as you do, albeit in a very different fashion. He is your sire and my renewer, which you will understand when you are older. I think, though, that you will soon be old enough to accompany us when we go fishing. I know your ada is looking forward to when he can take you.”
“Truly?” Eldarion’s eyes lit up.
“I should like us to be friends again,” said Uncle Faramir.
Eldarion hung his head recalling all the stories Uncle Faramir had told him, and the games they had played when he was little, before he had decided that he didn’t like the Steward. “Yes, please,” he whispered. It felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his heart.
A/n. A slightly different version of this was written for the April Teitho Contest “Pranks” where it was placed second. You can see the lovely banner I received on my website
http://lindahoyland.yolasite.com/a-sting-in-the-tale.php
The events take place a few months before “A Hunting we will Go.”
Chapter 33 - The Family Tree
With grateful thanks to Virtuella for editing and to Larner for the plot idea.
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain
Spring was slipping into summer, and the days were growing longer. The White Tree was in full leaf and already the first buds had appeared.
Eldarion and his little sister played together in the Court of the Fountain, fondly watched over by their mother, who had taken her embroidery outside. It was early evening, almost bedtime for the children. The Queen enjoyed this time of day when the bustle of the City had ceased and she could hear the birds singing.
The guards moved a discreet distance away, eager to give the royal family some privacy, while still seeing they were protected from harm.
"I climbed a tree in the garden today," Eldarion boasted to his sister.
"You didn't!"
"Yes, I did. I can climb any tree!"
"You can't!"
"I can!"
Eldarion glanced at his mother, who was bent over her embroidery. She frowned at the complex pattern in deep concentration. He then looked at the White Tree. He knew it was a special tree, but it looked sturdy enough to climb and it was the only tree in the courtyard.
"I'll show you!" He jumped over the low fence that surrounded the tree and nimbly shinnied up it, scattering leaves and buds as he went.
"Eldarion!" his mother cried. She sprang to her feet. The needlework fell to the ground.
The boy stared aghast as his father and Uncle Faramir appeared while the guards came running.
"Eldarion can climb trees!" little Farawyn announced proudly.
"Come down at once, Eldarion!" Aragorn ordered.
Eldarion looked at his angry father and down at the ground. It seemed a long way, much further than he had climbed up. He was suddenly scared.
"I can't, adar," he said.
"If you climbed up, you can climb down again, "Aragorn said grimly.
"He will only do more damage if he climbs down," said Faramir. "It would be better if we lifted him."
A guard moved forward, ready to do the King's bidding.
"He is my son, I will lift him down," said Aragorn. He strode over the fence and stretched up strong arms to grasp his son and lifted him down.
"Faramir, would you escort Arwen and Farawyn safely indoors, please," he said. "I need to have a few words with this young man!"
The Steward picked up the Queen's discarded needlework and handed it to her. The three departed without a second glance at the object of Aragorn's wrath.
Eldarion stared miserably at the ground and quaked in his boots at his father's anger.
"Why did you climb the White Tree?" Aragorn demanded as soon as they were alone.
"I wanted to show Farawyn that I could climb a tree," Eldarion muttered.
"There are dozens of trees in the gardens that you could climb, why must you choose the most special tree in all of Gondor?" Aragorn demanded. "Just look at the buds you have knocked off. Every one is precious!"
"It was just there. I'm sorry, sire."
"And so you should be! Do you not know that this tree is directly descended from the one that grew in Númenor and that Isildur risked his life to snatch a fruit to bring to Middle-earth?"
"I thought Isildur was a wicked man, so why should we think so much of his tree?"
"Who told you that?" Aragorn was monetarily distracted from his fury.
"One of the boys I play with. He said that it was all Isildur's fault that his uncle was killed in the war because Isildur kept the Enemy's Ring!"
"No, Eldarion, Isildur was not a bad man, but a good and brave man who did one bad thing. He was one of the greatest of your long fathers."
Eldarion stood lost in thought for a few moments then looked up at the scattered leaves and buds of the tree. "Will I be thought wicked for doing one bad thing, sire?"
"You are not wicked, just young and foolish. You must go to bed an hour earlier all this week and learn the Lay of Isildur by heart. Then we will forget the matter."
"Thank you, sire."
"Now go with the guard and join your mother and sister. I will come and bid you goodnight shortly."
"I am truly sorry, sire."
Aragorn looked at his son's woebegone features and then at the tree. The damage was slight. The next strong breeze would knock off more buds than the boy had done. If anything, the tree looked even better than it had done earlier in the day. Although there was little wind tonight the leaves moved almost as if they were dancing, while the late evening sunrays sparkled between the branches. As he watched, one of the buds unfurled to reveal a perfect white blossom. Maybe it was fanciful to think such a thing, but it were almost as if the tree were happy!
The King reached out and hugged Eldarion. He waved the guard away. "Maybe you will understand why this tree is so special if I tell you how I found it," he said. "Would you like that?
"Oh, yes, ada!" Eldarion smiled wanly.
His usual good temper restored, Aragorn led his son to the seat that Arwen had vacated earlier. He sat down beside his son, his arm around the boy's shoulder, and began to tell the story of how he had followed Mithrandir to the Hallow on the Mountain. Eldarion listened raptly, snuggled against his father in the chill evening air as the sun sank over the White Tree.
Chapter 34 - Gone Fishing part one
Gone Fishing.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Virtuella and Raksha.
"Ada, more!"
Aragorn patiently bounced his son on his knee for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. Playing with Eldarion had seemed like a good idea an hour ago. Now, his aching arms told a different story.
"You are making him too excited before his bedtime!" Arwen complained.
Aragorn nodded. He smiled gratefully at his wife and prepared to hand over the child to her. The little boy scampered towards his toys.
"I need to finish a tapestry I am working on," said the Queen. "I was hoping you would tell Eldarion his bedtime story tonight."
"Yes, my love," Aragorn said obediently, abandoning hope of a restful glass of wine on the balcony while he watched the sunset.
"Ada, tell me about Smaug, please," demanded Eldarion.
"I told you that story yesterday," said Aragorn.
"Smaug likes hearing it!" insisted the child, waving his toy dragon in the air.
Sighing, Aragorn dutifully complied.
Worn out by the evening's labours, Aragorn slept soundly. When he awoke the next morning he wondered, not for the first time, why sitting at a desk signing papers, or amusing a small child, was far more exhausting than tramping the wilds and fighting Orcs by the dozen. He was still pondering the matter when he went to his study to begin his duties for the day.
"The trade agreement with Rhûn needs your approval, sire," said Aragorn's secretary after bidding him good morning. "Then the Council request your views on the land dispute in Lamedon, and I was hoping you could study the plans for the new North road and the improvements to the housing in the Sixth Circle."
"Is there anything else?" asked Aragorn.
"Well, if you have time, sire, there is the question of grain tariffs and the celebrations for…"
"I think I have quite enough to occupy me for one morning," said Aragorn dryly.
As the man was leaving, Faramir entered carrying a bundle of papers.
"Not more paperwork!" the King snapped.
"What ails you, my friend?" asked Faramir in alarm.
"I am sorry, mellon nîn," said Aragorn contritely. "There are just some days I wish I were a Ranger living in the wilds again. On a day like this, I would sometimes sit beside a stream and hope to catch a plump trout to eat." He laughed ruefully. "Many times there were no fish in the stream and I would go hungry. Now I have a full belly, but feel at times that I live in a gilded cage! Even when the day's duties are done, I find no rest, as I must endeavour to be a good husband and father. I love my wife and son dearly, but there are times when I crave an hour's solitude."
Faramir nodded sympathetically. "I spent yesterday evening being told by Elestelle that I could not make a proper daisy chain while Éowyn was scolding me for not remembering the name of a foal that was born last week! Then this morning, my desk is piled high with documents needing my attention. There are times I yearn for the freedom of the wilds too." He seated himself morosely at his desk. "Still, I should not grumble, there is work to do!"
Instead of settling at his own desk, Aragorn wandered over to the window and looked out over the sunlit City. "Am I not King?" he asked suddenly, turning to face Faramir with a rascally gleam in his grey eyes. He scribbled a note and placed it on his desk.
"Of course you are." Faramir sounded baffled.
"When did we last have a day to ourselves?"
"I think it was about two months ago," said Faramir. "I cannot quite recall."
"Am I a prisoner here, or are you?"
"No, of course not, but…"
"Then let us away!" Aragorn exclaimed, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "The work can wait until later. I will send a servant to inform Arwen where we are. Two former Rangers should be able to escape unobserved!"
At first Faramir looked doubtful then he pushed his own papers to one side. "Let us see if we can evade the guards," he said and grinned at the King.
Stealthily, King and Steward made their way to Aragorn's room where the King changed into his oldest clothes and Elven cloak. He lent Faramir similar garb from his own wardrobe. The two friends crept out of the Citadel and made their way to the stables. Waving aside the grooms' offers to help they swiftly saddled their horses and rode away.
Carrying another sheaf of papers, Aragorn's secretary knocked on the door of the King's study.
"My lords?" he called. Getting no response, he entered the office. There was no sign of either King or Steward. A note lay on the King's desk. It read simply "Gone Fishing."
TBC
"Carefully Taught" has been updated on this site.
Chapter 35 - Three Wise Men
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Author: Linda Hoyland
Title: Three Wise Men
Rating: PG
Theme: Two sides to everything - LOTR GFIC Challenge
Elements: Is being just the same thing as being fair?
Beta: Raksha
Author's Notes: This story takes place before Aragorn and Faramir become close friends and shortly after "Tongues of Men and Angels" which you can read on this site .
Summary: Faramir is unhappy about an agreement Aragorn plans to sign
Word Count:1298
Aragorn looked up as his Steward entered carrying a sheaf of parchments. Faramir's usually calm countenance looked agitated and the Steward was frowning. "Is there a problem, Faramir?" the King enquired.
"I have been studying the details of the agreement you are about to make with Ambassador Tahir and I feel I must respectfully protest, sire," said the Steward.
Aragorn raised his eyebrows as this unusual show of defiance from the young Steward. "Sit down and tell me what troubles you," he said, gesturing towards the study couch. He got up from his desk and joined the younger man.
Faramir sat on the edge of the couch; his posture seemingly reflecting his state of mind. He shuffled the papers and cleared his throat.
"What is it you wish to protest about, Faramir?" Aragorn asked again. " Speak! I do not bite!"
"This agreement declares that unlimited numbers of merchants from Harad are to be allowed to trade in Gondor," said Faramir, pointing to the offending item on the scroll. "Forgive me for speaking plainly, sire, but I do not believe that to be fair."
"And why not?" asked Aragorn. "The agreement will also allow our merchants to trade in Harad."
"I very much doubt our merchants would wish to go to Harad," Faramir replied. "You told me that the climate is well nigh impossible to bear for any not born and bred there and that their language is difficult for many, though I did not find it especially so."
"You took to it as if it were your mother tongue, Faramir," Aragorn said with a smile. " I would have thought you would welcome more visitors from Harad to try out your linguistic skills on since Ambassador Tahir prefers to speak our tongue."
"It is not what I think that troubles me," said Faramir. "We have fought the Haradrim for as long as I can remember. I was one of many wounded by their archers. I have lost good men to them and many have lost much-loved sons, husbands, brothers and friends. How will the bereaved feel when they are unable to walk through the market place without seeing men they believe could have slaughtered their kinsfolk? The people mostly accept the need for an Ambassador, but they will not be happy to see Haradrim everywhere! I know, as do you, that the merchants and warriors mostly come from different castes, but others do not. Then, is it not dangerous to have so many former enemies wandering freely around the City? Those two would-be assassins who tried to kill you may not be the only ones to hold such views."
"Those who tried to kill me were from the warrior caste, not the merchants," Aragorn replied. "We need this trade agreement, Faramir. The Houses of Healing scarcely have enough poppy juice to ease those in pain even in peacetime; we need ginger to treat digestive ailments and many other herbs and spices that only grow freely in Harad. We need silk if our tailors and dressmakers are to produce fine garments. They have many rare and beautiful flowers too. I hope to be able to send some to Samwise Gamgee to grow in the Shire."
Faramir set the papers in his hand down upon the table rather sharply. He took a deep breath. "Much as I would like to see Master Samwise happy," he said, "Gondor has suffered too much at the hands of the Haradrim to welcome an invasion of their merchants, whatever wares they might have to sell. What will men like my Ranger Anborn, who lost a brother to the Haradrim on the Pelennor feel? They would curse any man from Harad they encountered. And there are hundreds more who will say the same. Their hands will fly to their swords if they see Southrons swagger proudly through the streets of the White City or on the fields they tried to take?"
"The market place is well guarded," said Aragorn. "The Citadel guard will not allow any to draw their swords there."
"How can it be fair if the Guards are forced to turn on our own people to protect our enemies!" Faramir rose to his feet. "Sire, I must protest most strongly! It cannot be allowed!"
"Faramir, you forget yourself!" Aragorn said sharply. He stood up and stood almost nose-to-nose with his Steward.
"My apologies sire. It will not happen again." Faramir bowed his head and looked deeply troubled.
"Peace, Faramir, I expect you to disagree with me at times. It is what a good Steward should do. Let us sit down again." Aragorn's tone was much gentler. "My kinsman, Halbarad, who was dear as a brother to me, was felled by a Southron. Andúril swiftly despatched the fellow, but nothing can bring Halbarad back. I can feel nothing but hatred for the man, but no doubt someone grieves for Halbarad's slayer now as I grieve for my kinsman. The Haradrim lost as many men as we did. They now want to live in peace with their neighbours. I feel I can best honour my kinsman and others like him by trying to ensure peace." The King fell silent, lost in memories.
"I desire peace too, sire," Faramir replied. He perched uneasily on the edge of the couch. "I would liefer there were no more weeping for slaughtered brothers, sons and husbands. Most people of Gondor, though, will find it hard to forgive the Haradrim so soon after the Haradrim invaded Gondor. The Southrons' losses came about through that invasion of a land that was never theirs; while our men died defending that land, our homeland, from invasion."
"I know, Faramir, I know, and I share your concerns." Aragorn got up again and paced the room restlessly. Faramir stood again. "No, Faramir, you do not need to stand every time I do." Aragorn smiled for the first time that morning. "Sit and be easy. I think more clearly when I am pacing. It tends to somewhat annoy my good lady."
Faramir managed a wan smile in reply.
Aragorn continued to pace for several moments lost in thought. "We need peace with Harad, but not at the expense of the peace of mind of Gondor's folk," he said at last. "What if I were to tell Ambassador Tahir that the merchants from his homeland were welcome in Gondor, but only in limited numbers? Also they will be restricted where they can travel within our land. We can tell the ambassador that if all goes well, the restrictions will be eased in a few years' time. He will listen, for he is a good and sensible man. If only there were more like him in Harad!"
"That is a fair and just solution, sire." Faramir beamed at the King. "You too are a just and wise man."
"As is my Steward!" said Aragorn. "It is decided then. I will send a servant with a message to Ambassador Tahir."
"There is no need for that, my lord," said Faramir. "I have been invited to play chess with the Ambassador this evening after dining with him and his lady. I have some good news for him about the mare he seeks for his lady, as Éowyn thinks she has found one in Edoras that would be perfect for Lady Adiva. I will take the agreement to him myself. I can explain to him our reasoning in person."
"It gladdens my heart that you and the Ambassador have become friends," said Aragorn. "My Arwen and Lady Adiva have also become close. Arwen is busy embroidering a dress for Lady Adiva's new baby."
"Never did I think I would count a count a man of Harad as a friend," said Faramir, but it seems now that all things are possible."
Chapter 36 - Gone Fishing part two
Gone Fishing.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Virtuella and Raksha.
When the weather is fine you know it's the time
For messin' about on the river
If you take my advice there's nothing so nice
As messin' about on the river - Hatch/ Reed
The riverbank was deserted save for two scruffy looking fishermen and a young mother and her child making their way home along the path that ran by the water's edge.
"Keep well away from those men, child," the woman fretted, clutching her young son's hand more tightly. "They look like vagabonds, utterly disreputable!"
The pair hurried swiftly past the two men.
At the water's edge, Faramir lay back lazily on the bank while Aragorn expertly despatched a fat trout. Both men had shed cloaks and tunics in the warm sun. Their shirts, once a pristine white, were now covered in mud, grass stains and fish scales. Their hands and faces were equally dirty, while the wind tangled their hair. Both men felt blissfully happy.
"Good fortune has smiled on us today," said Aragorn. "We have caught sufficient trout to supply the kitchens for several days. I feel hungry now, it must be past the hour for our midday meal."
"We have plenty of fish to eat!" said Faramir. "I will make a fire." He rose to his feet and collected branches. Aragorn then helped him make a cooking pit. They prepared one of the fish and grilled it, then shared it between them.
"Mmm, said Aragorn, licking his lips. "I have not tasted such hearty fare for a long time!"
"I agree," said Faramir." It was delicious! Do not tell the cook though, or he will resign!"
"What could be better than good food and good company?" said Aragorn, savouring his final mouthful of fish.
Faramir nodded his agreement, his mouth too full for speech.
"I remember once in the North catching a huge fish that fed Halbarad and me for two days. These tasted almost as good," Aragorn reminisced as he rinsed his plate in the river.
"Do you remember the trout we caught in the stream on Mount Mindolluin?" asked Faramir. "I recall they were especially plump and tasty."
"How could I forget?" Aragorn replied. "One day, when our duties permit, we must return there." He stuffed their plates and knives in his pack.
"I should like that," said Faramir. "But for today, I am content to be here by the Anduin."
The meal over, the two men felt too full to move. They lay sprawled on the bank in companionable silence watching the dragonflies hovering over the water while kingfishers dived in search of a meal.
All too soon, the sun started to sink.
"We had better return home ere our wives become anxious or angry about our absence," said Faramir, reluctantly sitting up and stretching. "I suggest we had better cleanse our hands and faces before our ladies see us."
Aragorn sighed. "You speak wisely, mellon nîn. Alas that the day sped by so swiftly! I dearly love Arwen and Eldarion. It is just that sometimes I miss the freedom of my old life," he said. He made his way to the water's edge and splashed water on his face and hands. Faramir did likewise.
Aragorn and Faramir stowed the fish safely and donned their cloaks and tunics once more. With a last wistful look at the river, they mounted their horses and rode off in the direction of the City.
By the time the King and Steward had almost reached the City gates they were starting to feel hungry again and returning home seemed a far more agreeable prospect that it had half an hour or so ago.
Aragorn sharply reined in his horse to avoid colliding with a thin and poorly dressed woman who carried a baby. A toddler clutched at her skirts while an older child held her hand. With a pang, Aragorn was reminded that few people were as lucky as he.
"Do you like trout?" he asked the woman impulsively.
"Oh yes, master!" she replied. Aragorn reached for their carefully wrapped catch in his saddlebag. He extracted two fish to show for the day's efforts to their wives, and then gave the rest to the woman, with some surreptitiously placed coins amongst the fish.
"Why, master, thank you!" she exclaimed. "My neighbours and I will dine like kings tonight! May the Valar smile upon you!"
"And may the Valar smile on you and your children too, good lady!" said Aragorn. "I hope you enjoy your meal."
As they neared the Citadel, Aragorn and Faramir became increasingly apprehensive about their wives' reaction to their escapade. They both felt like naughty children who had played truant from the schoolroom.
The two ladies were waiting for their errant husbands in Aragorn's apartment.
"I am so sorry, vanimelda," said Aragorn the moment he say them. "I felt the walls were like a prison this morning and I needed to escape from the City for a few hours."
"I felt I must bear Aragorn company," said Faramir. "I felt badly in need of fresh air too."
To the men's amazement, both their ladies were smiling.
"I did marry a Ranger, my love," said Arwen in response to the King's surprised look. "I am a lucky wife to have you.I understand you need to escape sometimes and are a better husband for it. I trust you have brought some fish for our dinner?"
"Indeed, my beloved," said Aragorn, glad he had kept some of their catch.
"I married a Ranger too," said Éowyn, "and would not have him otherwise. I understand Faramir is needed at the King's side."
Far more contented than they had been when they arose that morning, King and Steward went to prepare for dinner, rejoicing in their good fortune.
Chapter 37 - Where the Stars are Strange?
Where the Stars are Strange?
With thanks to Virtuella, also thanks to Raksha for suggesting some plot elements
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Arwen looked up from her embroidery as her husband entered the room.
"I am sorry I was delayed, vanimelda," said the King, kissing her tenderly.
"I have been waiting for you, my love," said Arwen, returning his kiss. "Eldarion's tutor has been to see me today. He is concerned that our son is lacking in enthusiasm for his studies."
"I will talk to the boy," said Aragorn. "Eldarion needs to understand that he must study hard if he is to make a good king when the time comes."
"That is not the problem," said the Queen. "The tutor thinks Eldarion is suffering because he has no other children to compete with in the schoolroom."
"I managed perfectly well on my own," said Aragorn. "I did have some inspiring tutors, though. Your father and Glorfindel were never boring to listen to."
"I told the tutor that as long as you did not object, my love, that I would invite some other children to share some of Eldarion's lessons."
"Very well, vanimelda. "Aragorn yawned as he settled himself on the couch beside her. It had been a very long day and he was eager for supper and his comfortable bed.
000
Arwen soon chose some fellow students to study with her son. Faramir and Éowyn's daughter, Elestelle, as the Steward and his lady were currently in Minas Tirith, Hador and Valandil, sons of Aragorn's guards and occasional playmates of Eldarion, and Elwing and Faris, the nearest in age to Eldarion of Ambassador Tahir and Lady Adiva's large brood.
The Queen and the tutor had a lengthy discussion concerning which subject the other children should join Eldarion to study. Quenya was too obscure: Eldarion was far better schooled in lore and history than others of his age and would shine too much, while in arithmetic, he would shine too little. Eventually they decided that Geography would be the perfect subject for the children to learn together.
Aragorn, though, had been less than enthusiastic when he heard of his wife's choices both of the children and of the subject. "It would have been best if you had just invited Hador and Valandil, or chosen another subject," he said. "Still now they are all invited, we can but hope for the best."
"They are all nice children from good families," Arwen protested. "I know Eldarion does not like girls much, but you could hardly not invite your best friend's daughter, while Lady Adiva is always saying how she wants her children to feel they belong in Gondor as well as Harad. I know Elwing is older than the others, but I did not wish Elestelle to be the only girl, and Faris often comes to play with Eldarion."
For the occasion Arwen had suggested that the lesson take place in Aragorn's library rather than the small study that served as Eldarion's schoolroom. The Queen had instructed that the servants place a large globe upon the table. It was a beautiful and priceless object that had been given to Arwen's father by Thorin's folk as a thank you for his hospitality. The seas were made from lapis lazuli and the land from emeralds and topaz.
The children sat around the table their faces reflecting a variety of emotions. Hador and Valandil were somewhat subdued; Eldarion was excited to have a lesson with other children. Elwing and Faris whispered to each other and Elestelle sat quietly, her golden hair setting her apart from the others.
The tutor greeted the group enthusiastically.
"Who can tell me where Gondor is?" he asked.
"It's there!" cried Eldarion, pointing to the relevant spot on the globe.
"I know!" chorused the other four.
"And who can tell me what the other lands are called?" the tutor continued.
"That one is Rohan where my Uncle Eomer is King," said Elestelle, pointing to Rohan. "The people who live there call it the Riddermark."
"That is correct, Lady Elestelle," said the tutor. "And can you show me the land where your father reigns as Prince?"
Elestelle stared at the globe then got to her feet and peered at it more closely. "Ithilien is there, I think," she said. "It looks dreadfully small, though, when really it is a vast land full of trees!"
"If a globe showed a place the right size it would have to be as big as the place itself and there would be no room left in the place," said Elwing.
"That is a very profound thought, Lady Elwing, " said the tutor.
"My father likes me to learn philosophy," said Elwing rather smugly.
"Does anyone know of any other lands?" said the tutor.
"The Shire in the North is where the Perianth live," said Valandil a trifle shyly.
"It is part of Arnor where my father was born and the other great land that he rules over," Eldarion added. "My father's kingdom is the largest and fairest in all of Middle-earth."
"Harad is larger and fairer than Gondor," said Elwing. "My mother and father took me to visit the other members of our tribe who still dwell there. We have vast deserts and beautiful oases with cool streams and bright flowers."
"The sun is brighter and the horses swifter," added Faris.
"How do you know that?" Eldarion retorted. "You were only a baby when you went to visit!"
"I do not forget my homeland," said Faris.
"Gondor is our home now," said Elwing. "But Harad is a fair land and the Great Khan is the most powerful ruler there is!"
"My father is the greatest ruler!" Eldarion contradicted angrily. "He rules Arnor as well as Gondor."
"And my father is the noblest prince!" Elestelle added. "And Uncle Eomer is a greater King than the Khan!"
Eldarion glared at her.
"But King Elessar is the greatest of them all," Elestelle added. "How can Harad be fairer than Gondor? Uncle Aragorn, um, the King says your land is all sun baked sands and even your stars are strange!"
"It is your stars that are strange!" Elwing replied. "Ours are just as stars ought to be. Harad is the fairest land there is."
"How can you say Harad is better than Gondor?" demanded Hador, forgetting that he had felt somewhat overawed until now. " If you weren't a girl I'd hit you!"
"I'll hit you then!" cried Faris, jumping up from his place.
"Our stars aren't strange at all!" Eldarion said fiercely also jumping up. The remaining children copied him.
"Return to your places!" cried the tutor.
The children ignored him. Within moments Eldarion, Valandil and Hador were fighting with Faris, whose sister rushed to his rescue. Despite being of the gentler sex, she was three years older than the boys and a tall strong girl. Elestelle remained aloof from the fray, but kept shouting. "Gondor is best!" until Elwing pulled one of her golden pigtails. Elestelle screamed.
"What is the meaning of this?" a stern voice demanded.
The tutor bowed low to the King, Hador and Valandil looked as if they feared that their heads might be severed any moment, while Elwing and Faris looked on the verge of flight.
"I was teaching the young people geography, sire," said the tutor.
"They said Harad was better than Gondor!" Eldarion cried, his young face still flushed with anger.
"And that our stars were strange and Harad was fairer than Ithilien!" Elestelle added.
"What a foolish argument!" Aragorn said sternly, glaring at the children. "All of you were born in Gondor and did you not know that the land where your longfathers dwelled will always be the most fair as will the land you choose to call home? I have travelled through many lands and seen great wonders in them all, but to me Rivendell will always be the fairest spot on Arda as I grew up there and met my lady. Now, Master Tutor, what do you suggest we do with these miscreants?"
"Please don't send us to the dungeons, sire!" pleaded Valandil.
"How about that they each write about their favourite place and what it means to them, my lord?" suggested the tutor.
"An excellent suggestion," the King replied. "I propose they write in great detail."
The children looked as horrified as if the King had thrown them in dungeons.
"Will you show us the places you have visited on the globe, sire, please," asked Elestelle. "My daddy has tried to tell me about how many there were."
"Very well," said Aragorn. He was already inwardly debating over whether to employ a different tutor for his son, but for now he would tell the children of his travels. Maybe that was the only true way to learn geography.
Author's Notes: Ambassador Tahir, Lady Adiva and Elwing first appear in "Tongues of Men and Angels" also on this site.
Chapter 38 - Lingering Shadows
Author: Linda Hoyland
Title: Lingering Shadows
Rating: PG
Theme: Believe it or Not
Elements: eerie
Beta: Raksha and Virtuella
Author's Notes: This story takes place a few weeks after "Roses have Thorns"
http://lindahoyland.yolasite.com/roses-have-thorns.php
Summary: Faramir is worried that something is threatening his baby son and seeks Aragorn's help. A gentle story for the Halloween season.
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain
“Is something troubling you, my friend?” Aragorn enquired of his Steward. “You seem somewhat distracted today.”
Faramir hesitated for a moment before replying shortly, "It is Elboron.”
“Is he unwell?”
“I do not think so, but …”
“Would you like me to look at him?”
Faramir swallowed and hesitated before replying. “Elboron seems perfectly well, though he cries more than Elestelle did, but sometimes on the rare occasions when we have left him alone for a moment, I have noticed him staring straight ahead as if he is watching someone; yet there is no one there and yet…yet sometimes I fancy I see a shadow.”
“It could be a trick of the light,” Aragorn suggested. “There is a tree outside the nursery window.”
“It is not that,” said Faramir. “ Then one day Elbeth’s cat got into the nursery. I found it with its fur standing on end staring at something I could not see. Sometimes I wonder if…it cannot be, though!”
“You fear some unearthly presence, maybe your father?” Aragorn asked shrewdly.
Faramir nodded. “I feared you would think I was losing my wits,” he said. “It is a relief to tell you, Aragorn. I do not wish to alarm Éowyn as she was so ill after the birth and is still recovering.”
“She would understand,” Aragorn replied. “After all, did she not say that your mother came to visit her just after Elboron was born?”
“My mother’s spirit spoke to me too,” said Faramir. “I believe, though, that when life and death hang in the balance such things are possible. What if this visitation bodes some ill for Elboron? My heart fears for him.”
“He strikes me as a very healthy child and Arwen too says his life force is strong,” Aragorn reassured him. “I will come and visit your son this afternoon. Éowyn puts Elboron to sleep in his nursery after his feed, does she not?”
“Thank you, I will tell Éowyn that you will come to our apartments this afternoon,” said Faramir. “The girls will be pleased to see you too.”
Aragorn clapped him affectionately on the shoulder and the two men went their separate ways.
000
Éowyn greeted Aragorn with a warm smile while Faramir’s niece Elbeth threw her arms around him and little Elestelle demanded to be picked up and told a story.
“How does Elboron fare?” Aragorn enquired once the demands of Faramir’s daughter and niece were satisfied.
“I have never known a babe to grow so fast,” Éowyn replied. “He is so good and rarely cries. Do you want to see him?”
“He isn’t very interesting,” said Elbeth.
“He’s my brother!” Elestelle added. “I wanted a sister!”
“Maybe you will have a sister one day,” said Aragorn. “Once I have seen Elboron, I will tell you a story about a little boy who wanted a sister or brother to play with.”
They made their way to Elboron’s nursery, a pleasant room on the ground floor, which opened out on to a terrace. The men wondered how they could be alone with the babe without arousing Éowyn’s curiosity.
Elboron was sleeping peacefully in his crib watched over by a young nursemaid. He was quite a large baby for his age with a mop of dark hair. Éowyn dismissed the girl, and told her she could have the rest of the afternoon free, then proceeded to extol her baby son’s virtues in great detail. The two girls were very bored and Elestelle eventually started to pull at her mother’s sleeve.
“Mummy, my dolly wants to play!” she cried, gesturing towards the rag doll she was clutching.
“Why not spend some time with the girls while Aragorn and I watch over Elboron, beloved?” Faramir suggested. “I would not wish Elestelle and Elbeth to feel neglected.”
Éowyn stole another doting look at the cradle before agreed that her husband’s suggestion was a sound one.
“That was easier than I expected,” said Faramir as soon as she had closed the door behind her and the two girls. “Now we need to wait in the other room and see what happens. Most likely nothing then you will think me most foolish for wasting your time.”
“It is always a pleasure to visit you and your family, ion nîn,” said Aragorn. “This afternoon is far from wasted.”
“We will wait in the nursemaid’s room,” said Faramir.
The maid’s room adjoined the nursery and did not have a door so that the girl could easily hear a crying child. The two men sat rather awkwardly on the edge of the low bed, their ears strained for the slightest sound.
Time passed and Elboron continued to sleep peacefully while the two men grew increasingly stiff and cramped. Then the baby woke and started to whimper. Faramir instinctively made a move to go to his son, but the King stayed him by grabbing his arm.
Suddenly Elboron ceased to cry and a strangely eerie silence fell over the nursery. The two men cautiously crept to the doorway. Elboron, his eyes wide open was watching something intently.
Aragorn caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure and his eyes lit up. “Old friend!” he breathed, his words more a breath than a whisper.
The figure smiled kindly at him.
“I am so sorry I had to leave. It almost broke my heart. If only I could have explained and bade you farewell!”
With another gentle smile the figure dissolved into a ray of sunlight that streamed through the window. Aragorn gazed after him for a moment as raptly as the infant who was gurgling contentedly again. He then lunged forward trying vainly to detain the fleeting shadow. Only the sunbeams remained dancing across the infant’s cradle.
“Stay but a moment!” he cried.
“What ails you, ada?” Faramir cried in alarm. “Come, sit down. You have turned quite pale! To whom were you speaking? I saw but a shadow that vanished in an instant.” He led Aragorn over to the rocking chair where Éowyn usually sat to nurse her babe. Once the King was seated, Faramir settled himself at his feet, gazing at him anxiously.
Aragorn blinked away a tear and forced himself back to the present. “It was your grandfather, Ecthelion, Faramir,” he said softly. “I never thought I should see him again. He was very dear to me. I wish you could have known him.”
Faramir looked bewildered. “My grandfather? But how could you and Elboron see him plainly, but I could not?”
“I could see the Army of the Dead,” Aragorn replied. “It is some power that lies in my blood. As for Elboron, he could see him far more clearly than I. Babes and small children, so new in the world, can often perceive what their elders cannot as can animals. Our senses dim once we leave childhood behind.”
“But if Elboron could see him, why not Elestelle too? She has the mental gifts of our people. I sense Elboron is more like Éowyn’s folk in that regard.”
“Elboron will be Steward of Gondor after you,” said Aragorn. “I would imagine that your grandfather wished to look upon the new heir of the House of Húrin and give his blessing to the babe who is destined to become the twenty eighth Steward of Gondor. Ah, but it was good to glimpse him again, he was almost as a father to me. Deeply it grieved my heart to have to leave without saying farewell to him, but had I remained, it would have caused grave dissent, maybe even civil war. I believe your grandfather guessed who I was and might have offered me the throne, which your father would never have countenanced. Though I believe I made the right choice, to this day, it has troubled me that I was never able to say goodbye. He was so good to me. I feared he would remember me as an ingrate and believe that I never held him in the love and esteem that I claimed to.” He buried his face in his hands.
Faramir placed a comforting arm around Aragorn’s shoulders. They remained silent for a few minutes before Faramir said. “It seems then we have come full circle as you are now as a father to me. Maybe my grandsire came to bestow his blessing on you as much as on the babe. Tell me, ada, am I like him at all?”
“Oh yes, Faramir, you have his wisdom and his warmth too. People love you as they loved your grandsire. He did not have such strong powers of the mind that you and your father shared, but such gifts are very rare in these latter days. Ecthelion had the wisdom to seek good counsel, to listen, and to use lore wisely. He had some ability to see into men’s hearts, but the gift was stronger in your father and stronger still in you.”
“You remember my grandfather with great affection,” said Faramir. “Yet you so rarely speak of him.”
“That is maybe because I feel guilty for unwittingly coming between him and your father,” said Aragorn.
“My uncle told me once that my father loved but twice,” said Faramir. “Only my mother and Boromir warmed his heart. I believe you simply gave my father the affection that his own son denied. You gave to him, what you have freely given to me. Now come, ada, I think it is time I took Elboron for a breath of fresh air before his next feed. It is time to think of the present and the future.” Faramir tenderly lifted his baby son from his crib and took him over to the window. “Grandfather, Ecthelion, you are ever welcome in my home,” he said in a firm clear voice.
His son in his arms and his King by his side, Faramir stepped out into the sunlit terrace. Aragorn glanced back as they walked, but could see no lingering shadows.
A/n. Written for the LOTR GFIC “Believe it or Not” Challenge. I have read many accounts of small children and animals who appear to be seeing things that no one else can.
http://hubpages.com/hub/Can-Children-See-Ghosts-Real-Ghost-Stories
Chapter 39 - Faithful Friend
Faithful Friend
With thanks to Virtuella
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Faramir yawned and stirred as the servant tapped on his door with his morning tea. Waking alone in his apartment in the Citadel was a more leisurely affair than when he was at home with Éowyn and his children where he was usually rudely awakened by the baby in his crib crying to be fed. Nevertheless he missed them. He even missed his favourite hound, a treasured gift from the King, greeting him each morning.
Faramir was only melancholy for a moment, though when he remembered his plans for the day. He had a meeting with the King that morning and would dine with him and the Queen that night. Maybe if the day's business was swiftly concluded they might even be able to go out riding for an hour. Faramir often thought he was the most the most fortunate man on Middle-earth. He served a King whom he loved and admired, was married to the loveliest of ladies; he was certain his children were the fairest in Gondor and he loved his work, serving the land he was devoted to.
The Steward hummed contentedly to himself as he drank his tea. The morning sun streamed through the window and it promised to be a fine day. The servant had also brought him a message, which was marked as both urgent and confidential.
Faramir, at Aragorn's behest had been conducting some delicate trade negotiations with Khand. Noticing that the seal was that of the Lord of Khand, he tore open the message with some apprehension, but smiled with delight when he read it. Lord Abioye wrote that he wished to give his consent to trade with Gondor, provided that the merchants of Khand could trade a certain amount of pearls for mithril in Gondor's markets. The letter instructed Faramir to take the letter to the Ambassador from Khand together with the discussed trade agreement so that the deal could be quietly concluded, as certain factions in both Khand and Gondor were opposed to trade between their two nations.
Faramir folded the parchment and placed it on the table as the servant returned to take away his empty cup and lay out his clothes for the day. Faramir asked him to open his window and prepare the bath for his morning ablutions. The fresh autumn breeze chased away the last vestiges of sleepiness as he prepared for the day ahead.
"I have excellent news to tell you!" Faramir informed Aragorn as soon as he entered the King's study shortly after breakfast. "Lord Abioye has agreed to trade with us. We just need to draw up a treaty and send it together with this document to his ambassador."
That is wonderful news, my friend!" Aragorn exclaimed. "I expected the negotiations to take months or even years."
"Reading between the lines, I think Lord Abioye's chief wife has a fancy for mithril bracelets," said Faramir.
"Just as our ladies have a liking for their pearls," said Aragorn. "Let me see the letter then."
"I have it here." Faramir rummaged amongst the sheaf of papers in his hands and frowned. "I put it here, but this is the bill for the repairs to the third circle, and this is the invitation to dinner with Ambassador Tahir. It must be here!" Frantically, he leafed through the parchments." You look, please!" he asked Aragorn after a third attempt failed to produce it.
"Are you certain you had such a document?" Aragorn demanded after an equally fruitless search. "Maybe you dreamed that you had? Perhaps you have been working too hard on the treaty?"
"No, sire," Faramir protested. "I did have the parchment in my hand but an hour ago."
"How could you be so careless then as to lose it?" Anger flashed in Aragorn's eyes. "You know how much this agreement means to Gondor and how long we have worked for it. Lord Abioye is not an easy man."
"I cannot see how I could have lost it," said Faramir. I opened it and put it on the table when I had read it. I was there in the room when my servant prepared my bath and I locked the door after he left. Maybe if I ask Lord Abioye to send another copy he will?"
"He is more likely to demand that I send him your head on a platter for having lost it!" Aragorn snapped. "This is most unlike you, Faramir, I have never known you mislay an important document, or indeed any document before. Yet you have every trivial report here, but not the one document that matters! We will say no more of it for now and try and get some other work done."
Faramir worked doubly hard that morning, but although the King reproached him no further, he knew that Aragorn was very angry. The Steward did not blame him, as he knew Aragorn had laboured long to obtain the treaty as well as attending several highly tedious dinners with the ambassador from Khand. It seemed now that all the hard work was for nothing.
When the bell rang for the noonday meal, he was glad to take his leave of the King and made his excuses not to attend dinner with him and Queen Arwen that evening, certain that Aragorn would not wish to have to behold him again that day. Aragorn did not attempt to change his Steward's mind.
Faramir did not feel like eating and returned at once to his chambers, which he preceded to search inch by inch for the missing document. He searched under the bedclothes, in every pocket and even under the rugs, but all in vain.
After several hours of fruitless searching, in which he found nothing save the oilskin in which the document had been wrapped, Faramir sank down the bed despondently. He did not fear Aragorn's anger, unlike he had that of his father, but letting down a man whom he loved and respected, was far worse than punishment that could be meted out to him. Aragorn had trusted him and he had let his lord down, and Gondor too. So many of Gondor's folk would have profited from the treaty; not just rich merchants, but craftsman and labourers and even poor widows who earned a living threading beads in their homes. He would gladly have begged Lord Abioye for another document, but knew all too well that the proud ruler of Khand would be outraged that he had lost the first one and immediately refuse all further negotiations. It was believed that everything a lord of Khand touched was sacred to their gods. Faramir shuddered. What if his carelessness led to war? "Valar help me!" Faramir pleaded desperately. He closed his eyes and tried once again to think where the precious document might be.
Faramir felt his hand being gently licked. For a moment he thought that somehow his faithful hound had come to comfort him in the Citadel. Then he opened his eyes and struggled to suppress a cry of alarm when he beheld an enormous wolfhound standing beside him. The creature was almost as large as a pony and only just fit comfortably into the chamber. Yet it continued to gently lick his hand and wagged its tail, threatening to dislodge a portrait of Éowyn and the children, which stood on the dressing table.
"Have no fear, Faramir, son of Denethor, faithful servant of Aragorn Elessar," said the wolfhound. "Nothing is lost that I cannot find. I have come to your aid."
"Huan?" Faramir regarded the great hound in wonder.
"You know me then, Faramir?" The Hound sounded pleased.
"All men of learning know your story," Faramir replied. "How you aided fair Lúthien and brave Beren in their trials, but were slain at last by the terrible wolf."
The hound sighed. " I miss Lúthien still. Never was there a sweeter nor fairer lady than my mistress. She is gone forever with her beloved beyond the circles of the world, while I was permitted to return to my master Oromë in the Blessed Realm and granted to now speak whenever I will. He has sent me forth to find that which is lost. You called for aid, Faramir, and as you care tenderly for one of my kindred, I am come. There is no scent that I cannot follow."
Faramir held out the oilskin to the hound. Huan sniffed it thoroughly and then made straight for a heavy linen chest that stood at the far side of the room."
"The parchment is there? But however did it come to be amongst my clean shirts? I searched amongst them but an hour ago."
"The paper is not in the chest but beneath it."
Faramir knelt on the ground and sure enough there was a gap just large enough for a thick parchment to be concealed beneath. He patted Huan gratefully.
"Faramir! Are you well, ion nîn? Faramir?"
The Steward was roused by Aragorn calling him. "Come in!" he called.
Aragorn entered his chamber looking concerned. " I am sorry I was so angry earlier," he said. "Everyone loses something occasionally. I feared that you might be troubled still over the lost document. Your cook told me that you ate nothing at midday. Come and dine with Arwen and I. I would not have you alone and in distress."
"I believe the document is under the linen chest," said Faramir, rising from the bed. "I will just pull it out."
"Let me help you," said Aragorn.
Together they hauled the heavy chest to one side to reveal to document beneath.
Faramir bent to retrieve it and handed it to Aragorn his eyes bright with joy and gratitude. "I wonder how it came to be here?" he said.
Aragorn looked around the room. His eyes moved towards the open window. "I would guess a sudden gust of wind blew the document under the linen chest," he said thoughtfully. "It has mostly been a gentle breeze today, but there were one or two strong gusts. Arwen was complaining that a branch snapped off her favourite rose bush and Farawyn was crying that her doll's bonnet blew away. But how did you realise it was here?"
Faramir rubbed his eyes. "Huan found it for me," he said.
"Huan the Hound of Valinor?"
"I suppose I must have been dreaming, but it was so vivid. He was here in the room with me. He told me that he had been sent because of my love for the pup of his line that you gave me and because I called upon the Valar for help."
"There are many things that we cannot understand, ion nîn. Now come and eat, you must be very hungry."
With a protective arm lightly draped around his Steward's shoulder, and the precious parchment in his free hand Aragorn led his friend to the dining room where an evening of friendship and good food awaited.
A/n. Wishing all my readers a peaceful and happy Christmas season.
This story was originally written as a birthday gift for Raksha. An altered version was entered in the Teitho contest, where it was placed first.
Chapter 40 - From Riches to Rags
Title – From Riches to Rags
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir, Beregond
Rating: PG13
Warnings: injuries, implied violence
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
With thanks to Virtuella and Raksha
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
"He's here, bring a light!" Beregond called.
Almost as swiftly as an arrow in flight, Faramir appeared, the other men followed as best they could, struggling to keep a footing on the muddy ground.
Faramir sank beside the still figure, oblivious of the rain and the mud. Nearby, Roheryn watched them, pawing the ground with his great hooves.
"The King is alive," Beregond assured him. " I saw him moving. I think he must have fallen and struck his head."
"We must get him to shelter," said Faramir, noting Aragorn's pallid features and soaked clothing. His voice was scarcely audible against the wind and rain.
Aragorn stirred and moaned softly. His grey eyes flickered open.
"Faramir?" he whispered.
"I am here, I will not leave you," said the Steward, reaching out to clasp Aragorn's hand reassuringly.
"Faramir, they …"
"Where are you hurt, mellon nîn?" Faramir asked urgently.
"What?" Aragorn sounded bewildered. He closed his eyes again.
"Is it safe to move him?" one of the men asked.
"We cannot leave him here in this weather," said Beregond. "That would kill him more swiftly than any injuries he might have."
"We passed a cottage about a mile back, we will have to ask there for shelter, " Faramir decided. "Beregond, help me get him on my horse then you follow on Roheryn. Whoever has the swiftest horse must ride on ahead. Unless you meet with resistance, it is better our identities remain secret. Enemies could be lurking while simple folk might be overwhelmed if their King and Steward came upon them thus."
The Steward urged his mount to move as swiftly as could safely be achieved under the treacherous conditions. Why, oh why had they gone in search of a renegade band of Southrons in this weather? he wondered. Aragorn had spotted their trail and gone on ahead. Now he was injured, maybe gravely so.
Aragorn thrashed around, making it difficult for Faramir to hold on to continued to groan. The short journey seemed endless as Faramir attempted to soothe him while guiding his horse through the mud.
Lamps were burning in the cottage window when they arrived, and an old woman stood at the threshold with the guard who had ridden on ahead. "You are welcome, travellers," she said. " I am Maedaneth, daughter of Mardil. Come and sit by the fire. I will bring blankets and hot drinks."
With Beregond's assistance, Faramir carried his lord into the living area. They left puddles of rainwater in their wake as they moved. Faramir and Beregond looked doubtfully at Aragorn's dripping clothes, then at the dry covers on the bed.
"We need to get him out of those wet things first," said Faramir. "If we sit him on the chair …" He cast aside his own dripping cloak, as did Beregond. Underneath, their clothing was fairly dry. They began by peeling off Aragorn's saturated cloak and boots, discovering the garments he wore beneath were equally soaked.
The old woman entered with two worn blankets. "I'll brew some tea while you get dry," she said, retiring to the kitchen.
"Hardly fit for a king, but these will have to suffice," said Faramir as soon as she was out of earshot. He started to ease Aragorn's. tunic over his head, while Beregond pulled at his breeches.
Aragorn started to struggle fiercely. "Desist and let me be!" he cried.
"You need to get warm and dry, mellon nîn," Faramir said gently but firmly. "Beregond, I need your assistance. The rest of you can wait in the other room."
Relieved not to be forced to choose between obeying their King or their Steward, the other men slunk after Maedaneth into the kitchen.
"Easy, it is I," Faramir, soothed. Even Aragorn's linens were soaked and his bluish tinged skin felt icy to the touch. Once his shirt was removed, a vast bruise across his shoulder and chest was revealed, matching an ugly bruise on his head. It seemed Aragorn recognised his friend's voice for his struggles abated.
"It looks as if he was attacked," Beregond said grimly, as they swiftly wrapped the wretched blankets around their lord. "I assume one of those Southron brutes saw him and struck him down, thinking he was alone and would not survive the elements long."
"They will pay," said Faramir grimly, momentarily feeling chilled to the bone. "Let us get him on the bed. I will move it nearer the fire. He most likely has cracked or broken ribs or, at the very least, severe bruising. I will see if he has some salve in his pack." He rummaged amongst Aragorn's healing supplies, which had remained safely stowed in his saddlebags, and selected a jar of comfrey ointment, which he applied liberally to Aragorn's bruises. Though he tried to be as gentle as he could, Aragorn groaned at the lightest touch. Faramir's anger surged; how dare anyone treat his lord thus? If any one of them had been injured, Aragorn's healing hands would have tended them and eased their pain rather than increased it!
"I will see if Mistress Maedaneth has a hot drink for him," said Beregond.
Faramir kicked off his muddy boots and climbed up beside Aragorn, cradling his blanket-shrouded form in his arms, propping him up to make it easier for him to drink and trying to offer warmth and reassurance. Aragorn groaned again.
"You will soon be well and home with your lady," Faramir promised him.
"Cold," Aragorn murmured.
Beregond returned the next moment with mugs of steaming tea, and held one to the King's lips. Aragorn managed to sip the hot drink. After a few minutes he started to shiver, a good sign that he was starting to get warmer.
When the cup was drained, Aragorn sank back against the lumpy pillow. "So tired," he whispered.
Faramir put his hand on Aragorn's chest beneath the ragged coverings. His skin was feeling warmer and his heart beat strongly. His companions were taking no chances, though, and remained throughout the night either side of him. Beregond dozed fitfully while Faramir remained wakeful and watchful while his lord slept.
The sun was streaming through the cottage window the next morning when Aragorn opened his eyes. "Where am I?" he enquired.
"An old woman gave us shelter in her cottage," said Faramir, trying to ease his aching arms to a more comfortable position. "She does not know who we are."
"I remember now, Faramir, I was struck with a cudgel," said Aragorn, "They came upon me unawares, but Roheryn bolted before they could do me any great mischief, though I feel as if a mûmak has sat upon me! Why are you smiling like that, mellon nîn?"
"Because you are awake and in your right mind!" Faramir found himself blinking back tears of joy. He shifted himself into a more comfortable position.
"It is good to see you looking better, sir," said Maedaneth, bustling in with more hot drinks." A cup of hot tea should soon set you to rights, sir, now you are awake. My old grandmother always swore by it as a cure for all ills!"
Faramir made to hold the cup for Aragorn, but after a few sips, the King felt able to hold the tea for himself.
"Whatever have you wrapped me in?" Aragorn enquired, shifting uncomfortably. "These blankets itch indescribably!"
"It was all the lady who gave us shelter had," said Beregond.
"And I shall see she is richly rewarded," said the King. "She shall want for nothing in future."
Just then Maedaneth returned with a bundle of clothing. "I dried these in the kitchen," she said producing all of Aragorn's garments and the cloaks of the other two. "These are mighty fine linens, fit for the King himself, I'd wager! You are welcome to bide here until you are fully recovered, sir," she told Aragorn.
"Thank you, mistress, your kind hospitality saved my life," Aragorn told her gravely. His spirits rose considerably at the prospect of shedding the itchy blankets in favour of his own more comfortable garb. Soon he would be reunited with Arwen and his children, saved from an untimely death, not only by his loyal friend and his men, but also by one of his most lowly subjects,his horse and two tattered blankets!
A/n "This was written over a year ago for the AA Group prompt "blanket". I decided to post it today in honour of Aragorn's birthday.
Chapter 41 - Through all the Changing Scenes of Life
Through all the changing scenes of life
With grateful thanks to Raksha, Virtuella and Deandra for editorial assistance and to Inzilbeth and Deandra for sharing their knowledge of horses.
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Through all the changing scenes of life,
in trouble and in joy,
the praises of my God shall still
my heart and tongue employ.
For God preserves the souls of those
who on his truth depend;
to them and their posterity
his blessing shall descend. – Nahum Tate (1652-1715)
Aragorn had always known this day would come, for all mortal creatures must die in the natural order of things. Yet as the years passed, sometimes it had seemed that Roheryn would always be there.
The King had ceased to ride the old horse in public several years ago. At first he had been stabled just outside the City, but Aragorn had been concerned that Roheryn would be lonely as the horse was used to company. Éowyn had outstanding stables, the finest outside Rohan with lush paddocks at Emyn Arnen. She had begged the honour of caring for such a venerable horse in his old age.
So Roheryn had gone to live with Faramir and Éowyn where he enjoyed a pleasant sheltered paddock and stable. The King would always take him an apple when he visited and be greeted with an eager neigh. He would caress the old stallion and be nuzzled affectionately in return. Then Aragorn would speak softly to him of the many adventures they had shared and they would take a gentle trot together. He knew some might deem him foolish, but he always felt there existed a deep understanding between them. On many occasions when they had wandered the wilds together, Roheryn had been his sole companion and Aragorn had often found himself confiding his hopes and dreams to his faithful steed.
A message had arrived that morning from Faramir and Éowyn telling the King that Roheryn was dying.
"You should go and make your farewell," Arwen urged him.
"I would like to, but what of the trade delegation from Dale? They would be gravely insulted if I failed to meet them on account of a horse!"
"I shall deal with them," Arwen said firmly. "Roheryn is no ordinary horse. I knew that when I chose him for you. As for the merchants, I shall tell them that you have urgent matters that you must debate with your Steward."
"Could any man have a more understanding lady? Thank you, vanimelda." Aragorn embraced her. She held him tightly for a moment then urged him to depart with all haste.
With a heavy heart Aragorn made his way to the stables where he ordered Mithernil to be saddled. Mithernil was a spirited, though good-natured stallion and Aragorn was fond of the handsome grey, but he was not Roheryn. He doubted any other could fill the special place Roheryn held in his heart. Perhaps it was because the stallion had been a gift from his beloved lady before they were wed, or because they had been through so much together. Roheryn had staunchly accompanied his master even along the dread Paths of the Dead and to the Black Gate and never flinched from the task.
Aragorn urged Mithernil forward hoping fervently that he would reach Roheryn in time. Fortunately it was a fine autumn day and there were no delays along the road.
He reached Emyn Arnen about noon. A servant hastened out to meet him. "Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn are out in the lower paddocks, my lord, " he said without waiting to be asked. "Shall I tend your mount, sire?"
Aragorn thanked him and handed him Mithernil's reins. He hurried the short distance to the fair meadows where Éowyn kept her aging horses. The Steward and his Lady were both kneeling on the grass beside Roheryn, who lay there.
Faramir got to his feet and hastened to greet his lord. "Éowyn found him like this morning when she rose early to see how a mare about to foal was faring," he said. "He had collapsed and was unable to get up."
"I fear he is dying," said Éowyn, also getting to her feet. Her eyes were red rimmed and her greying locks hung limply around her face. "I've seen this happen many times. I don't think he is in pain, but he will not last the day. I'm glad you have got here in time."
"Would you like to be alone with Roheryn?" Faramir asked.
Aragorn nodded, unable to trust himself to speak He sank down beside the great horse. Roheryn lifted his head a few inches with a mighty effort and whinnied feebly. Aragorn placed his hand on the mighty head. Éowyn judged correctly that the horse was not in pain, but he was indeed dying. Aragorn could sense that Roheryn's life force was swiftly ebbing away. His time had come and it would be cruel to try to delay his passing. The only healing he could offer was to ease his old friend's final hours.
He began to sing softly to Roheryn, an old lullaby that his mother had often sung him to sleep with. He had sung on his travels many times to remind him of home and those he loved. He knew not how long he knelt there singing, his arm draped around the dying horse. Roheryn nuzzled against him. The horse's breathing grew fainter and then he was gone.
"May you run forever free beyond the circles of the world, my friend," Aragorn whispered.
A great sense of desolation swept over the King. It seemed that not only Roheryn had died, but part of his past. He had ridden Roheryn on his last visit to his mother and to the Pelennor where Halbarad had fallen. He had waved goodbye to Master Elrond and to Frodo from astride the mighty horse. Now Roheryn was gone too. Time had passed and was passing. Éowyn's golden tresses had greyed and even Faramir's raven hair was streaked with silver. They were all growing old; he was growing old. He was not afraid to receive Eru's gift but there was so much yet that he needed to achieve! He looked again at Roheryn. Only a few days ago, the mighty horse had been full of life, but now there was no breath in him. Tears streamed down the King's face.
He did not hear the footsteps approaching, but suddenly there was another beside him and comforting arms around him.
"I am sorry," he said.
"Why should you not weep for a friend?" said Faramir. "Roheryn was a prince amongst horses."
Aragorn wept afresh.
"Éowyn suggested that we bury Roheryn here," said Faramir once his lord's tears were spent. "My Rangers have offered to dig his grave."
"This is a fine resting place for him," said Aragorn. "Will Éowyn not mind her paddock being dug up, though?"
"The grass will grow all the richer with such a steed beneath it," said Faramir.
"I should like to assist them to dig the grave," said Aragorn. "I have found that labour can blunt the edge of grief."
"Come and take refreshment, first, mellon nîn" said Faramir. "You cannot have eaten or drunk for hours."
Aragorn conceded to his Steward's plea. He had little appetite but he was thirsty and he knew he needed to wash his face before facing the world again.
An equally red eyed Éowyn was waiting for them and the table was laid with a simple but tasty meal. At first Aragorn nibbled at the food to please his hostess, but as he ate the tender fillet of lamb served with vegetables from Éowyn's kitchen garden, his appetite returned.
A group of Rangers were already assembled with spades when Aragorn and Faramir went back outside. The men set to work with a will.
"He was a fine horse," said one.
"I brought my little ones to see him," said another. "I thought they should see the great horse that bore our King in the battle to defeat the Dark Lord. My grandsire fought that day and told me how Roheryn never faltered. We shall not look on his like again!"
No we shall not, Aragorn thought sadly, though he was a little comforted that Roheryn's memory would endure amongst his people. He thanked the men and rewarded them well for their efforts.
"Thank you for your kindness, my friends," Aragorn said to Faramir and Éowyn. "It is time I went home to my lady. This has been a day I have long dreaded."
"Please bide with us a little longer, and take a glass of wine and a honey cake with Faramir," said Éowyn. "You should not return home without refreshment."
"Arwen will be expecting me back," said Aragorn.
"Please, mellon nîn," said Faramir. "We would do ill to send you home until you have sampled Éowyn's damson wine."
Out of curtsey to the Steward and his lady, Aragorn followed Faramir back inside where a servant brought refreshments.
Éowyn excused herself. "I need to tend my horses," she said.
Aragorn and Faramir sipped the wine and spoke of Roheryn and other horses they had known.
"There are times when I wish I were of Rohir royal blood," said Aragorn. "Then I could ride one of the Mearas and we could grow old together."
"Not even the Mearas have the blessing of a Númenorean life span," said Faramir.
"Is it such a blessing?" Aragorn mused. "Sometimes it seems that time stands almost still for us, while those we love, both man and beast, quickly age and die."
Just then a servant entered and said, "The Lady Éowyn requests your presence outside, my lords."
"Come," said Faramir. For the first time that day, he sounded cheerful.
Aragorn followed his Steward outside. The sun was sinking over the western horizon, bathing Emyn Arnen in a golden glow. Éowyn appeared along the path, which led from the higher paddocks, leading a foal and a grey mare.
"We intended him as a birthday gift for you, but it seemed fitting that you should meet him today," said Faramir.
Aragorn regarded the spindly-legged foal curiously. He wondered if sorrow was addling his wits as the young horse had a look of Roheryn about him. He had the same long neck and powerful chest and his ears were the same shape.
"Meet Rana," said Éowyn. "Your Roheryn remained frisky into his old age and last year caught me unawares by jumping over the fence into the paddock where my best brood mare was grazing. How an old horse leapt so high, I'll never know, but Roheryn was no ordinary horse. Rana is the result."
For the first time that day, Aragorn smiled. Life was full of heartbreak, but there was also hope and new life. Man and beast together were much like the seasons. Old leaves must fall in autumn to enable the new buds sprout forth in springtime.
A/n Mithernil = Grey Prince, Rana =Wanderer
This was written for the Teitho "Heartbreak" contest where if was placed first.
Chapter 42 - Autre temps, autre moeurs (Other days,other ways)
Autre temps, autre moeurs (Other days,other ways)
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha,
From Yulaf son of Izraban, Under-secretary to the Master of the Household of the Khan of Eastern Harad, Favored by the Giver of Light and Darkness, to Resoud son of Tahor, Secretary to the Vizier of the Treasury, Hail and Greeting from the North, Minas Tirith in the Land of Stone.
You asked me, friend, what I think of Aragorn son of Arathorn, King of Gondor and Arnor, wielder of the Sword Reforged, the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur's son, Elendil's son of Númenor.
A strange man indeed is this King of Gondor. He will usually spend the morning sternly dispensing justice or attending Council, as indeed a King should, but then he partakes of a simple luncheon with his lady wife. Oddly enough, she appears to be his only consort. There is no rumour of him having other wives, or even a concubine.
In the afternoon, he acts more oddly than ever. He is often seen at the Houses of Healing, using his gifts to tend the sick. No task there is too humble for their lord. Indeed, a warrior should get blood on his hands when slaughtering his enemies, but by tending the sick? It is outrageous!
Sometimes he is even seen in the market place, buying trinkets from the common traders to surprise his wife and children. He pays for them himself, refusing to accept them as his due. He allows the people to approach him. No hand is too grubby or work worn for him to clasp.
Only yesterday the King Elessar was seen to pick up a crying child who had fallen in a puddle, soothing him before returning him to his mother, oblivious of the mud on his clothing. Does he not realise how such behaviour demeans a king?
This same man is a mighty warrior, fierce in battle and forgiving in victory. He treats enemy prisoners kindly and orders the women and children to be left in peace. What a fool! A true victor would know that men-children grow up to become warriors, if not quickly killed or taken into slavery to enrich their conquerors. As for the women, one seizes the best for the victor's harem, and leaves the old women and the less comely girl-children to wail in lamentation. Thus does the might of a true lord of Men come to be known far and wide!
When evening comes, this deluded King will play with his children and tell them bedtime stories. Does he not have servants to do that for him? Often he and his lady will share a simple meal with a few of their close friends before they retire. Why ever does he choose to eat so frugally, not even using gold plates? He could share a banquet with the highest ranked nobles each night, if only he were wiser.
I shall be glad when my term of service here is ended, and I can return to the service of the Great Khan. Now he is a man who knows how a ruler ought to behave! He has five wives, and a hundred concubines to amuse him and cater for his every whim. I have never seen him get his hands dirty save when on the field of battle. Even at mealtimes, his concubines serve his food to keep his hands from becoming soiled. Our people know their place and how to behave, as so they should. I made bold to suggest to King Elessar that his guards should keep the people indoors on pain of death when he ventured outdoors, but he looked at me as if I were mad, rather than he! Oddly enough, the people seem to love him, I only wish they could know a proper ruler, like our glorious Khan!
I remain, my friend, most humbly, Yulaf son of Izraban.
Chapter 43 - Through all the Changing Scenes of Life
Through all the changing scenes of life
With grateful thanks to Raksha, Virtuella and Deandra for editorial assistance and to Inzilbeth and Deandra for sharing their knowledge of horses.
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Through all the changing scenes of life,
in trouble and in joy,
the praises of my God shall still
my heart and tongue employ.
For God preserves the souls of those
who on his truth depend;
to them and their posterity
his blessing shall descend. – Nahum Tate (1652-1715)
Aragorn had always known this day would come, for all mortal creatures must die in the natural order of things. Yet as the years passed, sometimes it had seemed that Roheryn would always be there.
The King had ceased to ride the old horse in public several years ago. At first he had been stabled just outside the City, but Aragorn had been concerned that Roheryn would be lonely as the horse was used to company. Éowyn had outstanding stables, the finest outside Rohan with lush paddocks at Emyn Arnen. She had begged the honour of caring for such a venerable horse in his old age.
So Roheryn had gone to live with Faramir and Éowyn where he enjoyed a pleasant sheltered paddock and stable. The King would always take him an apple when he visited and be greeted with an eager neigh. He would caress the old stallion and be nuzzled affectionately in return. Then Aragorn would speak softly to him of the many adventures they had shared and they would take a gentle trot together. He knew some might deem him foolish, but he always felt there existed a deep understanding between them. On many occasions when they had wandered the wilds together, Roheryn had been his sole companion and Aragorn had often found himself confiding his hopes and dreams to his faithful steed.
A message had arrived that morning from Faramir and Éowyn telling the King that Roheryn was dying.
"You should go and make your farewell," Arwen urged him.
"I would like to, but what of the trade delegation from Dale? They would be gravely insulted if I failed to meet them on account of a horse!"
"I shall deal with them," Arwen said firmly. "Roheryn is no ordinary horse. I knew that when I chose him for you. As for the merchants, I shall tell them that you have urgent matters that you must debate with your Steward."
"Could any man have a more understanding lady? Thank you, vanimelda." Aragorn embraced her. She held him tightly for a moment then urged him to depart with all haste.
With a heavy heart Aragorn made his way to the stables where he ordered Mithernil to be saddled. Mithernil was a spirited, though good-natured stallion and Aragorn was fond of the handsome grey, but he was not Roheryn. He doubted any other could fill the special place Roheryn held in his heart. Perhaps it was because the stallion had been a gift from his beloved lady before they were wed, or because they had been through so much together. Roheryn had staunchly accompanied his master even along the dread Paths of the Dead and to the Black Gate and never flinched from the task.
Aragorn urged Mithernil forward hoping fervently that he would reach Roheryn in time. Fortunately it was a fine autumn day and there were no delays along the road.
He reached Emyn Arnen about noon. A servant hastened out to meet him. "Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn are out in the lower paddocks, my lord, " he said without waiting to be asked. "Shall I tend your mount, sire?"
Aragorn thanked him and handed him Mithernil's reins. He hurried the short distance to the fair meadows where Éowyn kept her aging horses. The Steward and his Lady were both kneeling on the grass beside Roheryn, who lay there.
Faramir got to his feet and hastened to greet his lord. "Éowyn found him like this morning when she rose early to see how a mare about to foal was faring," he said. "He had collapsed and was unable to get up."
"I fear he is dying," said Éowyn, also getting to her feet. Her eyes were red rimmed and her greying locks hung limply around her face. "I've seen this happen many times. I don't think he is in pain, but he will not last the day. I'm glad you have got here in time."
"Would you like to be alone with Roheryn?" Faramir asked.
Aragorn nodded, unable to trust himself to speak He sank down beside the great horse. Roheryn lifted his head a few inches with a mighty effort and whinnied feebly. Aragorn placed his hand on the mighty head. Éowyn judged correctly that the horse was not in pain, but he was indeed dying. Aragorn could sense that Roheryn's life force was swiftly ebbing away. His time had come and it would be cruel to try to delay his passing. The only healing he could offer was to ease his old friend's final hours.
He began to sing softly to Roheryn, an old lullaby that his mother had often sung him to sleep with. He had sung on his travels many times to remind him of home and those he loved. He knew not how long he knelt there singing, his arm draped around the dying horse. Roheryn nuzzled against him. The horse's breathing grew fainter and then he was gone.
"May you run forever free beyond the circles of the world, my friend," Aragorn whispered.
A great sense of desolation swept over the King. It seemed that not only Roheryn had died, but part of his past. He had ridden Roheryn on his last visit to his mother and to the Pelennor where Halbarad had fallen. He had waved goodbye to Master Elrond and to Frodo from astride the mighty horse. Now Roheryn was gone too. Time had passed and was passing. Éowyn's golden tresses had greyed and even Faramir's raven hair was streaked with silver. They were all growing old; he was growing old. He was not afraid to receive Eru's gift but there was so much yet that he needed to achieve! He looked again at Roheryn. Only a few days ago, the mighty horse had been full of life, but now there was no breath in him. Tears streamed down the King's face.
He did not hear the footsteps approaching, but suddenly there was another beside him and comforting arms around him.
"I am sorry," he said.
"Why should you not weep for a friend?" said Faramir. "Roheryn was a prince amongst horses."
Aragorn wept afresh.
"Éowyn suggested that we bury Roheryn here," said Faramir once his lord's tears were spent. "My Rangers have offered to dig his grave."
"This is a fine resting place for him," said Aragorn. "Will Éowyn not mind her paddock being dug up, though?"
"The grass will grow all the richer with such a steed beneath it," said Faramir.
"I should like to assist them to dig the grave," said Aragorn. "I have found that labour can blunt the edge of grief."
"Come and take refreshment, first, mellon nîn" said Faramir. "You cannot have eaten or drunk for hours."
Aragorn conceded to his Steward's plea. He had little appetite but he was thirsty and he knew he needed to wash his face before facing the world again.
An equally red eyed Éowyn was waiting for them and the table was laid with a simple but tasty meal. At first Aragorn nibbled at the food to please his hostess, but as he ate the tender fillet of lamb served with vegetables from Éowyn's kitchen garden, his appetite returned.
A group of Rangers were already assembled with spades when Aragorn and Faramir went back outside. The men set to work with a will.
"He was a fine horse," said one.
"I brought my little ones to see him," said another. "I thought they should see the great horse that bore our King in the battle to defeat the Dark Lord. My grandsire fought that day and told me how Roheryn never faltered. We shall not look on his like again!"
No we shall not, Aragorn thought sadly, though he was a little comforted that Roheryn's memory would endure amongst his people. He thanked the men and rewarded them well for their efforts.
"Thank you for your kindness, my friends," Aragorn said to Faramir and Éowyn. "It is time I went home to my lady. This has been a day I have long dreaded."
"Please bide with us a little longer, and take a glass of wine and a honey cake with Faramir," said Éowyn. "You should not return home without refreshment after your labours."
"Arwen will be expecting me back," said Aragorn.
"Please, mellon nîn," said Faramir. "We would do ill to send you home until you have sampled Éowyn's damson wine."
Out of curtsey to the Steward and his lady, Aragorn followed Faramir back inside where a servant brought refreshments.
Éowyn excused herself. "I need to tend my horses," she said.
Aragorn and Faramir sipped the wine and spoke of Roheryn and other horses they had known.
"There are times when I wish I were of Rohir royal blood," said Aragorn. "Then I could ride one of the Mearas and we could grow old together."
"Not even the Mearas have the blessing of a Númenorean life span," said Faramir.
"Is it such a blessing?" Aragorn mused. "Sometimes it seems that time stands almost still for us, while those we love, both man and beast, quickly age and die."
Just then a servant entered and said, "The Lady Éowyn requests your presence outside, my lords."
"Come," said Faramir. For the first time that day, he sounded cheerful.
Aragorn followed his Steward outside. The sun was sinking over the western horizon, bathing Emyn Arnen in a golden glow. Éowyn appeared along the path, which led from the higher paddocks, leading a foal and a grey mare.
"We intended him as a birthday gift for you, but it seemed fitting that you should meet him today," said Faramir.
Aragorn regarded the spindly-legged foal curiously. He wondered if sorrow was addling his wits as the young horse had a look of Roheryn about him. He had the same long neck and powerful chest and his ears were the same shape.
"Meet Rana," said Éowyn. "Your Roheryn remained frisky into his old age and last year caught me unawares by jumping over the fence into the paddock where my best brood mare was grazing. How an old horse leapt so high, I'll never know, but Roheryn was no ordinary horse. Rana is the result."
For the first time that day, Aragorn smiled. Life was full of heartbreak, but there was also hope and new life. Man and beast together were much like the seasons. Old leaves must fall in autumn to enable the new buds sprout forth in springtime.
Chapter 44 - How the Mighty are Fallen
How the Mighty are Fallen
The characters are the property of the Tolkien estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
With grateful thanks to Raksha and Virtuella.
Faramir had long since concluded that although you could make a Ranger into a King, the Ranger was still always present lurking somewhere in the background ready any day to manifest himself.
Today was one of those days. Bad weather had confined the King within doors for several days and he was restless as a lively horse chomping at the bit.
Aragorn had undoubtedly tried to work, but was now almost driving Faramir to distraction with his restless pacing to look out of the window every few minutes.
"Our horses could do with some exercise now that the rain has stopped," Faramir suggested, finally putting his lord out of his misery. "We can finish the paperwork later."
"There is nothing I would like better," Aragorn said wistfully. "I really should finish reading this report from the Dwarfs on the amount of stone we are projected to need over the next ten years, though."
"You have read all of one page in an hour!" Faramir pointed out. "Come, you will settle better to finish it after a breath of fresh air. We can work this evening instead."
"Very well, my friend," Aragorn conceded, his expression similar to that of a man who has just been released from lengthy imprisonment. "Arwen says I am like a bear with a sore head when I am confined indoors. To think that I wandered alone in the wild in all weathers, but now I am King, people raise their eyebrows if I get my feet wet. Wearing a crown does not make me into a frail hothouse flower!"
"Not if your lady thinks you resemble a bear!" laughed the Steward. "We must make certain you do not truly turn into one!"
Within the hour, King and Steward were riding across the Pelennor in the pleasant October sunshine. A chilly breeze blew, though, snatching many of the remaining orange and gold leaves from their branches. Behind the King and Steward rode two unhappy looking guards, who ardently wished that their charges spent breezy autumn afternoons indoors.
Roheryn was in a skittish mood, unlike Faramir's placid gelding, Zachus, who plodded patiently behind the great stallion.
"Is that carthorse asleep?" Aragorn teased his Steward, though in truth he was fond of the gentle horse.
"I think he prefers his warm stable where he can doze," Faramir said ruefully. "I suspect we might have frost tonight."
Aragorn sniffed the air. "I have always found autumn a beautiful season," he said. "But now I no longer face the prospect of sleeping under a hedge in the snow, I can appreciate it even more. The air smells so fresh at this time of year."
"Boromir was born in October," Faramir said somewhat pensively. "I remember when we were children, how we used to try to catch a falling leaf. Not that we ever succeeded!"
"I will race you to that tree," said Aragorn, anxious that Faramir should not brood over the brother he still missed. He gestured towards a great oak about a league ahead. "That should wake up your sleepy horse!" Thus saying, he allowed Roheryn his head and set off at a gallop.
Unknown to the carefree riders, a cart had traversed the fields earlier that day and become stuck when the axle had snapped. The ground had churned up and was slippery at the accident's site. Now, the broken piece of wood lay buried in the mud.
Aragorn tried to rein in Roheryn to avoid the patch of churned up ground, but too late. Racing at full speed, the stallion was unable to slow down quickly enough. His hooves caught the partially submerged axle and he stumbled to an abrupt halt, sending the King flying over his head.
Faramir could only watch in horror as his friend fell to the ground in a crumbled heap. The Steward immediately bought his gelding to a halt before they reached the dangerous patch of ground. Swiftly dismounting, he raced to his friend's side.
Aragorn lay sprawled on the ground beside the splintered wood. Blood poured from a wound in his head.
"Aragorn no!" Oblivious to the mud, Faramir knelt on the ground and clasped Aragorn's hand. He could feel a strong pulse, so the King was still alive, but it appeared that he could be badly injured as he neither moved nor opened his eyes.
"Lord Faramir?" called one of the Guards who had finally caught up with them.
"Ride back quickly and fetch the Warden from the Houses of Healing or a senior healer and tell the servants to prepare the King's room!" Faramir said urgently.
"Would you like me to stay with him, so you can return to the Citadel?" asked the second Guard, looking aghast at his Steward kneeling in the mud.
"No, I will stay with the King. Go now and hurry!"
Once the men had gone, Faramir unfastened his cloak and used it to drape around Aragorn. "Wake up," he pleaded, tearing a strip from his shirt and bandaging the wound on Aragorn's head.
The King opened his eyes and groaned. "My head, my back! What happened?"
"Thank the Valar you are awake!" Faramir exclaimed. "No, mellon nîn, you must be still until the healer comes," he pleaded when Aragorn tried to sit up. "You have fallen from your horse."
"I am a healer!" Aragorn said tetchily, but nevertheless remained still, knowing the wisdom of his Steward's words. "I hope the healer hurries then. It is cold here!" He groaned again and clutched his head.
Faramir tried to shield Aragorn from the elements as best he could with his own body. The horses, sensing their masters' need, formed a protective shelter against the wind, but the breeze, which had seemed so pleasant earlier, now had a biting coldness as the sun started to sink in the western sky.
Faramir's keen eyes searched the horizon wishing help would come. There was not a soul in sight. It was not a market day and the good citizens of Minas Tirith preferred to stay by their fires on blustery autumn days. He concentrated on trying to keep up Aragorn's spirits, but the King said little apart from repeatedly asking Faramir what had happened, which was more worrying to the Steward than if his lord had remained silent.
Time passed and Faramir began to wonder whether it would indeed be better to risk riding back to the Citadel. He had begun to fear that Aragorn was in more danger of taking harm from lying in a cold damp field than from his injuries.
After what seemed a very long time, but must have been less than an hour, Faramir heard shouts. He looked up and saw a group of riders coming towards them.
Several burly guards escorted Aragorn's healer, Aedred, a man who was as ill at ease on a horse as he was at home in the Houses. His fellow healers often joked that Aedred had only left his native Rohan and chosen to become a healer, so that he could avoid riding a horse. Today he had no option but to do so and was perched precariously atop a pony, looking almost comical amongst the great war horses of the guards.
As soon as he could, the healer dismounted and hastened to where Aragorn was lying. "What happened?" he asked Faramir rather breathlessly.
"We were galloping the horses when the King's horse stumbled and threw him. He hit his head on this broken axle as he fell," the Steward explained. "His back hurts too and he seems confused."
"There is nothing wrong with my tongue!" Aragorn protested. "I can speak perfectly well for myself!"
"Who ever in their right mind goes galloping around on a gigantic beast if they don't have to?" grumbled Aedred as he knelt beside Aragorn. Faramir moved aside, but he took the King's cold hands between his own.
"Is he badly injured?" Faramir demanded of the healer. "His head is bleeding so much!"
"Patience, my lord!" Aedred cautioned, removing the makeshift bandage and carefully examining Aragorn's head and neck before swiftly feeling his limbs. Aragorn groaned. "Hmm."
"What do you mean, hmm?" Faramir asked anxiously. "Is he badly hurt? Should we send for the Queen?"
"Nothing appears to be broken, though I cannot say for certain until I get him back to the Citadel and examine him properly. I do not think, though, he is suffering from anything worse than bruises and a concussion. Where is Queen Arwen, then?"
"She is visiting my wife in Ithilien with Prince Eldarion and due to return on the morrow."
"Unless a full examination uncovers anything worse, I would advise against her travelling at haste though the hours of darkness, especially with a young child," Aedred replied. "Now, we need to get the Lord Elessar to somewhere dry and warm. It is safe to move him. Someone will have to ride with him in front of them."
"Stop talking about me as though I was not here!" Aragorn protested.
The Guards moved forward but Faramir forestalled them. "I will ride with him," he said. "My Zachus is a strong horse and can easily carry two." Rather belatedly, he asked Aragorn "Who would you prefer to ride with, sire?"
"I can ride perfectly well on my own if you help me up," said Aragorn.
"That would not be wise, my lord," said Aedred.
Aragorn grunted, but when Aedred and Faramir, together with two Guards, carefully helped him to his feet, the world began to spin around. "I will ride with the Steward," he said, admitting defeat.
"We will take you to the Houses of Healing, my lord," said Aedred.
"No!" snapped Aragorn. "I want to go home. It will worry my lady too much if she finds me there when I return."
"I think he might fare better in his own rooms," said Faramir "If I recall rightly, he keeps more varied healing supplies there than you have in the Houses even. He has told me that familiar surroundings can aid recovery and I doubt the King would take kindly to confinement within the Houses! I can stay with him in his own rooms until Queen Arwen returns, provided that you, Master Aedred, or one of your assistants would remain too if needed."
"Very well," Aedred conceded. Together with the two guards, he helped Aragorn mount Faramir's horse. The Steward then climbed up behind him and supported Aragorn so that he was in no risk of falling off a horse again that day.
The small procession made their way back to the City as swiftly as safety would permit. Faramir gave his authority to allow his horse and Aedred's pony to ascend to the seventh level, where two of the guards carried the protesting Aragorn to his room. The King seemed less confused now and even more irate.
The servants had not been idle. The fire had been built up, healing supplies laid out and towels spread across the vast bed in anticipation of their coming.
The Guards placed Aragorn on the bed. Faramir thanked them and bade them go and take refreshment.
"I could have walked!" Aragorn protested grumpily. He tried to sit up rather too quickly only to be overcome with a wave of dizziness and had to lie down again.
The housekeeper regarded his muddy boots on the bed cover with dismay and gestured the valet to come forward and remove them. Aragorn gave the man a thunderous look.
Faramir hastily dismissed the hovering servants.
"Come, sire, we must get you out of those wet clothes," said the healer cheerfully. He started to pull off Aragorn's footwear.
"I can undress myself if you would go away and leave me in peace!" Aragorn snapped. Again he moved too swiftly and was forced to lie down again and endure the indignity of being undressed as if he were a baby. Faramir handed him a blanket, which he clutched to himself like a shield.
"Your hands are cold!" Aragorn protested when the healer examined him. "Ouch! It is obvious that you were trained by trolls rather than Elves!"
"We have not all had your advantages, my lord," Aedred said amiably. "The previous Warden, who was personal healer to Lord Denethor himself, trained me. There appears to be nothing worse than a bump on your head and some bruises on your back. I will mix a salve for you."
"I have better salves of my own on the table over there," Aragorn retorted. "Faramir, fetch the comfrey salve, please, that is good for healing bruises."
"Your thick Númenorean skull seems to have saved you from taking serious hurt," Aedred continued. "I must just ask you some questions, sire. What is your name?"
"Elessar, King of Gondor, though you seem to have forgotten that!" the King replied.
"And where are we?"
"In my bedchamber in Minas Tirith, one place I ought to get some peace!"
The healer continued to ignore Aragorn's bad mood while he asked more questions and chattered cheerfully while he applied salves to Aragorn's bruises and the goose egg size lump that had appeared on his head. He then bandaged the cut. Faramir took advantage of his presence to go and change into clean garments, his own being damp and stained with mud.
The Steward returned just as the healer was replacing the pot of salve with Aragorn's other healing supplies. "Do you wish me to stay, my lord?" Aedred enquired.
"No!" Aragorn snapped.
"Is the King in any danger?" the Steward asked.
"I do not think so," answered the healer. "I have uncovered no serious hurts, but he should not be left alone."
"I will remain with him," said Faramir. "I can always send for you again if I feel there is any need. You should take your rest as I am certain you will a lot work waiting for you at the Houses of Healing."
Aedred for a moment looked as if he could happily have embraced Faramir. He swiftly composed his features and bowed. "Thank you, my lords. Lord Faramir, you need to wake the King at least once during the night to make certain he is not confused, but I will mix a draught to relieve pain and help the King sleep."
"I have pain relieving draughts of my own with no doubt taste better than the vile concoctions you brew," said Aragorn. "I recall tasting one when a patient I was helping tend at the Houses refused to swallow it."
"As you wish, my lord," said Aedred. "Be sure to call me again if you have need of me. I bid you a restful night." With that he took his leave.
Aragorn gave a deep sigh as soon as the door closed behind the man. "Maybe I was hard on the fellow, but I cannot abide healers!" he said.
"But you are a healer yourself," said Faramir.
"Maybe I would like them better if they had been trained by Elves," said Aragorn. "These Gondorian healers seem to inflict more pain than they relieve! I hate falling helplessly into their hands."
"Shall I mix you some pain killing herbs?" Faramir enquired.
"Yes, please, but first help me into my night attire. I refuse to lie here wearing only a blanket a moment longer! And perhaps you could sent for some light refreshments?"
Faramir smiled for the first time since the accident. Aragorn was sounding far more like his usual self. He despatched a servant to fetch food and drink for them both and then helped Aragorn ease his nightshirt over his head.
By the time they had eaten and the pain relieving draught had had time to take effect, Aragorn was much restored in health and spirits. "I shall retire early," he said, "for I want to be up and about tomorrow before Arwen returns. She will chide me for being so foolish as to fall from my horse so I would not have her find me lying a bed too!"
The night passed with nor greater disturbance than Aragorn's snoring waking Faramir, more frequently that Faramir waking Aragorn to see that he was suffering no ill effects from his head injury.
"How do you feel?" Faramir asked the King when the early morning sunlight streamed into the room.
"I have a slight headache and am somewhat stiff, but otherwise feel quite well," the King replied. "It is you who look exhausted, my friend!"
"I shall feel better once I have eaten," said Faramir. He smiled; Aragorn's concern for his well-being was proof that the King was his old self again. "Do you want me to send for some refreshments?"
"I would prefer to get up," Aragorn replied. "I need to be up and about before Arwen returns so as not to alarm her."
Aragorn managed to get out of bed without assistance and after he had washed was able to don his breeches. His shirt however defeated him and he conceded that he needed Faramir's help. The bruises on his back were now a lurid shade of purple that matched those that had appeared on his forehead where the bandage did not cover.
"You are black and blue!" Faramir exclaimed. "Shall I send for the healer?"
"He cannot do anything for me that I cannot do myself," said Aragorn. "Arwen will change the bandage for me later. She is certain to insist on seeing the injury."
"Do you want the comfrey salve then?" Faramir asked.
"Yes, please," said Aragorn. He took the jar and rubbed some of the foul looking mixture on his forehead. "Can you rub some on my back, please? I fear I am too stiff to reach myself this morning."
Faramir did as he was bidden and placed the jar on the bedside table. He looked around for something to wipe his hands on before helping Aragorn don his shirt. He reached over for a towel that Aragorn had discarded after leaving the bathing chamber, quickly rubbed his hands clean on it and helped ease Aragorn's linen shirt over his head, followed by his tunic.
Instinctively a tidy man, Faramir then reached for the towel again to place it in the laundry basket, only to catch the jar of salve with it and dislodge it from the table. The jar fell on the floor with a loud crash and shattered. The ointment oozed out on to the floor.
"I am sorry!" Faramir exclaimed.
"Do not worry about it," said Aragorn. "I have plenty more. Just call for a servant to clean the floor."
Eager to get the mess cleaned up, Faramir hurried to the door only to catch his foot in the sticky ointment. He made a vain grab for the table, but fell heavily to the floor.
"Faramir! Are you hurt?" Aragorn cried. His own hurts forgotten, he offered a helping arm to his friend.
Faramir grimaced as he tried to get to his feet. "I think I have twisted my ankle," he said glumly.
0000
The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows of Arwen's sitting room. For once the Queen was not busy with her embroidery. Instead she sat regarding her husband with a quizzical look. Éowyn, who had decided to accompany her friend, sat beside the Queen and was similarly observing her own husband. The two men sat beside each other on the couch. Faramir sat with his ankle propped on a footstool. Both men had equally glum expressions.
"Whatever were you thinking, Estel?" said Arwen. "You fell from your horse? An experienced rider like you? Do you need ice to put on that lump on your head?"
"Accidents do happen, vanimelda," said Aragorn. "No thank you."
"And you, Faramir, are even worse," scolded Éowyn. "Salves are for putting on wounds, not paddling in! Do you need more ice for your ankle?"
"No, thank you, dear," said Faramir meekly.
"Men!" Éowyn snorted as she helped herself to some apple juice from a jug on the table. "We cannot leave them for five minutes ere they get into trouble!"
"Our husbands seem quite incapable of managing without us," Arwen agreed. "We must keep a closer eye upon them in future!"
Aragorn groaned.
"Not that I would want to tame my Ranger, too much though," the Queen conceded, exchanging a loving glance with her husband.
"I am glad to hear that," said Aragorn.
"You will give me grey hairs faster than the children do," said Éowyn. "But I like my husband as he is too. At least life is never dull with him!"
The two men dared to relax a little for the first time since their wives and offspring had returned earlier that day.
"What a pair you are!" said Arwen, but she was smiling affectionately.
A/n. This story originally began life years ago as part of what is now "Shadows of Memory." I revised it last autumn for the Teitho "Falls" contest where it was placed second.
Chapter 45 - After the Battle
After the Battle
The Characters are the Property of the Tolkien Estate.
With thanks to Raksha
"How goes the battle?" enquired the King. News had reached him that a large group of Orcs had been discovered heading towards Minas Ithil. Faramir and his White Company had been fighting the foul creatures all day amongst the ruins. Aragorn had decided to see how they were faring and had rode in at the head of a hundred fresh troops from the Tower Guard.
"The battle goes well, my lord," said Beregond, who was nearby, checking Orc carcasses for signs of life. "The foul creatures are almost routed."
Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, espied his lord and came to greet him. "The Orcs' discipline fails now that the Enemy is no more, sire, "he said. "They cannot hold long against the Men of Gondor; half of them fled after we charged. "
"Good tidings indeed!" said Aragorn. He narrowed his eyes, seeing the unusual pallor of his friend's face for the first time. He then noticed the blood- stained bandage around Faramir's arm and frowned. "You are wounded, my Lord Steward?" he asked with the careful formality that was required in public.
"'Tis but a scratch, sire," said Faramir. "An Orc blade caught me a glancing blow. The healer bound it."
"Nevertheless, I would like to tend it myself," said Aragorn.
" I am well, sire, " Faramir protested. "I ..." He gave a muffled cry and fell at the King's feet in a dead faint.
Faramir's next few hours passed in a hazy blur. He was dimly aware of being carried, and laid on a makeshift bed, his armour being removed, a stinging sensation to his arm, the King's voice concerned and kindly. A familiar scent filled the air, sweet and green; or was it only a dream?
He slept fitfully; but dark dreams haunted him: dreams of clashing steel punctuated by the cries of the wounded and dying.
"Easy, Faramir!"
Faramir awoke to the comfort of a wet cloth placed on his forehead. "What happened?" he mumbled through dry lips. His arm throbbed painfully. He realised he was lying on a bed of soft furs and his arm was heavily bandaged.
"You were wounded, my friend, by a poisoned Orc blade," Aragorn said gravely, holding a cup to the Steward's mouth and supporting him as he drank. "I came in time to treat it with athelas, before the poison spread; but you have a fever and must rest."
Faramir swallowed thankfully. Then he remembered. "The battle?" he asked, unable to keep a commander's anxiety from his voice.
"The Orcs are vanquished; and those who did not flee died rather than surrender. You lost only two men while ten were wounded, but they will live. Go back to sleep now," Aragorn said gently but firmly, tucking the covers more firmly around the Steward. "You need have no more dark dreams."
"I was dreaming of another battle," said Faramir. He closed his eyes, then sighed. "I can still hear the screams of our men as they died, the cries went on and on. I feared the screaming would not stop until I died as well."
Aragorn took his Steward's wrist and felt the pulse. He sighed. He lit another lamp and sat down beside him. " Your heart races wildly, " he said. "Tell me of this battle; then maybe you will rest easier."
"It was the last time I fought beside my brother," said Faramir, "and the first time I encountered the Nazgûl. I still recall the terror that seized my heart. I felt that dread again my dreams just now."
"The Orc poison might well have been brewed to work in concert with the Black Breath," said Aragorn. "As you suffered the Black Breath before, it has awakened dark dreams." He swiftly rose, moved to the tent's entrance, and there called for hot water. When it was brought, Aragorn took two leaves from his pouch, breathed on them and crumbled them into the bowl. A living freshness quickly filled the air as if a pleasant spring breeze had blown through the tent.
"Boromir and I tried to inspire our men, despite the dread we felt," Faramir continued, "Terror overcame their hearts, though. Men and horses fled, only to be pursued and cut down by the Easterlings. Only a few remained and we feared that the Enemy would cross the river and overwhelm us. Somehow, we managed to destroy the bridge and confine the foe to the eastern banks. Only my brother and I, together with two other men, escaped by swimming across the river. So many good men perished that day, some because they lingered to help me off with my armour. Some made for the river and were dragged down by their mail while others could not swim. To think that but four men remained of that great company! Many mothers wept and wives were made widows. I often wonder by what chance I was spared when so many died."
"The Valar had a purpose for you," Aragorn said. He wet the cloth again and pressed it once more to Faramir's brow.
"I see now I was needed to help rebuild our land," said Faramir. "I have found joy in your service and friendship and in my wife and children. I still think, though, of those who died."
"So does any good Captain," the King replied.
"My father was so proud of Boromir that day," the Steward continued. "It grieved him deeply when the western bank fell."
"So you felt obliged to retake it and almost lost your life," said Aragorn, thinking how sad it was that Denethor had never realised the worth of his younger son.
Faramir nodded. "You came then and saved me and all our people," he said. "Today you saved me again!"
"Ruling Gondor would be somewhat onerous without you. You have a far better head for paperwork than I," the King replied, his dry wit not disguising the affection he had grown to feel for this younger man who had become as a son to him.
"Ah yes, I was working on a trading agreement when news of the Orcs arrived, " Faramir sighed. "I shall be so behind with everything!"
"I will see that it is dealt with," Aragorn promised. "As soon as you are fit to travel, I am returning you to your wife and children. I would not wish to doubly risk Lady Éowyn's wrath by both bringing you home wounded and expecting you to work while you recover!" He pressed a paternal kiss on Faramir's brow. Now, go to sleep, ion nîn!" He lightly brushed his fingertips over Faramir's eyelids, sending him into a healing sleep.
Aragorn remained watching over the Steward until daybreak. Faramir's collapse earlier that day had alarmed him more that he cared to admit. To lose Faramir would have been a grievous blow, not only for Gondor, but for her King who would sorely miss Faramir's wisdom and friendship.
Satisfied at last that Faramir's sleep was now dreamless, the King allowed himself to rest beside him. Gondor again was at peace and in safe hands.
A/N I wrote this story 4 years ago for a challenge on LJ and had forgotten about it.
Chapter 46 - Awakening
Awakening
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Virtuella
I sensed that the hand that planted me held great power. A deep voice pronounced a blessing then buried me deep in the earth.
When spring came and the earth grew warm, I desired to sprout, but Lady Yavanna bade me be patient and wait until the right time was come.
Long years I waited; the earth grew warm then cold again as year followed year and generations of Men came and went. I slept, wondering if I would ever be called upon to awaken.
I sensed the world growing darker. Maybe I should wither and fall into an endless sleep? What future was there for me? To be burned like my forbear?
Then Lady Yavanna called to me at last, bidding me awake and put forth roots and branches. I swiftly emerged into the light and found the world much changed. The darkness had increased and I sensed the power of evil becoming ever stronger. Yet I grew, rejoicing in what sunlight fell upon my buds and soaking up refreshing drops of rain. The soil was sparse here upon the mountaintop and I could not put forth deep roots, only cling tightly to the rocky ground. Neither did I blossom, for to me, each petal was a tear of joy and there was little joy in this dark world.
Another springtime came, but the land grew ever darker. My leaves trembled as mighty armies clashed until one day a fresh wind blew from the West that brought me hope. Not long afterwards I heard the eagles bring tidings that the Dark Lord was overthrown and the King was returning. I knew then that my time was coming. I loosened my roots and waited. For the first time, I put forth a few blossoms.
I knew my lord at once when he arrived. He clasped me firmly, yet so gently and I gladly yielded to his touch. With him was a white robed one, ancient of days. I knew him as one of the mighty, yet even he treated him who plucked me from the earth with reverence. I was afraid, for an uprooted tree will soon wither and die, yet somehow I knew I could trust this man. He carried me carefully down the mountain and planted me firmly in the earth beside a fair fountain. He brought water for my thirsty roots. Then he caressed my trunk and murmured, "You are a sign from the Valar. I know now that she will come." I sensed I was safe in his care.
My new home could not have been more different than the old. Before I dwelt in solitude and the wild beauty of the mountainside. Now I was surrounded by Men and buildings of stone. I was never alone as stern and silent guards watched over me day and night. The garments they wore were adorned with a likeness of me, as often too were my lord's raiment.
Many people came and stared at me, their eyes full of wonder.
Each night my lord would visit me and talk to me. I grew to love him and I was certain that he loved me too. In my joy I put forth more and more blossoms. My lord and a younger man even visited me one night and gazed at me in wonder when the moonlight turned my white petals to shining silver.
Sometimes, though, my lord turned away from me and gazed wistfully towards the North. It was not long before I discovered what he sought.
When my blossoms were at their fairest, he came before me with a maiden, more beautiful than the stars themselves and a host of fair folk. The mighty one presided as my lord and the fair one joined hands and exchanged rings. I showered them with my petals to bless their union. I knew then that my lord and lady would put forth deep roots and bring forth saplings of their own to play beneath my sheltering branches.
A/n Written for the Teitho "Trees" challenge where it was placed second.
Chapter 47 - A Father's Duty
A Father's Duty by Linda Hoyland
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. This story is written for pleasure not profit.
With grateful thanks to Virtuella.
In loving memory of MJM
"Your grandfather came here several times," Aragorn told his Steward as they made camp outside the ruined fort. "I was in charge of the garrison here for a few months just after the ramparts were built."
"A pity that it is now in ruins," said Faramir, putting a pan of water on the fire to boil. "The Southrons attacked it during the war and we had not sufficient forces to defend it."
"Maybe we could ..." His words were interrupted by the sound of galloping hoof beats. A moment later, a man wearing the livery of a messenger rode into sight.
The man looked exhausted as he stumbled from his sweating horse. He handed Aragorn a scrap of parchment. It was from Arwen, though her usually elegant handwriting had been reduced to an untidy scrawl. The missive was stark: "Come home at once. Eldarion has fallen from his horse."
Aragorn paled. For a moment he envisaged his life as broken as the ruins that surrounded them. With an effort he managed to retain his composure in front of the messenger. "What happened?" he demanded.
"I know little, my lord," said the man. "Only that the prince was riding his new horse when he fell and injured himself. He was unconscious when I left."
Aragorn was already swinging himself into the saddle while Faramir stamped out the remnants of their campfire. "We will set out at once," he told the man. "Rest yourself and the horse before you follow."
As soon as Faramir had mounted his own horse, he urged Roheryn to a gallop. The stallions pounding hooves echoed the force of the thoughts that whirled round his brain. His boy, his beloved Eldarion was badly hurt or maybe worse and he was not there. Oh why had he chosen to visit the ruined fort when he had a few free days instead of spending time with his son? Eldarion, oh, merciful Valar, why Eldarion? How badly was he hurt? Was he – no, better not even to think the unthinkable? Poor little one! How much pain was he in? His boy needed his Ada and he was not there for him! How long would it take to reach his son?
He rode furiously as if the Nazgûl themselves were in pursuit.
He knew not how much time had elapsed, or of passing familiar landmarks; he was aware of nothing save the ache in his heart. The trees seemed like an army keeping him from his beloved child. He scarcely noticed that Roheryn's pounding hooves began to falter in the gathering dusk.
Faramir drew up alongside him. "We must stop to rest the horses," he cried, shouting to make himself heard above the sound of crashing hooves. " For Valars' sake stop before your horse collapses beneath you! Iavas can go no further and Roheryn is almost spent. You cannot reach Eldarion if you have no horse!"
Aragorn brought his exhausted mount to a halt and patted the great stallion's neck in contrition. Roheryn was panting and his flanks were moist with sweat. "Very well, "he conceded. "We will stop for an hour to let the horses recover."
"I recall there is a stream yonder," said Faramir. "Let us rest there."
Aragorn He led Roheryn to the nearby stream and let him drink taking care he did not gorge himself. Faramir did likewise with Iavas. It was a fair glade where clear water ran over a stony bed beneath some willows, but Aragorn was oblivious the beauty around him.
When the horses were settled, Aragorn paced restlessly in the forest clearing.
"Sit down and take rest yourself," Faramir counselled.
"How can I? My son could be gravely hurt, even dying!"
"If he needs your healing skills, you can best aid him if you conserve your strength," said Faramir. "Sit down!"
Aragorn sighed and sat, his back against a tree trunk. Only then did he realise that his whole body ached and his palms dripped with sweat and ached where the reins had dug into them. "I should never have left him!" he said. "Others could have inspected the ruins."
"You have long wanted to visit the fort. You needed some fresh air and exercise and left with the Queen's blessing."
"Eldarion wanted to come," said Aragorn. " He was distressed that you and I were going without him... Maybe I should have permitted it?"
"It is too far for a child to ride as you told him yourself," Faramir replied. "You did what you thought was best."
"As I thought I was doing when I said he could ride his horse instead of his pony!" Aragorn said bitterly. He buried his head in his hands.
"Stop blaming yourself, mellon nîn!" Faramir said firmly. "Next you will blame Éomer for giving him the horse, or the day for being fine enough to go riding! I know how worried you are, do not forget that I am a father too, but blaming yourself will help no one. Now rest!"
Aragorn glared but said nothing. He leaned back against the tree and took a long draught from his water bottle.
00
The great hall was crowded with guests from far and wide. The Steward's son and his lady had produced a son and heir for Gondor and no one of any importance desired to miss the naming ceremony of this much wanted child.
For once Denethor was beaming as he showed off his baby son to his guests. The elderly Steward, Ecthelion, stood beside his son and daughter- in- law as they paused to speak to the well-wishers.
In a quiet corner of the room, Ecthelion's favourite Captain and close friend, Thorongil, stared morosely at his drink. He had not wanted to come today, but the Steward had insisted. The Captain's plain uniform, adorned only by a star shaped brooch, looked out of place amongst the silks and velvets sported by the other guests. Thorongil wished that he were elsewhere. He was pleased that Ecthelion had a grandson and Boromir was a fair babe, a robust infant with a shock of dark hair and chubby cheeks, but seeing him served only to remind Thorongil that he had no son, nor was he ever likely to as the lady he loved was as far above him as the moon. Ecthelion had urged him to marry and many fair maidens had been introduced to him. There were times when he wondered if he should abandon his dream, but how could he marry without love and sire children with one woman when he yearned for another? No, it was better by far to remain alone. Yet by doing so, was he not failing in his duty to sire an heir and continue his line? Maybe he should try harder to feel some interest in the ladies of Gondor? Many had made it clear enough that she would be happy if he were to seek her hand in marriage. But how could he forget Arwen?
Thorongil saw Ecthelion glancing in his direction. The old man beckoned him over. "Come and see my grandson, my friend," he said. "Finduilas tells me he is such a good baby who rarely cries, not at all like this father was. Now I remember…."
The old Steward launched into a lengthy anecdote about the childhood of Denethor and his sisters, ignoring his son's glare. When he had finally finished it, he called to Denethor, "Bring Boromir over here so that Thorongil can look at him."
Denethor reluctantly came nearer, the child in his arms.
"You would make a fine father, Thorongil," Ecthelion said as the Captain admired the baby. "Maybe seeing this little one around will turn your thoughts towards marriage? See, Boromir is smiling at you!"
Another guest called to the Steward and Ecthelion left Thorongil to go and speak to him.
Denethor glared, then he hissed at Thorongil. "You have stolen my father's love, you shall not have my son as well!"
Just then the music started and Boromir was born away by his nursemaid. Denethor took his lady's arm and the dance began. Thorongil returned to his corner.
0000
How could a father attempt to burn his son alive? Aragorn had seen and heard of many dark deeds during his long life, but this defied nature herself that the man who gave life should seek to take it in such a manner.
He knelt beside the sick bed of Denethor's son and sought to connect with the wandering spirit. What he found astonished him. Here was a man of rare quality both wise and noble. In looks, Faramir was most certainly his father's son, but his heart was very different; where the father was cold and proud; the son was filled with warmth and humility.
Aragorn took Faramir's hand and prepared to lead him out of the dark vale and back to life and light.
"Stop! You have robbed me of one son, you shall not take the other from me too!" Denethor suddenly appeared and blocked the path that Aragorn was leading Faramir along.
"I did not cause Boromir's death. He fell in battle. As for Faramir, you who sired him now seek to destroy him. I offer him life!"
Denethor laughed bitterly. "But Boromir's death suits you well, does it not, Thorongil? He would have fought for his rights to hold rod and rule here. And why look so shocked? Every soldier learns how to spare his mortally wounded comrades from being put to torment by the enemy."
"Death by fire is hardly merciful," Aragorn retorted. "You have Boromir, go now to his side beyond the circles of the world. Faramir I claim as mine!"
Denethor grabbed Faramir, but Aragorn wrenched him from his father's grasp and dragged him to safety.
Denethor called after him. "I curse you, Thorongil! You stole my father's love from me. Not content with that, you have robbed me of my sons. One day I shall take your son from you!"
"No!" cried Aragorn. "If I had a son I would keep him safe."
000
"Aragorn, wake up, mellon nîn!" Faramir cried urgently.
"No!"
Aragorn blinked and opened his eyes. He was sweating profusely.
"You were having a bad dream, ada," said Faramir. "You look quite pale."
Aragorn scrambled to his feet, and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "How could I fall asleep at a time like this? How could you let me? We must be on our way!"
"You are weary after riding long and hard."
"I dreamed of your father." Aragorn said shortly. He whistled to Roheryn and lifted the saddle on the great stallion's back.
"What dark dream troubled you so?" Faramir persisted.
"He cursed me that as I had stolen his father's love and his sons, he swore he would take Eldarion from me!" Aragorn swung himself into the saddle. "Come, there is no time for talk."
000
The sun was high in a cloudless sky when the two riders reached Minas Tirith. Aragorn paused only to tell the groom to take good care of Roheryn when they reached the stables in the sixth circle. He then ran all the way to the Citadel, Faramir following as best he could. The King had not idly been named Wingfoot.
When he approached the Royal Apartments, Arwen rushed out to meet him, heedless of decorum.
"Eldarion?"
"He is resting. Oh, Estel! I should have been there for him and not at the Embroidery Guild! To see my baby in such pain!"
Without pausing to question her, Aragorn hastened to his son's chamber. A bored looking Eldarion was sitting up in bed perusing a book without enthusiasm. His arm was in a sling. His face lit up when his father entered the room.
"You are back, ada, I missed you! You should have seen Wingmane, gallop, ada!" he said. "We went really fast, but then I fell off."
"I told you were only to gallop on your pony," Aragorn chided gently. ""Now where are you hurt?"
"He dislocated his shoulder and is badly bruised," said Arwen who had followed her husband into the room at a somewhat more sedate pace.
"The messenger said he was unconscious," said Aragorn, starting to feel Eldarion's head.
"The healer told me that he swooned from the pain," said Arwen. "The groom said he fell heavily on his shoulder. My poor baby!"
"I'm not a baby!" Eldarion protested.
"Stop wriggling, Eldarion," commanded Aragorn, who was trying to examine his son's injuries. The little boy's shoulder was badly bruised and swollen, but otherwise he seemed to have escaped from his misadventure relatively unscathed. He could have wept with relief. Instead he smiled at his son.
"It is better than it was last night, he was in a great deal of pain then," said Arwen. "I used my Elven arts to ease him as best I could."
"Together we shall heal him," said Aragorn. "I will make him some dandelion tea to reduce the swelling too."
"Ugh, that tastes horrible!" Eldarion protested pulling a face.
"You shall have some honey with it," Aragorn promised.
000
Two days later Eldarion was well on the way to recovery. Aragorn did not think that any permanent damage had been done to his shoulder. The King returned to his normal duties.
"Have you slept well since we returned?" Faramir asked Aragorn as they leafed through the paperwork that had piled up in their absence.
"Yes, I have. Why do you ask?"
"I feared you might have had more dark dreams. That dream you had about my father seemed to disturb you a great deal."
Aragorn shuffled the papers uneasily. He then took a deep breath and replaced them on the desk. He went over to the window and stared outside. The room was high up and had a fine view of the White Tree.
Faramir cast aside the papers he was perusing and came to stand beside the King. For a few moments they stood together in companionable silence.
"Sometimes I wonder if I did come between father and son and steal your grandfather's love from your father," Aragorn said after a long pause. "Ecthelion became almost as a father to me and I delighted in that bond. I cannot remember Arathorn, and wise and kindly though Master Elrond was, he was not a Man. Then when I fell in love with Arwen, it caused something of a rift between us, though I was still welcome at Rivendell. I think too, that as I loved his daughter, I became less willing to think of him as a father. After all, Arwen is not my sister! I yearned to know a human father's love and I experienced something of it with your grandsire. I believe Denethor loved his father, but he showed him little warmth. Denethor reserved any rare displays of affection for your mother and for Boromir. I envied your father for having a son and he envied me for my bond with his father."
"We cannot choose whom we love," said Faramir. "We can choose only whether we act for good or ill and I believe you intended only good.''
"Your father and I were much of an age," Aragorn continued. "I saw little of Boromir, but how I yearned for a son of mine own to cherish. Then years later, when I saw Boromir again, he had become a fine man. But he was slain when I was in charge of the company."
"You could not have prevented that," said Faramir. "I attach no blame to you. Though you could not save Boromir, you did save my life and have become as a father to me as well as a most gracious lord."
"I think when I feared I might lose Eldarion it made me think of your father's grief for Boromir, which caused me to have that nightmare," said Aragorn. "How terrible a thing it must be to lose a son!"
"Eldarion is well and you are spared that sorrow," said Faramir.
"I waited so long for a son," said Aragorn. "It is hard not to want to over protect Eldarion, but I know that a good father's duty is to raise his son to be his own man."
"My father never understood that, alas," said Faramir. "I disappointed him as I was never the type of son he desired."
"What your father rejected, I am blessed with," said Aragorn. "You have become the son of my heart. It matters not that I did not beget you, ion nîn." Thus saying, he enfolded Faramir in a fatherly embrace.
The two remained by the window watching a man pointing to the White Tree and speaking to a little boy who tightly clutched his hand. No doubt a father who was telling his son a little of Gondor's history.
When the child looked up, the King waved to him. The little boy bounced with excitement. Aragorn smiled. He was father to more sons and daughters than he could ever count, as a King must be as father to all his people.
A/n Written for the Teitho contest "Fathers and Sons,." where it was placed first.
Chapter 48 - The Colour of Love
The colour of love
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
"Will you play with me, please, naneth?" Eldarion begged.
"Not now, dear one, your sister needs to be fed." Arwen looked down lovingly at the tiny babe at her breast. "Have you no lessons today?"
"My tutor is unwell."
"Go and play with your nanny in the nursery then," said the Queen, fondly stroking the baby's cheek.
Eldarion sadly did as he was bidden. His nanny was so very old as well as being slightly deaf and no good at playing games. He soon cheered up, though when he took out his toy soldiers. He arranged them in rows and beat his toy drum for them to march to.
His mother appeared in the nursery doorway, his wailing baby sister in her arms. "Eldarion, stop that noise at once!" she cried. "You have woken Farawyn up just as I had settled her off to sleep. Go and find your father. He is free this afternoon." With that she turned and left.
Eldarion considered that his sister made considerably more noise than his toy drum. He could not understand why his mother made such a fuss about the infant. All she ever did was sleep, or eat or cry!
He made his way along the corridor to his father's study, telling the guard on duty that his mother had sent him.
The King was standing by his desk with the Steward by his side. Both men were studying a map intently which was spread out in front of them.
"Will you play with me or tell me a story, please, ada?" asked Eldarion.
"Later, my son," said the King.
"Naneth said you were not busy today," Eldarion protested.
"I want to show Lord Faramir this new map of the realm," said Aragorn.
"It's not fair! Why must you look at some dull map?"
"Eldarion, I cannot always be playing with you," Aragorn replied.
"Playing is more fun than stupid maps!" Eldarion muttered sullenly.
"Go to your room!" Aragorn said sternly. "You are not to speak to me or to Lord Faramir like that."
Eldarion burst into tears. Dodging the guard, he ran down the corridor and outside into the garden.
Aragorn hastened after him, the Steward at his side. "Whatever is the matter with the boy?" Aragorn asked in bewilderment.
"He is still unaccustomed to not being the only child, sire," said the Steward. "Éowyn and I had to go to great pains to convince Elestelle that the Elboron was not loved more than they."
Aragorn looked horrified. "Surely Eldarion cannot believe that his sister is replacing him in our love?"
Faramir nodded sadly. "Boromir was younger than Eldarion when I was born, but he once told me he thought at first I was come to replace him! And that was despite our father greatly preferring him!"
The King and the Steward came across Eldarion in a summerhouse in the Queen's garden. The little boy was curled in a ball sobbing his heart out.
Aragorn knelt beside him. "Why are you crying, my son?"
Eldarion gave a loud sniff. "I'm not crying. Only stupid girls and babies cry!"
"Something troubles you though?" The King put his arms around the child. Faramir discreetly slipped away.
"You and naneth don't love me anymore!" Eldarion burst out then started to sob again.
"Whatever makes you think that, ion nîn?" Aragorn asked in dismay.
"You've got a new baby now!"
"That is because your naneth and I have enough love to share. Did I not explain to you before your sister was born that when a man and a woman love each other very much, they are wed so they can share that love with the children that they hope Lady Yavanna will give them? We love you just as much as we have done since the day you were born to us."
"But how can you? I've heard you say you love lots of people. You cannot have enough love left."
"My poor foolish boy!" Aragorn hugged his son tighter, trying to think of some words to console him. "Come with me," he said at last, taking Eldarion by the hand and leading him out into the garden, which was Arwen's pride and joy and filled with blossoms of every kind. "Now look at the sky. What colour is it?"
"Blue," said Eldarion.
"And what colour is the grass?"
"It is green, ada." Eldarion sounded bewildered.
"And your naneth's rose bushes?"
"They are pink and white."
"And the other flowers over there?"
"There are red ones and blue ones and orange ones and purple ones. More colours than I can count!"
"What if the sky were green like the grass? Would that look nice?"
"No, it would be horrible."
"Which flowers do you like best, Eldarion?"
The little boy ran straight to Arwen's wild flower bed and pointed to the scarlet poppies, which grew amongst buttercups, daisies and cornflowers.
"Those!" he said." Red is my favourite colour."
"Would you like all these flowers to be red or the poppies to be by themselves?" Aragorn asked.
"No, that would be so dull. I like the poppies because they are brighter than the others, but the poppies would not look so pretty without the other flowers."
"So we need all the colours then?"
"Yes," Eldarion said without hesitation. "I like lots of colours."
"Do you remember when you had your portrait painted?"
Eldarion pouted. "Yes, it was dull sitting still, but I liked seeing all the colours the artist used. But why, ada? That was a long time ago."
"You agree that lots of colours are good, though?" Aragorn persisted.
Eldarion nodded. "Everyone knows that, ada! Why do you ask?"
"Because love is like all the different colours, my son. Every colour is special and each colour makes the others look all the fairer. We need the blue sky and the green grass, the scarlet poppies and white daises and golden buttercups, just as I need you and your naneth and your sister and my friends and still have enough love for each of you. The more we love, the more love we have to give."
"But everyone makes such a fuss about Farawyn!"
"They did exactly the same when you were tiny. Your sister is so very little that she cannot tell us what she needs, so that is why she needs so much attention from your naneth, so that she will grow big and strong like you are. Then you will be able to play together and she will love her big brother very much. You just need to be patient while she grows up. Now, would you like to look at the new map with Lord Faramir and I and I will tell you a story about my travels?"
"Yes, please, ada!"
"And think about what I have just told you. I love you none the less now you have a sister neither does your naneth. You each have a special place in my heart, just as all the colours have a special place in the rainbow." He bent and kissed Eldarion tenderly on the forehead.
Eldarion was not sure he quite understood everything his father had said, for what had love to do with rainbows? He did know that his ada told wonderful stories and he was going to hear one!
A/n. Written for the Teitho "Colours" challenge.
Chapter 49 - The Omen
Title: The Omen
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir, Ioreth, OMC
Rating: PG13
Warnings: none
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Challenge
Write a story or poem or create artwork using one or more animals as symbols, omens, or metaphors. Use associations and meanings from any culture or source you wish (e.g., Celtic, Native American, Biblical).
The Omen
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' - Edgar Allen Poe
Aragorn and Faramir urged their horses forward in a gentle trot. After being confined within doors by their duties for days, they had been looking forward to going riding. It was bliss at last to have a free hour to themselves to enjoy some fresh air and exercise on a fine spring day.
As their horses trotted past the Houses of Healing, they espied Dame Ioreth coming out of the gateway. She returned their greeting then asked after their ladies and the little ones.
Just as Aragorn was assuring the good lady that they were all in excellent health, two ravens flew overhead.
"Alas!" cried Ioreth. "That is an ill omen indeed! You should go home at once, Lord Elfstone and then stay within doors this day and take great care!"
"Whatever for?" Aragorn asked, wondering if the good lady had lost her wits.
"Just look at those ravens!" Ioreth said grimly. "See how they hover above you. That can only foretell one thing; the death of a king!"
Aragorn laughed. "I know the old story well; that the ravens bring tidings of death to the Valar, but it is just an old country tale. I am going for a peaceful ride with Lord Faramir, not setting out to do battle. What possible harm could befall me?"
"Alas, Lord Elfstone! Well do not complain that Ioreth did not warn you if you die this day! You do not even have guards with you!"
"Why should I need guards just to go for a short ride in my own City?" Aragorn smiled indulgently. "I can think of far more useful duties to occupy them. Now we must be on our way, if you will excuse me, good lady?"
"Good day, Dame Ioreth," Faramir said politely, fearful the elderly healer would wish to talk all day. The two men urged their horses to a faster pace until they had left her well behind.
Faramir looked up at the sky when they reached the third circle. The ravens were still following. "Are you certain it is just an old wives' tale?" he said. "Those birds are still hovering above you. I like it not at all!"
"Do not fret, my friend," said Aragorn. "Master Elrond told me that the story came about simply because ravens are often seen hovering over battlefields. One might just as well say they appear when any soldier is about to die in battle."
Just then, a black cat ran out a baker's shop and crossed the street in front of them hotly pursuing a mouse. It disappeared into the shop owned by Faramir's tailor.
Aragorn laughed. "If you want omens, a black cat crossing your path is said to herald good luck in the Shire," he said, reining in his horse so as not to injure the cat.
Faramir laughed too, though he continued to keep a wary eye on the ravens.
The tailor appeared, shooing the cat back across the street. "Good day, my lords", he said. "What a fine day it is! Maybe the sun will bring out the customers?" He regarded the Steward hopefully.
"I fear I have no need of new garments at present," said Faramir. "No doubt, though, my good lady will insist that I have new clothes for the feast at Mettarë."
"My scissors and needles are always at your disposal, my lord," said the tailor. He looked rather disappointed and returned to his shop.
Much to their relief Aragorn and Faramir encountered no further interruptions. The two friends rode out through the City gates and into the open fields. They cantered along enjoying the spring sunshine on their faces. When they came to a stream, they dismounted to refresh themselves and let the horses drink.
Some small golden flowers growing amongst the grass caught Aragorn's eye. "Arwen loves celandines," he said. "They remind her of the elanor blossoms of the Elven realms. We need a fresh supply for the Houses of Healing. They only grow well near water. I wonder if there is sufficient here to be worth gathering. There might be more medicinal herbs by this stream."
He started to explore the long grass. Faramir stood a little way off and watched pleased at the King's delight in collecting medicinal herbs, but lacking sufficient knowledge to be of much assistance. He knew the common remedies like dandelion and comfrey, but Aragorn seemed to know of uses for herbs that he would shun as deadly poisons.
He looked up again. The ravens were still there. They seemed to be growing increasingly excited as they hovered above Aragorn's head, squawking loudly. Faramir repressed a shudder. He berated himself inwardly for feeling so unnerved by mere birds. They were hardly Black Riders! He looked down away from the birds and a sudden movement in the grass caught his eye. It was a snake. He was no herb master, but he was a former Ranger and he recognised every breed of snake. This one was deadly. Calling out a warning to Aragorn, he reached for his sword and stealthily advanced.
The ground was soft and muddy and Faramir slipped, his sword flying from his hand. The snake reared and poised to strike at the King.
The screeching ravens must have drowned out his cry, for Aragorn, engrossed in his search for herbs, did not heed him. Seconds felt like eternity as Faramir watched helplessly. His lord was going to die. Surely, this heart would break his instant!
From out of a clear blue sky, a great eagle suddenly appeared, swooped down before the King, and snatched up the serpent. Great wings flapping, it hovered for only a moment before flying away, the snake clutched in one of its mighty talons. The ravens gave a final squawk, this time in terror, and flew away.
Only aware of the danger now it was over, Aragorn watched the eagle fly away until it was out of sight.
Faramir scrambled up out of the mud. He ran over to his friend and hugged him with relief. "The Valar be praised you are safe!" he exclaimed.
Aragorn returned his embrace then gazed upwards. "Maybe I should have heeded good Dame Ioreth?" he mused, "Or perhaps the ravens alerted the eagle to my danger?"
"I have had enough of omens for one day," said Faramir, ruefully trying to brush the clinging mud from his breeches. "Let us go home to our ladies now".
"The ravens might not have foretold my death, but they did foretell ill luck," said Aragorn as they stabled the horses prior to walking up to the Citadel. "I fear your clothes are quite ruined! You will have to replace them."
"Then the black cat must have foretold good luck for my tailor!" said Faramir.
Both men laughed. "It seems that one man's good luck is another's misfortune," said Aragorn. "Small wonder many seek omens to try to make sense of such matters."
A/n. The superstitions about ravens and black cats are popular in the British Isles.
Chapter 50 - The Dark Tower
The Dark Tower
2MeM Day Twenty-Three: Dol Guldur
Today's Challenge:
Everyone avoided the tower. It was believed to have ...
Write a story or poem that starts with this line or create a piece of art that reflects this line
Title: The Dark Tower
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir
Rating: PG13
Warnings: very mild horror
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Virtuella.
A belated birthday gift for Silivren Tinu
Child Rowland to the dark tower came,
His word was still 'Fie, foh, and fum
I smell the blood of a British man.
King Lear, Act 3, scene 4; Shakespeare
Everyone avoided the tower. It was said that the forbidding edifice was where a cruel lord had imprisoned his daughter when she rejected the rich merchant he desired her to wed and instead set her heart instead on a brave but poor soldier.
Neither the girl nor her lover were ever seen again. Rumours flew amongst the country-folk who lived nearby. Some said the girl had starved to death and her bones were in the tower still, others said she had hurled herself to her death from the topmost window and her unquiet spirit haunted the tower to this day.
As for her lover, it was said that he had thrown himself despairingly into the heat of battle and been slain by the enemy.
Whatever the truth, the tower had stood empty for many years and the stones were starting to crumble. Dwellings were still in short supply after the war, as was masonry, but no one would make use of the abandoned tower.
One day Aragorn and Faramir were out hunting in the woods near where the tower stood.
"I wonder why that tower is derelict," Faramir mused.
"For a good reason no doubt," Aragorn replied.
Aragorn did not appear interested, but Faramir's curiosity was aroused. He spotted a woodcutter and rode over to speak to him. He enquired why the tower had been left derelict. The old man faithfully related the stories he had heard.
"I would like to explore it," said Faramir.
"You do not fear the ghosts then?" Aragorn teased.
"Not when I am with one who had power over them!" Faramir retorted. "Or are you fearful of meeting any more unquiet spirits?"
"No, but I would liefer let the ghosts of the past remain buried there," Aragorn said gravely.
"I have never known you resist a challenge," said Faramir. "My curiosity is piqued. I should like to take a look, unless you expressly forbid it."
"Why would I do that?" A faraway look flickered in the King's eyes.
"There is something you are not telling me. Do not forget that I can sense your thoughts, my friend."
Aragorn sighed and shook his head resignedly. "I will race you to the tower then since you are so eager to see it!" he said, preparing to urge Roheryn into a gallop.
"Please, sire," said the Captain of the King's bodyguards. "Do you think this is wise?"
"Tell the men to set up camp beneath the great oak and prepare our evening meal," said Aragorn. "We will meet you there at sunset." He galloped after Faramir who already had a good start. The Steward was waiting for him at the entrance to the tower. "I thought you would have already explored?" said the King sweetly.
"I would not deprive you the pleasure of chasing a few ghosts away should we find any," Faramir replied. He cautiously pushed the door open. It was dim inside, the only light coming from a tiny window. Everywhere was covered with dust and cobwebs. The two men had to brush them aside to enter. They found themselves in a small round chamber with a staircase leading upwards.
Faramir sneezed. Then he heard it, a low guttural voice intoning words he could not understand. The words sounded like "Yock, hock hymie." Then another similar voice took up the chant.
"Alas!" cried Faramir. "The Dark Lord's minions must linger here!" He drew his sword as a dark shape loomed out of a dusty corner.
There was an ear piercing shriek and two cats, their fur standing on end and their tails as bushy as squirrels, raced down the stairway and out through the open door.
Faramir breathed heavily. "How did they get in?" he asked.
"Through the window no doubt. It seems we have disturbed two amorous toms seeking the attention of their lady love!" He patted Faramir's shoulder reassuringly. "You look as if you have seen a ghost!"
"I have not heard cats sound so human before. Let us go and see what is upstairs."
The staircase was long and winding and covered in cobwebs. Faramir sliced through them with his sword, but they still brushed against his face and hair.
The steps led to a small room at the top of the tower littered with broken furniture, which looked to have been smashed in a fit of rage.
"Something dreadful did happen here," said Faramir, surveying the wreckage. Just then, he felt something touch his face. He gave a cry of alarm, but when he looked up, he realised he had merely disturbed a bat.
"Let us leave the bats in peace," said Aragorn. "Come outside into the sunlight. I have a story to tell you."
Moments later the two friends had divested themselves of all traces of cobwebs and were sitting side by side on a grassy knoll and plucking sweet blackberries that grew in the bushes surrounding them.
"Long ago a Captain came from Rohan to Gondor to seek knowledge and experience," Aragorn began.
"Captain Thorongil?" Faramir asked his eyes wide with interest.
"The same, but he did not come alone. With him was a young Rohir who was skilled with the sword, but had the misfortune to be a poor horseman. This youth thought he might as well seek his fortune in Gondor, where he prospered and soon gained promotion. He met a young maiden, the daughter of a lord, and he loved her truly, as she did him. Her father, though, was determined that she advance his fortunes by marrying a merchant. The lord, you see, had lost most of his fortune in a Corsair attack on his lands in the South. As the young lady was determined to go against her father's wishes, he locked her in one of his watchtowers, there to stay until she relented.
I was the young man's Captain and he asked for my help. I would not usually have interfered in such matters, for under Ecthelion's laws, a noble could compel a daughter under the age of twenty- five to marry a man he chose for her. It came to my attention, though, that the merchant had already buried one wife. I had discreet enquiries made and learned that the merchant was known to visit brothels where even the women who worked there were loth to fulfil his needs; they were so perverse. I decided it would be wrong to give a dog to such a man, never mind a gentle young woman.
There are few locks barred to those brought up by Elves, so it was easy enough to unlock the door of the tower. I heard the young couple's vows and they were hand-fasted before me. Then they made their way to Rohan together. The girl was a better rider than her sweetheart was. So off they rode together, sharing one horse with the young lady taking the reins.
"Then what happened?" Faramir was so engrossed in the story that he had hardly drawn breath during its telling.
"They opened a tavern in Edoras. I visited them when I was last there, they are old now, but contented enough. They reared seven fine children, who fortunately favoured their mother and were good riders." Aragorn smiled and plucked another blackberry.
"But how did the story of the haunted tower come about?"
"I believe that the father smashed the furniture in a rage. Because of his power and influence; soldiers were sent out to look for the girl. I was one of them." Aragorn stretched out his long legs. "I reported that I had come across the runaway pair slaughtered by Orcs and buried them where I found them. I did not enjoy lying, but neither the lord nor the merchant would have rested until they destroyed the young couple otherwise. I must admit I helped spread some of the wild rumours that grew up around this place so that no one would suspect the young lovers had escaped with my help."
"So nothing evil happened at the tower at all?"
" Much could have done, but the cruel fate intended for the maiden was averted. I think now time has passed I will order the present lord to repair his watchtower and put it to good use. I have never spoken before of what happened all those years ago. You know now why I did not share your desire to explore this place."
"I will not speak of it either," said Faramir.
"I knew you would not, my friend," said Aragorn.
"It will be a good thing if the tower is repaired and inhabited," said Faramir. "Then no one need fear the place again". He clambered to his feet. "Now we had better re-join the guards ere they think the ghosts have spirited us away!"
Aragorn laughed. "We will tell them that the tower harbours no horrors. Not that they will believe it, though, as everyone likes a ghost story to shiver over round the fire on a chilly night!"
Chapter 51 - Let there be light
Let there be Light
And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. The Bible – Genesis1.3
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been nor will be made from this story,
Aragorn studied the document in front of him again and sighed.
"What troubles you, mellon nîn?" asked Faramir who was working alongside his friend in the King's study.
"It is this land dispute I am required to judge," Aragorn explained. "Under Númenorean law a female heir could inherit, but in this case, a distant male kinsman disputes her right. Elendil always intended the laws of Númenor to apply to Gondor, I believe, but in practise, the female line was often excluded. However, I know the Stewardship was passed down through the female line at least once, when a Ruling Steward died childless."
"I fear the lords of Gondor have often interpreted the law as it best suited them," Faramir said wryly. "The original laws as laid down by Elendil should still be in the archives, though. No doubt well hidden away, given the matter became somewhat controversial after Arvedui's claim to the throne was rejected.
"The archivist should know where the scroll is," said Aragorn. "I ordered an inventory soon after I was crowned. Let us see if this matter can be quickly settled without needing to re-examine the laws of inheritance."
King and Steward made their way to the archives. To their dismay, the archivist was not there. A hesitant young clerk explained that his master would not be back until the afternoon and he was minding the archives until then.
"Do you know where the scrolls are kept that date from the reign of Elendil?" Faramir enquired. "We can find the information we seek ourselves."
"They are all in an anteroom at the back," said the young man. He lit a candle from the lamp upon his desk and led the way to a small windowless room, which was packed with ancient documents. It was sparsely furnished with a table and a single chair. The young man hovered, looking as if he would rather be elsewhere.
"You can leave us now," said Aragorn. "It might take some time to find what we are seeking."
"Thank you, sire," said the man. "I am supposed to be at a meeting with the archivist and the scribes in the library. I will need to leave the candle with you." He hesitated slightly.
"We will be careful not to set anything alight, Faramir reassured him.
The young man hurried off leaving the King and Steward alone to peruse the documents.
"I told Arwen I might be working at lunchtime today," said the King. "We can dine later after we have found the scroll."
Faramir held the candle while the King spread several of the documents on the table and studied them. They mainly seemed to be accounts of the voyage from Númenor and ancient battles written in the ancient Adunaic tongue, Faramir found them fascinating, but they were not what Aragorn required.
After half an hour or so of fruitless searching Faramir noticed there were some more scrolls behind the massive oak door. "Shall I just close the door for a moment to retrieve these?" he asked.
"Very well, it should not take a moment," said Aragorn. He pushed the massive oak door shut. It closed with a resounding thud. A draught caught the candle in Faramir's hand. The flame flared up then it spluttered and died leaving the room in total darkness.
"Where are you, ion nîn?" called Aragorn.
"Over here," Faramir tried to feel his way towards his lord. Both former Rangers had excellent night vision, but this blackness was different from that in the open countryside, where leaves stirred, night birds called, clouds scudded, and stars formed a guide on all but the cloudiest nights. He cautiously felt his way towards the King, following the sound of his somewhat ragged breathing. Aragorn had never liked enclosed spaces or total darkness and his fear had intensified during his captivity at the hands of the rebel lords who had sought to overthrow his rule.
The Steward found Aragorn by almost falling over him in the blackness. He bit back a cry as he stubbed his toe painfully. Faramir gripped Aragorn's arm and felt his lord was trembling. "I had better keep hold of your arm to avoid bumping in to each other," he said, hoping the contact might comfort his friend.
"Thank you." Aragorn relaxed slightly.
"Let us find the door and get out of here," said Faramir. The two friends cautiously felt around the small room, brushing against crumbling ancient parchments.
"It is here!" Aragorn exclaimed when his hand felt solid wood. "Valar be praised!" He turned the knob only to find it refused to yield to his touch." It is locked from the other side!" he exclaimed, trying to keep the rising panic from his voice.
"The archivist will return soon and will free us." Faramir tried to sound reassuring.
"Will he even know we are here? His assistant may not have thought to mention it," said Aragorn grimly. "It is little use shouting for help as the walls and door are too thick for anyone to hear us."
"They were designed to allow scholars peace in which to study," said Faramir. "It is a similar design to the bedrooms which are built with such thick walls that crying babies could not disturb the Ruling Stewards." He was aware he was babbling, but he wanted to distract Aragorn and if he were honest, himself, from the blackness which engulfed them both.
"I cannot breathe!" Aragorn exclaimed. He shuddered; feeling as if he were back in Devorin's bleak cellar.
"Easy, mellon nîn!" soothed Faramir. "It is only the darkness, which makes it seem so. Old manuscripts need to be stored where the ventilation is good. Come and sit down while we wait to be let out."
Unable to safely locate the single chair, in any case loth to release their hold on each other, King, and Steward sat on the floor. Faramir placed a protective arm around his lord's shoulders. Even he was starting to panic now. They could be trapped for a long time before anyone thought to look for them here. Wild thoughts flashed through his mind. What if they were never found until only their bones remained? "Try to rest," he counselled Aragorn. "If we shut our eyes we will not notice our surroundings." He softly started to sing a hymn to Elbereth, Lady Star Kindler, asking for her light to shine in this dark place. Aragorn's breathing grew calmer, soothed by the ancient melody.
Time passed. There was no way of telling how long they had been trapped or whether it was light or dark outside. Only the rumblings in their stomachs told them it was long past their usual mealtime. They dozed fitfully, a brief respite from their discomfort.
"I thought for a moment I was beside Arwen in my own bed," Aragorn sighed. "To think I have sometimes found my bedchamber too confining!"
"I dreamed I was riding through the forests of Ithilien with Éowyn," Faramir said. "She does not even expect me home for several days."
"Let us try to imagine we are riding through the countryside together," said Aragorn wistfully, "galloping our horses across a wide open field with the sun overhead and the wind in our hair. The birds are flying overhead and…" His voice trailed away.
The Steward started to sing again, this time a song about Eärendil the mariner.
Aragorn and Faramir grew ever more hungry, thirsty, cold and uncomfortable, all too aware they had nothing to cater for even their most basic needs. They huddled together for warmth, but had nothing else to sustain them. Faramir's throat grew too dry to sing. Aragorn's trembling increased as he struggled to contain his fear. Initially, he had joined in Faramir's song, but now he lapsed into morose silence, a deathly hush broken only by the sound of his and Faramir's breathing. He felt as if the darkness would swallow him and he would choke in its gaping maw. This dark chamber was too uncomfortably similar to the cellar where he had been imprisoned and tortured for his liking.
Sensing his lord's grim memories, Faramir's arm tightened around his shoulders, reassuring him that at least he was not alone here.
The hours passed, each more uncomfortable than the last.
Suddenly the door creaked before it was flung open. Arwen stood there, flanked by two guards. All bore lighted candles in their hands, the bright flames flickering in the darkness. Elbereth herself could not have looked fairer.
"Estel, I have found you at last! "The Queen exclaimed. Arwen placed her candle on the table and held out her hand to help her husband to his feet. "I have been so worried," she said in Quenya, so the guards would not overhear. "I could sense you were in distress and felt compelled to search this place."
Aragorn squeezed her hand gratefully; knowing that the bond they shared had brought her to his aid. He helped Faramir up. Both men were so cramped and cold that they struggled to stand.
"Come!" said Arwen. "It is past dinner time. A hot fire and a good meal await you both."
They gratefully followed her as she led them from their prison
000
An hour later Faramir and Aragorn's spirits were much restored after a hearty meal.
"We never did find the scroll we sought," Faramir said sadly.
"It will be better to draft a new inheritance law more fitting for the Fourth Age, methinks," said the King. "I have decided we should not rely on crumbling scrolls, though I shall have copies made to keep in the library."
"A wise suggestion," said Arwen, looking up from her sewing.
Logs crackled in the hearth and a farm fire blazed, its rosy glow illuminating the hearth, while on the table stood several candlesticks in which brightly lit candles burned.
"What a difference the candles make," mused Aragorn. "Strange to think how a mere stick of wax can change the feel of a room so much."
"We of all people should know the value of even one small light in the darkness," said the Queen smiling.
A/n This was originally written for the prompt "Candle" for the AA Group. It takes place soon after "A Time to Reap" before Aragorn has fully recovered from events in "Web of Treason."
Chapter 52 - Shadows of Memory
The characters are the property of the Tolkien estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
With grateful thanks to Deandra
Sing for your supper, and you抣l get breakfast;
Songbirds always eat
If their song is sweet to hear.
Sing for your luncheon, and you抣l get dinner---
Dine with wine of choice
If romance is in your voice. – Lorenz Hart
“Here you are, masters”, said the serving maid, a comely wench with rosy cheeks and a thick plait of dark hair. She placed two mugs of ale and a plate of freshly baked cakes in front of the two cloaked and hooded men sitting at the table in the far corner, before hurrying off to serve the next customer. As usual, the Silver Crown was packed.
Aragorn sipped his ale and sighed contentedly. “I am certain this tastes better than anything I drink at my own table,” he remarked. “This reminds me of my old Ranger days. All we need is old Butterbur at the bar and a few Hobbits, and I could be back in Bree! Those were the days!”
“No doubt that is why you think it tastes so good,” said Faramir, tasting his own drink. “You have also told me you would leave the shelter of the inn when you had finished your drink to sleep under a hedge in the rain!”
“Indeed, it is good to retire to a warm bed with my lady by my side, not to mention the company of good friends and food in plenty on the table, but I do miss the freedom of being a Ranger at times,” said Aragorn.
“So do I,” Faramir replied. “Still, we are at liberty to come here tonight and enjoy a good mug of ale.”
“To the Envoy!” said Aragorn raising his glass.
“May he arrive safely, but not until tomorrow!” said Faramir doing likewise. The two men were enjoying a rare evening of freedom because a visiting Envoy from Khand had been delayed due to a broken axle of the wagon in which he was travelling. By the time a messenger had brought the news, Arwen and Éowyn had already departed with the children to visit Legolas and his Elven colony for a few days, since the custom of Khand prohibited women from taking part in public life, and the ladies had decided to honour a long standing invitation rather than risk insult.
The two men enjoyed the cakes in companionable silence broken only by the sound of their munching. There was no entertainment tonight and the room reverberated with chatter, shouted greetings, and laughter. Aragorn and Faramir drank their ale slowly and savoured this rare opportunity of mixing incognito with the people. Aragorn was pleased that his subjects appeared contented, and the only grumbles he heard concerned the weather and scolding wives, rather than his rule.
All too soon, their glasses were drained and the friends reluctantly prepared to leave. Aragorn beckoned the serving maid over in order to pay her. He reached inside his cloak for the small store of coin he carried. To his horror, it was gone. He realised he must have forgotten his purse when he had changed into old clothes. “Do you have any coin?” he asked Faramir.
The Steward shook his head. “I left it behind when I changed my clothing tonight.”
“You cannot drink and eat here without paying!” the girl said indignantly. “I’m fetching the innkeeper to deal with you two!”
Faramir sighed. “We will have to ask the Guards we left outside for some coin.”
“If we do so we will never be able to come here unrecognised again,” said Aragorn. “I enjoy these rare evenings out together as two simple Rangers too much to lose them. Maybe we could wash the dishes or sweep out the stables to pay for our refreshment?”
Faramir looked aghast. “Surely not in your position!” he exclaimed. “Not after all that happened last time you worked to pay off a debt! We are not in some remote village, but in Minas Tirith. Not that I object to hard work, but if they ever found out...”
“I’ve washed many a dish and swept many a stable in my youth,” said Aragorn. “I can sweep far better than I can scythe!”
“What’s this then?” said the innkeeper arriving with the serving maid. “Gilwen, here, says you cannot pay your bill. An honest man like me has a living to make.”
“Indeed you have, Master,” said Aragorn. “We were wondering if we might work to pay off the debt.”
“We could wash your dishes,” said Faramir.
“Or do some stable work,” added Aragorn.
“Hmm,” said the innkeeper, tugging at his beard thoughtfully. Meanwhile the maid was staring at the King and Steward in a manner that made them feel most uncomfortable.
“I remember you,” said Gilwen. “I thought I knew you!”
Aragorn and Faramir’s hearts sank in their boots. They would be the laughing stock of the City: its two richest and most powerful inhabitants unable to pay for cakes and ale!
“You are the two gentlemen with nice voices!” Gilwen pronounced. “I remember telling you that no woman could resist if you serenaded her. Now, don’t try to deny it! I never forget a face!”
The King and Steward laughed with relief.
“You have a good memory, mistress,” said Aragorn. “Indeed, we are those men.”
“You can sing for your supper then,” said the innkeeper. “My customers like a song, and the coins they throw you will pay for your refreshment. “Come on!”
“One moment, please,” said Aragorn. “I must discuss it first with my son.”
“Well, don’t take all night about it,” said the innkeeper. He beckoned to Gilwen and the two withdrew to the counter.
“They will surely recognise us!” Faramir said anxiously.
“I very much doubt it,” Aragorn replied. “During my travels I have learned that people only see what they expect to. They expect to see us in fine garments carrying out our normal duties, not wearing humble garb and drinking in a tavern.”
“I have never sung in public before like this.” There was a note of panic in Faramir’s voice.
“You have a fine singing voice. Just pretend that you are singing to Éowyn and your children and a row of cabbages!”
“Very well. At least it will soon be over.” Faramir could only hope it was no worse than addressing the Council or his troops.
Aragorn beckoned the innkeeper back over to him. “We will be happy to sing for you,” he said
“Shall we sing ‘The Lay of Lúthien’?” Aragorn asked Faramir.
Faramir nodded. At least he knew the tune well, having sung it with Aragorn on several occasions, both while on camping trips and to entertain their wives.
Aragorn began singing in a rich bass: “The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair.”
Faramir took a deep breath as his warm baritone picked up the next line: “And in the glade a light was seen. Of stars in shadow shimmering.”
Never before had the Lay seemed so long, but the two friends went on singing, thinking of their beloved wives and their desire to protect each other from ridicule. The inn had fallen silent; a silence that persisted after the last note died away. Aragorn and Faramir held their collective breath, wondering at their audience’s reaction.
“Hooray!” A cheer erupted from the crowd and a shower of coins fell at Aragorn and Faramir’s feet. The crowd started to chatter again and Aragorn and Faramir’s keen ears picked out such sentiments as “good voices they have” and why don’t they sing here more often?”
The innkeeper stooped and picked up a handful. “The debt is paid,” he said, beaming at them. “The rest of the coin is yours. You are welcome to sing here any time you fancy a bite or to earn some coin! You deserve another mug of ale, methinks. Gilwen, go and pour two mugs of my best ale for our minstrels here.”
“You could make a good living singing,” said Gilwen. “What do you do usually?”
“We are soldiers,” said Aragorn. He exchanged a knowing glance with Faramir.
“That was not as bad as I feared,” said Faramir. “It has given me quite a thirst, though.”
If anything, the second mug of ale tasted even better than the first. The two friends were unanimous that singing for their supper was thirsty work. They were accustomed to being feted for whom they were wherever they went and often found it tedious. It felt different and oddly exhilarating to be lauded for their singing ability instead.
000
A little later, King and Steward made their way home, discreetly flanked by their Guards.
“Whatever shall we do with these coins?” Aragorn mused, weighed down by all the copper. “I will keep one coin to remind me of tonight.”
“As shall I,” said Faramir. “It will be a memento of a must unusual evening.”
“Maybe we should pay our Guards to sample the hospitality of the Silver Crown?” Aragorn mused. “They have spent a dull evening hanging around waiting for us.”
“I have a better idea,” said Faramir, having espied a family huddled asleep in the doorway of a ruined building. Despite all the King’s efforts, there were still homeless folk in Gondor. Many were too proud to accept charity. As stealthily as only Rangers could move, King and Steward laid their earnings beside the sleepers and crept away in the night.
A/N This story was originally written for the AA list prompts “Sing” and Together.” It is a sequel of sorts to “Music Hath Charms” also on this site. I imagine Aragorn has a voice similar to John Tomlinson, while Faramir sounds like Thomas Hampson.
Chapter 53 - Song of Hope
Song of Hope by Linda Hoyland
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?- Shakespeare- Macbeth- Act 5.scene. 3
"This reminds me of my Ranger days," said Aragorn as he reached up to pluck another rosy apple from the tree.
Éowyn looked puzzled. "I thought you spent your time fighting Orcs and guarding the Shire?"
"I did, but every man, woman and child helped with the apple harvest in the Ranger villages," said the King. "Always we had to watch our backs, though." He looked around him and smiled contentedly. Éowyn's apple trees were laden with ripe fruit and her household, together with her guests were lending a hand with the harvest. Eldarion and Elestelle were picking up windfalls while Arwen helped pack the fruit neatly into wooden boxes. Only baby Elboron was excused from the day's labour. He slumbered on a blanket in the shade, watched over by a nursemaid.
"Faramir will be so sorry that he wasn't here this afternoon," said Éowyn. "He was so eager to inspect the work at Minas Ithil. He is hoping that some rebuilding might start in the spring. I fear he works too hard sometimes"
"He does indeed, "Aragorn replied. "I tell him often that he should rest more. He was not to know that my meeting was cancelled and that we were coming today, though. I hope our early arrival did not inconvenience you?"
Indeed not," said Éowyn. "Our best guest chamber is always ready for you and Arwen." She laughed. "And you are working hard for your keep!"
Just then, a dishevelled member of the White Company rushed into the orchard. "Lady Éowyn!" he cried. "Come quickly. Lord Faramir has been taken ill!"
Éowyn paled but quickly collected herself. "What happened?" she asked.
"I don't know, my lady. They are bringing him indoors now."
"Ada is home?" asked Elestelle excitedly.
"Yes, dear one, but he is not feeling well," Éowyn replied. "You will see him later when he is rested."
Aragorn had hastened to Éowyn's side. "Has he been wounded?" he asked the messenger.
"I don't think so, sire. He collapsed suddenly and we could not rouse him."
Aragorn ran towards the house followed by Éowyn, who was somewhat hampered by her heavy skirts.
Mistress Elwen, the elderly housekeeper stood in the doorway wringing her hands. "I told them to take Lord Faramir to the downstairs guest chamber," she said. "Captain Beregond is with him."
Faramir lay motionless on the bed, his face as white as Éowyn's favourite gown. Aragorn laid a hand on his brow. It felt cold and clammy. "What happened?" he demanded of Beregond, who hovered at the bedside.
"We found a chest in a ruined building. Lord Faramir opened it. Within it were several daggers of rich and ancient design. Lord Faramir picked one up and it melted clean away in his hand leaving only the hilt. He gave a cry and fell into a deep swoon from which we could not rouse him."
"Was he wearing gloves?" Aragorn enquired.
"No, my lord; the day is too warm."
"Did anyone else touch the daggers?"
"One of the recruits did, sire. He felt faint and cold but recovered within a few minutes once we took him out into the sunlight. He has returned with Lord Faramir."
"I will speak to him later. Do you have the hilt?"
"No, sire. We left the accursed object where it had fallen, fearing some dark magic!"
"What ails my husband?" Éowyn asked impatiently, fear in her eyes. She had gripped Faramir's cold hand with one of her own. With her other hand she stroked his face. "Is it..?"
Aragorn looked grave. "I cannot be certain until I have examined him properly, but I fear it is the Black Breath!"
"I thought the Dark Lord's powers died with him?" Beregond remarked.
"Mostly they did," said Aragorn. "Faramir, though, fell victim to the Black Breath when Sauron's power was at its strongest. I believe touching an enemy weapon has caused a relapse in him. It would have little effect on your young colleague as he has not been exposed to it before."
"No!" Éowyn looked as if she were about to burst into tears.
"I need athelas and hot water," Aragorn said firmly. "Could you get some for me, please? You have athelas in the herb garden? If not, there is some in my pack. "
Éowyn hurried away to do his bidding.
"Beregond, will you help me undress Lord Faramir and put him to bed, please?"
"Yes, my lord." Beregond was already unbuckling Faramir's sword and dagger. He placed the dagger on the dressing table and propped the sword in a corner.
They swiftly undressed Faramir. Aragorn thoroughly examined him and was relieved that Faramir had no wounds on him or unusual marks of any kind. He was still troubled, though. For a man to have experienced a relapse after having suffered so badly from the Black Breath in the past was a serious matter. Faramir's symptoms now were far more typical of the condition than the fever he had suffered when Aragorn first met him, but this worried the King. Fever at least showed that the sufferer was fighting the affliction. Granted, Merry had survived two brushes with the deadly condition, but Hobbits were far more resilient to dark magic than the strongest of Men. Faramir's skin was icy to the touch and his heart beat too slowly. With Beregond's help, he dressed Faramir in a nightshirt and covered him in warm blankets.
Just then, Éowyn bustled in with a handful of freshly gathered athelas from her herb garden. She was closely followed by Mistress Elwen bearing a bowl of steaming water.
"It is indeed the Black Breath, I fear, my lady," said Aragorn. "Be of good cheer, though, the athelas should swiftly revive him".
Thus saying, he took two leaves and breathed on them, then crumbled them and cast them into the bowl of water. At once, a living freshness filled the room.
Aragorn placed one hand on Faramir's brow and with the other clasped the Steward's right hand. He was overwhelmed by a sensation of coldness and despair and anticipated a struggle to revive the unconscious man. Much to his surprise, Faramir almost immediately opened his eyes. He looked somewhat dazed. "I had such dark dreams," he said, "they have left me sore weary." With that, he closed his eyes again and fell asleep.
Éowyn sighed with relief. "Thank you, my friend," she said. "With rest my husband should swiftly recover."
Aragorn studied the sleeping man. Faramir was still too pale for his liking but he was breathing deeply and his pulse was much stronger. "I will stay with him for a while," he said.
"There is surely no need, Aragorn," said Éowyn. "I will stay by my husband. You should re-join your lady and your son in the orchard. It is too fine a day to be indoors. Maybe you would reassure Elestelle?"
"Very well, but call me at once if you need me. I will speak to the boy who was affected first, though." With a final glance at his sleeping Steward, Aragorn asked a servant to send the recruit to him.
Aragorn interviewed the lad in Faramir's study. He was a lanky young fellow with a pleasant open countenance, which was currently clouded by an anxious frown. Although Aragorn had never met him before, he looked vaguely familiar
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Turgon, my lord," the boy replied, shuffling his feet nervously. I was named for my grandsire who was a soldier too. I serve in the White Company under Captain Beregond."
"Sit down, Turgon, there is nothing to fear." Aragorn smiled at the boy. He recalled several men called Turgon from his time as Captain Thorongil. Maybe this lad was the grandson of one of them? "I believe you were there when Lord Faramir was taken ill. Did you touch the daggers too?"
"I did. I'm sorry, sire, I didn't mean any harm."
"I am certain you did not. I would just like to know exactly what befell."
"We were clearing away some rubble in the corner of a ruined building, sire, and found an old chest beneath it with strange emblems carved upon the lid. One of the men called for Lord Faramir, thinking he ought to know. He came at once and opened the chest, which wasn't locked. Inside were three large daggers with curved blades, which gleamed strangely. The hilts were ornate and set with many gems. Lord Faramir exclaimed that they must be of great antiquity. He reached out to take one and I did the same, I don't know why, sire, I only planned to look, but it seemed to compel me."
Aragorn smiled grimly. "A trap set by the Enemy."
"I felt a shudder go through me and I felt sick and faint and overwhelmed by despair. It were as if my parents had died, my sweetheart left me for another, my comrades were all slain, and Gondor was overrun by enemies all at the same time! Lord Faramir gave a cry and swooned a moment later. One of my fellows led me outside into the sunlight. I was very cold, but then I felt better, as if nothing had happened, but poor Lord Faramir was unconscious. I was so afraid, sire." The boy coloured and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"Far braver men than you quail at such dark magic, Turgon, even the greatest of the Age. Were you in Minas Tirith during the siege?"
"No, sire. I was but a small child then and went to Lossarnach with my mother and sisters when Lord Denethor ordered the evacuation."
"Which hand did you touch the dagger with, Turgon?"
"My left, sire, I favour that hand."
"Give me your hand, please"
Turgon held out his left hand. Aragorn took it in his own. It was warm and unblemished.
"It seems you have had a lucky escape, Turgon. However, if your hand feels cold, or you feel sad or have dark dreams these next few days, come to me. I can treat you with athelas."
"Thank you, sire. Will the athelas help Lord Faramir, sire?"
"He is already much better." Aragorn smiled at the boy. "Now let us go outside and gather apples. The sunlight and fresh air will be good for you."
000
"I had hoped that Faramir would join us for dinner, but he said he wished to rest," said Éowyn. "Mistress Elwen is sitting with him."
"He is missing a delicious meal," said the Queen as she tasted the soup made with tomatoes freshly picked from Éowyn's kitchen garden.
"I will see how Faramir fares before we retire for the night," said Aragorn.
The conversation turned to the subject of the apple harvest as the meal progressed. Éowyn's cook had surpassed herself with a selection of three different apple desserts.
"I thought we might have cider made from last year's harvest to end the meal," said Éowyn.
Just then, a loud cry came from the downstairs bedchamber. Éowyn and Aragorn leapt to their feet as a servant ran into the dining room calling, "My lord, my lady, Lord Faramir has lost his wits!"
Aragorn ran with the speed of a deer to the chamber that housed the Steward. Éowyn followed as best she could. A grim sight met his eyes. Beregond and Mistress Elwen were trying to wrest a dagger from Faramir. The front of the Steward's nightshirt was covered in blood.
"Give me the dagger, Faramir." Aragorn said firmly.
"Once my worthless heart ceases to beat!" cried Faramir.
"Whatever do you mean, ion nin?" said Aragorn.
"I should not even be your Steward, my brother alone was worthy. Thus said my lord father." Faramir regarded the King bleakly. "Why did you wrest me back from the shadow to face a life of torment?"
"Please, my husband, cease this madness,"said Éowyn.
"I am not the husband you desired. How can I compare with the King? You wed me only because he was betrothed to another!" Faramir brushed aside those attempting to restrain him and raised the blade aiming at his heart.
"Faramir, no!" Éowyn cried.
“Your King commands you to give him the weapon.” Aragorn spoke in a tone more often heard in commanding troops or calling an unruly council to order.
Faramir hesitated for a moment before replying, “My lord, I am sorry, I cannot.”
“Look over there!” Aragorn cried. He pointed to the far corner of the chamber. While Faramir was momentarily distracted he lunged and grabbed the dagger from his Steward’s hand.
Faramir glared at Aragorn and looked longingly at the blade. “Again you thwart, me, Elessar!” he cried. “I curse you!”
Éowyn paled. “No, Faramir. To speak thus is treason!”
Aragorn gave no reaction to the outburst. “Sit down, Faramir,” he said calmly. “You are not well.”
“No! My life must end now.”
Aragorn reached out and gripped Faramir’s arm. The Steward collapsed on the floor with a cry. The King cushioned his fall and sank to his knees, supporting the semi-conscious man.
Éowyn knelt beside them, a troubled expression on her face.
Aragorn turned to face the crowd of curious servants who had gathered. “Mistress Elwen, you bring me hot water,” he said, “the rest of you return to your duties. Lord Faramir is not himself. Captain Beregond, take the dagger and stow it away safely, together with your lord’s sword.”
The servants scuttled away, Beregond followed at a more sedate place
“What’s happening to him?” asked Éowyn.
Aragorn took Faramir’s hand, which was again deathly cold and felt his brow. Faramir’s teeth were chattering and he stared blankly ahead of him.
“I fear this is another effect of the Black Breath,” said Aragorn. “I have seen it take men this way before, driving out all that is good and hopeful from their hearts and filling them with despair. I should never have left him!”
“Nor should I.” said Éowyn. “But tell me, my friend, will he recover?” Her eyes were wide with fear. She laid a loving hand on her husband’s arm, but he recoiled from her touch.
“I will use every art known to me to ensure that he does.” Aragorn said firmly. “Firstly, we must get him warm and I must tend his wounds. Do you have any furs?”
“I have fur cloaks in my wardrobe,” Éowyn replied. ”Shall I fetch them from my chamber?”
“Please do, Éowyn.”
Éowyn hurried away. Aragorn looked up and became aware that Beregond hovered in the doorway.
“Have you stowed the weapons away safely?” Aragorn asked the Captain.
“Yes, my lord, and one of the guards is cleaning the dagger.”
“Close the door then and help me lift Lord Faramir on to the bed, please.”
Together the two men accomplished their task. Aragorn then bade Beregond make up the fire. He pulled the blankets up to the Steward’s waist and removed the blood-spattered nightshirt. Faramir struggled feebly and seemed deaf to the soothing words of reassurance the King offered. As he had expected, he found several shallow cuts across Faramir’s chest. Aragorn had seen this before, men driven to despair who sought to take their own lives usually made a few tentative cuts before achieving their lethal purpose. He shuddered. He had come too close this night to losing his dearest friend and wisest counsellor. He pressed his ear against Faramir’s chest and found that his heart beat far too slowly while his skin felt like ice. He placed a hand on Faramir’s forehead, seeking to connect with his mind, but it was like trying to swim beneath dark and clouded waters full of ice, which he could not break.
Mistress Elwen knocked on the door. Beregond took the bowl of steaming water that she brought and placed in on the table beside Faramir’s bed. Aragorn crumbled some athelas leaves into the water.
“Take deep breaths of the steam,” he instructed his friend.
“No, no!” Faramir cried. “It sears, it burns!”
Aragorn groaned inwardly. Faramir was obviously deep in the grip of some dark enchantment, which even the athelas seemed to have little power against. The herb had roused him from the deathly slumber, but a darkness lingered in the Steward’s mind, which threatened to destroy him body and soul. He dipped a cloth in the athelas mixture and began to cleanse Faramir’s wounds.
“No!” Faramir protested. “This worthless body must be utterly destroyed. Let me follow my father into the fire, which alone can cleanse the foulness!”
“I cannot let you bleed, son of my heart, nor permit your wounds to become infected while you are not yourself,” Aragorn said firmly.
Faramir ceased struggling but seemed to withdraw even further in some dark corner of his tortured mind.
Aragorn tied the bandage; he took Faramir’s icy hands between his own and started to chafe them. Faramir, though, jerked away from his touch as if it burned him.
Éowyn returned carrying an armful of furs. “How is he?” she asked.
“His wounds are slight, but his mind is clouded with darkness,” Aragorn told her. He took the cloaks from her and wrapped them around Faramir, with the fur next to his skin. Instead of snuggling into the warm covers, though, the Steward seemed to recoil from them as he did from their touch.
Beregond threw more logs on the fire and discreetly withdrew.
The King moved to the foot of the bed and studied Faramir’s face. The Steward’s eyes were closed and he had his head turned away from both his lady and his lord. He seemed to be in the grip of some dreadful waking dream, which was destroying him. Aragorn tried to recall everything Master Elrond had ever taught him concerning the Black Breath. It seemed that a trace of the malady had lingered within Faramir’s spirit, which had been stirred by him touching the bespelled dagger. Aragorn knew he must find a way to reawaken Faramir’s soul to all the goodness and beauty within Arda and within his life. Warmth did not seem to be helping the Steward, neither did athelas, the most potent weapon known to healers against the deadly illness.
Faramir lifted his head a little and spoke. “Go, leave me, Éowyn,” he said. “You never truly loved me, now you will be free to wed one more worthy. And you, Elessar, I know you pitied me, which is why you offered me friendship and called me your son, while in your heart you secretly despised me!”
Éowyn began to weep quietly. Aragorn opened his mouth to remind Faramir that their shared Thought Bond could conceal no falsehoods He remained silent, though, knowing it was futile to try to reason with one whose mind was so disturbed. Just as futile as Éowyn’s tears. He knew he must find a way to save the one he loved as dearly as a son. Maybe a healing chant would help, but would it hold sufficient power?
“Estel?” Arwen’s voice called from outside the door.
“Come in, my love.”
The Queen entered her lovely eyes full of concern. ”How is Faramir?” she asked. “Beregond told me he was not faring well.”
Aragorn nodded sadly. “I was wondering if a healing chant might aid him,” he said.
Arwen nodded. “It might, but a healing song would have more power. Did not song create order out of nothingness at the beginning? But first, light candles to banish every shadow from the chamber.”
Glad to be given a new sense of purpose, Éowyn bustled from the room in search of candles.
“We will together call upon Estë,” said Arwen. “I would not have our friend and Steward fall victim to the darkness.”
“His mind is so clouded he might try to flee from the song,” said Aragorn.
“Then we shall lock the door and bid his loyal captain to return lest we need his help,” said the Queen. She called Mistress Elwen to summon Beregond.
Éowyn lit candles in every corner of the chamber until it resembled the Merethrond on a feast day. Beregond was bidden to stand by the bed and be watchful. Aragorn called for more hot water and steeped several leaves of athelas in it. The herb might not be working for Faramir, but it would raise his own spirits and strengthen his resolve.
Aragorn placed his hand on Faramir’s forehead and began with a simple prayer to Estë, a chant rather than a song. Then Arwen joined in and began to weave a melody.
Éowyn had little time for Elvish music, finding it insipid compared to the hearty songs of her homeland. The songs of the Rohirrim told of the great deeds of their ancestors or the beauty of their horses and the land where they roamed. Such songs fired the blood on a chilly night or made the farmer’s labours easier. Elvish songs seemed to have little purpose other than to sound sweet and while away the hours of the immortal singers. Usually Éowyn struggled to remain awake during them. This song though was different; it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and every fibre of her being feel more alive. The song was both sweet and painful, sad and joyful, ancient yet new, and all at the same time as the King and Queen’s voices rose and fell in perfect harmony.
For a few moments, Faramir remained motionless and silent. Then suddenly he groaned and writhed as if in pain. He raised his hands and covered his ears with them. Aragorn gently but firmly prised them away. He grasped one cold hand in his own, all the while never pausing in his song. He gestured to Éowyn to take Faramir's other hand. Beregond remained alert in case it became needful to restrain the Steward.
The song continued; the words telling of the great deeds of the Valar and the beauties of the world they had created out of song. The melodies became ever sweeter and the harmonies more complex. Aragorn's deep resonant bass, mingled perfectly with Arwen’s high sweet soprano.
Faramir's eyes flickered open. For a few moments, his gaze darted wildly around the room before meeting Aragorn's kindly and concerned gaze. His writhing ceased and he breathed deeply of the athelas vapours, all the while listening to the song as if entranced.
At last, the voices died away, the final notes appearing almost to float in the evening air.
Faramir slowly sat up and studied the anxious faces surrounding him. “What happened?” he asked. “Éowyn? Aragorn?”
“What do you remember?” asked Aragorn.
“I was in Minas Ithil and we found an ancient chest. There were finely crafted daggers within of skilled and ancient design. I picked one up and was enveloped in a cold dark fog from which I could not escape until I heard the music. It was a foul place indeed, without light or hope. But how did I come to be here and where are my clothes?” He belatedly noticed the Queen's presence and pulled the furs more closely about him.
“It is a long story,” said Aragorn. “Suffice to say for now that Beregond brought you home from Minas Ithil and we sang to lead you back into the light.”
“I was lost and could not find you, father of my heart, nor could I find could Éowyn, nor my little ones, nor any of the happiness I have known these past years. Gondor herself was lost in darkness. It seemed as if all that was good was lost to me forever.”
“It was but a trick caused by the Enemy’s dark arts,” said Aragorn. “All is well and as it should be.”
“How do you feel now?” asked Éowyn.
“I am hungry and this room is far too hot!” His features clouded again. “Young Turgon touched the daggers too. How does he fare?”
“I am certain the cook will have some food for you,” said Éowyn. She looked at her husband and then at the King and Queen and her heart swelled with love and gratitude. Fearing she might burst into tears, she hastened from the room.
“Turgon is well, I have spoken with him. He has been picking apples all afternoon then ate a hearty supper,” said Aragorn.
“The Valar be praised! That chest and its contents must be destroyed before any more unwary souls can fall victim to the dark magic.”
“A wise decision.”
“Can someone fetch me some clothes so I can get out of bed?” Faramir asked.
“I will go and ask your manservant to bring some,” said Beregond.
“I promised Eldarion I would tell him a bedtime story,” said Arwen. “I will leave you with your patient, Estel.” She left the room, closing the door behind her.
“I feel perfectly well,” Faramir protested as Aragorn felt his forehead and checked his heartbeat. He then noticed the bandages and stared at them in bewilderment. “I do not recall being wounded?”
“You tried to hurt yourself with your dagger,” Aragorn said gently. “You suffered a recurrence of the Black Breath and were not yourself.”
Faramir looked horrified. “I cut myself with my dagger? What else did I do and say?”
“Nothing of any consequence,” Aragorn said firmly. “The Black Breath destroys all sense of hope and joy. It caused you to talk gibberish.”
“Am I doomed to be mad like my father, melancholy like my mother, and plagued with recurrences of the Black Breath?” There was fear in Faramir's voice.
“Indeed not, my friend.” Aragorn shook his head. “You have one of the greatest minds of this age. Unlike your father, you have fought the dread malady and triumphed. You also resisted the lure of the Ring, which takes the strongest of wills. As for your mother, it was the presence of the Enemy nearby and longing for the sea that lowered her spirits. She was joyous in her youth. I very much doubt you will ever suffer another relapse as long as you avoid bespelled weapons. You were enchanted with an ancient evil magic. However, I would like you to inhale athelas daily for a while and take some herbs I will prepare for you, just to make absolutely certain you are healed. Also, you must tell me at once if you feel melancholy or your soul is troubled in any way.”
“I must be a weakling as Turgon was unscathed,” Faramir said sadly. “I will of course do as you say.”
“You are no weakling. That young recruit had never encountered the Black Breath before. I also believe that the Enemy created his vile weapons to worst afflict the bravest and noblest of heart and mind.”
Faramir sighed then his eyes lit up. “My heart is full of thankfulness that you rescued me again from the darkness.”
“It was my pleasure. I would not be without you, ion nîn.” Aragorn smiled. “My heart rejoices that I was able to heal you.”
“Never before have I heard so sweet a song,” said Faramir. “Could even Lúthien when she sang before Melkor have weaved such magic?”
Aragorn laughed. ”You had better tell my lady that,” he said. “She is said to be as fair as Lúthien so she might well share her gift for music too.”
“You and your lady should sing together more often,” said Faramir.
Éowyn, together with Faramir’s manservant came back into the room, the latter carrying an armful of clothing.
“You and Arwen must sing the hymn to Yavanna at our harvest celebrations,” said Éowyn. “Such sweet music should be heard by all our folk here.”
“We will, for there is much to thank Lady Yavanna for,” said Aragorn. His eyes met Éowyn’s and they both looked towards Faramir. He smiled at them both, his world was full of hope and joy once more.
Chapter 54 - The First Feast
The First Feast
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
With very grateful thanks to Raksha who thought of this plot and wrote a considerable part of the story.
"Please keep still, ion nîn," sighed Arwen, as she fastened a mithril brooch depicting the White Tree to Eldarion's tunic.
"I just can't wait for the feast, naneth!"
Aragorn, who had entered the room in time to hear his son's words smiled wryly. Eldarion, was now deemed old enough to attend his first State Banquet, a feast being held in honour of his father's birthday. The King had long since given up counting how many banquets he was required to attend. Aragorn considered feasts vastly overrated and vastly preferred a simple meal with his family and close friends, or better still, cooking something he had caught himself over a fire in the wilderness.
"Now, you must be on your best behaviour, Eldarion," fretted Arwen. "Eat slowly, don't play with your food, and only speak if someone speaks to you."
"Yes, naneth, I promise I will be good," said Eldarion. He could still hardly believe that his parents were allowing him to attend the feast. Until now, he had been lucky if his nurse had taken him to where he could see the guests arriving in their colourful finery. He would then have to return to the nursery with his baby sister and hope that his mother or father would bring him a cake or handful of sugared almonds the next day. Now he was a big boy, able to join the grown ups. It was even worth having to wear an embroidered tunic and breeches for the occasion!
"Come!" said Aragorn. "It would not do for us to be late for my own birthday feast!"
The King and Queen together with their young heir made their way to the Merethond.
Eldarion gazed in awe at the beautiful garlands of flowers and ribbons that decorated the vast chamber. Equally magnificent were the fine clothes worn by the guests. The little boy was certain, though, that his mother was the fairest lady present. Arwen wore a gown of silver, with more white stars than Eldarion could count embroidered all over it. Her black hair was crowned with what her son knew was the Queen's circlet of mithril, and her black mantle carried their emblem of Seven Stones and Seven Stars and One White Tree upon it. And his father looked just as magnificent; bearing the circlet called the Elendilmir, and clad in deep black, with a silvery-white mantle clasped by a silver star. When the King turned, Eldarion could see, outlined in black, the white tracery of the Stars and Stones and Tree on his father's mantle. Eldarion felt a thrill of pride! His parents both looked like they had stepped out of his storybook! He was sure that even Lúthien Tinúviel had not been so beautiful as his mother. And no one else had a father who was not only the greatest King in the world, but also the tallest man in all of Gondor!
"You shall sit next to me, Eldarion, as this is your first banquet," said Arwen, taking her seat next to the King at the head of the high table.
Eldarion sat down, taking care not to knock over any of the elaborate flower arrangements, which adorned the table. Rather to his disappointment, he found Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth sitting on his other side. Eldarion did not like the Prince very much; he was so stern and serious that Eldarion was a little frightened of him. Uncle Faramir was a serious person too, but Eldarion knew that the Prince of Ithilien could tell wonderful stories, and even liked to play games sometimes. The only things Eldarion did not like about Uncle Faramir was that he spent far too much time with Eldarion's father talking about dull grown up things they called "affairs of state" or even worse, going on hunting and fishing trips together without Eldarion. Uncle Faramir had a little boy called, Elboron, who was still too small to play properly and a little girl, Elestelle, who thought Eldarion's games too rough to join in and much preferred playing with silly dolls!
The feast began, after the standing silence, with a solemn toast to the King. Eldarion raised his glass as he had been taught. His mother smiled approvingly, as did Uncle Faramir and Aunt Éowyn who sat opposite to him.
The first course was tomato soup. Eldarion spooned his carefully from the bowl to his mouth and succeeded in not spilling any; either over his best velvet tunic or the spotless white tablecloth. Next came the roasted meats, which Eldarion did not especially like, but he managed to eat the small portions he was given and even pass the salt to Prince Imrahil without spilling it. The little boy was pleased when the next course was served; pear custard topped with snowe, a delicious concoction his mother had told him was made from eggs and cream. Eldarion smiled happily when he was given a dish piled high with the creamy delight. The boy picked up his spoon and began to eat. He tried to obey his mother's instructions to eat slowly. He was concentrating so hard that his spoon slipped from his grasp and fell on the floor.
Forgetting what he had been told about asking a servant to bring him a fresh spoon, in the case of such accidents, Eldarion wriggled under the table to retrieve it. His mother was preoccupied in talking to his father and not looking at him.
"Eldarion! Whatever are you doing?" The boy was startled by his mother's loud whisper. He scrambled back on to his chair, in his haste knocking his dish with his elbow. The bowl skidded along the table and overturned, spilling its creamy white contents all over Prince Imrahil's elaborate silver and blue tunic!
"Master Eldarion!" The Prince's tone was like ice. Servants clustered around him, picking up the dish and wiping Imrahil's tunic .The damage, though, was done. The silver swan emblem on Imrahil's chest was now wet and spotted with bits of custard.
"Eldarion!" His mother's voice was full of horrified concern.
"I am sorry, Lord Imrahil. It was an accident," Eldarion stammered.
"I accept your apology," said Prince Imrahil. He did not look as if he accepted Eldarion's expressions of contrition! The Prince looked as if he might start what Eldarion's parents called a Diplomatic Incident. Eldarion did not fully understand such things, but from what his Naneth had said, there could be fussing and shouting and threats of something called Higher Tariffs, maybe even War.
Eldarion flushed scarlet. All eyes were upon him. He was sorely tempted to hide under the table, but knew that would make his parents angrier than ever.
"I'm sorry," Eldarion repeated, his lower lip starting to tremble.
A merry chuckle broke the tense silence that had fallen upon the gathering. "You take me back to my own first great feast in my youth!" smiled Aragorn, his voice full of kindly reassurance. "There was a high Elf-Lord present called Glorfindel, with golden hair like Legolas' or Lady Éowyn's shining locks .He was wearing a white tunic that night, too. I somehow knocked over a dish of beetroots over Glorfindel's golden hair and snowy tunic, turning them both bright purple!"
The assembled company laughed and it was not at Eldarion.
"I recall knocking over a dish of peas, which rolled all over the floor," said Uncle Faramir.
Lord Húrin and his Lady laughed, as did Lord Legolas, and even Prince Imrahil smiled. "I remember; Faramir, you were just four years old," The Prince said. "You laughed and cried out 'No more peas!' It was during a banquet welcoming the envoys from Dale; and even your father smiled. You had decided you did not like peas; and in fact refused to eat them until the cooks added onions."
Soon, almost the entire company were sharing stories of their own mishaps while the next courses were served. By the time they rose at the end of the meal, Eldarion's accident was quite forgotten by all save the young prince. The little boy started to yawn as the servants prepared the hall for the dance to follow the feasting.
"It is time you went to bed, ion nîn," said Arwen, looking fondly at her son. "I will summon your nurse."
"I will take him," said Aragorn. "I will return soon."
Alone with his father, Eldarion again started to apologise. "I'm sorry, ada. I didn't mean to spoil your birthday feast!"
Aragorn laughed. "Quite the contrary!" he smiled. "I will tell you a secret, Eldarion. Tonight was the most entertaining birthday feast I have enjoyed in years thanks to your presence. Older people sometimes only pretend to enjoy these great feasts for they are often very boring! You will grow to manhood, all too quickly, ion nín, so enjoy your youth while you may, even though you still have much to learn. I am very proud of how well you behaved tonight, ion nîn. Feasts are not easy, even for your father!"
Eldarion looked into Aragorn's twinkling grey eyes as he received his goodnight kiss and realised his father was truly not angry at all.
"Happy Birthday, ada," he murmured sleepily as his nanny carried him away to bed.
A/n This was written a while ago for the AA list prompt "Youth".
I am publishing it now in honour of Aragorn's birthday on March 1st.
I have a new work in progress on this site "Catastrophe", which I hope you will check out.
Chapter 55 - Manners maketh Man
Manners maketh man. William of Wykeham
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Raksha
King and Steward sat companionably beside each other on a bench watching the fishes swimming in the pool beneath the fountain in the Queen's garden. In contrast to his elders, Eldarion dashed between the bushes, throwing sticks for his lively spaniel, Nimrodel.
"How quickly this garden has grown and become a place of peace and beauty!" Faramir observed. He leaned forward, trailed a finger in the sunken pool, and then smiled when a fish gently nibbled it.
"I am so glad we have this private place of refuge in the Citadel," said Aragorn. "Arwen loves it too as it reminds her a little of Imladris. When the weather is as hot as today, I could happily spend all afternoon sitting here. I suppose I should be making my way to the Court of the Fountain," he said. "The Grand Potentate of Khand should be here soon." He sighed, looking down ruefully at his elaborate clothing, specially made in silks of vivid purple and gold. "I wonder if I will ever become accustomed to having to dress like this?" he mused.
Faramir smiled, seemingly untroubled by his own near identical attire. "I have worn worst during my father's time. Purple breeches and a gold tunic are not as bad as the mustard yellow and lime green I was required to wear when greeting Lord Duinhir some fifteen years ago. My father hoped Boromir might marry his daughter and decreed we should both wear their colours to honour her. Boromir would only wear a mustard yellow shirt with green cuffs, but my father insisted that all my garments were of the ghastly hues. I cannot abide mustard to this day!"
Aragorn laughed then rose to his feet reluctantly. "Come, Eldarion!" he called. "It is time for you to take Nimrodel indoors."
Eldarion approached his father and called to the young spaniel who was burying a bone at the far side of the garden. She raced towards her master, and attempted to jump across the pool in her haste to reach him. It was too wide to jump and she landed in the water with a loud splash. Aragorn and Faramir leapt backwards to avoid getting soaked. Nimrodel clambered out, raced a swift circle around the pool, and then thrust herself into the mud at its side, rolled over, kicking her legs in the air, and finally padded over to the King. The spaniel looked up at her master's father, seeming almost to smile as she shook the water from her coat all over the King's she merrily jumped up on the King's knees, leaving muddy paw prints and pondweed embedded in Aragorn's silk breeches.
"No, bad dog!" cried the King, recoiling too late from the dripping spaniel.
"Ada, I am sorry. Nimrodel didn't mean to be naughty," said Eldarion.
The dog surveyed King and Prince with a nervously wagging tail.
Aragorn struggled to remain calm as he considered the damage: his clothing was now adorned with droplets of dirty water and mud, unmistakeable paw prints and smelly pondweed. "I do understand that it is natural that dogs shake themselves, but I am due to greet the Grand Potentate of Khand within a few minutes wearing his kingdom's colours. I have no other clothing in these colours, and even if I had, there is no time to return to my chambers. Gondor will be a laughing stock if her lord is thus attired."
Faramir looked thoughtful for a moment. He glanced down at his own spotless apparel. "Change clothing with me, mellon nîn," he suggested. "It is only essential that you greet the Grand Potentate. He will not notice I am missing, or if he does, he will believe it our custom that the King alone greets a guest."
Aragorn was about to joyfully embrace Faramir, but realised to do so would cover his Steward's prized garb in mud and pondweed too. "As usual, you have a wise solution, ion nîn!" he exclaimed. "But what will you do? You can hardly wear these clothes!"
"Eldarion can fetch me some clean garments," said Faramir. "I will wait here hidden in the bushes. " Quickly now, there is no time to loose! Eldarion, tell Nimrodel to sit over by the birch trees. Then come and hold these clean garments for your father and warn us if anyone approaches!"
Aragorn and Faramir ducked behind a clump of bushes. They were a purple flowered shrub from the east with dense dark green leaves. Aragorn swiftly flung off his now stinking garments and left them on the ground. Faramir carefully removed his clean boots, shirt, tunic, and breeches and handed them to the boy. Eldarion held the clothes aloft, so they would not get dirty and passed them to his father one by one. A few moments later, a fresh and clean looking King emerged, clad in Faramir's clothing. The two men were much of a size and if the breeches were a little short and the boots slightly too tight, it was doubtful anyone would notice.
A bell started to toll.
"Hurry!" cried Faramir. "The Potentate has reached the sixth circle. Your lady will be concerned what is keeping you, not to mention the Council!"
"A great pity the Men of Khand debar women from public life or Arwen could greet them perfectly well on her own," Aragorn grumbled. "We dare not offend the Potentate, though, if we desire peace."
He raced off in the direction of the Court of the Fountain,more than living up to his name of Wingfoot.
"Go and fetch me some clean clothes now," Faramir instructed Eldarion. "Ask one of your father's valets to find them for you." The boy gathered up the filthy garments from where the King had thrown them. Clutching the bundle, he trotted off towards the royal apartments. Nimrodel pranced at his heels, now vigorously wagging her tail and clutching a stick between her teeth.
Wearing only his drawers, Faramir settled down to wait in the shelter of the shrubbery. He had a strong aversion to being other than fully clothed where anyone might see him, but it was a hot day and for a while, wearing so little did not trouble him overmuch. The garden was strictly for the use of the Royal family and their closest friends. Not even the servants were allowed to walk within it. He had little cause to worry about anyone coming as the gardeners only worked when the Royal family were absent. However, the gardens were in clear view of many of the upper windows in the Citadel and he dared not stir from his hiding place.
The Steward waited and waited. There was no sign of Eldarion. He started to grow anxious. Surely, the boy had not forgotten him. Then he heard voices. To his horror, it was the Queen, and with her were six women, who from their elaborate jewellery, purple, and gold clothing and all concealing veils were obviously the Potentate's wives.
"It is kind of you to show me your garden, gracious lady," said one of the visitors in heavily accented Weston. "The women of our people do not usually get to see such pleasing sights when our lord pays visits."
"These flowers are most fair!" said another, approaching the bushes behind which Faramir was crouched. "They are the colours of our land!"
"They were a gift from the Ambassador Tahir of Harad," explained Arwen. "They are not native to Gondor, but seem to thrive here and we love the blooms."
Faramir crouched lower, unfortunately rustling the branches. One of Potentate's wives spotted the movement. "Eek!" she screamed in her own tongue, "A wild beast lurking in the bushes! I see its fierce eyes glaring at me!"
The ladies all started twittering agitatedly like a flock of exotic birds, their jewels jangling like bells
"The wild beast will devour us!" cried the lady who spoke Weston. "Is it a wolf or a bear? I heard that your lands harbour many wild beasts!"
Arwen stared fixedly at the bushes for a moment then said. "Calm yourselves, I beg of you. There are no wild beasts here in my garden, but I suggest we now go inside. You will wish to rest after your long journey, I am certain." Thus saying, she shepherded the ladies back within doors.
Faramir crouched lower in the bushes heaved a sigh of relief, all the while wishing fervently that Eldarion would hurry. He wished now he had kept Aragorn's clothes. Better to smell of pondweed than to have nothing to wear at all! It was starting to grow chill as the sun moved away from the bushes and the stiff pointed leaves felt uncomfortable against his skin.
He was greatly relieved when a little while later, an anxious looking Aragorn hurried into the garden, now limping slightly in the ill-fitting boots. He clutched a bundle of clothing. Faramir's head emerged from the bush. "Praise the Valar you are here!" he cried.
"I am so sorry, Faramir," Aragorn apologised. "Eldarion's nurse was annoyed with him for letting Nimrodel leave muddy paw print on the floor, and would not let him come outside again. He had already given my clothes to the washerwoman and she did not believe his farfetched sounding story. I came as soon as the Potentate went to rest in his chambers. Apparently, his wives glimpsed a wild beast here!"
Faramir stretched out an arm to take the clothes Aragorn had brought and pulled them on in great haste.
When he emerged from behind the bush, Aragorn could not help but burst out laughing.
"What is so funny?" Faramir demanded. "Are my breeches on back to front or have I truly transformed into a wild beast?"
"A wild man maybe!" Aragorn chuckled. "Your face is streaked with dirt and your hair is full of leaves and purple blossoms! Come; let me help you, ion nîn." He started to pluck the flowers out of Faramir's hair while the Steward rubbed this face with his sleeve. "I have decreed that everyone wear their own colours for the reception tonight," he said. "I have also made it clear that our ladies will be attending the feasts while the Potentate is present. We will respect their customs while honouring our own too."
"Do I look presentable enough now?" asked Faramir. "I will have a bath before the reception."
"You do. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming to the rescue this afternoon."
"What else are friends for?" said Faramir. Side by side, the two men made their way indoors.
000
Two days had passed since the arrival of the Potentate of Khand and his wives. It seemed that Aragorn and Faramir's misadventures with their ceremonial garments had been something of an omen, for the visit was not going well, despite the carefully planned entertainments for the visitors.
Éowyn put down her spoon and beckoned a serving maid over She whispered something in the girl's ear. A few moments later, the maid returned with a shawl, which the Princess of Ithilien draped around her shoulders.
The Potentate of Khand, who sat opposite to her frowned and looked disappointed.
"Is something amiss, my love," Faramir enquired.
"I am just feeling a trifle chilled," said Éowyn, not wanting her husband to know how uncomfortable the Potentate made her feel. Whenever Faramir looked away, the man started trying to stare down the front of her gown! She considered, though, that the Potentate's appalling lack of manners should not damage the chance of a more peaceful relationship between Khand and Gondor. Her hands itched to slap the lecherous ruler, but to do so would no doubt cause a war and she had seen too many good men perish upon the field of battle.
"Let us leave the menfolk to debate matters of state," said Arwen, rising from her seat, much to Éowyn's relief. They were the only ladies present at the banquet in deference to the customs of their visitor. The King and the Steward had refused to countenance such an insult to their ladies by not including them at dinner, but Éowyn inwardly vowed that should any further state visitors from Khand come to Gondor, she would remain in Ithilien and invite Arwen to join her there.
"I would speak with you privately, man to man, Prince Faramir," said the Potentate as the guests were about to retire for the night.
Faramir readily agreed, assuming the foreign ruler saw him as a source of influence with the King.
"I think your wife most fair," said the Potentate. "Never have I seen a woman with hair like gold before!"
"She is indeed very beautiful," Faramir readily agreed.
"I would buy her from you for ten camels and five slave girls," said the Potentate.
"What?" Faramir was aghast, hardly able to believe he was hearing aright.
"You are right, my Lord Prince, the price was too low. I will give you twenty goats, ten camels, five horses, and a sack of gold and emeralds too for the woman."
"My wife is not for sale at any price," said Faramir struggling to keep his temper. He quickly left the room, deciding it wiser not to tell Aragorn lest the treaty be put at risk. He would suggest to Éowyn that she plead illness for the rest of the Potentate's stay to protect her from further insults.
000
Arwen raised her fan to cover the neckline of her dress from the Potentate's gaze. The dress was of a modest design, but still the Potentate stared at her figure. She could only hope that Aragorn had not noticed. Peace between the two lands could not be thrown away over one man's wandering eye.
"I would speak with you alone, Lord King," said the Potentate as the feast concluded. "Your wife intrigues me, surely as she is part Elven, she must be most skilled in the arts of love, and her beauty surpasses that of the moon. I will give you twelve camels and eight horses for her!"
"How dare you!" exclaimed Aragorn.
"You find the price too low? Or maybe you want another woman to warm your bed? I will give you one of my wives in exchange. They are all fruitful and able to give you sons. You can choose whichever one pleases you. Or would you prefer two of my concubines? They know many more ways to please a man than my wives. We train them in the arts of love from their youth. I will be generous, one of my wives, two concubines and a sack of precious stones for the woman."
Aragorn's hand instinctively reached towards his sword hilt. He feared if he tarried a moment longer, he would be sore tempted to draw it against this unspeakable excuse for a man! Speechless with rage and disgust, Aragorn strode hastily from the room, almost colliding with Faramir as he did so.
"What ails you, mellon nîn?" enquired the Steward. "I have never seen you look so angry!"
Aragorn told him.
Faramir listened in amazement. "But only yesterday the Potentate tried to buy Éowyn!" he exclaimed. "She is feigning illness to avoid him!"
"I have no desire to start a war over a lustful old fool's lack of manners," said Aragorn. "But the Potentate needs to be taught a lesson!"
"I think I have an idea," said Faramir.
0000
The next day Aragorn and Faramir invited the Potentate to a private dinner for just the three of them. At every mealtime so far, his hosts had been serving him the highly spiced foods of Khand as a courtesy to their guest. Today, though, the food was simple fare such as a captain of Gondor might eat.
When the Potentate tasted the mutton and vegetables, he frowned. "Send for the cook and strike off his head!" he demanded. "This food has no flavour."
"The food is exactly how I commanded it to be served," said Aragorn. "As food without flavour is to you, so would life without his beloved wife at his side, be to a man of Gondor."
Much to their surprise the Potentate burst out laughing. "You are wise indeed, O King of Gondor!" he cried." I did but jest with you over desiring your wives to see if you were indeed as wise and noble as I had been told. Lesser man would have insulted their guests. Gladly will I sign your treaty, let there be peace between our peoples.
A/n. This was written several years ago for two prompts on the AA list, "Clothes" and "Manners."
Chapter 56 - The Sacrifice
The Sacrifice
March 26: Isengard
Today's Challenge:
"Pride is still aiming at the best houses: Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell; aspiring to be angels men rebel."
-Alexander Pope
How would a character not allowed to express his or her thoughts, creativity, or opinion act out? Capture this in a story, poem or piece of
Title: The Sacrifice
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir, Denethor
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word count: 864 approx
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Raksha
My love, your eyes shine
Brighter than Elbereth's starry jewels.
Your hair gleams gold in the candlelight,
Your lips are redder than cherries, but far sweeter.
Your kisses will set me afire
With burning flame,
That you alone can quench.
You sense my thoughts before I speak them.
You know me better than I know myself;
Two have become one through love's might.
Faramir chewed his quill thoughtfully. He had not yet met the lady to whom he would dedicate this poem, but he was certain this was how he would feel about her. This was what love should be like, a true union of souls as well as of the flesh. To dream of such a love and write about it helped make his life all the more bearable for a young man who would much liefer be a scholar than a soldier. He fought now because he must, for the land that he loved. Maybe the bow would feel less heavy in his hand if he fought too to protect a wife and little ones?
He tucked the half finished poem between the pages of the military report he knew he should be concentrating upon and resolutely returned to his task. His father expected a detailed review of Ithilien's defences first thing the next morning. Faramir worked late into the night. When he finally finished the report and placed it on his father's desk, he had forgotten all about the poem.
The next morning, he rose early and after a light breakfast made his way to the practise grounds.
"Captain Faramir, the Lord Steward wishes to see you at once!" a servant called, causing Faramir's arrow to land outside the target.
Faramir handed his bow to one of the squires and left the practice butts wondering why his father was summoning him now. He was not due to see him until the evening meal when they would dine together and make their farewells before he returned to his Rangers at Henneth Annûn the next day.
Denethor was pacing his study clutching a sheet of parchment. "What is the meaning of this, boy?" he demanded, thrusting the paper under Faramir's nose.
Faramir regarded it with dismay and flushed scarlet. It was his poem.
"I am sorry, father. It was a mere flight of fancy. There is no lady."
"About the only matter in your favour, boy, is that your moral conduct has never given me cause for concern!" Denethor snapped. "It displeases me greatly, though, that you should waste your time writing this nonsense! You are a soldier, boy, not a poet! All your time and energy must be dedicated towards your duty. I never want to catch you engaged such foolishness again or you will feel the full weight of my wrath. Do I have your word that you will not write poetry again?"
Faramir wanted to tell his father how writing poetry helped him while away the long nights at Ithilien. He yearned to explain that writing down his dreams for the future, however hopeless, gave him greater strength to fight for them against an ever increasing enemy. Why should he not write in what little free time he had? What harm did it do to anyone? He wanted to rage against his father and tell him he was being unfair. He never wanted to be a soldier, but he did his duty and served Gondor wholeheartedly. Why could he not write poetry too? Faramir knew all too well that it was futile to argue. Denethor was not only his father, but his liege lord and he was sworn to obey him.
"You have my word, sire," Faramir said bleakly.
"It is for your own good, boy," said Denethor, his tone softening slightly. "The enemy is ruthless. We can only defeat him with sword and bow and dedicating ourselves entirely to that task. We will speak no more of it. Now go!"
Faramir returned to the training ground. For the next hour, he fired arrows at the practise butts with such ferocity that those who saw him were amazed. His heart ached; he felt as if part of himself had been destroyed, a part that he had cherished and nurtured.
***
Twenty years later.
"We have done enough work for today, Faramir." Aragorn put aside the scroll he was working on and turned to his Steward. "Arwen and I hope you will dine with us tonight, we always enjoy your company."
"I should like that very much, Aragorn, thank you. I will just go and change my clothes to make myself presentable to your lady."
"Before you leave, I found this. It is your handwriting is it not?" The King handed Faramir a yellowing piece of parchment.
Puzzled, the Steward studied it and flushed.
"I did not know you wrote poetry, mellon nîn. Indeed, you seemed unable to, that day we were composing poems to our wives on the river bank."
"My father forbade me to write poetry and I forced myself to lose the art. Where did you find this? I believed that my father had thrown it away."
"I found it inside a book of lays that belonged to him that I was perusing in the library earlier today."
"How strange!" Faramir said thoughtfully. "He was so angry that I had been writing poems. I assumed he had burnt it. Throw it away, it is just doggerel!"
"I think it is very good," said Aragorn. "I believe your father thought so as well which was why he kept it the poem. Why not copy it out on a fresh sheet of parchment and give it to Éowyn? It will delight her that you dreamed of her before you two ever met. You should never have stopped writing, ion nîn."
"I had to; my lord father demanded that sacrifice of me."
Aragorn smiled and clapped Faramir on the shoulder. "Well your present lord would like you to write poems if you feel so inspired. I count myself most fortunate to have a Steward with so many talents!"
Chapter 57 - The Revenger's Tragedy
B2MeM Challenge Tolkien's Tree- Nimloth. All Ocs, all the time- A poisoner.
Format: Short story
Genre: general, angst, hurt/comfort
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Adult themes
Characters: Aragorn, OFC
Pairings :none
Summary: A woman from Harad plans to avenge her family
Disclaimer: These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain
Why had she been born a woman? Uzza had lost count of the times she had asked herself this question. Were she a man she could have ridden into battle beside her father and brothers and been slain as they had been slain. Perhaps she could have even have somehow saved them from the great slaughter. Only a burning desire to avenge them had kept her from falling upon the sword that her father had given her in her youth. She had not wept. Better by far to plan revenge than waste energy in futile tears.
She was a big strong girl with no looks that could charm a man, so she had asked her father if she might become a darwisa, a wise woman. He had agreed, and had given what would have been her dowry to Lina, an old woman who had promised to share her knowledge with her eager pupil. Uzza had immersed herself in the study of healing herbs and powerful poisons. She had made a good living and been content until the Men of the West snatched everything from her that she held dear.
Uzza had come now to the land where her father and brothers had been slain to avenge them. She was certain their deaths had been of the cruellest kind. These pale faced Men of the West were savages, who showed no mercy to their captives and slaughtered them to honour the tree that was their god. So she had been told. One woman of her village had heard that her son had been butchered to feed to the Tarks' pampered hounds, while an old man had learned that his young grandson had been tied to a tree and used as target practise by his captors. They were led by a cruel king who used evil magic to raise up the dead to be his soldiers and slaughter all who challenged him with an enchanted sword.
She had travelled to the Tark's city of stone with a merchant caravan laden with spices and the poppy syrup and seeds, for which war and its aftermath had produced a great demand. The men tolerated her presence in exchange for her salves and potions. They did not seek to molest her, having brought a pleasure woman to satisfy their needs. Vega was young and still pretty. She bore her lot patiently enough. She was a pale faced slave who had been captured when little more than a child. Uzza regarded her with a mixture of pity and contempt.
The City, a vast edifice carved out of a mountain, so it seemed, was unlike anything Uzza had seen before. She was surprised to find there were a fair number of her folk in the city, mostly merchants plying their wares. She was disgusted to learn that an Ambassador from her land dwelt amongst these Men of the West in some splendour, in exchange for fawning upon their tyrant king. A merchant from whom she bought food actually boasted that the Ambassador's wife was one of his customers! She enquired of him where she might find lodgings and he had offered her a shabby room at an extortionate price. Uzza did not care. She would not need it for long.
She planned her vengeance carefully. She alone was left to avenge her kin. She was determined not to fail. At first, she thought to poison the cruel king, but she presumed he would be too well guarded to approach. A better idea came to her. She would poison the god of the Men of the West. Then they would lose heart, and wither and die with the tree that they worshipped. Even gods could be killed, for had not the Men of the West destroyed the Lord of Gifts?
She brewed a poison deadly to all living things when the moon was dark and spoke powerful incantations as she worked. Lina had taught her that healing potions should be brewed when the moon was bright, so that the Goddess would smile on her endeavours, but poison could only be brewed when her silver face was turned away.
The next morning, she poured her mixture into a small bottle and made her way to the Court of the Fountain where the god dwelled. She knew it was guarded, but she could bide her time. Something would surely distract the guards for the brief instant she needed to pour out the poison upon the tree. It mattered not to her that she would most likely be caught and put to torment. Her kin would be avenged.
She passed the guards at the gates easily enough as they gave only a cursory glance as the many folk who came to venerate the tree god. She found a bench near the tree and sat down, waiting to seize the right moment. She was surprised how small and slender it looked, a lovely thing, she had to admit, covered in fragrant white blossoms.
"What fools these pale faced folk are, to worship a puny tree!" she said aloud in her own tongue, secure that none would understand.
"We revere the White Tree, but do not worship it!" said a deep male voice in the tongue of Harad.
Startled, Uzza looked up and beheld a tall man with shaggy dark hair flecked with grey. He bore the emblem of the tree embroidered upon his tunic. He seated himself at the far side of the bench. The guards turned their gaze towards him. Maybe they thought he threatened the god as he spoke in a tongue strange to them?
"I thought it was your god?"
He laughed. "Some Men might pray to the Valar in a time of need. For my part, I would call upon Lady Elbereth, or even the One."
"Why then is this tree guarded and revered so?"
"It is a symbol of who we are and where we come from. This tree is the very image of Nimloth that grows in the Blessed Realm. We thought a living scion was lost to our folk, but behold, a new sapling grows and flourishes! I enjoy coming here to gaze upon the wonder when I have a few moments to spare."
"But you sacrifice your captives to this tree?"
The man laughed. "You have been told some strange tales, mistress. All of your folk who surrendered were spared and the wounded were cared for. Most of them have been given leave to return home in peace. Sadly most preferred to fight to the death."
"You slew the Lord of Gifts!" Uzza said accusingly.
"No Man did that great deed, but Halflings from a distant land," said the man. "Yet, what treasures did this Lord of Gifts bestow upon those who worshipped him in return for the blood of their bravest and best?"
"Nothing!" Uzza spat out the reply.
"You lost someone you loved in the War?"
"My father, and all my brethren." Uzza said tersely. Suddenly, to her shame, she found tears forming in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. She drew her veil about her face and got up to leave.
The man reached out and gripped her arm. "I grieve for your loss."
Uzza fumbled with her free hand beneath her robes. This was her chance. The guards seemed strangely interested in the man beside her. He would be the distraction she needed. "You slaughtered them!" she cried breaking free of his grip. "Curse you, your tree and all your kind, Tark!"
Before she could uncork the bottle, the man had gripped both her arms. The guards moved closer.
"The Men of the West acted only to defend themselves," the man said. "We desired no slaughter. Had your kinsfolk surrendered, we would gladly have spared them." He said something in a language she could not understand. The guards backed away.
She wondered fleetingly who he was. An off duty captain perhaps?
"You are distressed, mistress," the man said. "Let us go somewhere more private."
He looked at her with a piercing grey gaze and for a moment, she felt as if he could see into her very soul. For the first time, she was afraid. She wanted to struggle and flee, but could not. Her limbs felt as if they had been turned to lead.
The man led her to a nearby building. It appeared to be a guardroom as several soldiers were lounging there. The man gave what sounded like and order and they left.
The captain gestured to her to sit down and poured her a cup of wine from a flagon on the table, but before handing it to her, he gripped both her hands and looked deep into her eyes. Uzza wanted to look away, but could not.
"You carry such hatred and lust for vengeance in your heart, mistress, that it poisons the very air around you," said the captain.
Uzza shuddered. Somehow, he knew! She was very afraid now. Why had he sent the men away if not for some nefarious purpose? Her brother had been a captain and he only sent away his men when he wanted to be alone with the women he had captured to have sport with them. She tried to blink back her tears. She was strong. A well- aimed kick could disable a man; one of her brothers had ruefully told her when he had requested one of her potions.
"You need to weep," said her captor. "Grieve for your kin, then live for them; remembering that you will one day meet again in joy beyond the circles of the world."
Uzza could no longer contain her emotions. Great heaving sobs racked her body. Her captor made no move to assault her. Instead, he placed one over her heart and the other upon her brow. She felt the band of iron that for so long had surrounded her heart, break asunder and then dissolve with her tears.
The man remained silent until her tears were spent. Then he smiled at her and handed her the cup of wine. "What is your name?" he asked.
"I am Uzza. In my land, I am considered a wise woman, a healer."
"Many of your people are settling here in Minas Tirith, Mistress Uzza. Should you wish to stay here, they will have need of such as you. I must go now, stay here as long as you need to recover and drink your wine. The men will not bother you." He smiled at her again and clasped her hand in farewell. Then he was gone.
Uzza took the bottle of poison from her robes. She had failed. The desire for revenge had left her; it would not restore her kinsfolk to her. For a moment she hesitated and gazed at the bottle. Should she pour it into the wine and drink it? No, she wanted to live. There was a blazing fire in the hearth. Uzza hurled the bottle into its heart and listened to it spitting and hissing before it was utterly consumed.
Then she drained the glass of wine and walked out into the spring sunlight.
Chapter 58 - Faster, Higher, Stronger
Faster, Higher, Stronger.
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. This story is written for pleasure not profit.
With thanks to Raksha and Virtuella.
Aragorn struggled to keep an interested expression on his face. As Éomer's honoured guest for the younger King's birthday celebrations, he needed to look as if he were enjoying the proceedings.
Éomer's idea to mark his birthday by holding a challenge for his Riders, to help them remain strong and alert now that the War was over, was a good one. After watching a seemingly never -ending stream of Rohirrim race past him on horseback or on foot, though, it all became rather tedious. Aragorn had never much enjoyed exercise for its own sake. He preferred to remain supple by practising with sword and bow and if he ran, he did so to reach a destination, not round and round a field.
Éomer's Riders were all strong young men, skilled riders and swift of foot. Their king had promised a fine grey colt as the prize for the victor of this day's games. How his friend and fellow king would choose between them, Aragorn had no idea. He was simply thankful that the task did not fall to him.
Éomer raised his arm for silence as the horses came to a halt. The challenge was taking place on a field by the banks of the Snowbourn. Éomer sat on a makeshift throne, with his Queen, Lothiriel, and Aragorn either side of him. All around the field spectators were gathered, loudly cheering their kinsfolk.
"Riders of the Mark," cried Éomer. "You have proved your skills well today on both horseback and on foot. You have shown yourselves swift and strong: ready to defend our lands in the hour of need. For the final test, I challenge you with is a swimming race. The first man to swim across the river and back again will win the prize!"
Aragorn raised an eyebrow. During his years of service to King Thengel, the Rohirrim had hardly been noted for their swimming skills. He could only surmise that matters had changed over the intervening years.
A few of the men shook their heads dejectedly and walked away from the field. The majority of them, though, made their way down to the riverbank and started to pull off their clothes.
Aragorn looked anxiously at Lothiriel. It did not seem right for such a delicately raised lady as Imrahil's daughter to present. She caught his gaze and flushed slightly before whispering something in her husband's ear and making her way towards a refreshment stall at the far side of the field, accompanied by her Gondorian maid, Alis. The rest of the audience; men and women together, watched as the swimmers entered the water.
"I thought this challenge would help me choose a winner," Éomer informed Aragorn quietly. "I have been encouraging my Riders to learn to swim, but many are reluctant. They say water is only suitable for fish! If they see the prize going to a strong swimmer, it should encourage them to learn not to fear the water."
Many of the Rohirrim had dipped their toes the water then changed their mind about entering it while others had paddled out a little way and were now disconsolately making their way back to shore and pulling their clothes back on. Only about a dozen hardy souls still remained in the race and were purposefully, albeit slowly, making their way across the river, loudly cheered on by their fellows.
"The Snowbourn is excellent for swimming," said Éomer. "I learned to swim myself last summer."
"A wonderful achievement," Aragorn congratulated his friend. "It is not easy to learn past childhood. I was fortunate that the Elves taught me when I was very young." His keen eyes returned to the swimmers and lingered on one man who had become separated from his fellows. The others had already reached the far bank, while the straggler was still in the middle of the broad river. Suddenly he gave a cry and flung his arms in the air. The spectators all started shouting. One of the men, who had turned back before, started to pull off his clothing again. Several of the women screamed and one looked about to enter the water.
"No!" Éomer cried. "No one else must enter the water, or you will all drown!"
"My husband is drowning!" screamed a woman who looked about to dive in."
"Keep Andúril safe for me" Aragorn thrust the precious sword into Éomer's hands.
Swift as an arrow, Aragorn raced down to the riverbank, shrugging off his cloak and tunic as he ran. He paused only to kick off his boots when he reached the water's edge.
All around him people were screaming, "Alas, Thormund will drown!"
Aragorn waded in. The swimmers on the far bank were turning back towards their stricken fellow, but they would never reach him in time. Compared to the Anduin, where Aragorn often swam with Faramir, the Snowbourn felt icy cold. His heavy shirt and breeches made his limbs feel like lead, but Aragorn ignored the discomfort and swam with haste towards Thormund. "Stay calm!" he cried. "I am coming to get you."
Thormund paid no heed to his words and only struggled more frantically. Worst was to follow, though, as the man suddenly ceased flaying his arms and started to sink beneath the water's surface.
His arms aching and his lungs near to bursting, Aragorn managed to reach the drowning man and grab hold of his hand just before he sank beneath the surface. He felt almost as if his arm would be wrenched from its socket, but grimly hung on, drawing him out of the depths and wrapping his other arm around Thormund's chest and raising his head above the water. Thormund coughed, expelling mouthfuls of water from his lungs and started to struggle again, almost dragging Aragorn down with him. He was slippery as a fish and as hard to keep hold of.
"Easy now, I have you," said Aragorn in a tone most often used to control an army, but Thormund was too panicked to heed him. Aragorn wondered just how long he could hold on when he saw a handful of swimmers approaching from the far bank. "Fetch a boat!" he cried. Two of the men helped him support the struggling Thormund, while the others swam in search of a boat.
The wait seemed endless. Aragorn was tiring and wondering just how much longer he could keep his heavy limbs afloat, when an old man appeared rowing a coracle of the type used by fishermen of the Mark. One of Aragorn's helpers clambered into the boat and together they succeeded in dragging Thormund aboard.
"Thank you!" Aragorn gasped as the old man paddled towards where Éomer and a crowd of people were waiting. Thormund collapsed in the bottom of the boat, coughing and spluttering. Aragorn tended him as best he could.
As soon as they reached the shore, willing hands reached to take Thormund. "He needs keeping warm," Aragorn instructed.
"I know, my lord," said a calm voice that Aragorn recognised as belonging to Aethelstan, Éomer's personal Healer, who was ready with a blanket.
"As do you, my friend!" Éomer drew Aragorn against him in a close embrace, oblivious of the older man's saturated condition. The King of Rohan drew his own cloak from about his shoulders and wrapped it around his friend. "I have never seen the like as the haste with which you swam to Thormund's rescue!"
The people cheered, "Hail Elessar King, hail Éomer King!" they cried.
"Come, my friend, let us ride back to the Hall swiftly so you can change into dry clothes," said Éomer, shepherding the exhausted Aragorn towards where horses were waiting. "Lothiriel has gone ahead to order the servants to make up a fire and prepare hot drinks."
"What of Thormund? I should tend to him," Aragorn protested.
"Aethelstan is well able to take care of him," Éomer said firmly. "It is you needs care now, Aragorn. I have brought Roheryn to you."
Aragorn was too exhausted to protest further and scrambled astride the horse's blissfully warm back. They rode with all haste to the Golden Hall.
Lothiriel had ordered a fire prepared in Aragorn's chamber. Despite the older man man's protests, Éomer had insisted in helping him out of his sodden clothes and wrapping him in warmed blankets.
A little while later, Aragorn was feeling much better and wrapped in a robe, was seated by the fire being plied with hot drinks by Éomer and Lothiriel, while he rubbed his hair dry.
"You could have been drowned!" Lothiriel fretted.
"Have no fear, I am a strong swimmer," said Aragorn. "I promised my lady and Faramir that I would return home safely, as neither seemed to think I was safe to be allowed out without them!"
"They were right!" Lothiriel said grimly.
"Eldarion is not very keen to learn to swim so I will tell him what happened today, which might make him more enthusiastic," said Aragorn.
"That is the last swimming race I shall ever hold!" Éomer said grimly.
"I think you should reconsider that decision," said Aragorn, putting down his towel and swallowing a mouthful of comfortingly warm tea. "Swimming is a useful skill for your Riders to have. Make it a rule, though, that only strong swimmers should enter the race and have a boat at hand in case anyone gets into difficulties."
"I will think on your words, friend," said Éomer.
"Who has won the colt?" Aragorn asked.
"By rights it should be yours, my friend," said Éomer, but I have finer colts my far I would give you. I have decided to award it to old Elfmund, the fisherman. I gave another to Gunther who was the first to swim across the river and back again."
Aragorn nodded his approval, suppressing a smile at the thought of the wizened greybeard taking the prize that the young riders coveted so highly.
"Poor Thormund," Éomer added. "The young fool was desperate for a fine horse, though he could hardly swim! Methinks I should give him a boat instead!"
A/N. Although, I am NOT interested in sport, I always find myself glued to the Olympic Games, almost against my will! The story was inspired by the triathlon and Endurance swimming events in 2008 and written for the "Haste" prompt on the AA List and then forgotten until now. The commentator said Endurance Swimming races were held 2,000 years ago in Japan, so I thought why not in M-e?
Chapter 59 - Sailing Stormy Waters
B2MeM Challenge Here we come a carolling - And they looked up and saw a star;Song lyrics - You're a one man shift in the weather, you're the woman who just won't sell. Beasts - Oliphant; Waters- sea,: Colours- rose; Names and Titles of Aragorn - Envinyatar; The Steward and his Sons - Second Son; Talents and Skills - lines; I'll just make more tea.
Format: ficlet
Genre: general, family,angst
Rating: PG
Warnings: adult themes
Characters: Faramir, Eowyn, Aragorn, Denethor
Pairings: Faramir/ Eowyn
Summary: Faramir is tossed on stormy seas.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
The little boat was tossed remorselessly by towering waves that threatened any moment to overwhelm it. At the helm, Faramir sailed through the rough waters as best he could.
"Boromir would make a far better job of that, but what can I expect from a second son?" Denethor said, appearing beside him in the prow of the boat.
"I am doing the best I can, father," said Faramir. "I cannot control the weather. A storm is approaching."
"You're a one man shift in the weather," said Denethor. "We shall surely drown in this storm. That is not how I would choose the manner of my death!"
Éowyn suddenly appeared from the stern. "See reason, my lord," she pleaded. "You cannot keep blaming Faramir!"
"You!" Denethor glared at her. "You're the woman who just won't sell, or so I thought. Why don't you leave my son alone and go back to ogling that upstart from the North?"
"How dare you!" Éowyn slapped his face. The boat rocked precariously.
"No slow death by drowning for Denethor!" the Steward cried. Suddenly, he was holding a torch in his hand. He threw it into the bottom of the boat. The flames reared up, threatening to consume the tiny craft within moments. Faramir could feel the searing heat of the flames. So this was death? Everything went black.
Faramir awoke. He was sailing the small boat across a vast expanse of sea. He was dreadfully thirsty. The storm raged around him. He cried out to Lady Uinen to protect him. There was no sign now of any fire. Éowyn and his father had both disappeared. Had they been swept overboard, or had they ever really been there at all? He could not remember. How long had he been in this boat? Hours, days, months, years even? He did not know. He was alone and afraid. He doggedly kept on sailing, but there was no land in sight, nor any other ship.
"Faramir?" He turned towards the direction of a familiar and well- loved voice.
Another boat drew up beside the one he was in and Aragorn leapt aboard. The King was not as he remembered him, though. He was clad all in silver and in white and he glowed like the sun. The green gem he bore upon his breast shone as brightly as a star.
"Envinyatar!" cried Faramir. He knelt and kissed Aragorn's hand.
"I have come to take you home," said Aragorn.
"As you will, lord," said Faramir. "I do not know the way though."
The storm ceased and the sea became as calm as a millpond. The sun was setting and the sky turned from leaden grey to a glorious hue of rose pink. The splendour lasted only a few moments, though, before darkness fell.
And they looked up and saw a star. It was the Star of Eärendil.
"Set a course by the star and follow it," said Aragorn.
Faramir did as he was bidden. Everything went black again.
"Faramir!"
The Steward opened his eyes and tried to focus. If only everything would stop spinning! He closed his eyes again.
"Easy now," Aragorn's voice was calm and reassuring. A warm, firm hand gripped his own and a cup of water was held to his lips. He drank thankfully. There was a throbbing pain in his shoulder. There was no sign of the boat or the sea. He appeared to be lying in bed.
"What happened" Faramir asked, fear in his voice. "The boat? Éowyn?"
"I am here, my love." Éowyn clasped his other hand.
"You were struck by a poisoned arrow," said Aragorn. "We feared we had lost you."
"An arrow?"
"Don't you remember?" said Éowyn. "Ithilien was invaded by a rebel group of Southrons on their war oliphant's. You led your men to repel the invasion, but you were shot down. Beregond brought you home and I sent for Aragorn at once. He fought long and hard to counter the effects of the poison and entered a healing trance to bring you back."
"Thank you, my friend."
"It was my pleasure. I would not be without you."
The room had finally stopped spinning and Faramir looked around him. He was in his own chamber with Éowyn and Aragorn sitting either side of his bed. Aragorn looked nothing like the shining figure he had beheld, apart from the green stone pinned to the breast of the simple black tunic he wore. The King looked weary, but he was smiling.
"How did the battle go?" asked Faramir. "Are our people safe?"
"The Southrons were utterly routed," said Aragorn. "They begged for mercy, which was granted. You have some unusual guests in Ithilien now."
"I do?"
"There are two Oliphant's in one of my paddocks," said Éowyn. "Their handlers surrendered on the condition their beasts were spared. They are magnificent creatures and not nearly as fierce as they look."
"We will decide later if we should send them back to Harad or find some peaceful work for them to do here," said Aragorn. "Ambassador Tahir is helping me to reach a decision. He was horrified by the actions of some of his countrymen in making war against us. They are a rival faction opposed to the ruling Khan. Tahir and his wife have sent messages wishing you a speedy recovery."
"How long was I unconscious?" asked Faramir.
"Two days," Aragorn replied.
"No wonder I am so thirsty then!"
Éowyn bent and kissed his cheek then said, "I'll just make more tea."
Chapter 60 - The Brightest Star
The Brightest Star – Linda Hoyland
Rating- G
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Raksha, Virtuella and Deandra.
Summary- Aragorn and Arwen comfort an ailing Eldarion.
A/N Written for the Teitho contest – "Stars", where it was placed second. Revised and dedicated to Harrowcat on the occasion of her birthday.
With some trepidation, Aragorn hastened to the nursery at the summons of Eldarion's nanny. Had his adored son been up to some mischief, or had some ill befallen him?
"Master Eldarion seems to have caught a bad cold, sire", the little boy's nanny informed the King as soon as she beheld him.
"I expect he caught it from Lord Faramir's children when they played together the other day," said Aragorn. "Lady Éowyn said they had been sneezing."
Eldarion sneezed. Then he sneezed again and yet again. "I don't dike 'aving a dold," he said mournfully.
"I fear everyone suffers from them occasionally," said Aragorn. "You will be better in a few days."
"I don't feed dwell," Eldarion sniffed. "By dose is doo snuffy to breef! "
Aragorn frowned and placed a hand on his son's forehead. Eldarion did not protest. That was not a good sign. As he suspected, Eldarion's brow felt hot. The little boy was suffering from a slight fever. "I will put you to bed myself, and then your nanny can sit with you while I mix you some medicine to make you feel better," he said. "You can sleep in naneth's bed tonight."
"My droat durts," Eldarion croaked.
"I promise you will feel better tomorrow," said the King. "Now blow your nose, so you can talk properly."
"I want naneth," the little boy fretted as his father changed him into his night attire.
"She is coming soon," Aragorn reassured him. "She is at an important meeting, but will be home soon."
000
When Arwen arrived back in the royal apartments an hour or so later, she found her husband stirring some honey into an herbal concoction. "Is someone unwell?" she asked.
"Eldarion has a feverish cold," her husband replied. "I have put him to bed."
Arwen turned pale. "My poor baby is ill!"
"All mortal children catch colds. It will pass in a few days," Aragorn assured her. "It is nothing to worry about. He will just feel sorry for himself for a while."
"I must go to him at once!" cried Arwen.
"Give him this medicine, vanimelda," said Aragorn, handing the glass to her. "There is no cure for a cold, but it should ease his symptoms. I will join you later I need to study the details of the changes to import tariffs on silk to discuss with ambassador Tahir in the morning. Send for me at once if you have need of me."
000
Eldarion drank his medicine with much grimacing. "I'm hot!" he complained.
Arwen summoned a servant to bring water. She steeped some lavender in it and gently bathed Eldarion's face and neck with the mixture. She then tried to settle him down to sleep but the little boy remained fretful. He cast aside his blankets and continued to complain of being hot. At least he could now speak more clearly, the medicine having had some effect.
Arwen's father had always been a great believer in the healing powers of fresh air, a belief that Arwen had been puzzled to learn that very few of the Gondorian healers shared.
"I will take you outside," she told her son. She unlocked the door leading to the balcony, then took a blanket from the bed and wrapped Eldarion in it and carried him outside. It was a balmy spring night perfumed by the herbs in the garden below. Arwen wrinkled her nose at the pungent scent of wild garlic amongst the sweeter fragrances.
Her son in her arms, she settled herself on a chair and looked upwards at the heavens. She took a deep breath as she drank in the beauty of the stars, which never failed to comfort her. She recalled the long years that she and Estel had been apart. She had often looked at the heavens, knowing that he too was beneath those same stars, carrying her memory in his heart.
Eldarion seemed less fretful out of doors and nuzzled against her. He followed her gaze and looked upwards, his eyes coming to rest upon the brightest star in the heavens. "Why is that star brighter than the others?" he asked his mother. "Is it our special star?"
Arwen smiled at her son. "That is indeed no ordinary star," she said. "It is the Star of Hope, the ship in which your great- grandfather sails to give light and hope to Arda."
Eldarion looked puzzled. "How did he get up there?"
Arwen rocked him gently in her arms. "Long ago before I was born, when many bad things were happening in Middle-earth, Eärendil decided to sail to Valinor and ask the Valar for help. He had a beautiful jewel called a Silmaril, which he wore on his brow to light his way."
"Like ada wears the Star of Elendil?"
"Just like that."
"Is Valinor where my grandfather and grandmother have gone to live?"
"Yes, ion nîn." Arwen was silent for a moment. She blinked away a tear. "Eärendil reached Valinor and accomplished his mission, so the people of Middle-earth were saved. Now he sails across the sky every night, with the fair jewel he wears giving hope to all men as it shines in the darkness. Before your ada and I were wed, we were often apart, but we would look up at the star and think about each other and hope that one day our wish would come true that we would be married and have a little boy just like you!"
"Just like me?" Eldarion sneezed again. "Even when I sneeze?"
"Even when you sneeze, for all little boys get colds sometimes, your ada tells me."
"Does Great -Grandfather get colds?" Eldarion asked.
"No," said Arwen. "There is so one to catch them from in his ship."
"He is lucky." Eldarion sighed, then lapsed into silence until another thought struck him. "Doesn't he get lonely?" he asked.
"Great- Grandmother Elwing is waiting to greet him each morning," Arwen told him.
"Oh." Eldarion sucked his thumb thoughtfully. For once, Arwen did not chide him for the babyish habit.
After a few moments, Arwen realised that her son had finally fallen asleep. She continued gently rocking him in her arms. How fair his face looked in the starlight and so like his father!" She looked up at the stars and wondered if Eärendil could see this latest scion of his house.
A soft footfall behind her caused her to turn her head. Aragorn came to stand beside her. "How is he?" the King asked softly.
"A little better, I think," said Arwen. "He was too hot so I brought him outside where he settled and fell asleep."
Aragorn laid a gentle hand on his son's brow. "The fever has lessened," he said.
"Varda be praised!" Arwen gave a great sigh of relief.
Aragorn placed his arm tenderly around her shoulders. "The stars seem to shine especially brightly tonight," he said.
"Varda gives extra light for the spring planting."
"Once Eldarion is better, we should spend a few days with Faramir and Éowyn in Ithilien," Aragorn suggested. "It would gladden my heart to walk in their gardens beneath the stars with you."
"It would gladden my heart too," said Arwen. "Maybe Éowyn's herb garden would smell sweeter too. Do we have to grow wild garlic?"
Aragorn chuckled softly. "The Dúnedain wise women swear the best way to cure a cold is to walk in the woods where the wild garlic grows! It certainly seems to have helped our son."
Arwen wrinkled her nose again. "Maybe," she conceded. "More likely it was your medicine, though."
"Garlic was one of the ingredients."
The royal couple lapsed into silence as they gazed again at the stars, which twinkled against a midnight blue sky.
"I look at the stars and think just how small I am compared to their vastness," Aragorn mused.
"Some men glow as brightly as any star," said Arwen. "You shine in my heart brighter even than the Star of Eärendil!"
"Thus speaks the Evenstar named for her beauty, which surpasses even the glories of the heavens!"
Arwen laughed, but her eyes shone with tenderness.
"It grows chill," said Aragorn a little while later. "We should take Eldarion indoors. You should get some rest, vanimelda."
"Very well, but leave the curtain open and let the starlight in."
He gently scooped up his son in his arms and carried him indoors. Eldarion did not waken as he was tucked into his mother's bed and his parents climbed in on either side of him.
Soon all three were lost in peaceful dreams as the stars looked down upon them.
Chapter 61 - Of Ancestors and Toothache
Of Ancestors and Toothache
B2MeM Challenge RolesandnamesOfAragorn1- Ranger; Botany1- Niphredil;SnippetsOfVerse1- The steady slowing down of the heart;;LastLines1-I think that he is singing;CanonCouples1 - Thingol/Melian; StewardAndHisSons- sword and bow:SongLyrics1-Lord of Gifts your star shall fall
Format: ficlet
Genre: general/humour
Rating: PG
Warnings: mention of drunkenness and treatments for toothache
Characters: Boromir, the Fellowship, OC
Pairings: none
Summary: Boromir is in a bad mood.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
“I will sing the lay of Melian and Thingol in honour of our guest, Aragorn son of Arathorn, this night,” said the minstrel. He began to tune his lyre while wine was served to the assembled company.
“Why, Strider?” whispered Pippin.
“She is a distant foremother of mine,” the Ranger explained. “Also Melian was a close friend of Lady Galadriel when they dwelt together in Doriath; therefore it is fitting that her deeds should be remembered here.
“Oh.” Pippin fell silent as the musician took up his lyre and began to sing.
The Fellowship listened entranced, with the notable exception of Boromir who fidgeted restlessly throughout.
Legolas sighed when the music ended. “A wondrous tale, but a melancholy one,” he said.
“It is not wholly sad,” said Aragorn. “Melian and Thingol enjoyed centuries of happiness together while their descendants survive to this day.”
“Surely that is but a fanciful old tale,” Boromir protested. “A pretty story to entertain children with. My brother loved such tales in the nursery.”
“Did you perceive nothing at Rivendell?” asked Aragorn. “Melian and Thingol were the great grandparents of Master Elrond. Their daughter, Lúthien is my foremother.”
Boromir’s expression remained sceptical as he studied the Ranger. “I find it hard enough to believe than men and Elves might have offspring together, he said. “ But a Maier! I say only that we of the House of Hurin are proud to come of a long line of Men!”
“Your mother came of Elvish stock,” Aragorn replied.
“Another old tale the truth of which is lost in the mists of time,” said Boromir. “My brother believes it, but I dislike such whimsical tales.”
Aragorn glared at him.
“Is your brother as skilled with the sword as you are, Boromir?” Legolas interrupted, before the Ranger could reply.
“He is a fine swordsman, but an even better archer.” Boromir’s expression softened. “I think he could match even you in a contest, Legolas. He has a keen eye and a sure hand. I think he prefers the bow, as the archer does not feel the arrow piercing the enemy’s flesh, as does the swordsman. Faramir is a gentle soul. He is a brave warrior, yet his heart longs for peace He would much liefer devote his days to lore rather than fighting. Would that I were fighting at my brother’s side, rather than lingering in this unnatural realm where flowers bloom in winter!” He scowled at a vase filled to overflowing with pale niphredil blossoms.
“What ails you, Boromir?” asked Legolas. “Your spirits seem dark tonight.”
“I am sorry if I am but poor company,” Boromir replied. “I have a slight toothache.”
“There are skilled healers here in Lothlórien,” said Legolas. “Why not ask one of them to aid you?”
“I fear Elvish medicine would be too much like Elvish music,” said Boromir. “They lead to the steady slowing down of the heart, the last thing that a warrior needs.”
“I have some willow bark that you could chew upon,” said Aragorn. He started to rummage in his pack.
“Thank you, but I find the taste too bitter. Wine is the only medicine that eases it. It has troubled me for a long time. I shall have it pulled when I return home.”
“As you will. This wine is a fine vintage.”
The evening wore on. The minstrel sang again. Food was served together with more wine. The Hobbits only sipped at their drinks, much preferring ale, as did Gimli. Aragorn and Legolas obviously enjoyed the wine, but partook of it sparingly. Boromir, though, asked for his glass to be refilled again and again.
“I think it is time we all retired for the night,” said Aragorn.
Frodo yawned. “That is a good idea,” he said.
The other Hobbits chorused their agreement, as did Legolas and Gimli.
“Come, Boromir, you should rest now,” said Aragorn, laying a hand on the other man’s arm.
“No!” Boromir shook off the Ranger’s grip. “We should fight, not rest!” He lifted his glass, turned towards the East, and sang, “Lord of Gifts, your star shall fall; this is the end, this is freedom’s call! Argh!” He clutched his face.
“You are going to have that tooth out while you are too drunk to protest or feel too much pain!” said Aragorn. “Legolas and Gimli, will you assist me? I have some pliers in my pack.”
Boromir resumed his song this time even louder.
“Whatever is Boromir doing?” asked Pippin. “Is he ill?”
Sam shrugged before replying, “Let us leave him to Mr Strider to see to. I think that he is singing.”
Chapter 62 - Warmth and Comfort
Warmth and Comfort – By Linda Hoyland.
Rated PG.
A revised and expanded version of a ficlet written for the AA Group prompt “Warmth” several years ago. I also refer to my story “A Gift for Faramir.”
Dedicated to Shirebound.
Disclaimer; The characters are the property of the Tolkien estate. No money has been made from this story
“What happened? Everywhere hurts- my head!” Faramir opened his eyes.
“Easy now, ion nîn,” Aragorn murmured.
Faramir saw Aragorn kneeling beside him. The King was checking his pulse. Reassured, he closed his eyes again.
“It is good to see you are finally awake! You have been unconscious for hours.” Aragorn exclaimed, relief obvious in his voice.
“What happened?”
“You were wounded in the skirmish.”
Faramir opened his eyes again and tried to sit up. The world began to spin. He retched violently. A bowl was held for him, while a gentle hand rubbed his back soothingly. He realised that someone had removed his shirt and tunic and the upper part of his body was swathed in bandages.
“Careful now, you have been injured,” said Aragorn.
Faramir abandoned the attempt to rise and sank back exhausted. Aragorn allowed him a few moments rest, before holding up three fingers of his hand. “How many fingers do you see?”
“Three.”
“Do you know me?”
Faramir grabbed frantically at Aragorn’s sleeve. “Of course I do, Aragorn! Who won the day?”
“We did, mellon nîn, thanks to your courage. Easy now. You were wounded by an arrow and then hit your head falling from your horse. You are safe now. We took shelter in a barn. Beregond has gone to bring help.”
Faramir lay back with his eyes closed, his meagre strength exhausted. He appeared to be lying on a makeshift bed of straw, covered by several cloaks. The pain grew worse and a groan escaped his lips.
He felt Aragorn pull aside the coverings and comforting, healing warmth from the King’s hands permeating his wounds.”
“Is that easier now?” Aragorn’s tone was full of concern.
“The pain is much less. Thank you. So cold, ada!” Faramir could not stop his teeth from chattering as he spoke. ”I am so thirsty.”
“You have a fever,” Aragorn said. “Come, drink this.” Supporting Faramir’s head, he held a cup to his lips.
Faramir’s fuddled brain recognised the bitter taste of willow bark, a proven remedy for fever. He forced himself to swallow the bitter brew.
“Very good,” Aragorn offered another draught, this time plain water.
“Is it safe here for you?” Faramir fretted after draining the cup. “What if the enemy returns?”
“We routed them, and just in case any are fool enough to want to taste our swords again, there are guards outside the door. Beregond was most insistent. Now go back to sleep until he returns with more men and horses.”
“Too cold,” Faramir murmured fretfully.
Aragorn did not say anything. Instead, he lay down beside Faramir on the Steward’s uninjured side and enfolded him in warm and loving arms. Removing his outer tunic, he spread it over them both. His warm hands chafed Faramir’s cold ones.
“There, does that feel any better?”
Faramir settled beside the lord who was as a father to him and rested his aching head against Aragorn’s shoulder. After a few moments thus, he sighed contentedly. “Much, but will you not be cold now?”
“Not half as cold as I would be if I allowed any harm to come to you!” Aragorn replied. “Remember, I promised both our ladies that we would return to them together in one piece. They would have me sleep in the stables for the rest of my days, if I do not keep my word!”
“Éowyn might banish you there when you came to visit us, but surely not your lady?” Faramir murmured sleepily.
“Arwen would take it very ill if any harm came to the man who saved her husband’s life! Do you not recall that arrow you took, was meant for me? How could I lose such a friend as you? Again, you have risked your life and taken a blow intended for me! Aragorn’s voice was slightly unsteady as he held Faramir more tightly. The King shuddered at the memory of the one of the fleeing Haradrim rebels aiming the arrow directly at him. Faramir had selflessly hurled himself in the arrow’s path and taken the blow meant for his lord. At Aragorn’s insistence, his troops had seen off the rest of the enemy while he tended to Faramir’s wounds himself.
A sudden sound made Aragorn start. There was something in the straw! He was reaching for his sword when a tiny ginger kitten emerged from behind a bale of hay mewing softly. It pattered on tiny paws to where the men were lying and after sniffing them carefully, clambered up and lay across their legs. It started to purr. The soothing sound gradually lulled Faramir to sleep.
A little while, later the straw rustled again and a pretty face, white down one side and ginger down the other, regarded the men with luminous green eyes. The mother cat cautiously emerged from her hiding place. She stared hard at the men, but could sense no danger to her kitten from these strangers. Reassured, she turned her attention to the serious business of ensuring that no mice had dared to enter her domain.
Aragorn smiled at her antics, and then felt his friend’s forehead. It was cooler; the fever was abating. Faramir would recover. He offered a silent prayer of thanks to the Valar for sparing his faithful friend and Steward. He would find a way to thank him for his selfless gesture. But how? Faramir desired neither riches nor accolades. A sudden idea came to him. The twins owned a fine pair of hounds, believed to be descended from Huan himself. He would beg a puppy from her next litter as a gift for Faramir. His friend loved all animals and would especially treasure a hound whose lineage was the stuff of lore.
The kitten stirred and purred more loudly then began to wash his whiskers. The ghost of a smile lightened Faramir’s sleeping features.
Aragorn relaxed and reached out a hand to caress the kitten. All would be well.
A/n Sending my good wishes to everyone effected by the storm. I hope all my readers and the people you care about are safe and well.
Chapter 63 - A Secret Garden
Books » Lord of the Rings » A Secret Garden
Author: lindahoyland
Rated: K+ - English - General/Adventure - Published: 12-18-12 - Updated: 12-18-12 id:8808356
B2MeM Challenge Emotions- hope; I All Ocs, all the time - a minor noble; Last Lines- AI'll come with you;First lines - discovered the door a little while after they moved into the house; Love in M-e- And love grew between them as little might be thought.: Rangers of the North- Aranath
Format: short story
Genre: general
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Characters: Aragorn, OFC
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen
Summary: A young girl discovers a hidden refuge
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Miriel discovered the door a little while after they moved into the house. It led to a beautiful secluded garden, which even in early spring was filled with trees and flowers of every variety, many of which she had never seen before. Sometimes she had espied in the distance, a tall man and a beautiful woman walking along the paths, but she had managed to successfully conceal herself and her presence remained unnoticed.
When the days grew longer, she spent increasing amounts of time there. It was easy enough to slip away, by telling her parents or her maid that she wished to be alone in room to study or work on her embroidery. As the daughter of a minor noble, she yearned for freedom. She wearied of forever being told to remember her station in life or listening to her parents debating how best they might catch the eye of the King. She had not seen him, nor did she want to.
Even worse, they were already planning whom she might marry in the fullness of time. When she complained to her mother that it was unfair that she was not allowed to choose for herself whether or not she desired to marry; her mother had replied, "Such is the lot of those of the nobility, my child. Your father and I had our marriage arranged by our parents. Love grew after between us, as little might be thought, though, and we have been happy enough, as you will be too. Maybe you will marry a man of high enough standing to gain us an introduction to the King! When you are older, you will feel differently." With that, she had to be content and hope that it would be so.
Miriel was too young to have much interest in either romance or affairs of state, though sometimes she thought it unfair that Lord Faramir was not ruling Steward like his father before him.
One fine summer day, she made her way through the hidden door. Her heart was light and she sang to herself, a half remembered ballad that she had heard a minstrel sing at a feast. It was about songs echoing in the distance like the sound of windmills going round. Miriel thought it a strange song, as windmills hardly made a melodic sound, but the tune was haunting.
She was so engrossed in her song that she did not notice the approach of stealthy footsteps. She screamed as the tall man appeared in front of her. She turned to flee, but he gripped her arm, not roughly, but too firmly for her to escape.
"So I have caught our intruder at last!" the man said.
"I am sorry, sir," Miriel stammered, flushing bright red.
"You are trespassing in the King's private garden," the man replied. "How did you get in?"
"I found a concealed door in the wall," said Miriel. "I didn't do any harm. Why should the King have such a lovely garden all to himself? Is it not enough that he has taken Gondor from our Lord Faramir! And who is this Elessar, the King of the wild northlands?"
The man laughed. "You would make a poor courtier, lass. The King is now King of both Arnor and Gondor, but before that, he was no king, but the Chieftain of the Rangers, the sixteenth in line since Aranath, and directly descended from Elendil himself. As for Lord Faramir, you should ask him, young lady, before making assumptions! You have not told me yet, though, why you are in the King's private garden?" He gestured towards a bench.
Miriel sat down and the man sat on the other side of the bench. She was strangely unafraid of him, though she had often been warned against talking to strange men and he had caught her trespassing. There was something in those grey eyes that made her instinctively trust him. She found herself pouring out her heart and telling him how bored, and lonely she felt, passing her days in idle pursuits while awaiting a good match to be found for her and listening to her parents' dreams of finding favour with the king.
The man listened without interrupting her.
Another man approached in the uniform of a guard. "So this is the intruder, sire?" he said.
"She came through a concealed gate in the wall," said the tall man. "It will have to be blocked off. Other more dangerous trespassers could come upon it and pose a threat to my lady."
"What shall we do with the girl?"
"I will deal with her. You may leave us."
Miriel felt utterly dejected and frightened too. No longer would she be able to walk in this lovely garden, but it seemed that the kindly man was an official of some sort. At the very least, he would complain to her parents about her conduct. Their dreams of getting to know the King would never be realised now.
"You look downcast, lass. And what is your name?"
"I am Miriel, sir. I shall miss walking in this garden; though I'm sorry I trespassed."
"No doubt it can be arranged that you may walk here sometimes, Miriel," said the man. "You are an interesting young woman, different from most of those I have encountered here. How would you like to be one of the Queen's maids of honour when you are a little older? You could walk in the garden when your duties permitted. The Queen is not a demanding mistress."
"I should like that very much, sir, but she does not know me."
"I shall tell her about you."
"You know her well, sir?"
The tall man threw back his head and laughed. "I hope I do, I am her husband!"
"You are the King!" Miriel flushed scarlet and sank to her knees. "I'm sorry, I had no idea. I did not mean to offend you, sire."
The King offered her his arm and gently raised her to her feet. "Do not look so troubled, lass. I enjoy it when my subjects speak freely. I am sure you are exactly the sort of maid of honour whose company my lady would enjoy."
Miriel beamed at him. The future, which only moments ago had seemed so bleak, now looked far brighter.
"I should have to ask my parents. If I may, sire, I will return home now."
The King grinned almost roguishly. "Your parents greatly desire an audience with me, you said?"
"Yes, sire."
"Then I will come with you."
Chapter 64 - Evergreen
Evergreen
B2MeM Challenge Love in M-e- Yet between the brothers there was great love: Aspects of Aragorn- friend; colours - green: Landscapes – cave; Beasts - deer; snippets of verse- Time which takes in trust our youth
Format: short story
Genre: General, angst, friendship
Rating: PG
Warnings: mention of grief and character death
Characters: Aragorn, Faramir
Pairings: none
Summary: Aragorn seeks to ease Faramir's sorrow.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
"Will you go hunting with me next week?" Aragorn asked his Steward. "I feel the need to escape from these walls of stone! These past days have been wearing, entertaining so many guests offering their good wishes. Would that my lady and I could celebrate our anniversary in a more private manner!"
"The people love you and Queen Arwen, while the ambassadors and lords feel the need to pay their respects," said Faramir. "You and your lady are more than welcome to visit Éowyn and me to spend some time together away from prying eyes. Summer in Ithilien is always beautiful."
"We will as soon as our duties allow. But you have not answered my question. Will you go hunting with me a week from today?"
Faramir thought what the date would be a week hence and inwardly shuddered. Éowyn would have returned to Emyn Arnen by then. He would prefer to be alone with his memories. "I thought you had a meeting with the Ambassador from Dale that day?" he said.
"It has been postponed," said Aragorn. "Arwen is addressing the guild of Embroiderers and hosting a dinner for them. They have no need of my company."
"Would you not prefer to hunt with Legolas?" Faramir suggested. "He has more skill at the chase than I. I am behind with my duties and ought to be working on a report concerning our trade with Khand."
"I have not spent enough time in your company of late, my friend," said Aragorn. "Surely you can put your duties aside for one day? And did you not know that Legolas is visiting the Glittering Caves with Gimli?"
"I recall him telling me now," said Faramir. "He keeps trying to persuade me to visit the caves too, but I had my fill of caves when I was at Henneth Annûn.
"You should see the Glittering Caves someday," said Aragorn. "They are quite unlike those at Henneth Annûn and a marvel to behold. You have still not answered my question, though. Will you go hunting with me next week?"
"Very well," Faramir conceded. Aragorn could not know the date's significance and the Steward could deny his friend and King nothing.
"I shall look forward to it," said Aragorn, clapping Faramir affectionately on the shoulder. "We will set off at dawn and have a good day's hunting together."
000
On the appointed day, Faramir passed the night lost in uneasy dreams. When he awoke, his thoughts were filled with memories of another dawn. The years had passed, but still he remembered. Most of the time he was well content, his days filled with more happiness than he had ever dared dream of. He loved and was loved in return. He was married to the fairest and best of ladies, his children thrived, and he served the noblest of lords. But there were times, such as today, when old wounds were reopened and the past seemed like yesterday.
He dressed in his old Ranger clothes with a heavy heart. After a hurried breakfast for which he had little appetite, he slipped out to meet Aragorn in the stables. They had done this many times before when their duties permitted, evaded their guards to snatch a few hours or days of precious freedom, without which, two men accustomed to the wilds would surely go mad. They told only their wives where they planned to go. Today, though, Faramir had little idea of where Aragorn might be taking him and truth to tell, little did he care.
"We will ride towards the river and then make for the woods," said Aragorn as they mounted their horses.
They rode in silence towards the Anduin. Just before they reached its banks, Aragorn paused beside a laurel tree and cut off two branches with his sword. Faramir wondered at this, but said nothing.
When they reached the water's edge, Aragorn reined in his horse and dismounted, the branches still in his hand. "Walk with me a little while," he said.
King and Steward walked along the path beside the river in silence for a short time. Then Aragorn spoke, "It is ten years today since Boromir left on his final errand, is it not, ion nîn?"
Faramir nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
"I thought we could take time today to remember your brother," said Aragorn.
"I thought none would remember save I," said Faramir. "There was great love between us. He was ever my helper and protector. He was a great man."
"He would be so proud of you," said Aragorn. "I am certain he smiles upon you from beyond the circles of the world."
"Sometimes I consider all I have and think it should be Boromir's," Faramir said sadly. He gazed at the water, watching a family of ducks that swam near the bank.
"We know not the ways of the Valar or of the One, but I believe you were meant to be my Steward," said Aragorn.
"I am happy and well content with my life," said Faramir. "You have become father, brother, and lord to me. Daily, your loving friendship gladdens my heart. Yet still, I grieve for my brother, especially on days such as this. I can still see him riding away when I close my eyes."
"I grieve still for Halbarad and for my mother," said Aragorn. "It does not mean I love those whose company I am now blessed with any the less. I know how much you miss your brother, which was why I was so insistent we go hunting today. I did not want you to be alone today of all days."
"Sometimes I forget that you can sense my thoughts," said Faramir. "I should know that a friend such as you would sense my sorrow."
"I thought we could cast these laurel branches into the river in honour of Boromir," said Aragorn, handing one to Faramir. "His memory will be evergreen. Time, which takes in trust our youth, heals us as the years pass." He threw the branch into the water.
Faramir did likewise. Then he could contain his grief no longer and he wept. Aragorn's arms immediately enfolded him. The King spoke no word, but simply held Faramir tightly in his arms until his tears were spent.
"Thank you, ada," said Faramir. He wiped his eyes. "Alas, you must think me foolish to weep like a child!"
"Not at all," said Aragorn. "I have wept often for Halbarad. We neither of us had the time to grieve properly when we lost our loved ones. Now are you ready to go hunting?"
"I am. Let us see if we can replenish the Citadel's larders!"
The two men rode into the woods. It was fresh and green and cool there beneath the trees and Faramir's spirits rose. He would always love and miss his brother, but how could he not be happy riding through the woods with his best friend at his side? He rejoiced too at the green and fertile the land. How it had flourished now the Dark Lord was overthrown!
A movement ahead caught his eye. It was a stag. He drew his bow and the two men set off in skilful pursuit of their quarry.
The chase was long and hard for the stag was swift and skilfully evaded them. At last, though, they reached a clearing. The exhausted stag could run so more. It stood there and looked at them. Faramir nocked and arrow and aimed. He then put down his bow and shook his head. "I will not kill today," he said. "Let the stag live for Boromir."
"For Boromir!" Aragorn said softly.
The stag looked at the two men again, almost as if he knew he had nothing to fear, and then disappeared amongst the trees.
The hunters returned home empty handed, but well satisfied for their hearts were full.
A/n. Wishing all my readers a very Happy New Year.
I am not personally in favour of hunting for sport, but accept it was part of the culture of M-e where it was necessary to hunt for food.
Chapter 65 - Beneath the Stars of Elendil
Beneath the Stars of Elendil - Linda Hoyland
Warning – Character death
Disclaimer; These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
Aragorn swung Andúril as he rode into the fray. Orc and Easterling alike fell lifeless from his deadly blows. Alongside him, his Dúnedain fought bravely and well, and he could hear the shouts of savage joy from Legolas and Gimli as they added to their count of slain enemies. The Peredhil rode swiftly around them, cutting paths through foes on all sides.
He was weary; it was days since he had last slept properly. Aragorn knew, though, that here upon the battlefield, there was nothing save to kill or be killed. He intended to live.
His gaze fell upon the banner that Halbarad held aloft proudly: Seven stars and one white tree, the black and silver of the House of Elendil. That banner represented everything he was fighting to protect; everything that Sauron sought to destroy, the land he had the right to protect and claim. Then every stitch upon the banner, the gleaming stars made of gems and the mithril and golden crown, was lovingly wrought, embroidered by his own beloved lady.
A company of Southrons came up from beneath the shadow of a fallen Múmak. They were deadlier by far than Orcs, for the men of Harad were strong, fierce warriors who fought to the death and exercised a deadly skill with their scimitars. Deadlier still were their múmakil, which ploughed through everything in their path. Roheryn had whinnied in terror at the first sight of one such giant beast, but calmed at a soothing word from his master.
A Southron captain, a massive fellow with his black hair braided, his burnished breastplate gleaming over his scarlet robes, rode to the head of his fellows and made straight for the standard-bearer. Aragorn tried to call out a warning, but his voice was lost in the clamour of battle. The warrior's scimitar flashed and Halbarad crumpled in his saddle. Halbarad fell, his hands still clutching the banner. The warrior laughed and urged his snorting horse forward to finish his kill. Elrohir rode quickly between them, flanked by Elladan and five Rangers; yet all beset by other Southrons.
Heedless of his own safety, Aragorn urged Roheryn to his fallen kinsman's side. His Rangers and foster-brothers formed a protective circle around him. Gwindor, Halbarad's lieutenant, gently prized his captain's fingers from the standard and raised it with one hand, wiping his eyes with the other. Gimli and Legolas appeared, leading the rest of the Rangers and some twenty sturdy men of Lamedon. They hacked and slashed and shot at the foe, until the Southron horsemen retreated.
Aragorn dismounted, sheathed Andúril and knelt beside Halbarad. A single glance told him that the wound was mortal, and beyond mending by even Master Elrond's skills. Nevertheless, he reached out to try to staunch the bleeding.
"Leave it!" said Halbarad. "We both knew that this must be."
Aragorn cradled his dying kinsman in his arms. Tears ran down his battle begrimed cheeks. To have their long comradeship come to this, a few moments to say farewell, on a battlefield so far from Halbarad's home with the fighting still raging around them. A warrior's lot and a fate that his kinsman had foreseen, but could there not be more time? He was not ready for Halbarad to die! He could never be ready.
"Do not weep," said Halbarad. His grey eyes looked into Aragorn's. "I die content at your side. Remember me, my friend, when you come into your own. Care for my family. "
"They are my own flesh and blood," said Aragorn. "You have my word. How could I ever forget the man I have loved as a brother these many years."
"Never lose sight of the man you are when you wear the crown, make true all that we dreamt of during those nights when we talked by the campfire," Halbarad whispered, his voice growing fainter with every word he spoke. "One day we will meet again. Love will endure beyond the circles of the world, my king!"
His eyes closed. He shuddered and drew his final breath, then went limp in Aragorn's arms.
For a moment, Aragorn looked down at him, his gaze filled with grief. Then he tenderly kissed Halbarad's brow. He unhooked the clasp of his cloak and placed it over Halbarad's still form. Slowly, and not as steadily as he would have liked, Aragorn rose to his feet and wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve. The time for tears was done, for now. "See that his body is not despoiled!" he commanded the Rangers surrounding him. The men from Lamedon bowed their heads and formed up behind six Dúnedain, as they bore Halbarad back to the ships that had brought them here. The other Dúnedain arose to follow their chieftain back into the battle, with the standard of Elendil still upheld.
Then Aragorn leapt astride Roheryn's back again, a new light kindled in his eyes that no man could withstand. "Halbarad will be avenged!" he cried. He urged Roheryn forward into the fray, cutting down the Southrons until he reached the man he sought. Never would Halbarad's slayer laugh again, nor would his fellows, so great was the rage that burned in Aragorn's heart.
Many were the Southrons, Easterlings and Orcs that felt Andúril's bite that day, but their deaths did little to ease Aragorn's grief for his kinsman.
Five years later
Aragorn emerged from the tomb into the spring sunlight. Despite the beauty of the day, his heart remained heavy. He found himself walking towards the Court of the Fountain where he paused and stood contemplating the White Tree, which was putting forth new shoots. How Halbarad would have delighted at the sight! Instead, he had fallen with the image before his eyes, doomed never to behold the actual tree.
"You look troubled, my friend."
Aragorn was brought back to the present by the soft tone of his Steward.
"I was remembering Halbarad, my kinsman and brother of my heart."
"Today brought both joy and sorrow," said Faramir. "It must give you some solace to visit your kinsman's tomb."
Aragorn was about to retort that cold marble brought little comfort when he remembered who he was talking to. Faramir's father had died upon this day by fire. With him had burned the tombs of all Faramir's kin. His brother, Boromir, who had died but a few short weeks before, had no grave save the depths of the Anduin. He had held Halbarad in his arms when he breathed his last and listened to his final words; words concerned only for Aragorn's good. Faramir had had no such parting from his father. Gandalf had told him how Denethor had sent his surviving son forth to battle without a single word of blessing. "You too have cause to mourn upon this day," he said. "Come, sit with me a while." He led the younger man to a bench beside the fountain."
The two took a seat, silently gazing on the White Tree for a time. "Gandalf told me that your father was begging him not to take you from him just before he died," Aragorn said gently. "He was thinking of you at the end."
"Thinking how he could take me with him beyond the circles of the world!" Faramir said bitterly. "I would not be speaking with you now had you not given me back the life he would have taken from me!" His tone softened a little. "Alas, that a man once known for his wisdom should lose his wits thus! Alas, too, that Boromir tried to take the Ring ere he died! The honour of my house sank low indeed."
"Your brother's last words were of repentance and regret," said Aragorn. "He was a mighty warrior and a great man."
Faramir sat staring at the tree for a few moments in silence. He might have blinked away a tear or two, or maybe the moisture was the spray from the fountain. "The tree is putting forth new leaves early this year," Faramir said at last. "It should be a good year for blossom."
"Halbarad would have rejoiced to see it," Aragorn said softly.
"Will you tell me more about your kinsman?" asked Faramir. "I have heard only that he was a good man who died bravely in battle."
"I will indeed," said Aragorn, "if you will tell me more of the adventures you and your brother had together when you were both lads. Come now, let us share a mug of ale and our memories this day."
As they went inside together, Aragorn's hand resting lightly on the younger man's shoulder, he felt a great sensation of peace wash over him. He would always mourn Halbarad, but he had been blessed to know him for almost seventy years and to be beside him when he took his final breath. No shadow marred the memory of Aragorn's kinsman; as it did Faramir's memory of his fallen brother and sire. Halbarad had sadly not lived to see all they had dreamed of accomplished, but Aragorn sensed he rested peacefully in his tomb, content that he had played his part in bringing about the restoration of the King. Aragorn determined to live each day to make that sacrifice worthwhile. When he too departed the circles of the world, he could tell the brother of his heart that all they had hoped for and more had come to pass.
A/n. This was written for the "Teitho "challenge "Last Words" where it was placed second. It had its origins in my drabble "Vengeance is Mine" also on this site.
Chapter 66 - Wars and Rumours of War
Wars and Rumours of Wars
And ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars: see that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet. - Matthew 24.6 – The Bible.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Deandra.
Dedicated to Cairistiona, Ellynn and Lily Baggins as a belated birthday gift.
Aragorn struggled to concentrate on the report he was supposed to be studying. He felt restless this afternoon. Arwen had an engagement and he missed the comfort of her soothing presence nearby. More than that, he was worried. There had been another incursion of rebel Haradrim across Gondor's borders and Faramir and his men had ridden out to repel them. That had been three days ago and there had been no news. The King was certain he would sense if any ill had befallen the Steward he loved dearly as a son, but even so he fretted.
The King had hoped that the defeat of the Dark Lord would ensure peace, but sadly it was not always so. The Great Khan of Harad abided by the treaty he had sworn with Gondor, but various rebel factions led by one or another of his countless relatives or relatives of the former Khan enjoyed causing trouble.
Ambassador Tahir had explained that the former Khan's tribe still worshipped Sauron and believed he would be able to inhabit a body again if sufficient blood was shed. Khan Janab and his tribe worshipped the benevolent moon god and goddess, but some of his many kinsfolk thought they should rule instead and tried to stir up trouble. One of their favourite ruses was to attempt to incite war between Gondor and Harad. Tahir had also explained that Khan Janab had taken twenty wives and fifty concubines, and had sired many sons, most of whom were at loggerheads with each other.
Aragorn's reverie was interpreted by a servant tapping on the door. Aragorn bade him enter. "Lord Faramir has just arrived, sire," the man announced.
"Tell him to come to me at once," said Aragorn. "Bring food and wine for him and quickly."
A few moments later, Faramir entered the study. He had obviously come straight from the battlefield as his armour was splattered with blood and grime, as was his face. Great dark shadows were under his eyes, giving him a haunted appearance. Aragorn rose from his chair to embrace his friend. For a moment, Faramir clung to him like a drowning man clutching at flotsam.
"I am sorry to come before you like this, but I rode straight from the field, stopping only to change horses," said Faramir.
"No matter. What news, ion nîn?" Aragorn ushered his friend to the couch at the side of the room.
Faramir sat down heavily. "We won the day, but at a cost. Six men fell and a further twenty were sore wounded. They are on their way to the Houses of Healing. Two hundred of the enemy were slain. We offered them terms, but they would not surrender. They preferred to fall on their own swords. The few prisoners we did succeed in taking told a grim tale. One of Khan Janab's sons has joined the Sauron worshippers. He claims to have had a vision in which Sauron told him he would rise again and grant immortality to his followers if they slew at least twenty thousand."
"These are grave tidings indeed," said Aragorn. "It threatens our alliance with Harad if Khan Janab's heirs are returning to the old ways. It was difficult enough to get the Council to agree to treaty and the trade agreements when we thought the ruling clan had utterly denounced Sauron worship."
Just then, the servant brought the refreshments. Faramir took a swallow of the wine. "I sent a messenger to tell Éowyn that I am safe," he said, "then rode straight here to tell you these tidings. They are too sensitive to entrust to a rider. Tahir needs to be told too. He will wish to inform the Khan of these grim developments. I thought I would go to my apartments and make myself more presentable, then go and see him."
"The servants shall prepare a bath for you and I will invite Ambassador Tahir here to partake of an evening meal with us," said Aragorn. He went to the door to give the orders to the servant who had brought the refreshments.
"Will your lady not mind?" asked Faramir.
"She is dining at the Embroiders' Guild Hall," Aragorn replied. "Lady Adiva is there too, telling the members about styles of embroidery in Harad, so no doubt Tahir will be happy to accept the invitation."
"Good," said Faramir. "Thank you. Truth to tell, I will be glad not to have to travel on further errands tonight, for I am sore weary." He drained his glass and rose stiffly to his feet.
"Are you injured, ion nîn?" Aragorn's voice was filled with concern.
"'Tis naught but a few shallow cuts and bruises. Others have fared far worse." Faramir shrugged.
"I have salves that should help," said Aragorn. "I will bring it when you have bathed."
"Thank you, your salves are most effective. But am I not taking you from your work?"
"I can finish this report while you bathe," said Aragorn. "The rest can wait until tomorrow."
When Aragorn visited Faramir's rooms, carrying towels and his satchel of healing supplies, he found his friend hunched over his desk writing. "You should be resting, ion nîn," Aragorn chided gently.
"I was writing to the families of the men I lost today," said Faramir bleakly.
"I have brought my healing supplies," said Aragorn.
"Thank you, if you leave some salve on the table, I shall use some before I go to bed," said Faramir.
"By the look of you, you need it now," Aragorn said firmly. "Éowyn has told me that you always forget salves and potions that she or I have told you to use."
"I am well enough," said Faramir.
"My eyes tell me otherwise," said the King. "You are obviously in pain and your muscles are as tight as a drawn bowstring. Come and lie down and I will apply the salves, and use my healing arts to ease your pain."
"Should I be pampered when six of my men lie dead and twenty are sore wounded?"
"Your suffering aids them not at all," said Aragorn. "The wounded are being well cared for in the Houses of Healing. I will see how they fare on the morrow, but now I would tend your hurts."
Faramir laid down his quill and rose stiffly to his feet. "I cannot think of the right words to say to the bereaved families," he said. "Maybe it will be easier in the morning, but I doubt it. I will accept your offer."
"I brought towels to lay upon your bed," said Aragorn. "Comfrey salve is most effective but tends to stain the sheets."
Faramir made his way to his bedchamber and stiffly divested himself of the robe he was wearing while Aragorn spread the towels.
"Stars!" Aragorn exclaimed when his friend turned around to face him. Faramir's right arm and left shoulder and side were covered in angry purple bruises. They stood out lividly against his pale skin and the white drawers he was wearing. "I thought you said you had a few bruises, Faramir?"
"You must often have seen far worse," said Faramir. He lay down on the bed.
"I have," said Aragorn. "It always pains me to see you hurt, though, ion nîn." He carefully felt the bruises, satisfying himself that they masked no broken bones or other more serious hurts. He then opened the pot of salve and gently began to apply it to the bruises and scrapes. Faramir's muscles remained tensed beneath his touch. Aragorn began to use the Elven healing touches, rubbing his fingertips in soothing circles across Faramir's shoulders and the back of his neck, and then applying a gentle pressure to stimulate the vital organs.
"What troubles you, ion nîn?" the King asked, without pausing in his ministrations.
"I hoped so much that when the war against Sauron was won that it would be an end to fighting," the Steward replied, his voice hardly more than a whisper. "I hoped that my sword and bow would be used only for sport from now on and never again would I raise them in anger."
"You do not have to fight, son of my heart," said Aragorn. "There are captains in plenty who can lead the men in battle."
"How could I ask the men to do what I would not?" Faramir replied. "Fight I must if we are assailed."
"We are two of a kind," said Aragorn. "I expected no other answer from you. Neither would I ask my men to suffer what I would not."
They fell silent apart from a few winces from Faramir as the King teased out especially unyielding knots in his muscles.
"They were so young!" Faramir exclaimed suddenly, his voice full of pain. "Scarcely more than children!"
"Who ion nîn?"
"The Haradrim warriors. They were heavily outnumbered, but most of them refused to surrender, running themselves through with their own blades when we approached, or attacking us so fiercely that we were forced to slay them. Those that fell wounded, were slain by their fellows. So much blood shed and for nothing!"
Aragorn felt him shudder violently beneath his hands.
"I fear that is the custom of the Haradrim, to prefer death to capture or infirmity. It has been thus since the days of your grandsire when I first encountered them and no doubt for generations before that," Aragorn said sadly. "We shall speak to Tahir about what has happened. He will surely send a message to Khan Janab. No doubt he will deal with his son and put a stop to this new uprising."
"I know that, but it troubles me deeply that Khan Janab's kin have turned to the darkness," said Faramir. "Tahir told me that only one tribe, who happened to hold the reins of power during the war, were true believers in Sauron. Yes, members of Janab's tribe fought against us during the war, but they believed they were defending their lands. The last Khan lied that we sought to conquer them and ravish and enslave their women and children."
"I spoke to a woman from Harad soon after the war ended," said Aragorn. "She thought we were monsters who sacrificed her folk to a tree god!"
Faramir laughed mirthlessly.
"No more fretting now, ion nîn," Aragorn said firmly. "We have done everything we can to ensure peace, as has Tahir. We can do no more until he speaks to the Khan. Be easy now." He replaced the lid on the pot of salve and put it on the bedside table. "There now," he said, "that should help the bruises to heal. Now let me see if I can loosen the knots in your back."
Faramir rolled over without protest now. He knew he was fortunate to experience the healing warmth of Aragorn's hands, a touch both loving and soothing. Others might not be so blessed, as to experience Aragorn's treatments, but the King's words were wise and his Steward took them to heart. He needed to be at his best when Tahir arrived so that maybe between the three of them they could think of some way to deal with the latest threat from the rebels. He had said more than he had intended to Aragorn, which was often an effect of Aragorn's treatments, which his friend knew full well how to put to good use. He felt more at peace, though, now the burden was lifted from his heart.
He tried to put the events of the past days from his mind as Aragorn worked on the tight muscles in his shoulders. He tensed as the tightest knots were teased out then relaxed completely into Aragorn's soothing touch, which had the power to heal the mind as well as the body.
By the time, Aragorn had finished his ministrations Faramir was utterly relaxed, limp and sleepy. "I should be getting ready for dinner," he said, forcing his eyes open with a great effort.
"You have a few hours yet," Aragorn replied. "Sleep for a while, ion nîn. I will call you in good time. I shall tell the children a bedtime story while you rest. I promised Arwen that I would." He handed Faramir his sleeping garment then tucked the blankets snugly around his friend and silently left the room.
0000
Aragorn lingered longer in the nursery than he intended. Since Eldarion had met Súlion, his appetite for stories about dragons had become more insatiable than ever with the result that his devoted father spent many an hour thinking up every possible new adventure that the Eastern dragon might be having, in order to entertain his little son. Farawyn was too young to understand much of the stories, but she too remembered their dragon friend and listened intently, cuddling her favourite doll.
At last, the children's nursemaids came to put their young charges to bed. Aragorn made a detour to Faramir's room to awaken his friend. He was relieved that Faramir looked far better when he opened his eyes at the sound of Aragorn's voice.
"I am just about to dress for dinner," the King told his Steward. "I wish I could have let you sleep for longer, but Tahir will be here within the hour."
"I need to speak to him," said Faramir. He scrambled out of bed, moving with far less pain and stiffness thanks to Aragorn's treatments. He reached for his clothes. "The sooner he can warn Khan Janab of the treachery within his own family the better."
There had been insufficient time for the cook to prepare the spicy dishes of Tahir's homeland to honour their guest. Instead, she had prepared a rich spicy sauce to go with the meal of roast venison.
Tahir embraced his friends warmly when he arrived, but his brown eyes were full of concern. "It grieves me deeply, esteemed friends, that rebels from my homeland should have violated your great realm," he said. "I fear the treacherous tribe of Suhayb are forever a thorn in the flesh of our illustrious Khan."
"I have grim tidings," said Faramir. "The prisoners we took after the battle told us that they supported Khan Janab's son, who now believes that the Dark Lord will rise again if sufficient blood is spilled."
"Esteemed friends, I cannot believe this!" Tahir exclaimed.
"You told me yourself, my friend, that Khan Janab so many children he could hardly keep count of them," Aragorn replied.
"That is true, my esteemed friends. Often his kindred rebel against him; but worship the false Lord of Gifts, never! If you but knew the folk of my tribe, you would not believe such lies. Ever we have worshipped the great Lord and Lady of the Moon who have granted us our prosperity."
"It is true, alas," said Faramir. "I heard it with my own ears what the prisoners told me. The invaders also carried a banner with a device of the serpent crowned by the Great Eye. There can be no mistake."
Tahir buried his face in his hands and let out a low moan. He then tore at his outer robe in distress. "Alas, alas!" he cried. "This threatens to destroy my homeland, esteemed friends, if the folk of my tribe are turning to such evil ways! You and your folk will turn against us too and our days of peace and prosperity will be over! The honour of my tribe is besmirched!"
Faramir leaned over and patted Tahir's shoulder. "You will always be my friend, Tahir, whatever happens in your homeland," he said.
"You and your family could make your home in Gondor," said Aragorn. "Whoever rules in Harad, we know you to be a good man who will forever be welcomed at our table."
"Thank you, esteemed friends, you bring me great comfort," said Tahir, though he still looked distressed.
"Come, sit down, and partake of some wine," said Aragorn. He ushered the distraught ambassador to a couch and endeavoured to calm him with some Elven healing touches to his head and neck. Faramir then held the glass of wine to his lips.
"You are so kind, esteemed friends," Tahir said after a few moments when he had somewhat regained his composure. "I fear I bring dishonour upon your dwelling with the actions of my kin."
"You do no such thing!" said Faramir fiercely. Aragorn nodded his agreement.
"What do you plan to do with the prisoners?" asked Tahir suddenly. "It surprises me that you succeeded in taking any alive. It is not our custom to surrender."
"We will destroy their weapons then send them back to Harad," said Aragorn. "Or if they fear to return and swear an oath of loyalty to me and to Gondor they can remain and find work here."
"You are most merciful, esteemed lord," said Tahir.
"We do not harm captives of war," said Aragorn. "If we did, we would be no better than the Dark Lord's minions!"
"I have a favour to ask of you, o gracious one," said the Ambassador.
"Ask and if it be within my power I will grant it," said Aragorn.
"I should like to speak alone with one of the prisoners, if only for a few moments, esteemed lord."
Aragorn raised his eyebrows slightly then nodded. "Of course, I will have one of them brought here on the morrow. It is too late tonight."
"I thank you, esteemed friend."
"It is but a small request to grant, " said Aragorn. "Now let us eat, my friend. My lady would be most surprised if she returned and found we had not yet had dinner!"
000
Early the next morning, Faramir, accompanied by a group of heavily armed guards, went to where the prisoners were being held in an encampment just outside the City, to collect one of the men for Tahir to interview. The Steward had no idea what his friend intended. Tahir had never before made such a strange request and Faramir trusted him to have a good reason for it. It was difficult to know which prisoner to select. All were young and looked terrified. He selected one at random. The guards dragged the protesting man out of the tent and tied him to a horse.
"There is nothing to fear, lad," Faramir reassured him in his own tongue. "Whatever you might have been told about the Men of Gondor is unlikely to be true."
"The Lord of Gifts will rise again and come to my aid!" said the young man defiantly.
"You have been beguiled with lies," said Faramir. "Sauron is no more and you need no aid. We do not harm prisoners in Gondor. What is your name, lad?"
"I am called Marid," the boy replied. "I have answered your questions, so why do you not kill me now, o slave of a base born tyrant!"
"You will not goad me into eternally silencing you, foolish boy!" Faramir replied coldly. "I warn you, though, should you speak ill of my King again, I shall gag you until we reach our destination."
Marid fell silent and spoke no further word.
When they reached the Citadel, Faramir ordered that Marid be taken into one of the guardrooms. Aragorn and Tahir were drinking tea with the Queen in her solar when Faramir announced that he had brought the prisoner.
"Thank you, esteemed friend. May you never be scorched by the sun!" said Tahir. "I will go and speak to the man now. I ask of you, honoured friends, not to interrupt me whatever you might hear."
"I have promised the prisoner that he will not be harmed," Faramir said somewhat uneasily. "I know you are a man of peace but…"
"Do not fear, esteemed friend." Tahir smiled grimly. "He will suffer neither blow, nor cut, nor bruise at my hands. I give you my word."
"I did not mean I believed that…" Faramir flushed.
"You are a good man, my friend," said the Ambassador. "You show mercy even towards the least deserving."
"We shall wait outside while you question the prisoner," said Aragorn. "Arwen, beloved, we will return shortly."
"Take care, Estel," Arwen warned, but Aragorn was already out of earshot.
"Remember, esteemed friends, I implore you not to interrupt me," said Tahir when the three reached the prisoner's room.
"You have my word," said Aragorn.
King and Steward, together with several guards hovered uneasily outside the closed door. First, they heard only the low measured tones of Tahir's voice and then the prisoner's. Both voices then grew louder and increasingly agitated. Aragorn and Faramir could not make out any words until the prisoner started to scream "Mercy!"
The guards made to enter the room, but the King ordered them to stay where they were.
The prisoner's yells grew louder. Aragorn and Faramir exchanged worried glances. "I cannot permit torture in my realm," said Aragorn.
"Tahir gave his word he would not harm the boy," said Faramir. "I believe we should trust him."
The yells continued, followed by loud sobbing and then a torrent of words. Aragorn and Faramir strained to hear but the occasional word they could make out through the thick oak door made little sense. Aragorn paced impatiently while Faramir stood rooted to the spot, clenching and unclenching his fists.
Suddenly, the door was flung open and Tahir stormed out, his scimitar in his hands; Aragorn and Faramir beheld him with horror for an instant before rushing into the room Tahir had just vacated. A strange sight met their eyes. The prisoner was curled in a corner wailing piteously. There was so sign of a wound on him, but the sleeve had been cut from his scarlet robe, baring his right arm from the shoulder downwards. At the sight of the King and the Steward, he tried to cover his right arm with his left.
"Tell the esteemed Lord King of your treachery, you misbegotten cur!" Tahir snapped. The Ambassador had followed them back into the room, his scimitar now sheathed.
The prisoner said nothing but continued to wail.
"What have you done to him?" Faramir enquired of the Ambassador.
"I asked him to roll up his sleeve," said Tahir. "When he refused, I knew he was not of my tribe, which is also the esteemed Khan's tribe." He grabbed the prisoner's arm and raised it with one hand, indicating a tattoo just above the elbow. "Behold, the mark the sons of Suhayb, may the noonday sun forever blaze down upon them! I told you that no member of my tribe would worship the false Lord of Gifts!"
"Maybe this man simply chose to join the rebellion?" Faramir sounded baffled.
"We fight only beside the brothers of our tribe who carry the same markings," said Tahir.
"But why should the prisoners tell us they were fighting for Khan Janab's son?" asked Faramir.
Tahir glared at Marid. "Tell the esteemed Lord King the full extent of your wicked lies!" he demanded. When Marid simply continued to whimper, he added. "I will cut the robe from your unworthy carcass and show them the marks of your allegiance to the Dark Lord if you do not speak!"
Marid gave a final keening wail then spoke. "Our leader, brother of the most glorious Khan of revered memory, made us draw lots for who would suffer the shame of being taken captive. We were to tell you that son of the unbeliever Janab was behind the rebellion."
"That way he hoped to destroy or at the least weaken the treaties between Harad and Gondor," said Tahir. "My homeland has prospered greatly under the mighty Khan's rule, not least because of our trade with your great realm, esteemed friends. If it were believed that those close to the noble Khan were turning back to the worship of the false Lord of Gifts, the ties with Gondor would weaken and the noble Khan lose the support of the powerful merchant tribe. That would make it easier for the sons of Suhayb to regain the throne."
"I see," said Aragorn. His head was beginning to spin. He considered the politics of Gondor to be complicated enough, but compared with the intrigues within Harad they were a model of simplicity.
Marid crawled towards the King. Faramir and Tahir tensed and reached for their swords. "Speak!" Aragorn commanded.
"When will you kill me, mighty one? asked the boy.
"I am not going to kill you," said Aragorn in the tongue of Harad. "You will be sent home."
"I beg you to kill this dishonoured one!" cried Marid, prostrating himself and clutching at Aragorn's feet.
"No," said Aragorn. "Then it would be I who was without honour."
In reply the boy spat at him and cried, "A curse upon you, misbegotten son of a jackal!"
"You will not goad me into killing you," said Aragorn calmly. "Stop this foolish behaviour!"
Marid started to wail and sob. "I cannot go home. They will dishonour my mother and sisters and slay my brothers in the cruellest fashion."
"He speaks the truth," said Tahir. "The leader of his tribe is a cruel man. As for the esteemed Khan, he would spare the lives and honour of the women in his family, but Marid and his brothers would be slain and the rest of the family shunned. He is doubly a traitor, both to the great Khan and to his own tribe."
Faramir studied the prisoner and saw not a hardened criminal, but a weak and foolish boy, led astray by the lies of his elders.
"Maybe he could stay here?" he suggested in Westron. "We have many of his people living in the city."
"He would be an outcast," said Tahir. "The merchants who dwell here have little time for the likes of him."
"I need strong men to help rebuild the North," said Aragorn. "I will send him there, at first under close guard. He is young and can make a new life for himself if he works hard."
"A wise and merciful judgement, esteemed King," said Tahir in Westron. "Tell him, though that it is your punishment. He will accept that better.
Aragorn sternly informed Marid in his own tongue what he intended to do with him. He then placed one hand on the boy's head and the other over his heart, trying to heal the darkness in his spirit.
Marid raised his eyes and looked at the king, but the boy's mind was too clouded for Aragorn to know if he had helped him or not. He could only hope.
He called to the guards and bade them take the boy away and provide him with food and some clothes in the style worn in Gondor. The boy simply stared at him.
King, Steward, and Ambassador heaved a collective sigh of relief.
"How it gladdens my heart that our treaty between our peoples is secure," said Aragorn. "I have much to thank you for, my friend." He clapped Tahir on the shoulder. "Your wisdom has spared us much grief."
"Do you not recall the day I showed you the tattoos I carry, esteemed friends?" said Tahir. "All the Men of Harad, and most especially the warrior clans carry such markings. If he had been of my tribe, he would willingly have rolled up his sleeve. I knew though, that no son of the Wakil tribe would ever worship the false Lord of Gifts."
"One thing still puzzles me," said Faramir. "I recall well your tattoos, my friend, but you bore the sign of the sun, not the moon."
"Ah, but I do," said Tahir. "The symbols of the glorious Lord and Lady of the Night Sky are tattooed on the soles of my feet, so that my Lord and Lady support me wherever I walk. Now, esteemed friends, I shall return home to my fair blossom and send a message to the glorious Khan to warn him of this latest plot. The ringleaders will soon know his justice!"
With those words, he embraced Aragorn and Faramir and took his leave after soliciting a promise that they and their ladies would soon visit.
"I too will be on my way," said Faramir. "I shall have happier tidings than I had hoped for to share with Éowyn."
"First you must share the midday meal with Arwen and me, then afterwards I need to apply more salve to your bruises before you depart."
"Very well, ada," said Faramir. "Your salve eased my hurts, but the news that we are not facing a war with Harad is salve for my soul."
"What better salve for the soul could there be?" said Aragorn.
000
"Your bruises look less angry today," said Aragorn. After an enjoyable noonday meal during which he had told Arwen of the morning's events, he was examining Faramir's bruises again. "Comfrey is most effective," he said as he started to apply a generous amount.
"As are your healing powers," said Faramir. He lay back while Aragorn continued his ministrations then said, "I wonder what will become of Marid now?"
"He will be too closely watched to pose any threat to our people," said Aragorn, as he skilfully massaged the salve into Faramir's shoulders. "The Valar alone know whether he and his fellow prisoners will prosper in Gondor or end up taking their own lives. It depends on how deeply their minds have been corrupted by their leaders. Such a tragic waste of young lives. Marid is hardly even of an age to wield a sword."
"Many more lives would have been threatened if we had not uncovered the plot against Khan Janab," said Faramir. "The Valar be praised for men of peace like Tahir."
"And like you, ion nîn," said Aragorn. "Would that there were more like you, who are reluctant to fight unnecessarily."
"When I fight, it is to protect the land and the people I love," said Faramir.
"Evil knows not the meaning of love," said Aragorn.
"But love is always stronger in the end," said Faramir. "Therefore we can live with hope."
Chapter 67 - Starlight Rapture
B2MeM Challenge- Tolkien's Trees – Cypress ;Book Titles - Tongues of Serpents. Here we come a Carolling - If you really hold me tight; Colours- silver; Song Lyric - In this spellbound night the world's an Elvish sight
Format: 500 word FLF
Genre: Romance
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Sexual content between a married couple
Characters: Aragorn, Arwen
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen
Summary: Aragorn and Arwen spend a night beneath the stars.
For Julia, a thank you gift for all her support during this challenge.
"My lady!" Aragorn gave an exaggerated bow then lifted Arwen from Roheryn's back.
She laughed, a sound like music to his ears. Of late, her spirits had been low. Especially in springtime, she missed the natural beauty of her Elven homeland and felt oppressed by the city of stone in which she now dwelt.
Concerned for their friends' well- being, Faramir and Éowyn had invited the royal family to visit them in Ithilien.
Tonight, clad only in their night attire beneath their cloaks, Aragorn and Arwen had both ridden upon Roheryn to spend the night in a secluded glade beneath the stars.
Hand in hand, they walked beneath a row of birches that shone like silver in the moonlight.
"Do you recall the first time that we met?" asked Aragorn.
"How could I forget? You came upon me at sunset as I walked beneath the birches. You stirred my heart even then."
"And I loved you from that moment onwards."
They paused and kissed each other tenderly upon the lips. Their pulses quickened. At last, they broke apart and Aragorn spread the blankets they had brought upon the ground.
They lay down upon them. The moonlight illuminated the surrounding cypress clad hills. The air was laden with their aromatic fragrance mingled with spring blossoms.
"If you hold me really tight," said Arwen, "then Arda holds you and you alone."
Aragorn sighed contentedly and held her close. "It feels so much more private here than in our bedchamber," he said. "We are far from the tongues of serpents that gossip ceaselessly and watch our every move."
"In this spellbound night the world's an Elvish sight," Arwen whispered. She lay looking up at the stars. "I sense Varda's presence here. See how brightly her stars shine upon us!"
Aragorn followed her gaze. "Behold the Star of Eärendil!" he said. "Brightest of all the stars, our forefather smiles down upon us from his ship." His fingers caressed her soft cheek. In the moonlight, her skin glowed softly. "Your beauty, beloved, outshines the brightest star!" He ran his fingers through her long, silken tresses.
A nightingale began to sing in a nearby bush.
Arwen slipped her hand beneath Aragorn's nightshirt and ran her fingers across his broad chest. He quivered with pleasure at her touch, his skin tingling as her slender fingers met his skin.
"You are slender as the birch and stronger than the oak!" said Arwen. "Estel, my husband, my beloved!"
He silenced her with kisses, which she eagerly returned.
Blood turned to fire, hearts beat swifter than the arrow's flight. Passion surged, rising and falling like waves upon breaking upon the shore.
Arwen groaned with ecstasy. How strong her husband was and yet how tender! The mighty warrior was a tender wooer, who strove ever to make her pleasure equal to his own.
Tonight, the stars bore witness to their union, two bodies melting into one, two souls entwined in perfect harmony. King and Queen, man and woman, husband and wife.
Chapter 68 - Grace Bestowed
"The grace to go at my will, and give back the gift" - Tolkien
B2MeM Challenge: Rebellion
"Many treasures and great heirlooms of virtue and wonder the Exiles had brought from Númenor; and of these the most renowned were the Seven Stones and the White Tree."
Format: ficlet
Genre: angst, spiritual
Rating: PG
Warnings: impending character death
Characters: Aragorn
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen
Summary: Aragorn says farewell to an old friend.
With thanks to curiouswombat for the plot idea
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
Aragorn walked slowly now, slightly stooped and leaning on a cane; this was the man who had once been so vigorous and upright, the one named Strider and Wingfoot in bygone days. He knew the time had come to use the grace given to him to return the Gift of Men. He was no foolish Ar-Pharazôn, desiring to rebel against the decree of Eru. Recently, he had started to feel restless too, his spirit burning with a renewed inner fire, even as his body grew weaker. It grieved him greatly to think of the hurt his passing would cause to Arwen and his children, but he was also eager to embark on his final journey. His aging body was an increasing burden; one he longed to be able to cast it aside so that he might soar free beyond the circles of the world.
Before he went to the Silent Street on the morrow though, there was an old friend to whom he needed to say farewell. Aragorn waited until nightfall, when the Court of the Fountain was almost empty of people, before laboriously making his way towards the White Tree. He bade the guards withdraw a little way and stood there in silent contemplation of the scion of Nimloth. The moon was full tonight, bathing the tree in soft light. Always it looked fairest by moonlight, especially when in blossom. Aragorn felt a keen pang that he would not see it bloom again.
He reached out and stroked the trunk something he had done so many times before. "I shall miss you, my friend," he said. "I wonder will there be any trees as fair as you beyond the circles of the world? Would that I could have seen you blossom one last time, but I fear I would lose what little strength I have left if I waited until spring."
A breeze moaned through the bare branches, which bowed towards him as if in sympathy. "Will you miss me, I wonder?" Aragorn mused. "I promise you that Eldarion will love and care for you as I have done. When we are reunited, I will tell your old friend, Faramir that you grow and thrive." Aragorn took a deep breath. "Ah, it will be good to see him again, and Halbarad and Éomer and so many good friends. My mother too, how she would have loved to see you!"
He fell silent and stood gazing at the tree. So many times, he had stood there since he had planted the sapling. With Faramir, with Arwen when she came to be his bride, with their children and their children's children. It seemed like yesterday and yet so long ago. Those had been good times, before one by one, so many of his friends had aged and died while he yet remained. Aragorn had begun to understand the melancholy of the Elves. How it was his turn to take the final journey. He was ready to depart.
Aragorn's aged bones began to ache. "Watch over my loved ones for me," he whispered, blinking away tears. "May you thrive for many generations!"
He looked up and held the stars twinkling through the branches. Men came and went but the stars endured.
With a last lingering look at the tree, Aragorn made his slow way back indoors.
When morning came, the King began his final earthly journey to the House of Kings in the Silent Street. When he passed by the White Tree he beheld a single bloom adorning its stark branches. He paused before it in wonder. The blossom fell at his feet.
Eldarion bent to carefully pick it up. He cradled the blossom reverently in his hands for a moment before handing it to his father.
"Thank you, dear friend, for this last gift," Aragorn murmured softly. He would clasp the blossom in his hand while he took his final breath. His heart soared; this was a final sign of grace from the One above whose Hallow he had found the Tree. He was born with hope, and with hope, he would depart.
A/N. I wrote this story for this year's BTME.I usually wait for a while before posting elsewhere, but this seemed fitting for the season. Happy Easter and Passover.
Chapter 69 - Oaths of Allegiance
Oaths of Allegiance
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
Summary: Faramir takes an oath of fealty to two very different liege lords.
With grateful thanks to Deandra.
Dedicated to Larner on the occasion of her birthday.
Faramir dressed with especial care, flicking imaginary specks of dust from his black tunic. This was one of the most important days of his young life so far. He was determined to be perfectly turned out and not to let his fellows down, or even more importantly, his father.
Maybe Denethor would smile upon him today as he took the all- important oath that all soldiers were required to swear before they took up arms in defence of Gondor.
Faramir and his fellow recruits in the Ithilien Rangers had recently completed their training and been declared fully- fledged soldiers the previous month. Now all that remained was to take the oath to the Ruling Steward, Faramir's father and lord.
Their captain called the young men together and they prepared to march the length of the great hall in single file. Faramir noticed that Mablung, his friend, was trembling slightly. He was to blame for his trepidation. Usually, the young Rangers took their oath in Ithilien with their Captain standing in for the Steward, but as this bunch of recruits included the Steward's younger son, they had been summoned to the City for their oath taking. Faramir stole a glance around the hall. His heart swelled at the sight of Boromir, who was at the front of the assembly clad in his Captain General's full insignia. Boromir was one of the youngest ever to hold the office, but was already proving himself more than capable.
Faramir's thoughts wandered back to the day when Boromir had taken his oath, watched by adoring younger brother. Boromir had taken the oath alone, not as part of a troop and a large celebration had been held to mark the occasion. Denethor had beamed with pride when Boromir had recited the words perfectly in a loud clear voice. Faramir was determined that he too would make his father proud today. For a moment, he felt a pang that no celebration was being held in his honour before mentally shaking himself for such foolishness. He was not the heir, but the second son.
Their captain gave the signal and the young Rangers marched forward in alphabetical order. One by one, they presented their swords to the Steward, then knelt on the floor beside his chair and swore fealty.
"Faramir son of Denethor!" cried the herald.
Faramir dropped on his knees before his father and presented his blade. His mouth suddenly felt dry as parchment. His father's face was stern as Faramir placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and spoke the familiar words in a clear voice without faltering. "Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the Lord and Steward of the realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end. So say I, Faramir son of Denethor of the House of Hurin."
"And this do I hear, Denethor son of Ecthelion, Lord of Gondor, Steward of the High King, and I will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valour with honour, oath-breaking with vengeance."
The oath spoken and the pledge given and received, Denethor, without any change of expression, handed Faramir his sword back. Faramir sheathed it. It was done. He was a fully- fledged soldier now and his father was now his liege lord. He supposed he should feel different somehow. Instead, he just felt empty. He had so hoped to see a proud and loving smile upon his father's face this day. He shrugged resignedly. Obviously, it was not to be.
Many years later
Faramir dressed with especial care, flicking imaginary specks of dust from his black and silver tunic. This was one of the most important days of his life and he was determined to be perfectly turned out and not to let the people down, or even more importantly, his King.
Yesterday, Aragorn Elessar had been crowned and today he would receive the oaths of allegiance from the Lords of Gondor. Faramir, as Steward of the Realm, would be the first to take that oath. His heart swelled with pride and gratitude as he recalled the events of the day before when the King had returned the White Rod to him and promised that he and his heirs would hold that office as long as the King and his line endured.
Faramir had already made his oath privately to his new liege lord, soon after Aragorn had brought him back from the very brink of death. Aragorn had told him that oath would suffice. The Steward knew, though, that there were many within the Realm whose first loyalties were to the House of Húrin. It was important that they see that he freely swore fealty to his new lord.
Faramir made his way to the great hall, shadowed by a guard as befitted his new rank. The Merethrond was packed with the assembled nobility, as well as those of the common folk who could squeeze their way in. His thoughts wandered back to the day many years ago when he had taken the same oath of allegiance to his father. Denethor was dead now, as was Boromir. For a moment, his heart was filled with sorrow. Then he caught sight of Éowyn, almost in the same spot where Boromir had stood long ago and his spirits lifted. Imrahil, who was in line behind him, patted his arm encouragingly.
Aragorn, arrayed in kingly splendour, was seated high up on the long vacant throne of his forebears. Faramir noted that a velvet cushion had been placed at the foot of the steps. A wry smile formed on his lips as he wondered what his father would have thought of this.
The herald stepped forward and blew a fanfare on his silver trumpet. "Step forward, Faramir son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor!" he cried.
Faramir walked forward and prepared to draw his sword to present it to the King. He wondered how many of the steps up to the throne it was appropriate for him to climb to do so.
Then, much to his amazement, Aragorn stood up and descended the steps.
Faramir dropped to his knees in front of him, drew his sword, and presented it. The Steward gripped the hilt and spoke the oath in a loud clear voice that all assembled might hear, "Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the Lord and King of the realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end. So say I, Faramir son of Denethor of the House of Hurin."
"And this do I hear, Aragorn son of Arathorn, Lord and High King of Gondor, and I will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: valour with honour, oath-breaking with vengeance; fealty with love."
The King returned Faramir's sword to him, his eyes smiling. He then grasped both of Faramir's hands between his own. His hands were warm; they were the hands that had restored Faramir to life.
When Faramir returned to his place, his heart was singing.
A/N. This story was written for the Teitho "Promises" challenge where it was placed first. Some lines are quoted directly from Tolkien.
Chapter 70 - The Scent of Home
The Scent of Home by Linda Hoyland
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Deandra
It was a chill autumn evening, and growing late, but the King and Steward were in no hurry to retire for the night. They were both missing their beloved ladies. Arwen was spending a few days in Ithilien helping Éowyn care for an ailing Elboron. Forced by their duties to remain in Minas Tirith, Aragorn and Faramir were relaxing by the fireside enjoying a glass of wine after a long day filled with dealing with difficult officials.
Over their shared meal, Aragorn had been entertaining the younger man with tales of his travels. Faramir had listened eagerly to his lord's many adventures. The King was a gifted storyteller and Faramir was ever eager for new knowledge.
"What was the greatest difference between all the places you have dwelt in?" Faramir asked. "The people?"
Aragorn shook his head. "No, mellon nîn. Folk are much the same wherever they dwell. You find both good and the bad, kind and the cruel folk in every land. It was the smell of each place that was so different. Rivendell, where I grew up, was always filled with the pleasing odour of sweet blossoms.
"It must have seemed cold and bleak to you to live in the wilds when you left Rivendell," said Faramir.
"It was, but in truth, I found the villages far harder to become accustomed to than the wilds," Aragorn replied. "The Northern lands have a wonderfully fresh aroma. It often rains and the pungent tang of wet earth was all around me. I loved the scent of the pine trees in the forest and the spring blossoms. In winter, there was the scent of wood smoke as we strove to keep warm and the clean aroma of fresh snowy mornings. I had ridden out with the sons of Elrond since my teenage years and was accustomed to the wilderness. I admit, though, I found the villages in the Angle cramped and rather smelly when I first lived there. I was unaccustomed to being so close to animals and folk who lacked proper bathing chambers. That was the main reason I soon came to share Gandalf's love of pipeweed. It disguised less pleasant odours."
Faramir remained silent. He thought he would much prefer the smell of unwashed folk, a stable or even a pigsty to the malodourous pipeweed!
"The villages in Rohan, when I travelled there to serve Thengel King, were much like those in the Angle," Aragorn continued. "Edoras, though, felt vast compared to villages I was accustomed to. The barracks took some getting used to with their overwhelming reek of sweat and beer. I was more grateful than ever to have my trusty pipe; that was until I ran out of pipeweed. It was then I perceived that the true scent of Rohan was horses and fresh grass."
Faramir laughed. "You should tell Éowyn that. An apt description of her homeland!"
"I actually missed the scent of horse when I first came to Gondor," Aragorn continued. "I know Gondor has many fine horses, but they are few in number compared to those of the Riddermark."
"What scent did you notice most in Gondor?" Faramir enquired.
Aragorn took a sip of his wine and gazed thoughtfully into the fire for a few moments. "To begin with, wet stone," he said. "As I was a captain by then, I had my own private lodgings a short walk from the barracks. It rained a lot the first year I lived here and I will never forget the smell of damp stone."
"That is not the only scent in our fair land!" Faramir protested.
Aragorn laughed. "I know, ion nîn," he replied. "Well I recall when your grandsire invited me to a dance as part of the Mettarë celebrations. The perfumes the ladies wore were quite overwhelming! I spent most of the evening sneezing!"
It was Faramir's turn to laugh. " I remember my first ball well too for much the same reason!" he said. "I danced with a lady from Lossarnach who reeked of a perfume that made my head ache! Small wonder I married a maiden from Rohan. Éowyn always smells of sweet spring blossoms or the lavender grown in our herb gardens."
"Arwen uses light fresh perfumes too," said Aragorn. "I often wonder how the husbands of the heavily perfumed ladies fare. Do they sneeze all night long?"
"What of the distant lands you travelled to?" Faramir asked after a few moments contemplating such an unpleasant prospect.
"I shall never forget the foul reek of Mordor when I travelled to the Black Gate," Aragorn replied.
"Is it like the smell of Orc?" Faramir asked.
"A hundredfold worse," Aragorn wrinkled his nose at the recollection. "Imagine the reek of sulphur and decaying filth and burning all combined; that is Mordor. Frodo and Sam endured a great deal to destroy the Ring."
Both men fell silent, thinking of how much they owed to the valiant Hobbits.
Faramir eventually broke the silence, which threatened to become melancholy. "What of Harad?" he asked. "Did that land smell foul too?"
"Only when sacrifices were being offered to Sauron," Aragorn replied. "Those were dark days indeed. Most of the time an aroma of dust and camels and above all, spices, hung in the air. It was exotic rather than unpleasant. I was homesick there, though for the familiar scents of grass and fresh leaves after the rain has fallen."
He yawned. "It grows late and we have a meeting with a trade delegation early in the morning. I will speak more of my travels tomorrow."
"Shall we get a breath of air ere we retire for the night?" Faramir suggested.
"An excellent idea," said Aragorn. "Fresh air promotes sound sleep. Let us walk to the court of the Fountain."
The two men called for their cloaks and walked briskly to where the White Tree flourished. The leaves were starting to fall, but those that remained gleamed gold in the moonlight.
Aragorn and Faramir paused by the tree savouring its beauty. The air felt fresh and clear with just a hint of frost. A faint aroma of freshly baked bread hung in the air combined with the scent of autumn leaves.
Familiar everyday scents, the scents of home.
A/N Written for the Teitho "Smells" challenge where it was placed 3rd.
Chapter 71 - Changes of Fortune
Changes of Fortune – Linda Hoyland
Rated – G
Warnings - none
Summary – Faramir finds it hard to become accustomed to his new status.
Word count – 1,219
O Fortuna,
velut Luna
statu variabilis,
semper crescis
aut decrescis; - Medieval Latin Goliardic poem written early in the 13th century
(O Fortune,
like the moon
you are changeable,
ever waxing
and waning;)
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Faramir blinked as the servant pulled back the curtains, allowing the June sunlight to flood the room.
"Your morning drink and some light refreshment, my lord," he said, placing a laden tray on the bedside table. "I will see that your bath is prepared. And here is your official correspondence. It looks to be another fine day, sir."
Faramir smiled at the man as he took the sheaf of parchments from him.
"Is there anything else, my lord? Will you require help dressing?"
"No thank you, you may go now, Boron. Why not take a walk and enjoy this lovely morning?"
"Thank you, my lord." Boron inclined his head respectfully and withdrew.
Faramir sat upright and looked out across the City. It was indeed a beautiful morning, but then every morning had been fair since the defeat of the Enemy and the King's return. He picked up a letter from the top of the pile. It was addressed to the Steward of Gondor, as were they all.
He hesitated before breaking the seal. The title still seemed strange to him and he felt almost as if he were prying into his father's affairs with every letter he opened. He was not born to rule, had never thought to become the Steward. Even after the untimely deaths of his father and brother, he had expected to be Steward for only a little while, until either the Enemy overcame them, or the King took his rightful place upon the long- vacant throne.
When he had heard the glad tidings of victory, he had rejoiced and planned to go and live quietly in the country. He intended to make a fair garden with Lady Éowyn and live out his days as a scholar and farmer. His uncle had told him of his father's long rivalry with the man then known as Thorongil. After his father's shameful end, he had not believed the King would want any member of the House of Húrin anywhere near him. He had surrendered the White Rod willingly, confident that Gondor would be safe.
The King, though, had had other ideas and returned the Rod to Faramir, together with his office. Not only that, but he had made him Prince of Ithilien, too!
Faramir could still hardly believe his change of fortunes from the despised younger son to both Steward and Prince. Although he had never sought power, he was happy that his elevated rank would better allow him to serve the land he loved so much.
Faramir took a sip of his drink and a bite of one of the strawberries the kitchen had provided for him. It felt strange to be eating in bed, but the King had decreed he must rest while he fully recovered from his wounds. Even the crockery reminded him of his new status as it was decorated with the Steward's emblem, three stars beneath which were the runes to represent 'Arandur'. Faramir was proud and glad to be the King's servant, but it still felt odd to be dining off his father's official dinner service. When he married Lady Éowyn, he hoped that together they might choose something less pretentious for dining in private. He had drunk from a silver goblet as Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, but eaten from the same plates as his men.
Faramir finished his breakfast, then entered his bathing chamber where a bath had been prepared for his morning ablutions. A daily bath had been an undreamt of luxury for a Ranger Captain. He had to remind himself that there was no need to hurry, and no one else was waiting for his turn to bathe.
Old habits died hard, though and Faramir was soon dressed and perusing the documents in preparation for a meeting later that morning. It was a formal public meeting of Council to which any citizen of Gondor could bring matters before the King for his consideration. Faramir determined to be well informed about any matter upon which the King might ask his opinion.
That too felt strange; Denethor had rarely sought his younger son's views and if Faramir dared express one, it was only to be met with scathing disapproval from his sire. The King was very different; he frequently asked for his Steward's counsel and listened patiently and even approvingly to what Faramir said.
Faramir was so engrossed in perusing plans for repairing the lower levels of the City that he started when the bell rang. It was almost time for the meeting. He wished now that he had asked Boron to help him don his formal robes of black and silver, so very different from a Ranger's garb. It was quite tricky to keep the garments straight, especially at the back. Then, he needed to thoroughly brush his hair before donning the circlet he was entitled to as a Prince of Gondor and ensure that was straight too.
At last, he was ready. Faramir gathered up his parchments and hurried towards the Council Chamber. The other lords were arriving for the meeting as well, and greeted him respectfully. Faramir was just about to mount the steps when to his horror, he realised he had forgotten the White Rod!
Faramir dashed back to his chambers, much hampered by his elaborate robes, which were certainly not designed for running in. Despite his haste, he took up the rod reverently. He was glad it was a different rod than his father had wielded, which seemed almost an extension of Denethor's arm. Faramir still felt a little overawed to bear it and despite the need for haste, he carried it in a somewhat stately fashion, deeply conscious of what it signified.
His heart started to pound. What if he arrived after the King? Whatever would Elessar think? Kindly lord though he was, he would most surely be furious! He quickened his pace while taking care to carry the White Rod with sufficient dignity. He was so preoccupied that he failed to notice the tall figure approaching from the direction of the Royal apartments until they nearly collided.
"My lord!" Faramir exclaimed in horror. He flushed. To think that he had almost knocked over his liege lord!
"You are in a hurry today, Faramir," Aragorn said mildly. He straightened the jewel, which he wore on his brow. "And you are as late as I am when you are usually amongst the first to arrive. Maybe you were enjoying the sunshine as I was?"
Faramir flushed again. "No, my lord. I fear I almost forgot the White Rod! "
Aragorn smiled sympathetically. "So you are human, my friend. I almost forgot the Elendilmir when I dressed for the meeting today. These trappings of office can be hard to remember, can they not?"
"Indeed, my lord. I am but a simple Captain of the Rangers at heart." Faramir wanted to bite back the words as soon as they were uttered. His lord would think him a fool and ungrateful for the honours bestowed upon him, not to mention unworthy. He fell back a few paces behind the King.
The King turned round to face him, grey eyes twinkling and he laughed merrily. "Why so am I, my friend," he said. "So am I! Now let us walk together to the Council Chamber, fellow Captain!"
Written for the Teitho Moments of Transition Challenge where it was placed 3rd.
Chapter 72 - The Greatest Sacrifice
B2MeM Challenge: Sacrifice.
"Now not day only shall be beloved, but night too shall be beautiful and blessed and all fear pass away!"
Format: ficlet
Genre: angst
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Characters: Aragorn, Arwen
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen
Summary: Aragorn reflects on the anniversary of his coronation.
For Aragorn and Arwen's Anniversary
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
The King stood looking out at the sunset. The red ball gradually sank lower in the sky until it disappeared beneath the western horizon. His thoughts turned to his beloved lady. He wondered how she felt when she beheld the sunset. Did she regret the sacrifice she had made in forsaking the utmost west to cleave to him?
What had he given her in return? The crown of Gondor and Arnor meant little to the Lady of Rivendell, any more than did the title of Queen. He could only give her his heart and children. Through him, she would one day receive the Gift of Men. He saw the Gift as a blessing, a chance to move beyond the confines of Arda rather than to endure the endless twilight of the Elves, watching everything change and decay, while they remained forever young and changeless. But would Arwen be able to accept it as freely as he did?
She had forsaken her family too to become his wife. He also knew the sharp pain of loss all too well. He, though, had the hope that one day he would be reunited with his loved ones beyond the circles of the world. Arwen could not hope to see her kin again until Arda was remade.
Aragorn had worn the crown for a year now. It was far from light, but it was a burden that he had been born to bear and he tried his utmost to be worthy of it. He now had so much. Others had given their all to help him win his crown and defeat the Dark Lord. Halbarad had fallen, bearing his standard upon the field. Valiant Théoden King had been slain by the Nazgûl and many more had fallen. His thoughts turned to his Steward, Faramir, who had lost his father and brother and the valiant Lady Éowyn, who had lost not only an Uncle, but a beloved cousin too.
So much pain and loss, and sacrifice.
He reached in his pocket and took out the letter from Pippin he had received earlier that day. The tidings had left him with a heavy heart. Pippin wrote that Frodo had been ill on the anniversary of his wounding by Shelob and often seemed sad. At least Sam was his old self again and had just married Rosie Cotton, while Pippin had fully recovered from his injuries.
Aragorn's heart ached for the brave Hobbit who had carried the Ring into Mordor and had paid such a high price. The King had suffered so little compared with his friends and gained so much. He feared that he might not be worthy.
The sunset was especially fair tonight, but it failed to lift his spirits. He decided to retire early to bed.
000
Orcs were carrying Frodo away and Halbarad too. He could only stand there helpless and watch.
"Estel!" Arwen's loving voice jolted him out of the nightmare. "What troubles you, beloved?" she asked. "You cried out in your sleep."
"It is nothing," he replied. "Just an ill dream." Despite his words, his heart was pounding.
Arwen held him close and kissed him tenderly. "I love you so much, my Estel," she whispered. Her silken hair fell across his face and her perfume smelt like spring blossoms bourn on a gentle breeze. Her slender fingers stroked his face and neck until he fell into a dreamless sleep.
He awoke early. The sun was streaming through the open curtains and light fluffy clouds sailed across an azure sky.
Arwen slept peacefully beside him, smiling in her sleep.
Aragorn smiled too, his dark mood of the day before vanished with the rising sun. How could he be filled with fear and gloom while she was beside him? Others had sacrificed much to defeat the Dark Lord and pave his way to the throne. Inspired by their memory, he must reign wisely and well.
Arwen stirred and opened her eyes. They were filled with love for him. With her at his side, how could he be other than blessed?
Chapter 73 - Living Flame
Living Flame by Linda Hoyland
Rating PG
Summary. Aragorn, Faramir and a mighty sword.
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Deandra
Steel clashed against steel. Both men were breathing heavily now, neither willing to yield an inch. They ducked and dived, thrust and parried in a seemingly deadly dance.
The younger man was the first to falter, stumbling slightly under the sheer weight of his opponent's attack. In that instant, he felt cold steel at his throat. "I yield," he said and laughed ruefully.
"It was a close contest," said Aragorn. "You are not easy to beat, mellon nîn." He sheathed his blade and rubbed his sleeve across his face, wiping the sweat from his brow. He extended his hand, which Faramir clasped.
"You fought well," said the Steward.
"Andúril does me proud," said Aragorn. "It is like an extension of my own arm. Always, it has served me well both in battle and in sport. Now I must repay my trusty friend by cleaning it ere I join Arwen for the midday meal. You would be most welcome to join us, Faramir."
"I would be honoured, ada."
Side by side, the King and Steward walked towards the armoury where they started to shed the leather armour they were wearing. A young squire came to assist them.
"Can I be of further assistance, my lords?" asked the young man once the armour was unbuckled.
"You can clean my sword, Beleg," said Faramir. He handed his weapon to the squire. Beleg hesitated and looked at Aragorn expectantly.
"No thank you, Beleg, I always clean Andúril myself."
"Very well, sire. I will return your blade shortly, Lord Faramir."
"Thank you, Beleg. I am certain you will do an admirable job of polishing my sword." Faramir smiled at the boy who scuttled away to perform his task.
Aragorn settled himself down on a bench. He took up a cloth and began the task of cleaning his blade. "I could never entrust this task to another," he said. "Andúril is more than a sword; it is a legend, entrusted to my care while I live. It protects me in battle and I care for it in return."
"You love Andúril," said Faramir. "My sword is merely an object to me, a weapon which I enjoy using for sport like today and will use to defend myself and my land with if I must. I much prefer the bow for you do not feel the arrow strike the flesh of your enemy. Maybe the bow is a coward's weapon?"
"You are no coward, ion nîn," Aragorn said gravely. "Loosing an arrow in self- defence is no less valiant than wielding a sword. I can shoot well enough, but the bow has never been my favourite weapon."
"Andúril is part of the history of your line," said Faramir. "My sword serves me well enough, but it was made for me by the master sword smith in the third circle when I came of age. It has no history, other than the battles I have fought with it. Boromir owned a sword of ancient lineage, which once belonged to our longfather Mardil, but it was lost with him."
"It was broken in twain and I placed it beside him in his funeral boat." Aragorn fell silent for a few moments, intent on applying oil to his blade. "Narsil, the shards of which Andúril is forged from, was made by Telchar himself, greatest smith among the Dwarves. The Dwarves have always been the greatest of Smiths, mightier maybe than even the Elves. Perhaps Gimli could forge a more fitting blade for you, Faramir?"
"That is a kind thought, but my sword serves me well enough," said the Steward. "It fills me with awe that Andúril is forged from the same steel that cut the ring from Sauron's hand. Only a weapon of great power could do such a deed. Lore tells that Telchar also made the knife that cut the Simaril from Melkor's iron crown. His works have served Men and Elves well against the Dark Lords."
"The light went out from Narsil when Elendil was slain and the sword was shattered, but even the hilt shard in Isildur's hand had power enough to cut the Ring from Sauron's finger," Aragorn said as he began to wax Andúril's scabbard. "There were times when I almost lost heart in my long years of wandering. I would cheer myself by remembering that it was my forefather who did such a mighty deed, moreover, the shard with which he did it, now belonged to me. As a child, I was filled with awe when I was told the story of Elendil and Isildur, little guessing that I was of their line. How my heart swelled with pride when I learned of my true lineage. Greater still was my pride when I first grasped Narsil reforged and named it Andúril!"
"Did you not fear that the blade would have lost its power once it was melted down and remade?" Faramir asked.
Aragorn shook his head. "I would if Men had remade it, but the Elvish smiths have skills almost equal to the Dwarfen craftsmen of old. When I first held Andúril. I could feel its power vibrate through every sinew of my being. I beheld how it shone red by the light of the sun, and silver by the light of the moon. Then Lady Galadriel gave me a scabbard and told me that the blade that was drawn from that sheath would not be stained or broken even in defeat. When I tested Andúril in battle at Helm's Deep, it almost sang in my hand and gleamed with white fire." Aragorn began to polish the blade. It shone brightly, lighting up the dim armoury.
"Andúril is indeed a sword fit for a King," said Faramir. "Small wonder you permit no other to touch it."
Aragorn rose from the bench on which he was sitting and went outside into the sunlight. He lifted Andúril up to assure himself that it was cleaned to his satisfaction. The blade gleamed red in the sunlight like a living flame.
"The sword is well named, 'Flame of the West', said Faramir. "Never have I beheld so fair a weapon!"
"Would you like to hold it?" Aragorn asked.
"I am no king!" Faramir protested.
"You are a man well worthy to hold the sword," said Aragorn. "Take it and see if it gleams for you too."
Faramir reverently took the sword from his friend and clasped the hilt firmly in his hand. He had handed Andúril to the King in its scabbard on occasion, but had never thought to hold the sword unsheathed. He carefully studied the blade, which was decorated with seven stars set between the crescent Moon and the rayed Sun, and about them was written many runes. He loved not swords for their sharpness, but this weapon represented everything he had long fought to defend, the Realm of Isildur and Anárion, and the legacy of Númenor of which he and Aragorn were a living part.
For a moment, Faramir held the sword aloft, watching the sunlight glint upon the blade. A worthy sword for a worthy King who had brought the peace and prosperity he had long dreamed of. A man who had become the loving father from whom Faramir had always yearned. Gondor was safe in Aragorn's hands and Andúril would be used only to defend, not to conquer or oppress.
Faramir smiled contentedly and handed Andúril back to its rightful lord.
A/n written for the Teitho "Weapons" contest where it was unplaced.
Chapter 74 - Brothers of the tribe
Brother of the Tribe
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
A/N Written for the BTME13 Prompt –Xenophobia
It will make the story clearer if you have read "East is East" (written for BTME 2 years ago) and
"Wars and Rumours of War" to which this story is a sequel.
I hope, though it can be enjoyed on its own.
Faramir had been in an uneasy mood ever since he had awakened that morning. He was uncertain why that that should be. Maybe it was because he had turned down Aragorn's invitation to accompany him to Osgiliath to see how the rebuilding was progressing. Even though years had passed, the ruined city still held too many memories for the Steward. He only went there when duty demanded that he must. It had been foolish, though, the decline the chance of a ride on a fine day with his friend and lord for no better reason than painful memories.
Faramir picked up a trade agreement he was working on and forced himself to concentrate.
He had only reached the second paragraph, though, when someone banged on his study door. "My lord, come quickly! The Ambassador from Harad has been shot!" a voice cried.
Faramir paled and gripped the side of his desk. Tahir was one of his dearest friends. He quickly collected himself and bade the messenger enter.
"What happened?" he demanded of the young guard who almost burst into the room.
"My lord, I know little; only that the Ambassador was shot by an arrow as he walked through the market place with his wife a short time ago. The attacker escaped in the confusion."
"What of the Ambassador and his wife?" Faramir demanded more impatiently than was his custom.
"The Ambassador has been taken to the Houses of Healing," said the guard. "His wife is unhurt. The Warden has requested your presence at the Houses immediately, my lord."
Faramir paused only to scribble several notes, one to the Captain of the Tower Guard, asking him to obtain statements from any witnesses to the stabbing; another to officials he had planned meetings with later that day, and a third to Éowyn to inform her of what had happened. He gave the notes to a servant with instructions to see that they were despatched at once.
He then snatched up his cloak and almost ran to the Houses of Healing, his guards struggling to keep up with him.
One of the apprentice healers showed him to the room for honoured guests where Tahir had been taken. To Faramir's surprise, he heard raised voices and when he knocked was bidden at once to enter. He had expected to be bidden to wait while the healers were occupied with removing the arrow.
When he entered, he was surprised to find a fully clothed Tahir lying on top of the bed, the arrow still protruding from his shoulder. A weeping Lady Adiva was sitting beside the bed with Dame Ivorwen standing beside her. The Warden, Tarostar, and Aedred, his assistant were standing at the foot of the bed and glaring at the Ambassador.
"I am glad you have come, Lord Faramir, " said Tarostar. "Maybe you can make the Ambassador here see reason. He refuses to let us remove the arrow."
Tahir raised his head and struggled to sit up. "My esteemed friend, please you must make them understand that I can only permit a healer from my tribe to tend my wound."
"This is madness!" Tarostar interjected.
"Do you have a healer from your tribe here in the City?" Faramir asked.
"I do usually, esteemed friend, but he is Harad celebrating the wedding of his eldest son," Tahir replied.
"I will send messengers then to see if another healer from amongst your people can be found within the City," said Faramir.
"You are most kind, esteemed friend, but I fear you are unlikely to find any," said Tahir with a deep sigh. "Few healers come from the warrior tribe that I am a son of."
"Master Tarostar and Master Aedred are highly skilled," Faramir said reassuringly. He patted Tahir's hand. "Please, my friend, accept their help for I would not lose you."
"I am so sorry, but you do not understand, esteemed friend," said Tahir. "It is written; should a man permit any not of his tribe to tend his wounds, he will be forever barred from the Celestial Oasis. I would be doomed to walk forever in the everlasting desert of desolation, separated from all whom I love!"
"You cannot die on account of a foolish superstition, Ambassador!" Tarostar interrupted impatiently. The healer turned to Adiva. "Maybe you can make him see reason, my lady?"
"I would not lose my honoured husband in this life," said Adiva, "but it would be a far crueller fate to be separated from him for all eternity!"
"I have tended you, Lady Adiva, and delivered your babes," said Ivorwen. "I am most certainly not of your tribe, but you did not make all this fuss!"
"It is different for a woman," said Adiva. "We would only be barred from the Celestial Oasis if we permitted a man to tend us. Thus it is written and decreed by the gracious Lord and Lady of the Moon."
Tarostar glared, opened his mouth as if to protest, and then shut it again. "A word in private, if you please, Lord Faramir," he said. Faramir nodded and the Warden led him into his private room.
"If you but give the order, Lord Faramir, I will operate to remove the arrow from the Ambassador's shoulder," he said.
Faramir shook his head. "No, I forbid it. He refuses our aid. It is his right, which I must respect, much though his decision grieves me."
"I have had the same problem with prisoners of war, what few Haradrim that did not fall on their own swords," said the healer. "We did what was best for them."
"The Ambassador is not a prisoner who was captured bearing arms against us, he is our honoured guest," said Faramir. "We must extend to him the same rights and courtesies as any man of Gondor."
"And what will the temperamental ruler of Harad say if the Ambassador dies? We are trying to help him. It is not as if we suggested a woman should treat him or an apprentice! The merchants amongst his folk are happy enough to be treated."
"The warriors are another matter though," said Faramir. They prefer death to accepting help from outsiders."
"So we are just to sit here and watch a ferocious warlord's Ambassador die?" Tarostar asked angrily. "What if he invades as result?"
I think the Kha Khan would be most displeased if we violated the Ambassador's wishes," said Faramir. "I believe he will abide by the treaty we signed. The Kha Khan is of the same tribe as the Ambassador and shares his beliefs."
"Deluded foreign superstitions!" cried Tarostar, sweeping a book off his desk in his fury. "These foreigners are savages who believe tales a child would laugh at. Celestial Oasis indeed!"
"Who knows where the Haradrim go after death?" said Faramir. "We too have our own beliefs that are dear to us. Send out messengers to try to find a healer from the Ambassador's tribe in the City. His wishes must be respected as if he were a Man of Gondor."
"Infection will set in and kill the Ambassador long before you find one, my lord," said Tarostar grimly.
"We must pray to the Valar that it does not." Faramir strode from the room, fighting to maintain his outwardly cool composure. The Steward's mind was in turmoil. He could not bear to lose his dear friend, but neither could he defy Tahir's beliefs. How could he force his friend to live, believing his soul was forfeit? He knew all too well the lengths the wounded Haradrim would go to prevent foreigners from tending their wounds. There had been Haradrim prisoners who had been treated here who had afterwards taken their own lives or fallen into a deep melancholy from which they could not be roused. Then despite his words to Tarostar, he feared that the Kha Khan's wrath might indeed fall upon Gondor if Tahir died, just as much as it would if they violated the Ambassador's beliefs.
His heart heavy, he returned to the Ambassador's chamber. He asked Aedred to leave him alone for a few moments with Tahir and suggested Ivorwen took Lady Adiva for some refreshment. "It saddens my heart that you refuse our help, my friend," he told Tahir as soon as they were alone. "I have ordered the healers to respect your wishes, though. Alas, that is all I can do for you!" He reached out to clasp Tahir's' hand. Never had he thought that a former enemy would have become so dear a friend to him.
"Thank you, esteemed friend," said Tahir. He gripped Faramir's hand like a drowning man. "A favour I must ask of you, please take care of my fair blossom and my little ones once I am gone."
"I shall, my friend." Faramir pressed Tahir's hand reassuringly. "Do not give up hope yet, though, I am doing all I can to try to find a healer from your tribe. There must be one somewhere in the City!"
Tahir shook his head sadly. "I fear it is unlikely. Alas! I had not thought to die so soon. The Moon God and Goddess must be angry at me for shaming the prisoner, vile traitor that he was!"
"You only cut off the lad's sleeve so you see his tribal markings," said Faramir. As he spoke, a sudden thought struck him. "Is that why our healers may not tend you?"
Tahir nodded. "It is written in the ancient laws of the warrior tribes that no man not of our tribe may see our markings."
"I understand." Faramir suddenly realised the taboo made perfect sense within a deeply divided tribal society. The warriors tattooed their allegiances on their skin and if the wrong eyes saw the markings, it could spell death for the entire tribe. If a warrior died without revealing the markings, he could not be forced to tell what they meant and betray his family, his faith, and his allegiances. Yet Tahir had permitted him, Faramir of Gondor, to see his intricate markings and Aragorn too. A sudden flash of inspiration came to the Steward.
"When the King and I shared the hamam with you, you called us brothers and members of your tribe. Does that mean the King could tend your wound without you being denied the right to dwell in the Celestial Oasis?" Faramir asked.
"Of course, esteemed friend. The hamam joined us together as brothers of one tribe henceforth. I could not ask so great a favour of the esteemed lord king, though."
"I am certain that there is nothing he would grant more gladly!" said Faramir. He flung open the door and called for parchment and ink. A bewildered looking apprentice healer brought what he asked for. Faramir sat at the desk provided for the use of the honoured guests and scribbled a hasty note to Aragorn. He asked him to return at once as a dear friend's life depended on him. He sealed it with his ring of office and called of his bodyguards, a trusted man called Cirion, asking him to despatch a messenger to Osgiliath on the swiftest horse that could be found.
Now they could do nothing save wait. Adiva had returned, after being coaxed to take some raspberry tea by Dame Ivorwen. She sat patiently at her husband's bedside, clasping his hand. She dried her tears and thanked Faramir fervently when he told her of his plan. The Steward told them how Aragorn had saved his life on several occasions using his skills as a healer. "I believe there is none better who now dwells on Middle-earth," he said.
"I have been wounded many times before," said Tahir. He smiled wanly at his wife and friend. "Surely with such a healer as esteemed Lord Aragorn, I will soon recover." He bit his lip and Faramir noticed that it was bleeding. The Ambassador was obviously in great pain.
"Have you been given poppy juice?" the Steward asked.
"They offered it me, esteemed friend, but I refused as I feared it might cloud my judgement," said Tahir. "The sons of my tribe learn to bear pain from our youth."
"Please take it now," said Faramir. "It will ease your pain and enable the King to tend your wound more swiftly. You have my word that he alone will tend you."
"Very well, esteemed friend." Tahir sighed with a mixture with of relief and resignation.
Faramir called for Tarostar to bring the pain relieving draught.
"So you have finally come to your senses, Lord Ambassador," said Tarostar, as he measured out the draught.
"Esteemed Lord Aragorn is a brother of my tribe," said Tahir. "Allowing him to tend me will not bar me from the Celestial Oasis."
Tarostar rolled his eyes. It was obvious he thought the Ambassador was becoming delirious. "I, or my assistants could treat you equally well and without this needless delay," he said.
"You are all good men, but you are not brothers of my tribe," Tahir replied.
Tarostar shook his head in bewilderment.
"Please make everything ready for removing the arrow when the King arrives," said Faramir.
"Very well, my lord," Tarostar said coldly. "One of the apprentices will bring what is needed. I will go now to patients who need me."
Cirion then entered, and informed Faramir that a rider had been despatched to Osgiliath. He brought with him the eyewitness reports to the shooting that Faramir had requested. They proved depressing reading. One witness said, "I didn't take much notice." Another reported, "I paid no heed. It is just one less of these Haradrim. There are too many of them here. Anyone would think they had won the war!" A third statement read, "I'd shoot the vermin myself if I didn't know I'd hang for it!" Faramir tossed the statements aside with an exclamation of disgust. If only these people knew just how hard Tahir worked to achieve a lasting peace. It horrified him that one of his countrymen should seek to kill the Ambassador in cold blood. He realised there was still one statement he had not read. "These foreigners are savages trying to kill one another. At least none of our folk got hurt," it said.
Faramir's attention was caught. He had assumed Tahir's attacker was Gondorian as the arrow had Gondorian fletching. This witness suggested that Tahir had been attacked by one of his own people. The Steward hurried back to the Ambassador's bedside and asked, "Did you see who attacked you, my friend?"
The poppy draught had obviously taken effect. Tahir was very drowsy. He forced his eyes open with an effort. "One of our people, esteemed friend. I could not see his face, though. There were two of them, one tried to stop the other, which deflected his aim from my heart." He spoke very slowly, fighting to resist the effects of the poppy juice."
"Sleep, my friend," said Faramir. He was thankful that no Man of Gondor had attacked Tahir, but this meant there were violent Haradrim at loose in the City, no doubt supporters of the previous Kha Khan and his tribe. He scribbled a note to the Captain of the Guard demanding that a close watch be kept for armed Haradrim and asked Cirion to deliver it. He had little hope of the attacker ever being found, though. Doubtless he was on his way back to Harad by now.
Returning to Tahir, Faramir was glad the Ambassador was now sleeping deeply, thanks to the poppy syrup. After promising that he would send for her at once if Tahir needed her, the Steward suggested to Lady Adiva that she should return home to her children and arrange for Tahir's body servants to come and help with his care. He also suggested that she rest a while for the sake of the baby. He had no wish for the gentle lady to be within earshot when Aragorn removed the arrow. Adiva reluctantly agreed and set out for her house, which was also in the sixth Circle, attended by Ivorwen and the Steward's guards.
Faramir had only just acted in time. Aragorn hurried into the room only a few moments later.
"Praise the Valar you are here!" cried Faramir as Aragorn embraced him in greeting. "Tahir has been shot and will only permit a brother of his tribe to remove the arrow!"
Aragorn glanced at the table at the far side of the room. It already contained all the instruments he needed, a healer's robe and a pile of clean towels. "You have done well," he told the Steward. "I need hot water," he told a hovering apprentice. "Faramir, I need an assistant to hand me the instruments while I work. Can you help me?"
"Of course," said Faramir. "Tahir is my friend. "In truth, the Steward had little stomach for wounds and bloodshed. There was little he would not do to help a friend, though.
"Good," said Aragorn. He was already washing his hands. Faramir did likewise.
Aragorn took up a knife and cut away the clothing from around the arrow. He carefully examined it. It was high on the left shoulder, embedded deeply in bone and muscle. While Faramir held the Ambassador steady, he began to saw through the shaft to make the tip easier to remove.
Tahir stirred and opened his eyes.
"I am here now," said Aragorn. "May I remove the arrow from your shoulder?"
"Please do it swiftly, esteemed Lord Aragorn," said Tahir. "Forgive me that I am so lacking in courtesy and cannot rise to greet you."
"It is well, my friend, I take no offence," said Aragorn. He checked Tahir's pulse and found it to be racing; therefore he placed his hand on the Ambassador's brow, trying to give the wounded man strength and calmness with his healing powers. Then, the King nodded to Faramir, who moved to hold Tahir in position while he made several cuts around the arrow then dug it out with a spoon shaped implement.
Throughout this gristly procedure, Tahir neither cried out nor attempted to struggle. Only his racing heartbeat indicated the pain the Ambassador was enduring.
With Faramir's help, Aragorn staunched the bleeding, applied salves to fight infection and carefully bandaged the wound.
"It is done," he told Tahir. "Now I can only pray that Estë grant you healing. Try to rest after you have drunk the medicine I am going to mix for you."
"Thank you, esteemed friend," Tahir murmured.
Ooo
"Small wonder the Haradrim warriors made such formidable enemies," Aragorn remarked later once Tahir was sleeping. "It is rare to see Men who bear pain so well and with such courage. In battle, they often wear silken shirts, pull out the arrows that pierce them and continue fighting!"
"Will Tahir recover?" Faramir asked anxiously.
"He is strong," said Aragorn. "He has a good chance. I will do everything I can for him."
"Will he wish to remain in Minas Tirith, I wonder, after what happened?" Faramir mused.
"Gondor would be poorer without him," said Aragorn. "Though the customs of the Haradrim seem strange and they are a fierce people. I have learned there are jewels amongst them."
"There are indeed," said Faramir. "Tahir is a true jewel of his people."
Ooo
Three days later, Tahir had overcome the slight fever he had developed as result of his wound. Although still very weak, he was on the mend. When Aragorn and Faramir came to visit him, he greeted them with a warm smile, then gestured to his body servant to withdraw.
"How can I ever thank you, esteemed friends, for your kindness to this unworthy one?" Tahir exclaimed.
"We were happy to help you," said Aragorn.
"You are our friend and brother," Faramir added.
"How the Moon God and Goddess have blessed me!" said Tahir. "I have found not only a home in Gondor, but new brothers of my tribe."
Chapter 75 - Cat-astrophe
Cat-atastrophe
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been nor will be made from this story.
"I cannot find Laurea. Have you seen him, Uncle Faramir?" asked Elbeth. She looked around anxiously. "I wanted to feed him before the guests arrive."
Faramir shook his head. "No, Elbeth. I have not seen your cat since breakfast. I expect he is enjoying the sunshine out of doors."
Elbeth sighed and glanced down at the elaborate gown she was wearing. "I would much rather be outside on such a lovely day as this! If only we could go on a picnic with the little ones."
"I wish so too," the Steward said ruefully." Entertaining visiting dignitaries is the price we pay for our rank and privilege, though. Before the ambassador arrives, I will help you look for Laurea. He cannot have gone far. Let us look in the solar."
It pleased Faramir how devoted Elbeth was to the ginger tomcat. She had first taken a liking to him when he was a scrawy kitten living on a farm and had remained inseparable from him. The once tiny kitten had grown into a large tawny cat with a mischievous and lovable personality. "Look, there he is!" exclaimed Faramir, spotting the cat curled up asleep on the couch, his ginger stripes merging with the floral pattern on the cover, making him near impossible to spot.
"Come on now, Laurea!" said Elbeth, gently stroking the cat's head as she spoke.
The cat yawned, revealing ferocious looking teeth that had been the nemesis of many a mouse, then slowly sat up and stretched. Before Elbeth could pick him up, he had sauntered through the open door into the dining room, which was set ready for the King and Queen, together with the Ambassador from Rhûn and his attendants to dine.
Seeing something new that demanded his inspection, Laurea took a flying leap up on the table, landing amidst sparkling glasses and finest china. Elbeth reached out to grab him.
"No!" cautioned Faramir. "He is more likely to break something if we attempt to catch him. It is best he comes down on his own." He called the cat's name. Laurea blithely ignored him and continued to daintily navigate the tableware with the skill of an acrobat. Faramir and Elbeth watched with baited breath.
Just then, a servant walked past the open door with Eldarion's spaniel puppy Nimrodel on a leash. The pup caught sight of Laurea and broke loose from the grasp of the surprised servant. Her leash trailing and barking frenziedly, she leapt up on the table in hot pursuit of the frightened cat. Glasses, plates, and cutlery were swept from the table with a deafening crash, while Faramir, Elbeth and the servant looked on in dismay.
Faramir lunged and grabbed hold of Nimrodel's trailing leash. Meanwhile Laurea had retreated to the top of a cupboard where he sat washing his whiskers and regarding the company with an air of supreme disdain.
"I'm sorry, my lord," stammered the servant.
"Return Prince Eldarion's dog to the kennels then go and find someone to clear up this broken glass and crockery," said Faramir, handing the leash back to the red-faced man. "You will return to your duties in the gardens and no longer have care of the Prince's dog since you obviously cannot control her."
"Yes, my lord, at once, my lord." The servant scurried away with a dejected Nimrodel trailing behind him, her tail between her legs.
"Whatever is Éowyn going to say?" said Faramir. He sat down heavily on the couch and sighed." However we shall we entertain the guests now?"
"What has happened?" called Éowyn. "I heard a crash just then." She appeared in the doorway together with the King and Queen. "Lord Bema protect us!" she cried on espying the carnage.
"Nimrodel chased Laurea," said Elbeth. "It wasn't poor Laurea's fault. He was scared."
"We should quickly change into our riding clothes," said Aragorn.
"Go riding?" exclaimed Éowyn. "Men! How can you think of such a thing when the best crockery is ruined and the guests are expected any moment?"
"The Men of Rhûn know little of our dining customs," said Aragorn. " I know something of theirs', though. When I travelled through their lands many years ago, I learned that they like to entertain their guests out of doors. The dining room is unusable, but the food is untouched. We can ask the cook to prepare a picnic for our guests. The children can come too with their nursemaids."
"An excellent suggestion!" said Éowyn.
"I will send to Minas Tirith for some of our state crockery and glasses to be sent here for you to borrow," said Arwen. "They should be here by this evening if we have a late dinner."
"I never did like those plates," said Faramir surveying the remains of the official dining ware of the House of Stewards. "Would it please you, Éowyn, if we chose some new ones together?"
The Princess of Ithilien nodded, already envisioning plates decorated with images of white horses frolicking beside the White Tree. "Elbeth, take your cat to the nursery. In future he is not to come downstairs when important visitors are expected."
"Arwen and I enjoy Laurea's company, so be sure to bring him down when we visit" said Aragorn. "I think he has perhaps done us a favour. I would rather be outside on such a fine day!" He stroked the cat as Elbeth carried him towards the door. Laurea purred loudly.
000
"How thoughtful of you to entertain us according to the custom of our lands," said the Ambassador from Rhûn. He contently sat cross-legged on the grass beside Aragorn and Faramir. "Our ruler will be happy to allow more trade between our peoples in future."
"We are honoured that our hospitality pleases you," said Aragorn graciously.
"Let us drink to our peace and prosperity!" said the Ambassador.
"To peace and prosperity!" Aragorn and Faramir echoed.
"It delights me to meet your families and such a perfectly behaved dog," the Ambassador continued.
Aragorn stole a glance towards the next field where the children were playing with Nimrodel. He exchanged a knowing wink with Faramir.
A/N I wrote this a few years ago for the prompt "Table" for the AA Group since when it has languished forgotten.
Laurea, as yet unnamed, first appears in "Web of Treason". Nimrodel first appears in "Partners in Crime".
Laurea – = like gold in Quenya
Chapter 76 - Too Long a Sacrifice
Too Long a Sacrifice by Linda Hoyland
Rating: T, for adult themes and mild violence and battle scenes.
Disclaimer: These characters( apart from my original characters) all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
When the battle's lost and won. – Macbeth. Act 1. Scene 1 - Shakespeare
Aragorn patted Roheryn reassuringly before wiping the blood from the blade and carefully sheathing Andúril. Again, a band of rebel Haradrim were routed. Their mangled bodies littered the battlefield while those that survived were fleeing into the distance.
The King sighed at the folly and useless waste of life. Most of Gondor’s former enemies now desired peace, but there remained factions of fanatical Sauron worshippers who refused to concede defeat or abide by the treaties sworn by their leaders. It was only a few short months ago that Faramir had repelled a similar incursion. This time, the rebels had attacked in greater numbers.
Aragorn instructed his men to seek out the wounded that they might be tended, then bury the dead where they had fallen.
He then looked around for Faramir, but could not see him. Aragorn called to Beregond, Faramir’s captain who was heading towards him. “The day is won and at little cost to Gondor. Have you seen Lord Faramir?”
Beregond shook his head. “No, sire, not for some time. He was in the thick of the fight when I last saw him, but was holding his own. A group of Haradrim attacked me, I was forced to defend myself, and I lost sight of him. I am looking for him now, sire.”
A sudden feeling of dread came over the King, but he simply replied, “I will come with you.”
Beregond urged his horse towards the far side of the field that bordered woodland. Aragorn followed, his keen eyes scouring the field for any trace of his Steward and friend. With each moment that passed, his anxiety increased. Was Faramir badly wounded or worse?
Suddenly a horseman approached them at a gallop. He reined in his mount once he caught sight of the King. “My lord!” he cried. “I have just come across an injured riderless horse. I know the beast well. It belongs to Lord Faramir!”
“Damrod!” Aragorn cried now that he could see the rider’s face. “Quickly, show me where!”
“Over here, sire!” Damrod turned his mount around and headed back in the direction whence he had come. Ithilien was heavily wooded and the battle had been fought in a cleared area, which was now used for sheep rearing. The shepherds had fled with their flocks into the surrounding woodlands, which was where Damrod was now heading.
Too Long a Sacrifice
Rating: T, for adult themes and mild violence and battle scenes.
Disclaimer: These characters (apart from my original characters) all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
Which way shall I fly
Infinite wrath and infinite despair?
Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;
And in the lowest deep a lower deep,
Still threat'ning to devour me, opens wide,
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven. – Milton – Paradise Lost
Faramir was awakened by the cart juddering to a halt. He had been lost in dark dreams of his father lighting a pyre on which he was lying. Denethor had cried out, "Sauron, take the son that is left to me as a gift!"
He could hear his captors talking about unharnessing the horses. Faramir realised they had reached their destination. The reality was even worse than the nightmare from which he had awakened. This time there could be no last minute reprieve from the flames.
A few moments later, some men whom he had not seen before, started unloading the logs from the cart. Faramir shuddered. They were building his pyre!
A few moments later, Fikri and Zafir dragged him out of the cart and laid him on the grass beside it. Faramir blinked in the bright sunlight. A grim sight met his eyes. A group of about twenty men were gathered. Most of them appeared to be Haradrim, but one or two had paler skin and grey eyes. Faramir assumed these were Black Númenoreans from Umbar.
A rough cart track formed a part of the long border between Ithilien and Mordor. On the Mordor side of the border, several of the men were occupied piling up logs on a makeshift stone altar. One pale- skinned man stood apart from the rest. He wore flowing robes of black and scarlet embroidered with images of a gigantic eye. He caught sight of Faramir and strode over to where he was lying. He stared at the Steward for some time with cold grey eyes devoid of any expression. At last, he addressed Zafir. "So this is the tark who caused our glorious lord's defeat?"
Zafir bowed low. "Yes, master. He is the son of Denethor, snatched from the flames by the cursed white wizard."
"He shall not escape this time. Our glorious lord will be reborn in splendour from the flames in which this tark burns. A pity he is so scrawny, the fat ones burn better, but he will have to do. Mark him with the sign of the Lord of Gifts." He turned away again and called out more instructions to his followers.
"You heard the high priest, do as he says!" Zafir told Fikri. "Do not incur his wrath."
The boy knelt beside Faramir. One of the others handed him a brush and a jar of blood coloured liquid, with which he began to paint on Faramir's forehead. It burned like fire. The Steward said not a word, but his eyes searched out Fikri's. The boy faltered slightly in his task.
"Hurry up, boy!" Zafir snapped impatiently.
"I'm sorry," Fikri muttered. He tore open Faramir's shirt and daubed more of the substance across Faramir's chest. The burning was worse than ever against the more tender skin. Faramir glanced downwards and shuddered to see that the symbol of the eye now adorned his skin together with runes, the meaning of which he could only guess.
The pyre was now complete and one of the Haradrim poured oil from a jar over the wood.
"Place the sacrifice upon the altar," ordered the high priest.
"Shouldn't we knock him out first?" asked Fikri.
"Foolish boy! Do you wish to join him!" snapped the high priest. "The louder the tark screams, the more powerful the magic! His cries will be as music to the ears of the lord of Gifts."
Fikri looked decidedly queasy but made no further protest. Together with Zafir and two of the other men, they picked up Faramir and lifted him on to the pyre. They then piled more logs around him to enclose him like a cage.
The Steward vainly tried to struggle, but his bonds and the grip of his captors rendered his struggles futile. He could not even roll off the pyre to attempt to break his bonds or even try to stun himself into a merciful oblivion He could only watch as the followers of Sauron gathered around him in a circle. A small fire had been kindled. One of the men took up a torch and stood waiting to kindle the pyre.
The high priest raised his arms and intoned. "Lord of Gifts, mighty ruler, Lord of Arda, hear us and harken unto us! We offer you this sacrifice, the tark that rightfully is yours that you might return to us and rule resplendent for eternity!"
"So be it!" cried the others. "Let it be!"
Faramir's stomach churned violently. He was about to die in the most horrible manner, sacrificed to a false god. "Valar, give me courage!" he muttered, more to himself than in any hope of his prayer being answered. He doubted he would be able to bite back his cries of agony for long, cries that would delight his captors. He could only hope that Éowyn and his little ones never learned of the manner of his death. He had wanted to grow old with her and see his children grow and thrive. He had wanted to help rebuild Gondor at the side of the man he had come to love and admire so much. Alas, his dreams were in ashes. He could not even bid his loved ones farewell and tell them how much he loved them one last time. Faramir laughed bitterly at the choice of word. All he could hope for now was that his death would not take too long.
The high priest began to chant in the Black Speech of Mordor. His followers took up the chant. When it reached a crescendo, the man holding the now lighted torch approached the pyre.
Faramir closed his eyes and prayed for a speedy death.
A great grey horse, instantly recognisable as Faramir’s, was pacing beneath the trees in an agitated fashion. Its fine coat was covered in blood. Of its rider, there was no trace.
“Wait here with Roheryn,” Aragorn told Damrod. He slid from his great war stallion’s back and crept towards the injured horse with the stealth that only a former Ranger could possess. Lunging towards the beast, he grabbed the dangling reins. The horse reared up, neighing frantically. Aragorn hung on grimly, speaking soft words until the horse quieted.
“What happened, Fain? Where is your master?” Aragorn said more to himself than to the horse. He could see now that the steed had a deep and ugly wound on his hindquarters. Faramir must have been unhorsed when Fain reared in pain from the wound. Aragorn studied the injury carefully; it puzzled him. Sadly, injured horses were all too common a sight upon the battlefield, but their wounds were usually to their heads and necks. And where was Faramir? There were dead Haradrim in plenty scattered around, but he had seen no man either living or dead in Faramir’s armour and distinctive gear.
Crouching to the ground, he looked around him carefully. Faramir’s great sword lay trampled into the ground. Aragorn picked it up. There were hoof and footprints a- plenty in the mud, but only one set of horseshoes with the pattern used by Faramir’s smith. He followed the hoof prints. To begin with, they were random and blood dotted the ground between them, obviously made after Fain was wounded. Aragorn followed the trail to the edge of the copse. There were two especially deep marks here and a pool of blood. This must have been where Fain was injured and reared up, taking all his weight on his two back hooves. There was also an indentation in the ground where his rider had fallen and many more prints from men and horses. The King rose to his feet and called Damrod over. “Look,” he said. “It seems that Lord Faramir fell from his horse here and was surrounded by Haradrim who bore him away!”
He turned to Beregond who had now caught up with them. “Ride with all haste to gather reinforcements,” he told the Captain. “Lord Faramir has been captured. Damrod and I will track his captors and leave clear signs for you to follow. Also, send a message, together with Lord Faramir’s sword, to Lady Éowyn and tell her what has happened. Tell her to remain in the city with her children. Ithilien might not be safe at present.”
Beregond blanched at the tidings as he took the sword from the King’s hand. “Should you not wait and gather more men, sire?” he suggested.
“Two may follow tracks more easily than twenty,” said Aragorn. “Every moment we delay puts Lord Faramir in greater jeopardy.”
Beregond did not look entirely convinced but simply replied, “At once, sire,” and galloped away.
Aragorn swung himself back into Roheryn’s saddle and set off in the direction of the tracks he had found. “Keep a look out,” he ordered Damrod. “I hope you have not forgotten your old ranger skills.”
The two former Rangers painstakingly followed the tracks along a woodland trail, Aragorn frequently dismounting and studying any signs that his keen eyes perceived. He deduced that Faramir had been dragged a short distance to a large clearing, where a group of men and horses had been waiting and put on to a horse there.
“I know this area well, sire,” said Damrod. “We are not far from a little used road. During the war, the Haradrim would sometimes wait to ambush us near it. Maybe they plan to take Lord Faramir to Harad?”
“Maybe,” said Aragorn. “Their Kha Khan, Janab, has signed a treaty with Gondor, though. He would not look kindly on any of his subjects waging war upon us, much less kidnapping Gondor’s Steward! These men we are fighting against are rebels against their own leader as much as against us.”
“But surely they have taken Lord Faramir that they might redeem him for ransom?” said Damrod.
“I do not know,” Aragorn said grimly. “I do know, though, that we must get him back with all haste.”
The two did not speak again until they reached the road. Aragorn dismounted and examined the tracks. There were wheel marks, which had left deep indentations, suggesting a cart had been left there for some time, and other marks that suggested that someone, or something, heavy had been dragged towards the cart. The two men followed the tracks until they came to a crossroads.
“Look,” said Damrod. “I can see hoof prints clearly here and the horses are heading south towards Harad.”
“The cart tracks are heading east towards Mordor,” said Aragorn. “It seems that the riders parted company with the cart.”
“Why go towards Mordor?” asked Damrod. “There is nothing there save rocks and ash, or so I have been told. Which tracks do we follow, sire?”
“Why indeed?” Aragorn replied grimly. “I like this not at all. We will follow the cart tracks as the signs tell me clearly that they placed Lord Faramir within the cart. If he were on horseback, he would surely have tried to escape or left some token for us. Come, Damrod, we ride East.”
A/n This story began life for the 100th Teitho Challenge "Capture" where it was placed equal second.I have since extended and revised the story.
Too Long a Sacrifice
Rating: T, for adult themes and mild violence and battle scenes.
Disclaimer: These characters( apart from my original characters) all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
"An offering by fire unto the LORD, a burnt offering" – The Bible – Numbers;15.3
Bound and gagged, Faramir was tossed around the covered cart like a sack of grain as it travelled along the rough road. Every bone in his body ached from his rough treatment at the hands of his captors and his mouth felt drier than parchment. The air inside the cart felt hot and oppressive and it was difficult to breathe through the gag. His armour had been removed and was tossed in a heap a few feet away, leaving him clad only in his shirt and breeches.
Worst, though was the humiliation of being captured thus, drawn into an ambush and carried off from the battlefield while his men were distracted. He flinched at the memory of poor Fain's cry of agony. Did his noble steed still live? Fain had been a Yuletide gift from Éomer, but a few short months before. He was the finest horse the Steward had ever ridden. The panicked horse had reared and thrown Faramir. Before he could remount, he had been hit on the head from behind and the next thing he recalled was waking up in this cart, trussed up like a chicken for market.
Cautiously, Faramir opened his eyes and examined his surroundings. The cart was full of logs, upon which two Southron warriors were sitting, watching him like vultures observing their prey. One was obviously a veteran of many battles; he bore a livid scar down one cheek and was missing an eye, while the other was little more than a boy: his nut- brown skin unmarked and the contours of his beardless face still rounded. Both bore the emblems of the serpent and the lidless eye upon their scarlet robes.
Faramir tried to calm his pounding heart. They were men who had abducted him, not Orcs. No doubt they planned to hold him to ransom; a ransom that the King would gladly pay. These men were rebels against the rule of the Kha Khan. His men would free Gondor's Steward once they knew of his whereabouts. His captors must be lunatics to risk the wrath of both Aragorn and the Kha Khan. It was not a comforting thought that he had been captured by madmen. What did they want with him? Was it as simple as gold?
A cloud of dust blew through a gap in the side of the wagon into the confined space. Faramir started to cough. He could not clear his throat properly, though, because of the gag and started to choke. He started to flail around like a fish out of water as panic seized him.
The youth looked at him with startled brown eyes then got up and removed the gag. Faramir coughed and spluttered before thankfully breathing in lungfuls of air.
"You young fool!" the older man said to the boy with a curse. "We are still within Gondor's borders. What if he cries out?" He drew his dagger and waved it in front of Faramir's face. "Call for help, tark, and you die!" he said in heavily accented Weston.
Faramir nodded. He was still coughing too much to speak.
"I thought he would choke," said the boy in his own tongue.
"I doubt it, but we need him alive if the sacrifice is to succeed," said the older man.
Faramir started in horror. He was to be a sacrifice? He tried to maintain his composure. These men had no idea he could understand their language, albeit with some difficulty. It was a quite different dialect than the elegant tongue used by ambassador Tahir. Maybe that knowledge would help him.
"Why have you captured me?" Faramir asked, or rather croaked, once his coughing had finally subsided.
"We need you as a sacrifice to the Lord of Gifts, tark," said the older man. He smiled for the first time.
"His spirit was carried away on the winds, he is no more in Arda," Faramir croaked in reply.
The young man stared at Faramir again then fumbled at his belt and produced a water bottle, which he uncorked and held to Faramir's lips. The water was stale, but tasted like nectar to the parched Steward.
The older man glared at this gesture of mercy before saying. "The Lord of Gifts was only vanquished because the sacrifice, which would have given him measureless might, was not completed, thanks to the accursed wizard's meddling. Your father, tark, was obedient, for it is written in our lore that the Lord of Gifts will reign supreme when a father of high lineage offers himself and his son to him."
"My father was no worshipper of Sauron!" Faramir retorted. "He chose the pyre so that the Orcs could not give him a worse death!"
The scarred warrior struck Faramir across the face. "Silence, tark! Did they not tell you that your father followed the sacrificial ritual that the Lord of Gifts used on the Star Island?"
Faramir did not reply. It was useless to argue with a madman. He tried to look defiant as he licked the blood from his lips.
Time passed slowly, yet at the same time too quickly. The cart rumbled onwards towards its destination. Faramir kept his eyes closed, pretending to sleep, partly because of a pounding headache and partly in the hope that he might avoid further abuse from his captors. When they finally stopped, the scarred man called to the driver asking him why.
"It grows too dark to see the road and the horses can go no further," the driver called.
"Very well, but we resume our journey at first light," said the scarred man. "We shall spend the night here in the wagon." He prodded Faramir with his foot. "Wake up, tark!" he snarled in the common tongue, before addressing the younger man in his own language. "You had best take the tark in the wood to relieve himself. We don't want him to stink. He should be kept clean for the sacrifice. Don't let him escape, these tarks are cunning rats."
The two men half dragged, half carried Faramir from the cart, adding to his bruises in the process. The older man then loosened the Steward's bonds sufficiently for him to move his hands and to place one foot in front of the other. They dragged him to his feet. Faramir could hardly stand while the sudden rush of blood as proper circulation was restored to his limbs was excruciating. He gulped in great lungfuls of fresh air.
Faramir looked around him to distract himself from the pain. They were still in Ithilien. He recognised the forest of great trees that his forebears had planted long ago. He had assumed his captors were taking him to Harad, but this way led into Mordor. It seemed that they were planning to sacrifice him in Sauron's former realm. Aragorn had garrisoned what was left of the Black Gate, but Ithilien shared miles of border with Sauron's former realm, which it had not seemed either needful or practical to patrol.
The young man urged him forward into the trees and allowed him a little privacy behind a huge pine. Faramir toyed with the idea of using this brief moment of solitude to attempt to escape. He could hardly walk, though, impeded as he was by his bonds and stiff limbs.
"You are highly honoured, tark," said the young man as he grabbed Faramir's arm to usher him back to the wagon.
"Honoured?" Faramir could not help but sound bitter.
"You will be forever remembered as the great sacrifice that recalled the Lord of Gifts to life," the young man said, in the kind of tone used to comfort a child.
"How can you be so certain?"
"The Lord of Gift's high priest has pronounced it so."
"What gifts did he bestow on you?"
"My prowess as a warrior and my very life."
"It is the One who gives life," said Faramir. "The Lord of Gifts no more created you than Mithrandir created me. What is your name, boy?"
"I am called Fikri," said the young man. "You lie, tark. The Lord of Gifts gave us everything."
"My name is Faramir," said the Steward. "You could have even more if you accepted peace. Most of your folk have done so already. How many are attending this 'sacrifice'?"
Fikri's boyish face hardened. "We do not surrender to tarks. Our comrades in arms and the elders of the faithful will all come to witness the rising of the Lord of Gifts. Do not think that you can escape! "
They had reached the bend in the road where the wagon was parked. "Kneel!" Fikri ordered. "I must tighten your bonds again before Lord Zafir returns."
By the time the older warrior reappeared from amongst the trees from the opposite direction to where Faramir had been taken, the Steward was again securely trussed up, though his bonds did not cut as tightly into his flesh as they did before.
Faramir was dragged back inside the wagon. His captors pulled food from their packs and ate, but they did not offer him a single bite nor a further swallow of water from their skins. When darkness fell, they wrapped themselves in their cloaks and slept. Faramir was left with his thoughts. They were far from comforting. Ever since his father had tried to burn him alive, Faramir had especially feared death by fire. He had been mercifully unconscious at the time, but for a long time afterwards, he had been haunted by nightmares filled with the stench of smoke and burning flesh. A horrible, slow, and painful death. He often wondered just how much his father had suffered. To think that he had been spared once from death by fire, only to meet the same fate years later! Faramir was no coward, but he was terrified. His stomach churned and his heart thumped at the very thought. He shivered and not only from the chill night air.
He did not want to die yet. He was not ready to leave Éowyn or his children, nor the King he loved and served. He would gladly have given his life to defend those he loved or his beloved land, but to be sacrificed to a false god was a cruel fate indeed!
Then what of his father? Despite his defiant words, the Steward was troubled by his captors' certainty that Denethor had offered himself as a sacrifice to the Dark Lord. Denethor had hated Sauron and all he stood for, but what if in his madness, he had turned to his old adversary. Would his soul ever find rest if he had?
The Steward shifted restlessly wishing that every bone and muscle in his body did not ache so. He needed to escape, but how? He was tightly bound and had no weapon. If only he could have left some sign for Aragorn to follow! It was futile to hope for rescue, though. It would be some time before anyone noticed he was missing in the heat of battle, and Aragorn and Beregond would first scour the field for his body. Then they would no doubt assume he had been carried off to Harad for ransom and send pursuers in the wrong direction. With that far from comforting thought, Faramir finally drifted into an uneasy slumber.
000
Aragorn reined Roheryn to a halt. "We will rest here by this stream for a few hours," he told Damrod. "Loth though I am to stop, the horses can go no further and we cannot see the trail in the darkness."
"Shall I make a fire, sire?" Damrod asked. He slid from his horse and patted the sweating animal.
"Yes, our quarry is still way ahead," said Aragorn. "I had hoped we would have caught up with them ere nightfall."
"Maybe our reinforcements will arrive in the morning," said Damrod as the two men tended to their horses.
"It takes time to gather men and supplies," said Aragorn. "Faramir's best hope of rescue lies with us." He patted Roheryn and left the great stallion to graze.
"What do you think his captors want with Lord Faramir?" asked Damrod.
"I can think of several things, none of them pleasant," Aragorn replied grimly.
Damrod soon had a cheerful fire blazing. The two former Rangers ate a meagre supper of dried biscuit washed down with water. They then wrapped themselves in their cloaks and settled down for the night.
Damrod almost immediately fell asleep, but rest was slow to come to Aragorn. He lay looking up at the stars. Could Faramir still see those same stars? Did he yet live? Aragorn shuddered then chided himself. Surely he would sense it if his friend were dead. How were his captors treating him, though? Was Faramir being put to torment? Aragorn could not bear to dwell on the thought. Inwardly he vowed to save his friend and Steward whatever the cost. With that thought, he slept.
Too Long a Sacrifice
Rating: T, for adult themes and mild violence and battle scenes.
Disclaimer: These characters (apart from my original characters) all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
Which way shall I fly
Infinite wrath and infinite despair?
Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;
And in the lowest deep a lower deep,
Still threat’ning to devour me, opens wide,
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven. – Milton – Paradise Lost
Faramir was awakened by the cart juddering to a halt. He had been lost in dark dreams of his father lighting a pyre on which he was lying. Denethor had cried out, “Sauron, take the son that is left to me as a gift!”
He could hear his captors talking about unharnessing the horses. Faramir realised they had reached their destination. The reality was even worse than the nightmare from which he had awakened. This time there could be no last minute reprieve from the flames.
A few moments later, some men whom he had not seen before, started unloading the logs from the cart. Faramir shuddered. They were building his pyre!
A few moments later, Fikri and Zafir dragged him out of the cart and laid him on the grass beside it. Faramir blinked in the bright sunlight. A grim sight met his eyes. A group of about twenty men were gathered. Most of them appeared to be Haradrim, but one or two had paler skin and grey eyes. Faramir assumed these were Black Númenoreans from Umbar.
A rough cart track formed a part of the long border between Ithilien and Mordor. On the Mordor side of the border, several of the men were occupied piling up logs on a makeshift stone altar. One pale- skinned man stood apart from the rest. He wore flowing robes of black and scarlet embroidered with images of a gigantic eye. He caught sight of Faramir and strode over to where he was lying. He stared at the Steward for some time with cold grey eyes devoid of any expression. At last, he addressed Zafir. “So this is the tark who caused our glorious lord’s defeat?”
Zafir bowed low. “Yes, master. He is the son of Denethor, snatched from the flames by the cursed white wizard.”
“He shall not escape this time. Our glorious lord will be reborn in splendour from the flames in which this tark burns. A pity he is so scrawny, the fat ones burn better, but he will have to do. Mark him with the sign of the Lord of Gifts.” He turned away again and called out more instructions to his followers.
“You heard the high priest, do as he says!” Zafir told Fikri. “Do not incur his wrath.”
The boy knelt beside Faramir. One of the others handed him a brush and a jar of blood coloured liquid, with which he began to paint on Faramir’s forehead. It burned like fire. The Steward said not a word, but his eyes searched out Fikri’s. The boy faltered slightly in his task.
“Hurry up, boy!” Zafir snapped impatiently.
“I’m sorry,” Fikri muttered. He tore open Faramir’s shirt and daubed more of the substance across Faramir’s chest. The burning was worse than ever against the more tender skin. Faramir glanced downwards and shuddered to see that the symbol of the eye now adorned his skin together with runes, the meaning of which he could only guess.
The pyre was now complete and one of the Haradrim poured oil from a jar over the wood.
“Place the sacrifice upon the altar,” ordered the high priest.
“Shouldn’t we knock him out first?” asked Fikri.
“Foolish boy! Do you wish to join him!” snapped the high priest. “The louder the tark screams, the more powerful the magic! His cries will be as music to the ears of the lord of Gifts.”
Fikri looked decidedly queasy but made no further protest. Together with Zafir and two of the other men, they picked up Faramir and lifted him on to the pyre. They then piled more logs around him to enclose him like a cage.
The Steward vainly tried to struggle, but his bonds and the grip of his captors rendered his struggles futile. He could not even roll off the pyre to attempt to break his bonds or even try to stun himself into a merciful oblivion He could only watch as the followers of Sauron gathered around him in a circle. A small fire had been kindled. One of the men took up a torch and stood waiting to kindle the pyre.
The high priest raised his arms and intoned. “Lord of Gifts, mighty ruler, Lord of Arda, hear us and harken unto us! We offer you this sacrifice, the tark that rightfully is yours that you might return to us and rule resplendent for eternity!”
“So be it!” cried the others. “Let it be!”
Faramir’s stomach churned violently. He was about to die in the most horrible manner, sacrificed to a false god. “Valar, give me courage!” he muttered, more to himself than in any hope of his prayer being answered. He doubted he would be able to bite back his cries of agony for long, cries that would delight his captors. He could only hope that Éowyn and his little ones never learned of the manner of his death. He had wanted to grow old with her and see his children grow and thrive. He had wanted to help rebuild Gondor at the side of the man he had come to love and admire so much. Alas, his dreams were in ashes. He could not even bid his loved ones farewell and tell them how much he loved them one last time. Faramir laughed bitterly at the choice of word. All he could hope for now was that his death would not take too long.
The high priest began to chant in the Black Speech of Mordor. His followers took up the chant. When it reached a crescendo, the man holding the now lighted torch approached the pyre.
Faramir closed his eyes and prayed for a speedy death.
Too Long a Sacrifice
Rating: T, for adult themes and mild violence and battle scenes.
Disclaimer: These characters (apart from my original characters) all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
O loving wisdom of our God!
When all was sin and shame,
A second Adam to the fight
And to the rescue came - John H. Newman
A loud cry rang out followed by a thud. Faramir opened his eyes again and saw that the torchbearer was lying face down upon the ground; an arrow with Gondorian fletching protruding from his back. The torch was entangled with his robes, which were now burning. Fortunately, the man was still some distance from the oil soaked pyre.
Faramir's captors were thrown into confusion, looking wildly around them to see from whence the arrow had come.
"We are under attack!" cried the high priest. These proved to be his final words. Another arrow whizzed through the air and struck him through the heart. A man brandishing a sword, then raced out from behind a rocky outcrop. It was Aragorn.
Faramir regarded him with a mixture of joy and horror. His lord had come to his aid! The King was heavily outnumbered, though. The Steward yearned to live, but not at the cost of Aragorn's life.
A dozen or so Southron warriors rushed towards the King, scimitars in their hands. Aragorn cut and slashed with Andúril, but he was surrounded. As soon as he felled one, another took his place. Arrows started to fly, picking the warriors off before they could approach the King. Faramir took heart; knowing his King had not come alone. Maybe he would not die trying to save him.
Another group of warriors raced towards the rocks from whence the arrows were flying, trying to stop the archer.
Fikri, who had been standing at one side, suddenly ran towards Faramir and clambered up the pyre, knocking aside the logs that surrounded the Steward. Faramir's heart soared. Then Fikri drew his dagger. The Steward groaned inwardly.
To be so close to rescue only to have hope snatched from him again! The archer was preoccupied in defending Aragorn and could not help him. This boy was after all an acolyte of the Dark Lord. It was futile to expect help from him. Fikri's blade flashed, but instead of cutting into Faramir's flesh, it cut through the ropes that bound him. Before Faramir could thank Fikri, an arrow flew through the air and hit the boy. He fell forward with a sickening thud as he hit his head against the stone altar.
Faramir slowly and painfully sat up, his head reeling at this sudden turn of events. He was saved from the fire! Fikri had aided him, but the unknown archer had concluded that the blade in his hand was for some sinister purpose. Now the boy was most likely dead for showing mercy. The Steward's heart ached. He tried to see if Fikri was still breathing or not, but before he was able to, Aragorn cut down the last of his assailants and ran towards him.
Aragorn snatched him from the altar and half dragged, half carried him back towards the track that marked the border between Mordor and Ithilien. The surviving Haradrim gave pursuit, but the archer kept them at bay with a constant volley of arrows.
"You risked your life to come for me, ada," said Faramir as soon as he could draw breath for speech.
"Only just in time," Aragorn replied grimly. "Are you much hurt, ion nîn? Would that we could have found you sooner!"
"I am stiff and have a few bruises," Faramir replied. "Nothing worse."
"The horses are waiting in the woods," said Aragorn. "Damrod will cover our retreat. Those archery lessons you gave him were put to good use. He was telling me that you spent hours improving his proficiency with the bow."
"Maybe I taught him too well," Faramir said sadly. By now, they had reached the clearing where the horses were tethered.
"How so?" asked Aragorn. He helped Faramir mount Roheryn before leaping astride the horse himself.
"One of my captors cut my bonds, but Damrod thought he was attacking me and shot him," said Faramir. "He is most likely slain."
"We dare not go back," said Aragorn. "The Haradrim are still pursuing us."
"I know." Faramir's tone was both sad and resigned. He slumped against Aragorn as the pain shot through his limbs with the returning circulation.
Aragorn urged Roheryn forward and the great horse sped on his way. Soon afterwards, they were joined by Damrod. His quiver was empty. "There are still some of them alive," he said. "We should be able to outpace them as our horses are swifter."
"Let us leave Mordor far behind us!" said Aragorn.
They rode onwards until the sun was almost overhead, visible through the leafy canopy of Ithilien woodland. Every muscle in Faramir's body ached, but he spoke no word of complaint. Suddenly they heard the sound of approaching hoof beats, as if a large company were coming towards them. Aragorn gestured that they take cover amongst the trees. To their great relief, once the men came into sight they could see that the riders wore the uniform of Gondor. Beregond was at their head.
"Well met, my friend!" Aragorn emerged from cover to greet the Captain. Faramir straightened up in the saddle.
"Valar be praised, sire!" cried Beregond. "You have Lord Faramir safe!"
Aragorn swiftly recounted all that had happened then asked Beregond to divide his men into two troops; one headed by the Captain to pursue any remaining Haradrim and the other to accompany them to Emyn Arnen.
"Beregond!" Faramir called as the Captain prepared to ride away.
"Yes, my lord?"
"There was one amongst the Haradrim who was little more than a boy. Grant him a decent burial if you find his body."
"I will, sir. What if he yet lives?"
"It is most unlikely, but have the healer treat his wounds if he still draws breath. And take care, my friend, these Haradrim are a savage bunch, dedicated to the worship of Sauron. "
Beregond nodded and spurred his horse forward.
The others continued their journey to Emyn Arnen without further incident.
00000
"You have been fortunate, mellon nîn," said Aragorn as he finished examining Faramir's injuries in the privacy of the Steward's bedchamber. "I fear you will ache for a while, but your bruises and sore muscles will soon heal. I will apply a salve to help the hurts heal and mix you a draught for the pain."
"What of these fiendish markings?" Faramir gestured to the mark of the eye standing out scarlet against the skin of his forehead and chest.
"Whatever dye was used burnt the top layer of your skin off," said Aragorn. "It should heal without scarring, though. I will bandage the wounds so you do not have to look upon them."
"I would not have my lady and my little ones distressed by the mark of Sauron when they return," said Faramir. "I would rather tell Éowyn first than have her walk in and behold me thus."
"She is strong and possesses the heart of a warrior, does your lady," said Aragorn. "All that will matter to her is that you are home, safe and almost unscathed. Now lie still, while I apply these healing salves."
The two lapsed into companionable silence. Faramir lay back against his pillows, thankful beyond measure to be back in his own bed. He closed his eyes and tried to drowse, but harrowing visions of his father and himself engulfed in flames whirled around in his mind.
"What troubles you, ion nîn?" asked Aragorn. "You are tense as a drawn bow string." He paused in applying a comfrey salve to Faramir's bruised ribs.
"My captors told me that my father intended both himself and me as a sacrifice for Sauron," said Faramir. "I cannot believe such a thing and yet…."
"Your father hated Sauron and all that he stood for," Aragorn said firmly. "His mind was twisted at the end, but it was fear of Sauron and what he and his minions would do that influenced his actions. So Gandalf told me and his words are to be trusted."
"Yet I am told that he desired to burn like the heathen kings of old," said Faramir.
"He meant only in the manner of his death," Aragorn replied. "He feared bowing to me almost as much as bowing to Sauron."
"What greater honour could there be than to return the White Rod to the King returned?" Faramir exclaimed.
Aragorn laughed bitterly. "I believe the Valar destined that honour for you, Faramir. To your father it seemed as ignominious as falling captive to some tyrant!"
"Never did a captive have more freedom!" said Faramir and smiled. His eyes soon became grave again, though. "My heart grieves for that boy who fell trying to help me. I put no blame on Damrod, though. He believed the lad was trying to kill me."
"Do not trouble yourself overmuch," said Aragorn. "The lad was a devoted follower of Sauron, as much a thorn in the side of the Kha Khan as in ours. It was he who placed these fiendish markings upon you." He lightly touched the bandage on Faramir's forehead as he spoke.
"I believe he knew no other way of life. He did say he was sorry and tried in his own way to be kind." A sudden thought struck Faramir. "You were there when they prepared me for the fire?"
"I was, and gaining more grey hairs by the moment. Damrod and I had to wait until your captors were distracted before we could rescue you, outnumbered as we were." Aragorn replied.
"You risked much for me," said Faramir. "Thank you."
"I would not be without you, ion nîn," said Aragorn. "Neither would I face the wrath of your lady should I return without you! Now drink this herbal tea I have prepared and try to sleep."
"I am weary," said Faramir. "I only hope I can sleep without dark dreams."
"I shall stay with you," said Aragorn. "I will rouse you if you are troubled by dreams." Now drink this." He handed Faramir a cup.
"You need rest too," Faramir protested.
"And I will get some," said the King. "Do not forget that during my years in the wilds, I learned to sleep with one ear open. I will give you an Elven treatment while the herbs take effect." Thus saying, he began to lightly massage Faramir's neck and shoulders with his fingertips until the younger man relaxed beneath his touch. He did not stop until Faramir was sleeping as soundly as a contented cat.
Aragorn settled himself beside the younger man, wondering how long this restful slumber could last.
Too Long a Sacrifice
Rating: T, for adult themes and mild violence and battle scenes.
Disclaimer: These characters (apart from my original characters) all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come – Shakespeare- Hamlet
Faramir suddenly cried out in his sleep while his limbs began to flail wildly.
"Awake! Come, ion nîn, wake up!" Aragorn cried. On getting no response, he lit a candle and then shook his friend awake, reaching swiftly to grasp Faramir's hands before he could lash out.
The Steward's eyes flickered open. They were wide with terror and he was trembling.
"Easy now," Aragorn soothed. "T'was but an evil dream." He placed his arm around Faramir's shoulders and held him as he so often held Eldarion after some nocturnal terror had disturbed his slumbers. In the candlelight, Faramir looked paler even than the bandage wrapped around his head.
"What darkness troubles your sleep?" Aragorn prompted, his own mind sensing the turmoil of the younger man's thoughts. "Were your dreams about the fire?"
Faramir nodded. "I dreamed that I was in Númenor of old and the White Tree had just been chopped down to make a great pyre, save it was our own fair tree. The priests, together with my father, were about to offer a most dread sacrifice .To think of it turns my blood cold!"
"They were about to sacrifice you?"
"Far worse than that!" Faramir shuddered violently. "They had you bound upon the pyre, together with Éowyn and my little ones. The boy, Fikri, was already burning and he cursed me for his fate. Then the logs around you, my sweet lady, and my little ones caught alight. I was begging them to burn me instead. Then you woke me, Valar be praised, but I can still see the terrible sight in my mind's eye."
"I am here beside you," said Aragorn. "Éowyn and your children are with Arwen in the City guarded by my best men. No one can harm them, they are safe and well."
"The boy lies rotting in the ground, though; that is, if Beregond was even able to give the poor child a decent burial. I fear he will trouble my dreams for a long time."
"It was not your fault what happened, ion nîn. Sadly, we cannot save every young fool from their folly and that of their elders."
"Born into a family of Sauron worshipping fanatics, the poor lad never stood a chance," Faramir said sadly. "I had hoped the destruction of the Dark Lord's power would have meant no more lives destroyed on his account."
"Sadly, human folly was not destroyed with the One Ring," said Aragorn. "Now let me call for some hot water and I will make some tea."
"Thank you."
Aragorn pulled on a robe over his sleeping attire and called for a servant to bring a jug of hot water. He poured some into a bowl, into which he crumbled two athelas leaves. At once, a living freshness filled the room, banishing all traces of any phantoms that dark dreams might leave behind. He set the steaming mixture down on the bedside table. Faramir breathed it deeply. Aragorn busied himself mixing a mug of herbal tea for his friend to which he added a few drops of poppy juice.
"I feel so foolish!" Faramir said after a few moments. "You should be resting not caring for me!"
"Many men would be driven to madness after what you have endured," said Aragorn. "That you are sane and whole speaks much for your strength. Better that you should have the nightmares now while I have athelas at hand to cleanse the demons from your mind. Now drink this, it will help you pass the rest of the night peacefully. I shall not leave your side."
"Thank you. It grieves me to cause you so much trouble."
"Think nothing of it," Aragorn soothingly patted his friend's shoulder.
Faramir slowly sipped the mixture and soon his eyelids grew heavy. He soon drifted into to sleep, his head resting against Aragorn's shoulder.
Aragorn remained wakeful for a little while longer, watching over the son of his heart. He too took deep breaths of the refreshing athelas vapours. They were balm to his soul after the horrors of the day.
As Aragorn had hoped, the draught proved effective and Faramir was still sleeping deeply when the King awoke the next morning. The remainder of the night passed peacefully. He was just debating whether to order breakfast to be sent to him when a servant entered.
"Captain Beregond is here, sire," said the man. "He has an injured Southron with him, though the fellow looks more dead than alive. The captain awaits your orders."
"Have Captain Beregond and the prisoner taken to one of the guest chambers," Aragorn commanded. "I will join him in a few moments."
With a heavy heart, the King went to collect his healing supplies, all the while wondering why ever Beregond had brought the prisoner here. Faramir's would-be murderers were miscreants of the worst sort who deserved the heaviest penalties that the law allowed. Death on the battlefield was the best they could have hoped for, once their plot was discovered. Now Faramir would face the added ordeal of giving evidence at this fellow's trial, should he survive his wounds.
The Haradrim were also by far the hardest captives to treat. Warriors wounded in battle preferred to fall on their own swords rather than be taken captive and would often try to harm themselves or refuse to eat while recovering from wounds. The healers usually dealt with them by leaving them alone with tempting food until their desire for it overcame their death wish. Those that did recover, seldom went home, though, as they were considered outcasts amongst the warrior tribes for allowing themselves to be captured. They generally made a new life for themselves amongst the more pragmatic merchants. Not that this prisoner would be going anywhere save the gallows if he lived, Aragorn thought grimly.
The King strode into downstairs chamber where he had directed Beregond and the prisoner be housed. He found Beregond pacing beside the bedside of an unconscious Southron. He was no man, but a beardless boy. One glance at the prisoner was all it took for Aragorn to recognise him as the lad Faramir had been grieving over, the boy who had tried to help him.
"We slew every Sauron worshipper we could find," said Beregond. "Then I noticed someone stir near the altar. I raised my sword to strike the death blow; then I saw it was but a boy and I recalled Lord Faramir's words. He had an arrow in his back, which the healer we had with us removed. By some marvel, it had missed any vital organ. The healer said the boy had a serious head wound too, caused by hitting his head on the altar."
"You did well to bring him here," said Aragorn. He went to the door and called for a servant to bring hot water. "Help me undress the boy and put him to bed," the King told Beregond.
Together, they cut off what remained of the scarlet robes decorated with the emblems of Sauron. Both men eyed them with distaste, and when the servant brought the water, Aragorn ordered him to take the garments and burn them. The boy's skin was little better than his clothes; for in the fashion of the Haradrim warrior tribes, he was covered in ritual gashes and tattoos. Aragorn recognised the Great Eye and other symbols used by Sauron's followers, tattooed on the boy's chest and arms. The ritual gashes were more numerous than the ones Aragorn had seen on Ambassador Tahir's back. The boy also bore the healed scars of wounds that appeared to have been inflicted by a whip.
Beregond gasped at the elaborate markings, but Aragorn ignored them, and concentrated on the boy's wounds. When he had removed the bloodied bandages that covered them he found that the lad had a deep gash on his head, which had bled profusely, but his skull appeared intact. The arrow wound was far worse, the arrowhead having torn the muscles and tendons in the boy's right shoulder and been far from expertly removed. Should the lad live, he would most likely never have the proper use of the arm again.
Aragorn cleaned, salved and bound the injuries then gave the boy a thorough wash. Still unconscious, the lad looked very young and vulnerable. The King took more notice of the tattoos as he bathed him and was surprised that some of the markings appeared to be tattooed on top of earlier ones, a phenomenon he had not noticed before. He was just about to bathe the boy's feet when Faramir came into the room.
The Steward took one look at the boy on the bed and exclaimed, "Fikri! Why did you not tell me that he lived?"
"Beregond brought him but an hour or so ago while you were resting," said Aragorn. "He is very ill. I did not wish to raise your hopes in vain until I had a better idea of whether or not he might live. If he does recover he will be maimed."
"Do all you can for him, please," said Faramir.
"But he is a follower of Sauron who did you great wrong, my lord!" Beregond sounded bewildered. "He even covers his skin with the mark of the Eye!"
"There is good in the boy and he tried to help me," Faramir replied. He walked to the foot of the bed and caught sight of the soles of Fikri's feet. "Those are not marks of the Eye," he exclaimed. "They look like the moon!"
Aragorn looked for himself. "Strange indeed," he remarked. "I thought the Sauron worshippers despised the old religion of the moon and all that it stood for."
"We should send for Ambassador Tahir," said Faramir. " He might be able to explain the markings to us. He ought to know about the activities of the Sauron worshippers as they threaten Kha Khan Janab as well as Gondor." He went over to the writing desk in the corner of the room and scribbled a note to the ambassador. "Beregond, my friend, will you see this message is despatched with all haste," he said. "Then go and take food and rest."
"I will, my lord," said Beregond. He hastened from the room clutching the letter bearing Faramir's seal.
Aragorn finished tending the boy and clothed him in nightshirt. "I have done all I can," he told Faramir.
"Thank you. Will Fikri live?" the Steward asked.
"I do not know, maybe it might be better if he succumbed to his wounds," Aragorn said gravely. "His future is bleak if he recovers."
"I will not let him be harmed!" Faramir said fiercely.
"You should know me better than that, ion nîn," Aragorn replied. "The boy will take no harm from me. He has paid for his crimes with his grievous wounds. But what will become of him? We cannot send him back to Harad where the Kha Khan would have him executed for siding with the rebels, while his former associates would shun him for being captured alive and being unfit to fight again. I would send him to labour in the North, but I could not treat a crippled boy thus. He will be alone and friendless."
"I will provide for him," said Faramir.
"Éowyn would not be happy for a young man who could be a danger to dwell here," said Aragorn.
"Maybe he could live in the City and help me translate trade documents?"
"Could you trust him, though?" asked Aragorn. "He is very young and was no doubt led astray by his elders, but he has been raised from birth to venerate everything we have spent our lives fighting against. Most likely, it was a Sauron devotee such as this boy, who wounded Tahir a few months ago. Will it not anger Tahir if we invite such folk to dwell beside him?"
"Most of our former enemies opposed all we hold dear," Faramir replied. "Tahir is not a vindictive man. He would pity one who is little more than a child."
"I can only trust that Tahir may have wise counsel," said Aragorn. "We must hope that he will arrive before nightfall. You should still be resting after your ordeal, ion nîn."
"I think too much if I lie abed," said Faramir. "You should rest too. You rode hard to rescue me."
"I will rest once I have written a letter to Arwen and broken my fast," said Aragorn. "Have you eaten yet, Faramir?"
The Steward shook his head.
"I will have some breakfast brought," said Aragorn. "I must ask one of the guards to sit with the boy. If he awakens, he could be a danger to himself until he comes to terms with his situation. I will ask them to call me should he wake up."
"I will stay with him," said Faramir. "I will call you when he awakens."
0000
Several hours passed before Fikri's eyes flickered open. He groaned and licked his parched lips. Faramir held a cup of water so that the boy could drink. He then called for the guard at the door to bring Aragorn.
Fikri blinked, looking around him in confusion then groaned again.
"You are safe," said Faramir in the tongue of Harad.
Fikri struggled to sit up and became aware that his robes had been removed and that his sword arm was useless. He let out a high- pitched wail.
"Easy now," said Faramir.
"Kill me now!" cried Fikri. "I am shamed."
"I would not kill a helpless boy," said Faramir. "That is not our way."
"Your vengeance is bitter indeed, tark!" cried Fikri.
Just then, Aragorn strode into the room, Andúril was buckled at his side. Fikri started to scream curses at him. "Misbegotten mongrel tark, may the sun burn your eyes!"
"You will not goad me into killing you," Aragorn said calmly.
Fikri screamed again then was suddenly and violently sick. "It hurts, it hurts!" he cried between retching.
"The pain will grow less," said Faramir. He gestured towards Aragorn. "This healer will help you."
"You speak our tongue, tark!" Fikri cried as his wits became less addled. "You knew what we were saying all the time!"
"I did," Faramir said calmly.
The boy's eyes then rested on Aragorn and sudden recognition dawned in them. "You are no healer but the tark warrior with the bespelled sword!"
"I am both and more," Aragorn replied.
Fikri glared at Aragorn and Faramir as they changed his bedding and nightshirt, but said no further word. Aragorn mixed some poppy juice, which the boy was too thirsty to refuse to swallow. They were both relieved when the drug took effect.
000
It was late afternoon before Tahir arrived. The Ambassador was shown into the study where Faramir was sitting at his desk working.
"It is good of you, to come, my friend." Faramir stood up and embraced the ambassador. He invited Tahir to sit down and quickly narrated the events of the past few days.
"Esteemed friend, how do you fare? It grieves me greatly that you have suffered at the hands of my countrymen. How might this unworthy one amends make?" Tahir was agitated and as a result, his usually flawless Weston suffered.
"I have escaped almost unscathed," Faramir replied. "This bandage is just to cover the mark of the Eye until it heals. I know what happened is neither your fault nor the Kha Khan's. I am writing a detailed report of what happened for you to send to him, but first I would welcome your counsel concerning a wounded boy we have here. I would like you to see the markings on his skin. They are curious for a follower of the Dark Lord."
"I will help gladly, esteemed friend," said Tahir. "I fear I have but a limited knowledge of what evil runes the accursed worshippers of the dark one bear. May they never rest in shade!"
"This boy bears the signs of the moon god and goddess on his feet," said Faramir.
"What?" Tahir looked appalled. "These Sauron worshippers come from the tribe of Suhayb who have turned their backs on our beloved Lord and Lady."
"Come and see for yourself," said Faramir. "Could the boy be a captive? "
Tahir shook his head. "The hatred between the tribes who are true to our Lord and Lady and the sons of Suhayb runs too deep. They have slaughtered many of my kinsmen. They never take captives. Their slaves are folk from their own tribe who have fallen on hard times."
Faramir led Tahir to the guestroom where Fikri lay; Aragorn was dozing on a chair beside him, but was immediately awake and alert once the two men entered.
After Aragorn had greeted the Ambassador, Faramir asked how Fikri was faring.
"He sleeps deeply," said Aragorn. "His body might well heal, though he will most likely lose the use of his sword arm. I am less hopeful, though about his mind."
"Esteemed friend Faramir told me he carried the marking of our Lord and Lady of the moon," said Tahir.
"Indeed. Let me show you." Aragorn pulled aside the blankets that covered Fikri's feet.
Tahir stared at the markings in astonishment. "How can this be?" he exclaimed.
TBC
A/N. Events in this story take place not long after "Wars and Rumours of Wars" and "Brothers of the Tribe."
Too Long a Sacrifice
Rating: T, for adult themes and mild violence and battle scenes.
Disclaimer: These characters (apart from my original characters) all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. - Bible – Luke 15.24
"Let me see the boy's arm, please honoured friend." Tahir's usually calm voice was trembling.
"Very well." Aragorn recovered the boy's feet. He then pulled the blankets aside that covered his upper body, and rolled up the sleeve of the over-large nightshirt Fikri was wearing to expose his uninjured arm.
"This is the mark of my tribe!" cried Tahir. "See, some villain tried to obscure it with the accursed mark of the eye! And look at the boy's skin. It is too dark for him to be a son of Suhayb."
In Aragorn and Faramir's eyes, the Haradrim all shared the same dark olive skin, but as it seemed there were close ties between the Suhayb tribe and the Black Númenóreans, they might well be paler if there had been considerable intermarriage.
Tahir was now staring at Fikri as if he had seen a ghost.
"Are you well, my friend?" asked Faramir. "Come, sit down." He ushered the Ambassador to the chair that Aragorn had just vacated. Meanwhile, the King poured out a glass of water and felt Tahir's pulse. It was racing.
Tahir took a long drink of water, his eyes never leaving Fikri while he drank. Aragorn and Faramir waited patiently for him to speak. "I believe this boy my kinsman to be," he said at last. Then he started to weep.
Faramir placed a comforting arm around the ambassador's shoulders. Aragorn turned his attention back to the still sleeping Fikri, tucking the blankets around him and feeling his brow.
"Your pardon, esteemed friends," said Tahir once he had recovered his composure.
"Do not trouble yourself," said Faramir.
"You know this boy? "asked Aragorn.
"My father, may his soul forever dwell in the celestial oasis, had many concubines as well as many wives," said Tahir. "I have so many brothers and sisters that some I hardly know. One of my father's lesser concubines bore him a daughter, Dima, who was married to Badar, a good man of our tribe once she came of age. They had not been married long when she bore him a son whom they named Fathi. Before our boy children are fully weaned, we dedicate them to the Lord and Lady of the Moon by tattooing the markings on the soles of their feet, together with the sign of our tribe on their arm. It is our custom."
Aragorn and Faramir nodded. They had learned to respect what often seemed very strange customs of other lands.
"I saw the boy but once. It was at the wedding of one of my brothers," Tahir continued. "He was a comely child, well worthy of our tribe. During that time, the Dark Lord's power was at its height and war was looming. My tribe lived in fear of the then Kha Khan who was a son of Suhayb. His men harried our tribe without mercy. They came one night to where Dima and her husband dwelt and slew the whole household without mercy. I know not exactly what torments they endured before they were slain, for I was serving with the great army at that time. I know only what I was told. My kinsfolk buried my sister and her household, but of the child's body, no trace was found. We believed he had been taken to sacrifice on Sauron's altar. It seems now that they let him live. I am certain that Fikri is Fathi, my sister-son!"
"One of the soldiers must have taken pity on the boy," said Faramir, who had listened in amazement to the story.
"Maybe it was a man who had no son of his own," said Tahir. "If a man did not give sufficient boys to Sauron's host, he could be punished. We lived through dark times. Alas that my sister-son should be bearing arms against you! What do you plan to do with him, esteemed friends?" Tahir slid from the chair and dropped to his knees. "Please, of you I beg not to slay him!"
"Please, my friend, you have no need to kneel!" Aragorn gently raised Tahir to his feet. "We sent for you because we seek your counsel what to do with the lad. He has suffered enough already for he is sore wounded and may never use his sword arm properly again. I am at a loss, though, as I cannot send him back to Harad. I would be happy to deliver the boy into your keeping. "
"Fikri has good in him and tried to help me," said Faramir. "I believe he was led astray, especially now I learn that he was as much a captive as I was."
"May you forever dwell in a peaceful oasis, esteemed friends!" said Tahir. "I shall take Fathi into my household and teach him to turn towards the light of the Lord and Lady of the Moon."
"It might be a hard task," Aragorn warned.
"Fathi is of my tribe so I must succeed," said Tahir.
00000
The last rays of the setting sun were streaming through the window when Fikri next opened his eyes. He groaned and glared at the occupants of the room. Aragorn was immediately at his side. The King raised a cup of water to the boy's lips. Fikri swallowed, then turned his head away and closed his eyes tightly.
"I have someone here for you to meet, lad," said Aragorn. He beckoned Tahir to come forward.
"Leave me be, tark!" Fikri muttered without opening his eyes.
"Do not speak so disrespectfully to my chosen brothers, kinsman," said Tahir.
Fikri's eyes opened wide at the sound of his own tongue spoken by a native speaker. "You are no kinsman of mine, tark friend!" he protested.
"You are wrong, boy," Tahir said sternly. "It ill befits a young man to show so little respect for the elders of his tribe."
"Who are you?" Fikri repeated. "You cannot be of my tribe if you mingle with these enemies!"
"I am Tahir, son of Nasih, of the tribe of Wakil; Ambassador from the Kha Khan of all Harad to Gondor," said Tahir. "And you are my sister- son, Fathi."
"No!" screamed Fikri. "I am Fikri son of Aaghaa, of the great tribe of Suhayb."
"That is what they wanted you to believe," said Tahir. "You were taken by men without honour when you were very young. They slew your true mother and father."
"Lies!" cried Fikri. "Lord Zafir was my kinsman who took me in when my parents died of fever. These tarks have slain one who was as a father to me. He will be avenged!"
"Zafir most likely slew your true sire. You bear the mark of our tribe on your arm and of our Lord and Lady on your feet. Just like I do and all the brothers of your tribe," said Tahir.
"You lie!" Fikri repeated. "No man knows another's markings unless he be a brother of their tribe."
Tahir turned to Aragorn and Faramir. "Could you stop any other from entering this room for a little while, esteemed friends?" he asked.
"Of course," said Faramir. He went to speak to the guard at the door then came back inside, turning the key in the door behind him.
Tahir was already pulling off his boots and stockings, swiftly followed by his robes until he stood before them wearing only his drawers. Fikri gaped at him in astonishment.
"There, boy!" cried the Ambassador, thrusting his upper arm towards Fikri. "Behold the mark of our tribe." He sat down and stretched out his feet. "And there are the signs of the Lord and Lady who protect us both! I bear too, many other markings showing my allegiances."
Aragorn again pulled aside Fikri's sleeve, revealing the identical tattoo to Tahir's. Fikri burst into tears.
"It is not so bad, lad," said Tahir, pulling his robes back on. "You are kin to the Kha Khan, as well as to me. His father's uncle and your grandsire, were brothers, may their souls dwell forever in the shade of the celestial oasis."
"I have nothing left, nothing!" Fikri sobbed. "I possess not even a stitch of clothing and you tell me even my name is not mine own!"
"You have a family who will welcome you and a chance for a new life." Tahir drew Fikri into his arms. "Welcome home, sister- son. Long did we believe you were lost to us."
Fikri continued to sob piteously, but he neither struggled nor pulled away.
Aragorn and Faramir looked at one another, then at Tahir.
"We have work to do," said Faramir. "We will leave you two to become better acquainted, but will be within earshot if you need us.
The two left the room and went into Faramir's study.
"Fikri might well have a future now," said Faramir.
"I hope so," Aragorn sounded far from convinced. "Tahir will have to watch the boy like a hawk, or he might well take his own life. He will find it very hard to become accustomed to a completely different way of life, a new name, a new family, and a new faith."
"Tahir is a patient man and will help him. I believe he will succeed," said Faramir. "Strange indeed are the ways of the Valar that my capture led to the discovery of Tahir's kinsman."
"It gladdens my heart you are both free now," said Aragorn.
In a sudden change of mood, Faramir laughed and gestured ruefully towards the heap of papers on his desk. "These documents will now hold me captive," he said. "I had better ensure that I am free of them before Éowyn returns on the morrow. Yet, after believing I was about to burn on the pyre even perusing state papers will feel like bliss!"
"I still would prefer fighting Orcs to reading trade agreements!" said Aragorn, but he was smiling. "You have more patience than I, ion nîn.
oo Long a Sacrifice
Rating: T, for adult themes and mild violence and battle scenes.
Disclaimer: These characters (apart from my original characters) all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.- Martin Luther King Jr., Strength to Love, 1963
Several Weeks later
"Greetings, my esteemed friends," Tahir smiled as Aragorn and Faramir were shown into his home. He gestured for the King and Steward to sit on the large cushions in the spacious living room then called for a servant to bring sherbet tea and dates.
"My fair blossom regrets that she cannot be with us today," said Tahir once Aragorn and Faramir were seated. "Our sweet Ithiliel is teething and she had no sleep with tending to her."
"Well do I understand," said Faramir. Éowyn and I have suffered many sleepless nights without our little ones. Tell me, my friend, how is Fikri, um, I mean Fathi faring?"
"Better than I had hoped, esteemed friend, though he is much troubled by nightmares, and sometimes seems sullen and distant," Tahir replied. " I decided to let the boy keep the name he was accustomed to as I thought it might make it easier for him to settle in his new life. I have hired a trusted man of our tribe to be constantly at his side, both to care for Fikri and to protect my fair blossom and my little ones until I know he can be trusted."
"A wise move," said Aragorn.
"Fikri does at least appear to be loyal to his tribe like most of our people. He is respectful towards me and my fair blossom."
"I know that the Haradrim value loyalty to the tribe above all, even above their own lives," said Aragorn.
"You understand us well, esteemed friend, but then you dwelt amongst us for a while. Fikri seems to accept that he is of our tribe and wants to know about his parents. The boy is lamentably ignorant in the most basic knowledge, so I have hired a tutor for him as soon as he is strong enough for lessons. My personal healer is tending to him daily and reports he is making a good recovery. His arm and shoulder remain weak, though. He cannot even lift a spoon in his right hand."
"The arrow tore the ligaments and muscles badly as well as damaging the bone," said Aragorn. "The healer who removed it was not the most skilled of our physicians."
"Or maybe he took less care over an enemy combatant," Tahir observed shrewdly.
"Sadly, that could be so," Aragorn agreed. "We tell our healers to treat every patient with equal care, but my men were angry over the abduction of Lord Faramir."
"You were gracious indeed to spare Fikri, esteemed friend," said Tahir.
"You have Faramir to thank for that," said the King. "Maybe the Elven arts I know might help your nephew regain more use of his arm, if he would consent to my treatments. I warn you, though, it is unlikely he will ever hold a sword again."
"Maybe that is as well, esteemed friends," said the Ambassador. "It would be good if he could hold a spoon though."
"I will see what I can do if he will see me," said Aragorn.
"He will obey the elder of his tribe," said Tahir. "I have explained to him that you are a brother of our tribe through our friendship and sharing of the hamam."
"I will stay here unless you have need of me," said Faramir. "Fikri might be even more uncomfortable with too many folk present."
"He understands that you too are a brother," said Tahir. "You show him great consideration after what he did to you, esteemed friend."
"I may not have survived the ordeal without Fikri," Faramir said gravely.
"I have some new rare maps you may enjoy, esteemed friend," said Tahir. "I will show them to you once I have taken esteemed Lord Aragorn to Fikri."
000
Tahir led Aragorn down a long corridor supported by marble pillars. "How fares esteemed Lord Faramir?" he enquired. "He still looks somewhat drawn."
"To be almost burned alive a second time was a great ordeal for him," said Aragorn. "It will take time for him to fully recover, but eventually he will. He is a strong man."
"May the Lord and Lady of the moon smile upon him!" said Tahir. "How it grieves my heart that one of my blood should harm my esteemed friend!"
"Do not trouble yourself," said Aragorn. "Faramir speaks well of Fikri despite the circumstances under which they met."
The two men walked across a courtyard to the chambers where Fikri was housed. A guard was outside his door. When Aragorn entered, he found Fikri sprawled across a couch staring blankly at the elaborate tiles that decorated the wall. A man, dressed as a servant hovered nearby. Tahir dismissed him with a nod.
"The esteemed Lord King has agreed to tend your arm, my sister son," said Tahir. "It is permitted, he is a brother of our tribe."
"Please let me be, honoured kinsman," said Fikri.
"It is my wish that the esteemed Lord King treat your arm," Tahir said sternly.
"As you will, lord." Fikri said in an expressionless tone.
"I require hot water and a blanket," said Aragorn.
Tahir ordered the servant to fetch them. Meanwhile Tahir continued to regard them both with a somewhat sullen expression. Aragorn studied his reluctant patient carefully without the boy being aware of his scrutiny. Elven healing treated both mind and body and he concluded that Fikri was in greatest need of healing for the former.
As soon as the servant had brought the water and blanket, Aragorn asked Fikri if he might look at his shoulder and arm. Fikri fiddled with the fastenings of the dark blue robe he was wearing, obviously struggling to use his right hand deftly. Tahir assisted him. "It is well," he said. "Lord Aragorn is an esteemed brother of our tribe. Were he not, I have would have preferred death rather than to remove my robe in front of him. To remove one's robe in front of a brother will not bar you from the Celestial oasis. "
"I dwelt amongst those whom I believed to be my brothers for most of my life and bathed with them. I suppose I am already barred from your Celestial Oasis?" Fikri's tone was defiant but his eyes were fearful.
"Not at all according to our lore." Tahir hastened to reassure him. "You were neither of age, nor aware of your true origins."
Aragorn was grateful for his healer's training to conceal his surprise when Fikri's upper body was revealed to his gaze. Tahir's tattoo artist had obviously been summoned, for the eye markings on the boy's uninjured side had been skilfully changed into butterflies. He wrapped the blanket around the boy, leaving only his right arm and shoulder uncovered.
"Butterflies are an ancient symbol of our tribe," said the Ambassador. "We believe that after death, our souls fly to the Celestial Oasis in the form of butterflies, watched over by the Moon God and Goddess."
"A beautiful idea," said Aragorn.
"Alas, Fikri would not watch the Goddess rise in the sky to greet her consort last night," sighed Tahir. "It is my wish that he will attend the festival of their great union."
Aragorn smiled at the memory of attending the previous year's festival with Faramir. It had been held on the banks of the Anduin and had been both joyful and uplifting." You should enjoy it," he told Fikri, beginning to examine the injured shoulder and arm, "if only for the delicacies that are served. Lady Adiva and Mistress Falah make cakes flavoured with rose petals and a ginger syllabub. My Lady and I have never tasted better. Do not fear the wrath of the Lord of Gifts, by turning to your uncle's faith, Fikri. I saw his spirit borne away on the wind with mine own eyes, as did many others. He cannot return to punish you."
Fikri said nothing but Aragorn felt him tremble beneath his touch.
"Would you and your esteemed lady honour us again by attending the sacred festival?" asked Tahir.
"We would be delighted to," said Aragorn. He took some athelas leaves from the healer's pouch he had brought with him and cast them into the bowl of hot water. He inhaled deeply of the living freshness that filled the room and bade Fikri do likewise.
"It still hurts my ribs to breathe deeply," Fikri said sullenly.
"The esteemed Lord Aragorn's medicine is good," said Tahir, as he inhaled the vapours with obvious pleasure.
"He should breathe sufficient whether he will or not," Aragorn said calmly. "He reminds me a good deal of a young farmer I once treated."
"I am no farmer, I am a warrior!" Fikri snapped. "At least I was." He lapsed into silence and Aragorn saw tears glistening on his lashes.
Aragorn said nothing and concentrated on the livid scar that stood out starkly even amongst all the others that disfigured the boy's skin. It had at least healed cleanly and without infection. Aragorn wished to use both his healing senses and healing arts to help the injury mend sufficiently for Fikri to use his arm for non-arduous tasks, such as dressing and eating. The hand at least was undamaged. Given the boy's continued anger and anguish, perhaps it was just as well that he could no longer be a warrior.
Using his inherited healing senses and the power of the Elessar, he sensed that the damaged ribs were knitting together nicely and the bump on Fikri's head had disappeared.
Aragorn bathed the arrow scar with the athelas mixture and then applied a comfrey salve to aid healing.
Fikri glared at him balefully each time he caught the boy's eye, but said nothing. Every now and again, he sighed deeply and looked towards his uncle.
"I shall use an Elven skill to massage the damaged muscles to help stimulate the flow of blood," Aragorn explained. "Could I have some more hot water, please, Tahir?"
Fikri gave an even louder sigh.
"You should treat the esteemed Lord Aragorn with courtesy, nephew," Tahir chided.
"I did not ask him to come," said Fikri. "You already have a healer who treats me daily."
"Do not forget the honour due to a guest and brother of our tribe," Tahir said sternly."
Uncle and nephew glared at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills.
Aragorn cleared his throat loudly. "Faramir wished to discuss some diplomatic matters in private with you and I know you wish to show him your new maps. We need to leave soon after I have finished Fikri's treatment."
"You are certain I should leave you, esteemed friend?" Tahir looked troubled.
"I have dealt with a young farmer very like Fikri, as I have already mentioned," Aragorn said dryly. "I am here to tell the tale!"
"I am no farmer!" Fikri said ever more furiously than before.
"Then behave like a man nobly born!" said Tahir. "For your shameful insolence, you shall be confined within your chamber for the rest of the day." He bowed. "Esteemed Lord Aragorn, I will return with all haste."
A servant brought the hot water Aragorn had requested just as the Ambassador was leaving the room. The King again cast two athelas leaves into the water. He began to lightly massage Fikri's injured arm and shoulder, with slow circular movements. The boy felt as tense as a strung bowstring beneath his touch. "Tell me if I am causing you pain," Aragorn told Fikri and then fell silent.
The refreshing athelas vapours filled the chamber. Aragorn continued his ministrations and as he had hoped, felt Fikri's tension ebbing away beneath his skilled fingertips. He started working on the knots in the back of the boy's neck, an art taught to him by Master Elrond, which usually soothed all but the most reluctant patients. Elven healing closely combined both body and soul and was only effective if both healer and patient achieved a degree of harmony.
"Does the law of your land forbid beating as punishment?" Fikri asked suddenly.
"A man may not strike a woman or infant and may not cause serious injury," Aragorn replied.
"My uncle does not beat me." Fikri sounded puzzled. "Neither does he beat his sons."
"Ambassador Tahir is a good man, a man of peace," said Aragorn.
"He is weak! Lord Zafir beat me often."
"Ambassador Tahir is one of the bravest men I know," Aragorn said gravely. "Not long ago, I had to cut an arrow from his flesh. Never once did he cry out, neither did he swoon. It takes an even braver man to try to bring peace between two nations that have been enemies for countless generations. Like the others of his tribe, he also clung to his faith in the Moon God and Goddess when it would have been death to him had he been discovered."
"I had not thought of that," said Fikri hesitantly. "The moon still shines brightly in the night sky." He lapsed into silence again. Aragorn resumed massaging his arm. A few moments later, he spoke again. "Will I ever use it again?"
"I believe you should be able to do such things as fasten laces or feed yourself in time," said Aragorn. "I am willing to continue to treat you, but only if you wish it."
Fikri hesitated then gave a barely perceptible nod.
Aragorn continued his ministrations until the boy fell into a deep and peaceful slumber. He lingered for a few moments longer, holding his hands a few inches above Fikri and pouring healing energy into the damaged shoulder. He then held his hands above the boy's head, trying to both sense what lay within his troubled mind and calm the turmoil and confusion he sensed there. The lad had been touched by evil, but Aragorn did not believe that he was inherently evil, simply a very troubled youth.
oo Long a Sacrifice
Rating: T, for adult themes and mild violence and battle scenes.
Disclaimer: These characters (apart from my original characters) all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
O Silver moon upon the deep dark sky,
Through the vast night pierce your rays.
This sleeping world you wander by,
Smiling on men's homes and ways. – Song to the Moon – Dvorák/ Kvapil
Two Weeks later
It seemed that the very elements were on their best behaviour for the festival of the Great Union of the God and Goddess. A spell of earlier rain had given way to a perfect evening, the air felt fresh and clear without being chill. The vast shining orb of the moon lay low in the September sky.
All of Ambassador Tahir's family were assembled on the riverbank, including his infant daughter, Ithiliel, who was cooing contently in her mother's arms. There were only a few guests. Most of the folk from Harad who dwelled within Gondor, preferred to celebrate the festival with their closest friends and family. Aragorn, Faramir, and their ladies were the only Western folk who were present. Last year, their older children had attended too, but Aragorn and Faramir did not desire their little ones to witness any distressing display that Fikri might cause, since Tahir was still insisting that the young man attend. The two men had even suggested that their beloved ladies remain at home, but neither would hear of it.
The Ambassador was clad in a deep blue robe embroidered in silver with designs of the moon in its various phases, while his family were all clad in blue robes edged with silver in honour of the God and Goddess. Tonight, gold might have been more appropriate as the moon's sphere was a golden orange rather than silver, the annual marvel of the harvest moon. Aragorn glanced at Arwen, who stood beside him. She looked even fairer than usual in a dark blue gown embroidered with silver thread and adorned with seed pearls and tiny diamonds. A silver filigree diadem adorned her beautiful hair. Aragorn and Faramir had cast aside their usual black and silver garb in favour of blue and silver. Aragorn wore the Star of Elendil upon his brow and Faramir the Crescent of Ithilien. They wished to show respect to Tahir and to honour their own heritage. Aragorn's longfather had been named for the moon; while Faramir had spent many years defending the Moon-land and now reigned as its Prince. Éowyn wore a simple blue gown beneath the blue mantle adorned with stars that Faramir had given her during their courtship.
The golden moon, surrounded by a myriad of twinkling stars, reflected in the clear waters of the Anduin made for a scene of exquisite beauty. Arwen gazed upwards and murmured a prayer of gratitude to Lady Star Gatherer. Aragorn and Faramir did likewise.
Tahir then stepped forward and gazed upwards at the moon, raising his arms in supplication. "Gracious Lord and Lady of the Moon," he intoned. "We come to ask your blessings upon us. May our lands be fruitful and un-scorched, may we be fruitful and our herds and horses! May we be guided at last by thee to the Celestial Oasis!"
"We come in gratitude, may it be!" cried Tahir's household.
Lady Adiva then lifted up her baby towards the moon and said, "I come in thankfulness to present unto you the sacred child you bestowed upon me. I dedicate Ithiliel -Badra to her celestial father and foster mother. May she serve you both in gladness all her days!"
"I swear to protect your holy daughter with my life. May she flourish beneath your rays as a tree beside an oasis! Hear my vow, gracious Lord and Lady of the Moon!"
The Ambassador beckoned to two of his servants, whom Aragorn recognised as Aban, Tahir's body servant and Falah, Lady Adiva's devoted maid. They both carried baskets, the contents of which they shared out amongst those present. Aban's basket contained small boats made of parchment and Falah's contained small flat candles and a mixture of flowers and sweetmeats. Everyone took a boat and candle and chose either a flower or sweetmeat to place inside the boat together with the candle.
Aban and Falah then collected all the little boats and took them down to the water's edge where they lit the candles, one for every person present.
Tahir raised his arms skywards again. "Lord and Lady of the Moon, accept these sacrifices as a token," he said.
Faramir shuddered and his head began to swim. Beside him, Aragorn gripped his arm and steadied him. "Easy," he murmured. "This sacrifice is as benign as the First Fruits I offer to the One."
"I know, and I am well," said Faramir. "It is just the word, sacrifice, in the tongue of Harad freezes my blood still!" He took a deep breath and forced himself to concentrate on the ceremony. The little boats were bobbing along the river carried by the current, twinkling like the stars above them. The watchers stood transfixed by the sight.
Tahir began a hymn of praise to the moon in a deep rich baritone.
Aragorn glanced towards Fikri. The servant, appointed as his constant shadow was engrossed in the ceremony and seemed to have forgotten his charge. Meanwhile the boy was edging closer and closer to the water's edge. The servant who was assigned to guard him was further down the bank utterly apparently deep in prayer.
The King's heart sank. He could guess all too well what Fikri intended. Death was considered by far more honourable than defeat and captivity amongst all the tribes of Harad, whatever deity they venerated. Fikri was not only dishonoured according to his belief, but also a very troubled and confused young man whose most deeply held values had been overturned in the space of a few short weeks. The depths of the river must appear to offer a swift and easy death. Very few Haradrim could swim, given the dearth of water in their homeland. It would be easy enough to pluck Fikri from the water, but how would Tahir react? The Ambassador was a tolerant man, but to desecrate his holiest religious festival was a grave offence indeed. This year was especially sacred for Tahir and Adiva after the birth of their moon daughter, considered a special blessing from their gods. Anything that went amiss in the coming year would be blamed on Fikri's sacrilege. Aragorn's heart ached for the young man. He stealthily edged closer to him. Faramir realised too what was happening and crept alongside the King. Aragorn took off the Elendilmir and handed it to his friend. He moved to stand a few inches behind Fikri, poised to seize him if he made any move to jump. He feared, though that the boy would scream and struggle and prove difficult to restrain.
Tahir's song finally ended. It was now Lady Adiva's turn to lead the worship. She handed the baby to Falah and began to sing, repeating the words over and over again.
"Lady of the Moon, Gracious Goddess,
Shine your gentle rays, I plead,
Upon my precious children.
Keep them safe from every danger,
Hear a mother's plea!
Lord of the Moon, Gracious God,
Shine your gentle rays, I plead,
Upon my precious children.
Strengthen them with celestial wisdom,
Hear a mother's plea!"
Unlike her husband, Adiva did not have a powerful voice, but her tone was sweet, gentle, and low. Fikri suddenly froze and turned his head slowly towards her.
Aragorn found that he was holding his breath.
Suddenly, Tahir and Adiva's youngest son, Beren, a sturdy four year old, broke free from his nurse's grip and ran towards his mother. Adiva never paused in her song, but bent to scoop him up in her arms.
"Mother!" Fikri whispered. Tears started to pour down his cheeks.
Aragorn and Faramir hustled him away from the crowd of worshippers and took him a little way along the bank. Fikri's tears turned to great heaving sobs. Faramir guided the distraught boy's head against his shoulder. He did not pull away but sobbed piteously for his mother.
"I remember," Fikri whispered, once he had regained a little composure. "She sang this song beside the oasis near our home."
"You have returned to your own people, Fikri," said Aragorn. "These are their songs and their customs."
"I have forgotten so much," said Fikri.
"Your uncle will help you remember and guide you in the ways of your tribe," said Aragorn. "I was once much like you, as I lived apart from my tribe when I was a boy. I had to flee to safety with my mother after my father was slain."
"Did you become accustomed to the ways of your tribe?" asked Fikri.
"I did, it took time, but soon they accepted me and it felt less strange to be amongst them."
The singing ceased as the Haradrim shouted jubilant praises in honour of the moon's beauty.
"Look!" Faramir exclaimed. "Here is your Uncle."
"I wondered where you were, esteemed friends," said Tahir as he hastened towards them. "Nephew, you will miss the sweetmeats I told you about. Then we offer our thanks to the honoured God and Goddess. I have much to rejoice for, the birth of our sweet moon blossom, and the restoration of my dear nephew to our tribe!"
"I remember my mother now," said Fikri.
"The Moon Goddess has blessed you!" cried Tahir. He embraced his nephew and Fikri hugged him back. Tahir then turned back to Aragorn and Faramir. "Come, esteemed friends," he said. "But where is your bright jewel, esteemed Lord Aragorn?"
"I feared I might lose it and took it off," said Aragorn. "It is safe."
"That is most good, esteemed Lord Aragorn. As I have found a precious jewel, I would not have you lose yours!" Taking Fikri's arm, he led the boy back towards the others. A shaft of moonlight illuminated them both as they walked away.
"Anyone would almost think that the moon gods did truly bless them," Faramir said thoughtfully. "Though Tilion the steersman is not amongst the most mighty of the Maiar. He would not have such power."
"Maybe in truth the One has blessed them," Aragorn said thoughtfully. "Perhaps the Haradrim are in truth reaching out towards the One when they honour the moon? Who knows the mind of the One? I simply rejoice that two captives are now free. Now let us re-join our ladies before they think we have vanished like moonbeams!"
A/n If you have enjoyed this story, look out for new story concerning Tahir and Adiva's culture and the conception and birth of Ithiliel, which I hope to publish very soon.
Chapter 77 - Leaves from the Past
Title – Leaves from the Past
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Faramir, Denethor
Rating PG
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer – Middle-earth belongs to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With Thanks to Raksha
Faramir sighed deeply. He looked out of the window. It was still raining, so it was neither the best of days day for sword or archery practise, nor for riding for pleasure. The council meeting was not until this afternoon, and he would not be joining Éowyn in Ithilien until the morrow. He could put off the unwelcome task no longer. He had no excuses left to delay looking through the trunk containing his father's private papers. They had been languishing in the bottom of a cupboard for more time than he cared to recall. Faramir would have been happy to leave it there, but kept wondering if it contained any information concerning Gondor's affairs that ought to be given to his new lord.
He lifted out the trunk and placed it in on the hearthrug, then knelt beside it and slid the key into the lock. It opened with some difficulty, as if loth to reveal its secrets.
Faramir lifted out a sheaf of yellowing scrolls and glanced at them. They mostly concerned official decrees. He placed them to one side to give to the King.
Beneath the scrolls lay a bundle of letters tied with a red ribbon. Faramir opened the one on the top of the pile. It was in his mother's hand, written from Dol Amroth during a visit there that Faramir vaguely recalled from his childhood. She told her husband that she missed him before recounting howmuch she and her sons were enjoying their time with Prince Imrahil. Faramir replaced it. He would read the letters one day, but not just yet. He only wished that he could recall more about Finduilas.
At the bottom of the trunk, hidden under the other papers lay a bound calfskin volume. Curiously, Faramir opened it. He was surprised it appeared to be a journal. It was written in Quenya, no doubt to make it hard to decipher. The Steward was fluent in the ancient language and it posed no difficulties for him.
The journal began the year Denethor became Steward and the early entries seemed mostly concerned with matters of government. A line caught Faramir's attention. I have decided to use the Seeing Stone. It would be foolish not to take advantage of such a powerful tool. My father claimed it was too dangerous, but I have the strength to master it. I need to know what is happening within my realm and ensure that Thorongil does not return without my knowledge.
Faramir shuddered at the reference to the palantír, which had proved his sire's downfall. He turned over more pages, scanning them quickly. There was a gap in the entries around about the time his mother died. Then they resumed in greater detail than before. His own and his brother's names caught his eye. Boromir grows taller by the day and continues to delight me. His sword master is delighted with his progress and says he will make a fine warrior. Young Faramir is a different matter. His tutor tells me he is a fine scholar, but he shows little interest in the sword. Gondor needs soldiers not scholars in these troubled times and my sons should be a good example to others.
Faramir turned more leaves, looking for familiar names. Mithrandir is here again and my younger son follows him around like a lap dog, hanging on to his every word. I fear he will fill the boy's head with gilded tales of the kings of old. I would not have a son of mine be a Wizard's pupil!
The young Steward took a deep breath. Mithrandir was a great and wise man. Why had their friendship troubled his father so much?
The next entry provided some answers. Mithrandir has gone at last, praise the Valar! Faramir is upset and keeps asking when will he return? If the boy wants a lore- master to consult, why does he not choose his own father? I fear too that the meddling wizard will fill his head with tales of the long gone kings and the White Tree blossoming anew. I do not forget that Thorongil was another of his pupils!
Faramir thought sadly that the answer should have been all too plain. His father had usually been too busy to discuss lore with him. Then he was angered if Faramir's opinion had differed from Denethor's on the rare occasions they did speak of legends and traditions together. Faramir could still recall the way Boromir's eyes glazed over when father and son would debate the origins of the line of Nimloth. Denethor would glance sternly at Faramir and the conversation would swiftly and suddenly turn to Hyarmendacil's victories over the Haradrim or some other feat of arms that interested Boromir.
Faramir perused more pages full of details of government and praise for his brother. Then another entry caught his eye.
My younger son continues to disturb me, even as I increasingly see myself reflected in him. He too has the power to see into men's hearts. Alas, that he wastes this gift on mawkish pity that renders him too slow to strike with the knowledge he has gained. The people love him, though, more than they love me. He reminds me all too much of that scoundrel Thorongil! The days are growing darker and the enemy increasingly draws closer. Soon all hope will be lost.
Faramir continued to turn the pages and read, both dreading and desiring to find a clue that might explain his father's final despair and last dreadful act. Then his eyes lighted up the final entry in the journal.
The enemy are at the gate. The only son left to me is dying. Better we should perish together than be sport for Sauron's creatures. I have heard too that Thorongil is on his way. I would not be his dotard chamberlain and my son his slave! Let the fire cleanse all and ...
The writing had become scarcely legible and the last few words were indecipherable. Faramir snapped the book shut with a shudder. He had read enough. At last, he understood much of his father's coldness towards him, but the knowledge brought him no peace, only pity. His father had known so much and yet understood so little. He thrust the journal back into the bottom of the trunk and locked it. He then called for a servant to take it to the storeroom. He would not destroy this relic of the past, but he very much doubted he would ever open the trunk again.
Written for the 2009 BTME challenge Prompt "Trunk".
Chapter 78 - The Salt of the Earth
Title – The Salt of the Earth
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Faramir, Aragorn, Arwen
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer – Middle-earth belongs to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
In loving memory MJM
Faramir smiled his thanks to the serving maid who placed a steaming bowl of soup in front of him. He was spending the night in his apartments in the City after a day spent negotiating with a trade delegation from Khand. As was their custom, the King and Queen had invited him to dine with them.
The Steward sniffed the aroma wafting from the dish appreciatively then picked up the elaborate silver saltshaker and sprinkled a little in his soup. He then swallowed a mouthful and smiled.
"Do you like it, Faramir?" Arwen enquired.
"I have acquired quite a taste for mushroom soup after Merry and Pippin convinced me of its merits," the Steward replied.
"I meant the saltshaker, not the soup," said the Queen. "I know well that you enjoy anything made from the recipes sent by our Hobbit friends."
"It is very fine workmanship," said Faramir studying the saltshaker more closely, albeit with little enthusiasm, which he reserved for the soup.
"It was a gift from the envoy from Khand," said Aragorn. "A little too elaborate for my taste, as I sense it is for yours, but I felt we should at least use it once at a private gathering such as this, so I can truthfully tell the envoy his gift is appreciated. We all know how they value salt in Khand. When I was there in my younger days, they used it as their currency."
"Some Men have strange customs," said Arwen. She picked up the saltshaker and studied it closely. "This figure represents one of their gods and the salt comes out of his mouth!"
"I will never forget the saltshakers we had in the nursery when I was a child," said Faramir, a faraway expression on his face. "How I loved them!"
"You loved a saltshaker?" Aragorn could not contain the surprise in his voice. Faramir had confided many things about his childhood , he found strange but this was one of the most surprising yet.
Faramir finished the last of his soup and put down his spoon. "When Boromir and I were children," he began, "we usually ate our meals in the nursery at a long table that doubled for our lessons. Boromir liked a lot of salt on his food, as did I, but I was too small to reach across the table. This led to some unseemly scuffles over passing the salt. At Mettarë, when Uncle Imrahil came to visit, he announced he had brought us saltshakers as gifts; one each, so that we would no longer fight. Boromir and I were most disappointed, but our sorrow gave way to delight when we unwrapped our gifts."
"It still seems an unsuitable gift for children," Arwen observed. "I could not imagine giving Eldarion a saltshaker!"
"These were special ones," Faramir explained. "They were made out of polished wood to resemble soldiers, Citadel Guards to be exact; their painted uniforms perfect copies of the ones worn by real soldiers. Uncle Imrahil gave us a solemn lecture that we must respect them, as our soldiers are the salt of the earth. Boromir and I loved them. We gave them names and even took them to bed with us."
Aragorn grinned broadly. "Your beds must have been full of salt!"
Faramir laughed. "That did indeed happen and we were made to do extra lessons as a punishment. Our nanny, though, bought some ordinary saltshakers from the market to use at table. She told us we could play with the others, so long as we did not damage them, and they were put to their proper use when our Uncle came to visit. The paint became rather worn, but he assumed it was from constantly shaking them."
"Do you still have them?" Arwen enquired.
"I think so," said Faramir. "I will see if I can find them before I re-join Éowyn at Emyn Arnen tomorrow."
"Perhaps we could have them on the table when we next dine together," said Arwen. "I should like to see them."
"So should I," said Aragorn, a gleam of interest in his eye. Those wooden soldiers should march again. They say old soldiers never die."
"Nor do men ever cease to be boys at heart!" Arwen laughed.
A/N This story is based on fond memories of a salt and pepper in the shape of two wooden soldiers set my Mother bought me when I was a small child. loved the red and black uniforms and bearskins of the soldiers who guard the Queen at Buckingham Palace.
Chapter 79 - The Cat's Tail
B2MeM Challenge The Steward and his Sons- Emyn Arnen; Emotions- horror; I All Ocs, all the time - an artisan; Book Titles - The Importance of Being Earnest; Landscape - sand dunes; Talents and skills- baking; Beasts - snake; Last Lines- And the party got started. Here we come a carolling - If the fates allow.
Format: short story
Genre: general, family, humour
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Characters: Faramir, Éowyn, OMC, OFCs
Pairings: Faramir/Éowyn
Summary: Faramir must prove himself as tamer of man and beast.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Faramir considered himself an earnest man with a suitably solemn demeanour appropriate for his serious duties. However, compared to the artisan currently working on carving an elaborate screen for the main hall in the Steward's residence at Emyn Arnen, he was the very soul of levity. Tuor was a good workman, well skilled in his craft, but the man seemed incapable of displaying the slightest hint of any kind of emotion. When Faramir praised his work, Tuor simply said, "Thank you, my lord," without even a hint of a smile. Faramir suspected his reaction would have been the same had he told the man his craftsmanship was the worst he had ever seen.
One fine day in early April, Faramir's duties were not especially onerous and he was able to join his family in the solar by mid- afternoon. The cook had been baking and a plate of cakes was set on a low table for the Steward and his family to enjoy. They smelled delicious and tasted just as good.
Éowyn had just come in from the stables and was wearing a plain brown gown, which Faramir thought set off her golden hair to perfection. She sat down upon the sofa and settled baby Elboron on her lap.
Faramir's niece, Elbeth, and daughter, Elestelle, were playing with Elbeth's cat, Laurea, a fine ginger tom, endowed with a magnificent stripy tail. The two girls were in fits of laughter at the feline's antics. He was stalking a beetle across the floor, hiding itself behind the furniture, or so he thought, as his long tail was clearly visible, however closely concealed his body. Faramir joined in their mirth. Eventually, the beetle disappeared beneath the rug and the cat settled himself on Elbeth's lap. Faramir told the two girls a story about a visit he had paid to his Uncle in Dol Amroth when he was a boy and how he had played hide and seek in the sand dunes with Boromir.
"What are sand dunes?" asked Elestelle.
"They are hills made of sand near the beach," Faramir explained. "Sometimes they are covered in sea grass."
"Are they like the hills here at Emyn Arnen?" asked Elbeth.
Faramir shook his head. "No, they are only very small compared to the hills we dwell amongst. They were just the right size for two young boys to play hide and seek in, though."
"Dune might be a good name for Night Beauty's foal," Éowyn remarked. "Such a pity she is brown rather than black like her dam, but she is beautifully proportioned. Maybe if the fates allow, I will get a black foal when Night Star foals next month."
"May we go and see the horses?" asked Elbeth.
"I don't see why not," said Éowyn.
"I will go with the girls," said Faramir. "I need some exercise."
He got to his feet and opened the door. Elestelle clutched her father's hand as went outside. The cat followed them.
While the girls petted the horses and fed apples to them, Faramir stood looking out at the view of the hills and fields. Emyn Arnen was surely the fairest spot on Arda and his heart was filled with gratitude towards Aragorn for making him Prince of Ithilien.
Faramir was just about to tell the girls that it was time to go back indoors when Tuor came rushing out of the house. Instead of his usual impassive expression, his features were contorted with horror.
"My lord!" he cried when he beheld Faramir. "There is a snake in the hall! A great wriggling stripy thing it is, no doubt highly venomous! It will kill us all!"
"A snake?" Faramir raised his eyebrows. "There are few in Ithilien and those we do have, are not venomous, and live out in the wilds."
"I'm returning to Minas Tirith at once, my lord," said Tuor. "I can't be doing with snakes!"
"Let me see this monster," said Faramir. "Girls, I will be back in a moment."
"I'll keep an eye on them, my lord," said a groom.
"Come and show me where this snake is exactly," Faramir ordered Tuor.
The man looked highly reluctant, but Faramir's stern tone, more often heard when commanding men in battle, brokered no argument.
Faramir led the way into the hall followed by the quaking artisan. Nothing looked amiss. Then he noticed the curtain that divided a recess from the rest of the hall was twitching and a stripy snakelike appendage wriggled beneath it.
It was all that Faramir could do not to burst out laughing, but as Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, he understood the importance of being earnest. He strode across the room and drew back the curtain to reveal Laurea. He scooped the cat up in his arms and said "A strange snake indeed that has fur rather than scales!" He ran Laurea's long furry tail through his fingers to emphasise his words. The cat purred.
Tuor flushed scarlet. "I'm sorry, my lord," he said. "It's just that the very thought of a snake fills me with horror."
"Most of us fear something," said Faramir. "There is no shame in it. You can continue with your work in peace now." With Laurea still clasped in his arms, he made his escape. As soon as he was out of Tuor's earshot, he burst out laughing.
000
A few weeks later, the screen was complete. Faramir was delighted with the result. It was carved from oak taken from Emyn Arnen's forests and depicted scenes from the great tales of old; Thingol entranced by Melian; Lúthien and the faithful Huan, Elendil's ship arriving on the shores of middle-earth and many more great tales.
Faramir and Éowyn decided to hold a small celebration to mark both Faramir's birthday and the completion of the screen. They invited Faramir's Uncle, Prince Imrahil and their closest friends; the King and Queen, Legolas and Gimli and Ambassador Tahir from Harad together with his wife, Lady Adiva.
The guests admired the fine workmanship in the screen. Faramir then told them the tale of the "snake" which had almost resulted in the departure of the artisan for Minas Tirith.
The guests laughed at the anecdote and toasted Faramir on his birthday. On that happy note the party got started.
Chapter 80 - The Shieldmaiden Unleashed
The Shieldmaiden Unleashed
Genre: hurt/comfort, family, humour
Rating: PG
Warnings: mention of violence
Summary: Faramir suffers a mysterious injury
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
“You are hurt, Faramir!” Aragorn exclaimed as his Steward entered the study, carrying a large sheaf of parchments under his arm.
“It is nothing; do not trouble yourself, my friend.” Faramir smiled ruefully. He placed the documents on the table, ready to begin the morning's work.
“But that bruise on your face looks painful. I have some comfrey salve that might help,” Aragorn insisted. He went over to the side of his desk where he kept a satchel of healing supplies and took out a large jar.
Realising that resistance was futile, Faramir meekly submitted to the King’s ministrations. “Ouch!” He winced as the ointment touched his skin.
“The sting will soon wear off and you will feel a soothing warmth,” said Aragorn. He patted his friend on the shoulder and put the jar away. He then rubbed the salve off his hands with his handkerchief and seated himself at his desk ready to begin the morning’s work.
“Thank you, it feels much better now.” Faramir smiled at his friend. He turned his attention to the mountain of parchments. “I should have been more careful. I feared it might happen ever since I decided to wed. Still, how could I help but love my sweet one, even when she strikes me. The way she smiles at me just melts my heart every time. She does not mean to injure me.”
“You mean this is not the first time?” Aragorn looked up sharply from the document he had been studying.
“I have been black and blue, but my tunic concealed the bruises.”
“You should have told me about this before.”
“The bruises soon heal. I have become accustomed to it.”
“I suppose being married to a shieldmaiden might at times be hazardous. It troubles me to hear that she strikes you, though, Faramir. You should not take it so lightly.”
“It scarcely matters to whom a man is wed. It is just one of those things that one lives with.” Faramir shrugged and turned his attention back to his work.
“Would you like me to speak to her as her King?”
“She would not understand you. Surely you have experienced your fair share of bruises too?”
“My beloved Arwen would never strike me!” Aragorn retorted sharply.
“Neither would my sweet Éowyn!” Faramir sounded horrified. “Surely you did not think?”
“You said that your injury was a consequence of being a husband?” Aragorn regarded his friend with a bewildered look.
Faramir began to laugh. “When a man marries he hopes that he might have children. And children can be somewhat rough at times. Last night I was playing with my baby daughter and she accidentally hit me with her rattle!”
“So little Elestelle is to blame for your hurts?”
“She has a strong arm for a baby. I think Éowyn and I have a little shieldmaiden in the making!”
“By the way you are smiling, you are proud of her strength.”
“She is sweetest babe that ever lived and the strongest too! Fatherhood is worth a few bruises. As soon as she is a little older, she will learn to be more careful and not to injure anyone when playing. Until then, I shall either have to find her a lighter rattle or duck more swiftly.”
Aragorn grinned. “Now that I think of it, Eldarion has dealt me a few blows too. One needs all one’s warrior skills of evading lethal blows when dealing with infants!”
“Maybe all our years fighting Orcs were simply a preparation for fatherhood!” Faramir replied.
A/n this is a revised version of a story written for the “Teitho” dialogue challenge, where it was placed equal second. You can read the original below
The Shieldmaiden Unleashed – Linda Hoyland
Rating - K+
Warning – mention of violence
Disclaimer: This is a work of transformative fan fiction; all characters and settings belong to the Estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. No copyright infringement has been perpetrated for financial gain.
Summary – Faramir is suffering from a mysterious injury.
Word count- 351
“You are hurt, Faramir!”
“It is nothing; do not trouble yourself, my friend.”
“But that bruise on your face looks painful. I have some comfrey salve that might help.”
“Very well, ouch!”
“The sting will soon wear off and you will feel a soothing warmth.”
“Thank you, Aragorn, it feels much better now. I should have been more careful. I feared it might happen ever since I decided to wed. Still, how could I help but love my sweet one, even when she strikes me. The way she smiles at me just melts my heart every time. She does not mean to injure me.”
“You mean this is not the first time?”
“I have been black and blue, but my tunic concealed the bruises.”
“You should have told me about this before.”
“The bruises soon heal. I have become accustomed to it.”
“I suppose being married to a shieldmaiden might at times be hazardous. It troubles me to hear that she strikes you, though, Faramir.”
“It scarcely matters to whom a man is wed. It is just one of those things that one lives with.”
“Would you like me to speak to her as her King?”
“She would not understand you. Surely you have experienced your fair share of bruises too?”
“My beloved Arwen would never strike me.”
“Neither would my sweet Éowyn! Surely you did not think?”
“You said that your injury was a consequence of being a husband?”
“When a man marries he hopes that he might have children. And children can be somewhat rough at times. Last night I was playing with my baby daughter and she hit me with her rattle!”
“So little Elestelle is to blame for your hurts?”
“She has a strong arm for a eleven month old baby. I think Éowyn and I have a little shieldmaiden in the making!”
“By the way you are smiling, you are proud of her strong arm.”
“I am trying to teach her not to hit me when she is playing, but she is very little yet and the sweetest babe that ever lived! Fatherhood is worth a few bruises.”
Chapter 81 - Stairway to Heaven
Stairway to Heaven
Rating - G
Summary - Eldarion accompanies his father on an important mission
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks Deandra for editing, Virtuella for further editing and valuable advice and Raksha for suggesting the title.
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,
from whence cometh my help.
My help cometh from the Lord,
which made heaven and earth.
He will not suffer thy foot to be moved:
he that keepeth thee will not slumber.
Behold, he that keepeth Israel
shall neither slumber nor sleep. – Psalm 121 – The Bible
"I love the stars, ada!" Eldarion exclaimed. "I wish I could stay up every night to see them." The little boy was walking round the Court of the Fountain with his father and gazing up at the stars in awe.
"You would be too tired then to concentrate on your lessons," said Aragorn. He glanced at his son's expression and added. "You would also be too weary to ride your pony or play with your toys."
"Oh." Eldarion looked thoughtful.
"When winter comes and the days grow shorter, we can look at the stars every night," said Aragorn. "Until then we will go out on evenings when you have no lessons the next day."
"Can we look at the stars next week too?" asked Eldarion.
"I am sorry, ion nîn, but next week I must go up the mountain to offer the first fruits to the One."
"Why?" Eldarion asked glumly.
"I am the King and as king, I must show our gratitude to the One. We, the Children of Ilúvatar, are richly blessed."
"I thought Lady Yavanna gave us our food?" Eldarion sounded puzzled.
"She does, ion nîn, but because it is Ilúvatar decreed it so. Our ancestors on the Star Isle used to climb up Mount Meneltarma at the very centre of the Island and there the King would speak the Three Prayers to Ilúvatar in spring, mid- summer and autumn. The King or Queen would also offer fruits to Ilúvatar. "
"That sounds nice, I like fruit!" said Eldarion.
"It is a solemn rite," said Aragorn. "It is very special, though." He paused and stood looking up at the stars for a few moments. "If Naneth agrees, would you like to come with me when I ascend the mountain?" he said.
"Yes please, ada!" Eldarion jumped up and down with delight.
"You will have to promise to be very good and stay silent in the Hallow," Aragorn cautioned.
"I will, I promise. I can be very quiet!"
"Very well, I will ask Naneth if you may come with me. Now it is well past your bed time and we should go back indoors."
"May I say goodnight to Gil-Estel first?"
"You may." Aragorn smiled indulgently while Eldarion gazed upwards and waved a small hand towards the brightest star in the Heavens.
000
A week later, Eldarion was bouncing in the saddle with excitement when he set out together with his father and Uncle Faramir. He was slightly disappointed that it was not just him and his ada, but Naneth had insisted that Uncle Faramir accompany them in case any mishap should befall them. At least they had left the ever- present guards behind in the City.
The sun shone brightly and a refreshing breeze blew from the mountain as they climbed higher. The three rode in single file due to the narrow nature of the path. Aragorn led the way, Eldarion followed closely behind his father and Faramir brought up the rear.
"Are we going right to the very top?" Eldarion asked.
Aragorn shook his head. "No, ion nîn. That would be too far and the pathway too dangerous. We have promised Naneth that we will be back before nightfall. We are going to just below the snowline where I found the White Tree."
"You brought our tree down the mountain? But it is so big!"
"It was only tiny then," Aragorn explained. "It was about the size of a bush. I have watched it grow into the great tree that it is today. It was a sign from the One that the Line of Kings would flourish."
"A sign?" Eldarion sounded puzzled.
"Like a red sky at night means the next day will be fine, or a ring round the moon means it will be windy," said Faramir.
"You, ion nîn, are the proof that it was a true sign," said Aragorn, turning round to smile fondly at the boy.
They were now riding through the woodland that covered the lower slopes of Mount Mindolluin. Aragorn and Faramir sniffed appreciatively at the fragrant aroma of juniper and pine. Eldarion was fascinated by his surroundings and fell silent apart from occasionally drawing his father's attention to the creatures he spotted – some squirrels and even a deer.
The path gradually grew steeper until the horses struggled to keep their footing. When they approached a stream, Aragorn called out "We will leave the horses here as we have to travel the last part of the journey on foot."
The King leapt from Roheryn and unstrapped a covered basket, which rested on top of the saddlebags. Faramir lifted Eldarion from his pony. The Steward then selected a spot where there was grazing for the horses and tethered them to a mighty fir tree.
"What's in the basket, ada?" asked Eldarion.
"The first fruits for the offering," said Aragorn.
"Is the One going to eat them?" asked the boy.
Aragorn laughed. "No, I expect the birds and other wild creatures will enjoy them. The One has no need of food."
"Why are we taking it then?"
"It is as a token to show that we revere our Creator and are grateful for the harvest we have gathered this year."
Eldarion fell silent, trying to digest this. At length he asked, "May I carry the basket?"
Aragorn smiled. "Of course you may, ion nîn. I warn you that it is heavy, though."
Eldarion flexed his small arms. "I'm very strong!"
"Of course you are, Eldarion, but you must ask either Uncle Faramir or me to carry it if you become weary."
"I won't. I'm going to be a Ranger and Rangers are very strong!"
"Be careful not to spill any of the fruit then." Aragorn handed the laden basket to his son. Eldarion staggered slightly under the weight, but bore it valiantly without complaint.
The path soon became much steeper and Eldarion struggled to keep his footing and hold on to the basket. He kept stopping and putting the basket down. When he picked it up again, he almost stumbled as a shower of stones fell, dislodged by his father who was leading the way.
"Shall I take the first fruits now?" Aragorn suggested. "It is going to get much steeper the higher up we climb."
"I said I'd carry them," Eldarion replied stubbornly.
"Let me help you then," said Faramir. "We will carry the basket between us while your father leads the way. Then we can help one another up the path. Mountains are not easy to climb."
Without any further protest, Eldarion permitted the Steward to take one of the handles of the basket and with it, a great deal of the weight. Aragorn repressed a grin.
The three continued up the path, the terrain demanding that they progressed at a slow pace. They had to stop frequently to catch their breath as the air became colder and windier. As they climbed higher still, Aragorn glanced back to see how his son and Steward were faring and noticed that Eldarion was shivering slightly. He rummaged in his pack and brought out a warm cloak for the boy, which Arwen had had the foresight to pack.
"Why is it so cold, and why does walking make me so tired?" asked the little boy as he snuggled into the thick woollen folds without protest, which was unusual for him.
"It is because we are high up on the mountainside," said Aragorn. "The higher you climb, the colder the air becomes and the steeper it gets the harder we have to work to climb. We will stop here and rest for a few moments."
Eldarion gave a great sigh and relinquished his hold on the basket. Faramir lowered it to the ground and the three sat down upon a flat boulder.
"The snow never melts from high up in the mountains because it is always so cold," Aragorn explained.
Eldarion's eyes lit up. "Snow! Can we play snowballs, ada?"
"Not in a holy place, ion nîn. Also, the snow lies on a steep and treacherous slope. We are not climbing that high. Do not look so crestfallen, it is a special experience to offer thanks to the One, and we will have a wonderful view over the kingdom from the Hallow. You can see for miles around."
"Can we see where King Éomer lives? I want to see the horses!"
"I fear no mortal eye can see that far, ion nîn, but you will be able to look out over much of our kingdom, the kingdom that will one day be yours to rule."
"I don't want to be king," Eldarion said glumly.
Aragorn looked at his son. "Why not, ion nîn? You are my firstborn and heir to the Reunited Kingdom. You will make a fine king one day."
"But that means you have to die first and I don't want you to die, ada!"
Aragorn hugged the child reassuringly. "It should not be for a very long time, Eldarion. You will have grown to be a man. You will not have to rule alone either. You will have advisors to help you like Uncle Faramir helps me, and a wife too."
"I don't like girls!" Eldarion exclaimed in horror. "They hate getting their clothes dirty and play with silly dolls. I don't want to be married. That would be even worse than having to be king!"
"You might change your mind when you are older," Aragorn said mildly. "I did not want to get married when I was a boy either. Not until I met your Naneth did I see the benefits of wedlock!"
"Naneth is the most beautiful lady in the whole wide world," said Eldarion.
"I could not agree more," said Aragorn. "Now shall we continue on our way? I do not want Naneth to send out a search party if we are late returning."
"I'm hungry," said Eldarion. He glanced longingly at the luscious apples, pears, and plums in the basket. "Can I have an apple? You said the One was not going to eat them."
"We cannot eat the special first fruits," Aragorn replied. "There is no need to look so dismayed, ion nîn. I did not travel all those years in the wilds for nought!" He rummaged in his pack and brought forth a loaf of crusty bread, a hunk of cheese, some honey cakes, and three rosy apples, every bit as delicious looking as those in the basket. "Here is our nuncheon," said the King. "There is a stream higher up from which we can drink." He shared out the food equally between them.
Eldarion tucked in with a will. "Mountain climbing makes me hungry!" he said between mouthfuls.
"Food always tastes especially good in the open air," said Faramir. "Strange, is it not, that we have the finest cooks in the land but still prefer simple Ranger fare?"
Aragorn laughed. "I have no answer to that question, my friend."
"Do Rangers eat cakes?" Eldarion asked.
"Not very often, alas," Aragorn replied. "There was a kindly widow woman near Bree who would sometimes give freshly baked cakes to Halbarad and me, if we mended her fence or chopped wood for her, but we did not often go that way."
Eldarion's expression suggested that he was torn between his love of sweet cakes and his desire to become a Ranger.
"Come," said Aragorn. "It is not far to the Hallow now." He picked up the basket of fruit. Eldarion made no protest.
They climbed slowly and steadily upwards until they had almost reached the snowline.
"We are almost at the Hallow," said Aragorn. "Eldarion, I wish you to stay here for a short time with Uncle Faramir. I need a few moments of solitude to sense the presence of the One."
"But I wanted to offer the fruits with you, ada!" Eldarion protested.
"And so you shall, ion nîn, after I have spent some time in silent prayer and contemplation. Then we shall offer the fruits and look at the view together."
Faramir settled himself down on a flat-topped rock and beckoned to Eldarion to join him. The little boy mournfully complied. "Do not look downhearted," he told the child. "It is just something your father needs to do. It is part of being King. He offers prayers on behalf of us all that our land may be blessed. The One heeds his prayers for our land."
"How do we know that?" asked Eldarion.
"Look all around you!" said Faramir. "The weather is fair and the crops grow abundantly. The cows give plenty of milk and the granaries are full. Many new babies have been born since your father renewed the custom of giving thanks to Eru and our land is at peace. You are so fortunate to be growing up in such times. When I was a lad, we lived in fear under the Shadow of the Dark Lord. The harvest was poor, we were forever at war, and few children were born."
Just then, Aragorn reappeared. He was smiling and Eldarion thought that his father was almost glowing, so great was the expression of peace and joy upon his face. Above him, two great eagles hovered over the mountain summit.
"Look!" cried Eldarion. "Two of the Great Eagles. I have not seen one so close before."
"We are blessed that they have honoured us with their presence," said Aragorn. "Remember this day well, ion nîn. Now, come let us offer the first fruits."
"Have you seen the One?" asked Eldarion.
"In the silence and solitude, I can strongly sense that the Creator is all around us," Aragorn replied. "It is a truly wondrous feeling."
Together with Eldarion, he carried the basket around a bend in the path and up a steep slope. They had now reached a plateau covered with blue and white mountain blossoms. Eldarion did not know their names. "Naneth would like these," he exclaimed. "May I pick some for her?"
"I fear they would wither before you could give them too her," said Aragorn. "Maybe you could just pick one to show her. Now let us offer the fruits and be very quiet." He began to unpack the contents of the basket and lay the fruits out on the grass. Eldarion helped him, doing his best to remain silent. Aragorn then knelt and gestured for Eldarion and Faramir to do likewise. "Accept these fruits as a small offering of our gratitude for your many rich blessings upon our land," the King intoned solemnly. The three remained kneeling in silence for some time and Eldarion felt joy welling up within him. This place felt special and he has helping his father carry out an important duty!
Aragorn then rose to his feet and pointed to the steep slope in front of them. "This is where Gandalf and I found the White Tree," he told his son. "See where the snow lies? It was just a little way below there. Now take my hand and Uncle Faramir's and I will show you the view from here. Close your eyes for a moment. We will not let you fall."
Eldarion did as he was bidden and clung to the warm, strong hands of his father and the Steward as they led him across the plateau and around another bend.
"You can look now," said Aragorn.
Eldarion opened his eyes and cried out in amazement. Spread out below was the most wonderful view of Minas Tirith that he had ever seen. The sunshine made the great white tower sparkle, with the shining white circles of the City spreading out below.
"Everything looks so tiny!" Eldarion exclaimed. "And our house by the tower looks no bigger than my toy dragon!"
"That is because we are so high up," Aragorn explained. "Careful, you must not venture any nearer to the edge. You can see clearly from here how the City is carved out of the mountainside by our forefathers. If you look to the east, you can see Mordor, where the Dark Lord used to dwell. Towards the west is the Vale of Anduin and beyond that the sea, where we have been to visit Lord Imrahil."
"I love the sea!" said Eldarion.
"It is in your blood, ion nîn," Aragorn said with a smile. "Elendil and his folk came from the star- shaped isle across the western sea."
"My mother grew up by the sea," said Faramir. "I love to visit it, too."
"Lord Imrahil has invited us to visit him again," said Aragorn. "You can see from here where we will be travelling."
Eldarion leapt with excitement. Aragorn and Faramir gripped his small hands more firmly. The little boy turned his attention back to the view. "Does everywhere I can see belong to you, ada?" he asked.
"I gave Mordor to Sauron's freed slaves, " Aragorn replied, "but yes, that is my kingdom stretched out before you, that will be yours one day, ion nîn."
"It looks so big!" said Eldarion in a small voice.
"I felt quite overwhelmed too when Gandalf first showed me this view," said Aragorn. "As the years have passed, though, it has become a favourite place of mine. It is well worth the long climb up the mountain to see such a view."
"It is my favourite place too!" said Eldarion. "I love mountains!"
"There are still many mountains you have not yet seen," said Aragorn. "You will see many more when you grow older. Now, I think it is time we began the descent. I promised Naneth that we would be back before your bedtime. You do not want to miss your bedtime story."
"I shall tell Naneth a story tonight," said Eldarion proudly. "I shall tell her about how I climbed a mountain and saw the Great Eagles."
A/n. This was written for the Teitho "Mountains" challenge where it was placed first.
Aragorn also visits the Hallow in "The White Tree" and "A Time to Reap".
Chapter 82 - Silver Threads
B2MeM Challenge Canon couples - Valacar/ Vidumani The Steward and his sons - Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, colours - sea green
Format: short story
Genre: Romance, hurt/comfort
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Characters: Faramir, Éowyn
Pairings: Faramir/ Éowyn, Valacar/Vidumani
Summary: Éowyn is troubled.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Darling, I am growing old,
Silver threads among the gold,
Shine upon my brow today,
Life is fading fast away.
But, my darling, you will be,
Always young and fair to me,
Yes, my darling, you will be
Always young and fair to me. - Eben E. Rexford,
Faramir was becoming increasingly worried about Éowyn. He knew his beloved wife was prone to melancholy, but it had been years since he had seen such a pinched, tight look upon her lovely face as she had now. His gentle enquires as to what troubled her, had been met with a weary shake of her head and a swift change of subject. Unable to concentrate on his work, he sat thinking back over the events of the past few days, trying to ascertain what might be troubling her.
This time last week, she had been happy when she had awoken that morning, and joyful when she had returned from tending her horses, delighted a new foal had been unexpectedly born in the night. She had been her usual self when they had eaten the noonday meal together. Then her seamstress had arrived to fit her for a dress of sea green silk that she planned to wear for the King and Queen’s wedding anniversary celebrations the next month. It was a beautiful colour and imported especially from Harad for the occasion. Faramir was certain the hue would set off her golden locks to perfection. It seemed that was when her melancholy had begun. She had looked sorely troubled since she had emerged from her chamber after the seamstress had departed.
Surely, Éowyn was not still pining with unrequited love for Aragorn. That had been years ago and long since resolved.
Faramir tried to turn his attention back to his work, but he found it impossible to keep his mind upon it. He pushed aside the trade agreement he was working on. He could not bear to see his beloved unhappy. Either he would solve whatever problem was disturbing her, or if it were melancholy with no cause, he would ask Aragorn if he had some herbs that would help to raise her spirits. Or maybe a change of scene might help her? A visit to her brother in the Riddermark, or some time by the sea with his Uncle Imrahil’s castle? Aragorn would surely allow him a break from his duties to assure Éowyn’s well- being.
The Steward went in search of his wife. She was no to be found; either in the stables, or her herb garden, her usual haunts when she was not in the nursery with their children.
Much to his surprise, Faramir found Éowyn in their bedchamber, staring at the looking glass she held in her hand. That was most unlike her, for she was not a vain woman and rarely fretted over her appearance.
“Éowyn, what ails you, my beloved?” he asked, sitting down beside her on the bed. “Tell me that I might help you.”
“No one can help me, not even the Valar!” Éowyn replied sadly.
“At least, tell me what troubles you so, my love.” Faramir’s tone was gentle but insistent.
“This!” she whispered, indicating a few grey hairs amongst her strands of gold. “I noticed when I tried on my new gown.”
“Grey hairs? That is all?” Faramir could have laughed with relief. “They do not mar your beauty in any way, my love. You could cut them off if they trouble you.”
“But do you not see, Faramir? I am getting old while you remain young! I know well the story of Valacar and Vidumavi. Their union caused great disquiet, as she was not of Númenorean lineage. Great kinstrife resulted when it was time for their son to become king! What if the men of Gondor should reject Elboron as their next Steward? Moreover, I will one day leave you through old age. You will be all alone!” She burst into tears.
Faramir swiftly enfolded her in his arms. “My love, fret not over such matters. Valacar wed Vidumavi because he loved her, just as I love you. Their son was a great king and lived as long as any of the pure blood of Númenor. Aragorn is descended from them and I know those are among the longfathers he is the most proud of.
Times were different then and I dare to hope that Men have grown a little wiser. You are of the great House of Eorl and your grandmother came from Gondor, so you have a measure of the blood of Númenor in your veins. Aragorn told me once that should any of our children desire to wed any of his when they are grown, it would greatly gladden his heart, so have no fears on account of our little ones.
I hope with all my heart you will be long lived, but should it prove otherwise, I shall not be alone. I have the beautiful children you have given me, and the companionship of the King, who is of a far purer lineage than mine and will no doubt outlive even our children!”
Éowyn’s sobs quieted somewhat, but she was not completely reassured. “Do you never wish, though, that you had married a woman of Gondor?”
Faramir shook his head. “Never. No lady of Gondor ever captured my heart, though many tried to. I recall telling Frodo and Sam when I was captain of the Ithilien Rangers how much I loved and admired your folk, golden-haired, bright-eyed, and strong; you remind us of the youth of Men, as they were in the Elder Days. Our people have diminished themselves by intermarrying too much, so our marriage has strengthened my line, not weakened it, though such matters were far from my mind, when I asked you to marry me. Now though, I look at our fair children who combine the best of both Rohan and Gondor. I am certain that Valacar never regretted marrying his lady and I certainly do not regret marrying mine!”
He pulled Éowyn close and kissed her tenderly. To his joy, she responded with equal ardour. “When you wear your new sea green gown and I dance with you at the anniversary celebrations,” he said. “I shall be envied by every man in Gondor! Now there is still an hour before sunset, shall we go riding together?”
“Well you know how to please me, Faramir of Gondor!” Éowyn was smiling now. Hand in hand, they went to the stables.
Chapter 83 - Of Palantiri and Paper Towns
Of Palantíri and Paper Towns
Aragorn and Faramir
B2MeM Challenge Carolling- A beautiful sight, they're happy tonight; Book Titles: Paper Towns; Beasts - horse; Snippets of verse- if it could weep it could arise and go; The Steward and his sons - palantír; Talents and Skills- weaving; Last Lines- I wonder if she is as stubborn as I am; Tolkien's trees - Bay; Colours - orange
Format: ficlet
Genre: general
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Characters: Aragorn, Faramir, OFCs
Pairings: Aragorn/ Arwen, Faramir/Éowyn
Summary: Aragorn seeks to raise Faramir's spirits.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Faramir regarded the palantír grimly. Try as he might, he could see nothing save the gruesome image of his father's withered hands within it. He had so hoped that the passing of time would have somehow cleansed the stone and made it fit to use again. The King was planning a journey to the North soon and they had hoped they might use the palantíri to swiftly exchange messages.
"I will stow this away under lock and key," Aragorn said gently. "Trouble yourself not over it." He threw a cloth over the globe, lifted it from the plinth, and locked it within a wooden chest.
"If it could weep it could arise and go," Faramir said bleakly. He had turned pale and sweat beaded his forehead.
Aragorn squeezed his shoulder. You are too stubborn, ion nîn. There is no need for you to distress yourself so. The Orthanc stone suffices for me and you are competent in its use too."
"It saddens my heart that my father should have destroyed this ancient thing that our House guarded for so long," said Faramir. "And the grim manner of his death that was almost mine too!"
"The House of Hurin kept my kingdom well," said Aragorn. "It was a great pity that Sauron caused your father to lose his mind, but I thank the Valar that you live and thrive!" He was silent for a moment, wondering how best he might comfort the son of his heart. "We have an hour or two before our ladies are expecting us to join them for the evening meal," he said at last. "Shall we go for a ride across the Pelennor? That is, unless you would rather join Éowyn and your children now?"
Faramir shook his head. "I would be poor company for my lady and little ones at present," he said. "She has little understanding or patience with palantíri. I think she might have given my father good counsel had she but had the chance!"
"Then let us exercise our horses," said Aragorn. "The fresh air will do us both good. We have no pressing duties, so we ought not remain indoors on so fine a day."
"Thus speaks the Ranger!" said Faramir.
"A Ranger who would lighten a fellow Ranger's heart," said Aragorn.
The two men, followed at a discreet distance by their guards, made their way to the stables. Roheryn whinnied excitedly at his master's approach, while Iavas lifted her fine chestnut head and shook her mane when Faramir greeted her.
King and Steward were soon cantering along the Pelennor, enjoying the motion of the noble horses that bore them, and greatly relishing the feel of sun and wind upon their faces.
They rode alongside fields of flourishing crops and many fair trees. What once had been a battlefield had now been restored to its former fertile glory. When they approached a grove of dark leaved young bay trees, which had been planted to honour the fallen, the reined their horses to a halt and paused and bowed their heads in silent tribute.
As they rode onwards, the shadows lengthened and the blue sky gradually turned to flaming orange.
"What a splendid sunset!" Faramir exclaimed. He brought his Iavas alongside Roheryn. The two riders brought their horses to a halt and gazed at the orange and pink tipped clouds while the sun became a flaming red ball that gradually sunk beneath the western horizon.
"Beauty seems all the more precious after so long living in the fear that we might lose all," said Faramir.
"I cherish each sunrise and each sunset," said Aragorn. "The more so that now I no longer walk the wilds alone. To enjoy Arda's beauty with Arwen, my children, and you, mellon nîn has made victory and peace even sweeter than I dared hope."
In unspoken agreement, the two friends urged their horses homeward.
Arwen, Éowyn, and the older children were awaiting Aragorn and Faramir in Arwen's beautifully decorated sitting room.
Arwen was engrossed in weaving a tapestry, which depicted her husband's great deeds in battle. Éowyn was watching Eldarion brandish his wooden sword while the boy told her of the new moves he had just learned. Meanwhile, Elestelle was building intricate paper towns, helped by her cousin, Elbeth.
"A beautiful sight, they are happy tonight," Aragorn murmured in Faramir's ear as they greeted their ladies and little ones.
"What are you building?" Faramir asked his daughter.
"A town for my dolls to live in," said Elestelle.
"It is beautiful," said Faramir, admiring the intricate design. "Is it meant to be Minas Tirith?"
"No," Elestelle said firmly. "It is Edoras."
"Oh," said Faramir. "I thought it looked just like Minas Tirith. Why, there is the Tower of Ecthelion!"
"It is Edoras," Elestelle insisted.
"It began as Minas Tirith then Elestelle decided she wanted to build Edoras instead," Elbeth explained
Aragorn smiled at the domestic scene. It was good to see that Faramir had recovered from using the palantír, while the sight of Arwen and Eldarion never failed to gladden his heart.
Faramir looked again at his daughter's paper town and shook his head, before raising his eyebrows and saying, "I wonder if she is as stubborn as I am."
Chapter 84 - Sea Longing
Sea Longing
B2MeM Challenge AspectsOfAragorn1- wooer; Botany1- sage; Carolling- Tidings of Comfort and joy;Landscape1- cliffs Love1- And through all the lands, love is now mingled with grief, it still grows perhaps, the greater. Song lyrics- Now the light is slowly beckoning you to the shore; Canon couples Imrazor/Mithrellas
Format: short story
Genre: general
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Characters: Aragorn, Faramir
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen, Faramir/ Éowyn, Imrazôr/Mithrellas
Summary: Aragorn and Faramir enjoy a walk along the beach.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
The two men walked slowly along the deserted beach. Few were yet abroad so early in the morning. They were enjoying a brief hour away from the bustle of the castle in this peaceful spot surrounded by the towering cliffs of Dol Amroth.
Faramir stopped. He stood motionless for several moments, watching a flock of gulls that wheeled and circled overhead. "When I visit the sea, I think of the story of Imrazôr and Mithrellas and the trace of Elvish blood in my veins," he said. "I can feel the sea longing buried deep within me."
"I hope it does not consume you, mellon nîn, as it does Legolas, and did your poor mother." Aragorn's tone was anxious. "I would miss you greatly, should you feel the need to dwell by the sea. You must, of course, follow your heart and do what is best for you, though."
Faramir laughed. "There is no cause for concern," he said. "I love Minas Tirith and Emyn Arnen far too much to ever forsake either of them, not to mention your company, mellon nîn. I just feel a longing every now and then to behold the sea and I feel grateful to my Uncle Imrahil for inviting us here for a change of scenery before the Council reconvenes in the autumn. Unlike my poor mother, I am not threatened by the Shadow and I know I can visit the sea whenever I feel the need. What of you, Aragorn? You have Elvish blood too. Do you ever feel the sea longing?"
Aragorn shook his head. "I always enjoy visiting the sea, but I have never pined for it."
Faramir gazed out across the horizon. "I often think about my distant ancestors," he said. "What were they like? What were their hopes and dreams? Why would an Elf maiden desire to be wooed by a mortal?" He flushed slightly. "I am sorry; I should not have said that to you!"
Aragorn smiled and patted Faramir's shoulder reassuringly. "No offence is taken. Out of all Men living, I deem I might be the best able to answer your question. I never set out to woo an Elf maiden. To be honest, before I beheld Arwen, I had little interest in wooing or women at all; fighting Orcs appealed to me far more, foolish young man that I was! However, when I beheld Arwen's beauty and grace, I fell in love for the first and last time. I swore I would woo and win her, or forever walk alone. Maybe it was the same for Imrazôr and Mithrellas?"
"Maybe," said Faramir. "That was exactly how I felt when I first beheld Éowyn. Never until then had I believed before in love at first sight!"
"Maybe the peril that threatened us all had its effect?" Aragorn suggested. "I recall an Elf of Lothlórien saying, Love in all the lands is now mingled with grief, it still grows perhaps, the greater."
"Wise words," said Faramir. "Love seems all the greater and more precious in the shadow of death. I knew too that I loved you from the first moment I beheld you. A very different kind of love than what I feel for Éowyn, but no less deep and true."
Aragorn nodded. "Love sprang between us when you opened your eyes and hailed me as king. I was sore weary and my heart was heavy with grief at the death of Halbarad. There were few tidings of comfort and joy during those dark hours, but that was one of them. I had not only gained in you, a son of my heart, but your acceptance of my claim brought me closer to wedding my beloved."
"There was no doubt then in my heart that you were my rightful lord and king," said Faramir.
"And now?" Aragorn asked.
"I wonder why I yielded so easily to so terrible a tyrant who hauls me from my bed at dawn to tramp over the cliffs with him!" Faramir playfully aimed a mock blow at Aragorn, which the King easily dodged.
"If I recall rightly it was your suggestion last night that we take a walk to watch the sunrise and leave our ladies to sleep a little longer."
"Éowyn was already awake and dressed when I arose," said Faramir. She wanted to go riding before breakfast."
"Your lady is an early riser. Arwen was still fast asleep when I came out," said Aragorn. "Our ladies are like the lark and the owl. We former Rangers had to be like both. I do not miss tracking Orcs all night."
"Rising at dawn for roll call as a young recruit was even worse!" said Faramir. He sat down on a large rock. Aragorn sat beside him. They sat in silence for a few moments watching the waves and listening to the roar of the incoming tide. "Éowyn is interested in visiting the local healers to improve her herb lore while we are here. She was talking to an old maidservant who claimed that a local wise woman had used sage to clear her mind when the confusion of old age came upon her. The poor old lady must indeed be confused. I thought sage was used to flavour meat. Our cook makes delicious sauces with it too."
"The old woman is right," said Aragorn. "The Elves had long known that sage sharpens the memory of aged mortals. It has many other healing uses too; to kill infections, remove surplus fluids from the body, and to treat women's ills."
"Éowyn should talk to you then rather than the local healers."
Aragorn shook his head. "There is often something new to be learned from country folk. Mistress Tasariel knew far more about treating everyday aches and pains than any Elvish healer. I now use her recipes to treat patients for muscle soreness rather than Master Elrond's. They are far more effective. Country folk have often studied lore that is of little use to Elves, but can be a great deal of use to Men."
"It is strange then that Elves know that sage could aid the old."
"The Elven healers had pity when they saw once wise folk become forgetful and confused and sought to help them. That was back in the days of long ago when Elves and Men first became friends."
The sun slowly rose higher in the sky. Soon the beach was bathed in golden light, which seemed to beckon the two men to the shore.
They rose from the rock on which they had been sitting and approached the sparkling waves. Faramir chose a flat pebble from the beach and skimmed it across the water, watching it make several jumps before vanishing beneath the waves.
The two men looked at each other, voicing an unspoken wish. Aragorn pulled off his boots and stockings and rolled up the legs of his breeches.
"Maybe we should return this afternoon with our ladies and children?" said Faramir doubtfully.
"There is none here now to frown at us enjoying such childish pleasures," said Aragorn. "Why is it so shocking that a King and his Steward might take pleasure in paddling?"
"It is indeed shocking," said Faramir. Then he grinned. "But I care not at all!" He pulled off his boots and stockings and placed them beside the King's.
Together they waded out into the sparkling water, enjoying the feel of sand and warm seawater beneath their bare feet and the wind against their faces, tugging playfully at their hair.
Aragorn laughed at the sheer joy of the moment. "On second thoughts, were I never to behold the sea again, I believe I would indeed suffer from sea longing," he said. "Is there any other place that refreshes the spirits quite as much as the seashore?"
Chapter 85 - A Magic Deeper Still
A Magic Deeper Still – Linda Hoyland
Though the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there is a magic deeper still which she did not know – CS Lewis – The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
Disclaimer: The Tolkien estate owns the familiar characters, only the OCs are mine. No money is being made from this story.
Rating- PG13
Summary- When Aragorn and Faramir visit Harad they find that magic flourishes there.
"At last, a few hours to ourselves!" Aragorn exclaimed in a low voice to the Steward at his side. "The Kha Khan is most welcoming, but his hospitality can be somewhat overwhelming."
"I am simply thankful that he did not insist on us taking a troop of his palace guards with us on our outing," said Faramir, glancing at the two trusted guards of their own who followed at a discreet distance.
"At least we look less conspicuous in these robes the Kha Khan presented us with on our arrival," said Aragorn. "They feel cool to wear too."
"I still feel strange wearing what resembles a woman's gown," said Faramir. "I know all the menfolk wear them here, but few have so much embroidery!"
"I want to experience the marketplace here as it is," said Aragorn. "Being dressed as one of the Haradrim will help."
"I thought you lived here for some months many years ago?" Faramir questioned. "Did you not visit the market then?"
"I did, but it was very different from what it is today. The Dark Lord demanded heavy tributes and there were shortages of almost everything. Most of the stalls sold weaponry or cloth for making military uniforms. Sometimes, I found it hard to breathe; the air was rank from the stench of the human sacrifices being offered up."
Faramir shuddered. "My blood freezes at the thought!" he said.
"That is all the more reason to enjoy the silks and spices that the merchants of Harad now sell," Aragorn replied. "Ambassador Tahir tells me that haggling with the merchants nowadays is quite an experience, which we would miss out on if they knew who we were."
"If they are anything like the merchants at home, they would give us more of their wares than we could carry. Then we would need to purchase a camel to carry everything home to Gondor!"
Aragorn laughed. A stall selling silks as delicate as gossamer then caught his eye and he paused to buy a length in a deep, rich shade of scarlet that he was certain would show off Arwen's raven hair to perfection. Rather to his disappointment, the merchant was too eager to make a sale to haggle with any vigour. He even offered the King a discount, which prompted Aragorn to purchase more silk in a rich, deep shade of blue.
"Éowyn would look fair beyond measure in the green or the blue," Faramir commented. "Sadly, she has little interest in gowns that are not practical as well as pleasing to the eye." The two men then caught sight of some very finely woven cream silk. "Maybe Éowyn would like a silk nightgown?" he mused. "I will take a roll of the cream silk," Faramir told the delighted merchant.
The Steward hesitated, as he prepared to pay the merchant. "I think I will take some of the green silk too," he said. "Éowyn will need a new gown for the Mettarë celebrations, and green is her favourite hue."
Aragorn beckoned to one of the guards to carry their purchases. "I need to find a gift for Eldarion," he told his friend. "My son would not thank me for dressing him in silks, though!"
"There are some interesting looking smaller stalls over there," said Faramir.
"I need to find him a gift today," said Aragorn. "I doubt that we will escape so easily again, though we can try. There is the state banquet tonight and then negotiations over the border dispute the day after. I hope they will conclude in good time so we can return home."
"Maybe I can find something for Elboron too," said Faramir. "I wonder if they sell model horses in this market?"
"Maybe that stall can conjure one out of the desert sand for you?" Aragorn jested, with a nod towards the smallest of the displays, set a little way apart from the others. Above it hung a sign, which in the tongue of Harad read 'Everything you need to perform powerful magic'.
"Hardly," said Faramir. "Remember how Mithrandir could create smoke horses? Sadly, they vanished within the twinkling of an eye. Elboron would prefer something more substantial."
The two men cast a curious eye over the stall, wondering what passed for magic in Harad now that the Dark Lord was no more. An assortment of jars contained what looked like dried body parts of various reptiles, there were bunches of feathers hanging up from various exotic birds and more jars filled with brightly coloured powders.
"I wonder if those pink feathers would make good quills?" Faramir mused. "They might amuse Éowyn or Elboron. I will buy two of the pink feathers," he told the stall holder.
"Very powerful love magic you have there, noble sir," said the man, as Faramir handed over the coins. "If you touch the object of your affections with one on the night of the new moon, she will be yours forever!"
Faramir flushed slightly and stuffed the feathers into the folds of his robes.
"How about some mermaids' tears, honoured sirs? Any maid you give one to will burn with fervent desire for you." The merchant held out a tray of poor quality seed pearls.
"No thank you." Aragorn and Faramir both looked highly uncomfortable at the turn the conversation was taking. They turned their attention to the other wares on the stall. Of more interest to the King and Steward, were a selection of finely cut crystals which split the sun's rays into all the colours of the rainbow.
"Eldarion might like one of those," said Aragorn. "Master Elrond explained to me how a prism works, but to a child it indeed seems like magic."
"These most rare stones make powerful healing magic, o illustrious sirs," said the merchant. "To keep their virtue you must wash them when the moon is full then dry them by the rays of the sun while reciting words of power."
Aragorn struggled to repress his mirth as he haggled with the merchant over the price. If the man but knew of the virtue of the stone he wore concealed beneath his outer robe! At least, he had found a worthy opponent to haggle with. When the deal was concluded, the stone was carefully wrapped in a square of black silk before being handed to the King.
By now, the two were thirsty in the heat of the afternoon and wandered over to another stall, which sold refreshments. They ordered glasses of refreshing sherbet tea, which they sipped slowly. The magic stall was in a shady corner of the marketplace so the two friends wandered back there to enjoy their drinks.
"Maybe I will buy one of those crystals for Elboron too?" said Faramir. "We could hang it in the nursery to catch the morning light."
The merchant was now engaged in an animated discussion with a woman and paid little heed to the King and Steward.
"You need three peacock feathers, scales of a sand viper and a crystal forged in the fire of the holy mountain for the spell to work," said the merchant.
"I have only enough gold for one feather," said the woman. "Let me take what I need and I will pay you back as soon as I can, illustrious sir."
"Do you take me for a fool, woman? I give you only what you can pay for!"
"The darwisa said my son will die if the spell is not cast. Have mercy, I beg of you!"
"It not my fault your son is ailing."
Aragorn could listen in silence no longer. "Would it not be better to take your son to a healer, mistress?"
The woman looked at him impatiently. "I paid the healer to examine my son and he took all the coin I have. He could not help me and told me to send for the darwisa. She examined my son and confirmed that he is under a curse. She told me that only magic can save him and to call her back when I had what was needed for the spell."
"Maybe, I could be of some assistance, mistress? I am a healer of some experience."
The woman laughed harshly. "I tell you my son has been cursed! I see from your pale skin and grey eyes that you are a tark. What do tarks know of magic? Only your terrible king, who commands the dead to obey his every whim with his enspelled sword is said to have magic amongst the tarks!" She turned back to the merchant, pulling a ring from her finger. "Take this, it is all I own, in exchange for the magic ingredients!" she begged.
"It is not enough," said the merchant. "Now be off with you. I have other customers waiting with good coin to spend."
"I beg you, sir have mercy!" The woman flung herself to her knees.
The merchant emerged from behind his stall and towered menacingly above her. "Be gone, you miserable hag!" he shouted. "You are upsetting my other customers. I will call for the Kha Khan's guards to arrest you for causing a disturbance!"
The woman got up and stumbled away. Aragorn hurried after her while Faramir gestured to the guards to keep their distance. "Please, mistress, let me help you," said the King.
"You would give me the money to buy what I need for the spell? I will do anything, anything in return!" A gleam of hope flickered in her eyes.
"I have no intention of paying that merchant's extortionate prices for his dubious remedies," said Aragorn. "I will gladly visit your son and see if I can be of assistance, though."
"Did you not hear me?" said the woman despairingly. "My son is under a curse! Only the most powerful magic might save him."
"What manner of a curse?" asked Aragorn.
"Jawhar was out playing with the other lads," the woman said wearily, almost as if she considered Aragorn to be slow witted. "I've told him not to play in what is left of the temple, but he would not listen. An old man lives amongst the ruins; they say he was once a priest who offered sacrifices to the Lord of Gifts. The boys ran when they saw him, but my Jawhar tripped and fell and the old man cursed him. He managed to stumble home and tell me what had happened, and then he fell into a stupor from which I cannot wake him. He is lost to me in some dark dream. My boy, my only son is dying!" The woman burst into tears.
"Dry your eyes, mistress, and take me to the boy," said Aragorn. "I do not know if my magic will be powerful enough, but I can try."
"You have magic?" the woman asked between sobs. "Why did you not say so before? What will your magic cost?"
"Nothing," said Aragorn. "I just need to speak to my assistant, and then we will come and visit your son."
Aragorn returned to where Faramir was standing a little way off by the refreshments stall, to which he had just returned their glasses. Speaking in Sindarin, he swiftly informed the Steward of his plans and bade him tell their guards to follow, but keep their distance.
"You made out that we were wizards?" Faramir said incredulously
"It was the only way she would agree to let me see her son so we must act the part."
"You have spent your life under various guises, I have not."
"You simply need to follow my instructions, something you always do well. I believe your father called you a wizard's pupil for following Mithrandir's teaching, so I am certain you can play your part."
"Very well. I only hope you can help the poor woman and her son."
"So do I."
Aragorn strode off after the woman, who led the way to the poorest quarter of the town.
"I like this not at all," muttered one of the guards. "We should be at the King's side with our swords drawn."
"The King was defending himself against far mightier enemies than a lone woman and a sick child since before you weaned," said Faramir. "Now wait here, we will call if we have need of you."
The woman led the way inside a shabby hovel, its walls made from dried mud, as was customary in these parts. The single room was dimly lit by an oil lamp. At the far side of the room was a low pallet, on which a boy of about nine or ten years lay motionless. Beside him, crouched an old woman. She rose at the entry of the newcomers. "Jawhar has neither moved nor spoken since you left, Maisha," she said. "But who are these men?" She drew her shabby cloak more closely around her thin body.
"A tark healer and his assistant who claim to have knowledge of magic," said Maisha.
The old woman snorted. "Shame on you for letting a tark cross your threshold after they slew your husband. His spirit even now is thrall to the dread King of the West! Maybe these tarks steal souls too?"
Faramir could endure it no longer. "The King of the West holds no man in thrall, neither dead nor living. Neither does any Man of the West steal souls."
"The tales say they do," said the old woman.
"The tales speak falsely," said Aragorn who was already casting a keen healer's eye over the motionless boy. "Tell me exactly what happened, Mistress Maisha," he said in a commanding tone.
"I'm not staying here with tark magicians," said the old woman. "I'm off before they put a curse on me too." With that, she hobbled out into the street.
"She is a good woman, my neighbour, but she lets her tongue run away with her," said Maisha.
"It matters not," said Aragorn. "Just tell me exactly what your son said when he came home." Seeing her hesitate; he added. "It will help me prepare a spell."
"Jawhar stumbled through the door crying, The old priest cursed me. He said I would die ere the moon rose for desecrating the holy shrine with my presence."
"And you replied?" Aragorn pressed.
"Alas, my son, today you will die!"
"Then what did the healer you summoned say?"
"That my boy's illness was caused by magic and that I should ask the darwisa for help. He charged me four gold pieces for his advice. I ran at once to fetch the wise woman."
"And she told you?" Aragorn prompted.
"She charged me three gold pieces for telling me what I already knew that my boy was dying and that powerful magic alone might save him. She told me to get the ingredients so that she could perform a healing spell and then come and fetch her back."
"Thank you," said Aragorn. "Now I must thoroughly examine your boy." He pulled back the shabby covers that covered the ailing child. The boy's skin was cold to his touch, but apart from a few minor scrapes and bruises, Aragorn could discover no injury to account for his condition.
"I need you to heat some water for me to perform my spell," he told Maisha.
"Can you undo the curse?"
"I know not, mistress, but I shall try my utmost," said Aragorn.
"What truly ails the boy?" Faramir asked in a low voice in Sindarin while Maisha was engaged in placing a pot upon the fire.
"I believe it is something akin to the Black Breath," said Aragorn.
"But how so? Sauron is no more."
"I believe some residual evil might linger in the place where so many innocents were sacrificed," said Aragorn. "Also, words have a power of their own. Master Elrond told me that fëa and hröa are closely entwined. If the fëa believes that death is approaching the hröa can expire." He reached inside his robes for the Elessar brooch that he always wore, which he had kept concealed in the marketplace, and pinned it on the breast of his outer robe, where the gem gleamed like green fire. A sudden inspiration struck him and he unwrapped the prism and placed it on top of the unconscious boy over his heart, where it reflected the rays of the Elessar stone. "These stones work powerful magic," he told Maisha in a loud clear voice. "My assistant has feathers even more powerful than those of the peacock."
Faramir rummaged inside his robe and brought out the pink feathers. At a sweeping gesture from Aragorn, he began to stroke the child's feet with them.
"The hot water, masters," said Maisha, appearing at the bedside with a steaming bowl.
"Thank you, mistress, I shall now speak a powerful incantation, then I will call your son. I want you to call him too. He knows your voice and will follow you back into the light."
Aragorn raised his hands heavenwards and said in Quenya, "Hear me, Estë, healer of hurts and weariness. Look with favour of this child and restore him. Let my hands be the instrument of his healing!" He then rummaged within his robes and took out the pouch of healing herbs that he always carried and took out two dried athelas leaves and cast them into the bowl of steaming water. At once, a living freshness filled the miserable hovel.
Aragorn handed the bowl to Faramir who held it in front of the boy's face. Aragorn knelt on the dusty floor and took the child's hand in one of his own. The other hand he placed on the boy's brow. "Jawhar!" he called. "Awake, the power of the curse is broken!"
Jawhar stirred slightly but did not open his eyes.
"Awake!" cried Aragorn. "With my might, I banish the dark magic. You are freed from the evil spell. Jawhar, Jawhar, come to me, open your eyes!"
Still Jawhar's eyes remained closed, though he was now breathing much more deeply and his skin no longer felt deathly cold beneath Aragorn's touch.
"Mistress Maisha, call your son's name and tell him the curse is banished," said Faramir urgently. He put down the bowl for a moment and waved the feathers with a sweeping gesture for an added effect.
"Jawhar, my son, wake up. This powerful wizard has freed you from the curse," said Maisha in a somewhat tremulous voice. Aragorn nodded his approval and Maisha repeated her words this time more strongly. Meanwhile, Aragorn continued to call the boy. "Wake up, Jawhar, no one is angry with you, the curse is broken, awake!"
Jawhar's eyes finally flickered open and he regarded the strangers curiously. His eyes then fixed on his mother who had begun to weep. "Mother, I'm hungry!" he said. "Why are you crying and who are these strangers?"
Maisha hugged the boy tightly.
"Give him something to eat," said Aragorn. "He will suffer no lasting ill effects, but should not go near the ruined temple again. It is not a wholesome place."
"I will get you some bread, my son," said Maisha. "It is all we have."
"You were widowed during the war, mistress?" Faramir asked. "Times have been hard for you."
"My husband was a wealthy silk merchant and we lived in a fine house once, little though you might believe it." Maisha laughed bitterly. "Then the war came and my man, together with the rest of them, was forced to fight in the army of the Lord of Gifts. He fell and I lost everything. Jawhar was still in my womb when his father was slain."
"I am sorry," said Faramir. "Alas, many good men lost their lives. Maybe we could help you?"
"I am no beggar," said Maisha. "I accept no charity. It is bad enough that I cannot pay you for your magic."
"Before we leave, I will cast a spell for protection and prosperity around your house," said Aragorn. "We will do it while you fetch food and drink for your boy."
Aragorn beckoned to Faramir and the two went outside.
"The Valar be praised you could save the child!" said Faramir.
"There was very little I needed to do," said the King. "It was his own mind that healed him, once I freed his thoughts. He believed the curse would kill him and his mother's belief he would die convinced him that he would all the more. That was why I needed her to call him back too. Now quickly, help me move these pebbles. We had better sing, as if we were performing some ritual."
Faramir began to sing the hymn to Elbereth and Aragorn joined in as the two scooped aside the stones around a stunted bush in the courtyard behind the hovel. Aragorn then reached inside his robes for his purse and scattered the gold coins on the rocky soil. Faramir did likewise. Still singing, the two replaced the pebbles, then concluded their song.
"We must hurry back," said Faramir. "The moon will rise soon and the feast will be starting. The Kha Khan will send his guards to look for us."
"I shall speak to the Kha Khan about the temple ruins and the malevolent old man," said Aragorn. "Other children should be saved from what was almost Jawhar's fate."
"Maybe Tahir could help too?" said Faramir. "His kinsman pays heed to him. They are both anxious to return all of Harad to the worship of the benevolent moon deities."
" I shall speak to him, " said Aragorn. "We have finished our work here just in time. He went back inside and found Jawhar eagerly devouring an unappetising looking crust and a mug of water. "We will take our leave now, Mistress Maisha," he said gravely, as he gathered up the prism and the feathers. "My assistant and I have performed ritual for blessing and good fortune for this house. When the moon has risen tonight, gather some pebbles from beneath the bush in your courtyard and you will not want for many days."
Maisha prostrated herself at his feet in the fashion of her people. "You saved my son's life, o powerful magician!" she said. "How might I ever thank you?"
"I have my reward in seeing Jawhar restored to health," said Aragorn with a smile. He lightly laid a hand upon her brow in a gesture of blessing and then slipped from the house, followed by Faramir. The two guards emerged from their hiding places and the small party made their way back towards the Kha Khan's palace.
"This will be a fine tale to relate to Arwen when we return home," Aragorn said thoughtfully." I have been many things before in my life, but never a magician."
"You may not call yourself a magician, but you have always had magic," said Faramir. "You are a child of Lúthien and her power is in you too. I perceived it from the moment I first beheld you; you are more than just a man with Melian and Lúthien as your foremothers. While you and your line endure, there will always be magic in Middle-earth."
A/n In some parts of the world beliefs persist that curses can cause real damage and even kill. There have also been cases in the West where patients have died after being told they have a serious illness, even if it is treatable, simple because they believe they will die.
Chapter 86 - An Unexpected welcome
Grey Havens
Challenge:
"You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it's all right."
-Maya Angelou
Write a story or poem, or create a piece of art on the theme of leaving or returning home.
Title: An Unexpected Welcome
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir, Arwen
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
For once, the sight of the White City did not gladden Faramir's heart. Minas Tirith still looked forlorn with the broken gate and damaged walls. He chided himself inwardly for his low spirits and tried to think of cheerful things; it had been most enjoyable to visit his Uncle in Dol Amroth, men were busy rebuilding the walls and now the King returned dwelt within the City.
It had been at the King's insistence that Faramir had returned home with his uncle after King Théoden had been laid to rest. Concerned for his Steward's health, King Elessar had insisted that he take a short holiday.
Now, there was no delaying his return to the Citadel any longer, a return to his empty rooms, so close to those once inhabited by his father and brother, and now abode to the King and Queen. It was still hard to take in that never again would Boromir warmly embrace him, nor his father take him to task for some failing, real or imagined. And this was his only home now, until his new house in Ithilien was built. The Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien could no longer dwell amongst his Rangers simply as their Captain. It would have been far different if Éowyn had been at his side for this homecoming, but she was still needed in her native land to assist her brother.
It was not good brooding, though, over what could not be changed. Faramir shook himself inwardly. He had already decided to dedicate himself to serving Gondor and her new lord. The first moment he had beheld Aragorn he had loved him, but this love was mixed with overwhelming awe combined with a fear that should he fail in performing his duties in any way, the King would be no more pleased with him than his father had been, for all his present kindness. Faramir knew he owed everything to Aragorn, life, lands, and titles. The Steward still felt sometimes that he must be dreaming and he would wake up and find it had all vanished again.
Faramir rode through the city streets, responding to friendly greetings called out by the people he passed. He took a deep breath on the threshold of his rooms and smiled a warm greeting at the servant who took his luggage.
"You have guests, my lord," said the man. "They are waiting for you in the living room."
"Guests? Who is visiting me?"
"Your pardon, my lord, but they gave no names."
Faramir debated whether he should first wash and change his travel-stained clothes first, or greet his mysterious guests. He decided to do the former would be lacking in courtesy. He made his way to the living room and opened the door. To his amazement, the King and Queen were sitting either side of his hearth. They both rose to their feet. Aragorn warmly embraced Faramir while the Queen clasped his hand.
He froze, yearning to accept the affection offered to him, but bewildered that his new lord and his lady should greet him thus, and uncertain how to respond. His father had always insisted on being greeted in a formal manner and derided displays of affection as being only for women and small children.
"Welcome home, my Steward!" said Aragorn. "I forbade your servant to tell you who was here; we wished it to surprise you."
"Indeed, my lord, it is gladdens my heart to see you and your lady," said Faramir. "Please forgive me that I have neither washed nor changed my clothes after the journey."
"That matters not," said the Queen and gave him a radiant smile.
"We are here only for a few moments," said the King. "When we heard you had arrived in the City, we feared this might be a lonely homecoming for you without either your lady or the brother you loved here to greet you, so we hastened here."
"We should like you to dine with us tonight," said the Queen.
Faramir hesitated. He yearned to accept the invitation, but surely the newlywed couple would rather be alone together and were simply trying to be kind? He recalled too all the times his father had berated him for saying the wrong thing at the dinner table. What if he offended the King and Queen in some way?
"That is kind of you, my lady, my lord," he said. "I have much work to catch up with, though."
"You should not exert yourself so soon after a long journey and when still recovering from your battle hurts," said Aragorn. "I forbid you to work tonight. Unless you are too tired, we shall expect you in an hour."
"Until then, "said the Queen, smiling at Faramir again.
His every excuse overruled, the Steward called to the servants to bring water for bathing and to look out his best clothes.
000
Later that night, after a simple but delicious meal of carrot soup, poached salmon and fruit pie, accompanied by a fine wine and agreeable conversation concerning old lore, Faramir could only reflect how different his homecoming had been to what he had expected. His heart soared. His admiration for the King had grown ever greater. Truly, Aragorn was the greatest man of the age, and he, Faramir was most fortunate to be his Steward.
A/n. This ficlet was written for a challenge in 2011 and since languished forgotten on my hard drive.
Chapter 87 - Bread of Life
Day Eighteen: Wilderland
Today's Challenge:
There is no beautifier of complexion, or form, or behavior, like the wish to scatter joy and not pain around us. 'Tis good to give a stranger a meal, or a night's lodging. 'Tis better to be hospitable to his good meaning and thought, and give courage to a companion. We must be as courteous to a man as we are to a picture, which we are willing to give the advantage of a good light. - Ralph Waldo Emerson
The act of kindness or hospitability usually comes from a generous heart. Write a story or poem, or create a piece of art where your character displays this virtue.
Title: Bread of Life
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, OMCs
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Aragorn was holding a public audience when one of the Citadel Guards dragged a bedraggled child before the King, a half eaten loaf still in his hand. The wronged baker followed a few steps behind, his features red with indignation.
"I caught this scoundrel, red handed, I did, sire, stealing from the baker in the third circle," the guard announced.
"What have to say for yourself, boy?" Aragorn's tone was stern.
"I was hungry, sire so I took it. Are you going to lock me in the dungeons?" The boy tried to sound defiant, but he was shaking with fear.
"Where are your parents, child?" Aragorn's tone was gentler. "And what is your name?"
"I am called Iorlas, sire. My father died in the war and my mother is sick with a fever, as is my little sister. We live in the first circle by the ruined smithy."
Aragorn beckoned to a nearby servant and said. "Take this boy to the kitchens and see that he is given a good meal and a bath. I will decide what to with him later. I believe he stole because he was hungry."
The baker glared as the boy was led away. "I must protest, sire. They all say they are hungry orphans if you catch them thieving! They should have their greedy heads chopped off!"
"Do you sell cakes in your shop?" Aragorn enquired.
Yes, I have a fine selection of every kind of cake you could wish for. My iced buns and honey cakes are especially popular with my customers."
"But the boy took only a cheap loaf?"
"Yes, sire, but …"
"The lad tells the truth, Master Baker. What hardened thief would leave fine cakes and take only bread, especially a growing boy, unless it were from want rather than greed. I will see you are paid for your loaf. Now go."
The baker slunk away, still muttering indignantly.
Aragorn gave orders that a healer be despatched to the boy's home then spent the rest of the morning dealing with more pressing matters than the young thief.
Later that day he ordered that Iorlas brought before him again. The boy now looked presentable, but he still shook with fear.
"Are you less hungry now, Iorlas?" Aragorn asked.
"Yes, sire, the cook gave me a wonderful meal!" The boy's eyes brightened at the memory before fear clouded them again. "Are you going to cut my head off now, sire?" the boy asked.
"No child is killed within my realm by my order. I know not who filled your head with such nonsense." Aragorn said gravely. "You must never steal again, though, Iorlas."
"I won't, sire, I promise."
Do you like horses, Iorlas?"
"Yes, sire, I do."
"Then you can earn an honest living as a stable boy. My grooms tell me they have need of an extra one."
"I'd like that, sire, but what of my mother and sister?"
"They are safe in the Houses of Healing. Now go and tell my head groom that you can start work tomorrow. You will be given some new clothes. Then you have leave to visit the Houses of Healing go to tell your mother that all will be well now."
To Aragorn's surprise, the lad burst into tears. "Whatever is the matter now, lad?" he asked. "The healers say with care and good food your mother and sister will soon get better."
"I didn't think the King would be so kind to us poor folk," sobbed the lad. "I thought you only cared about the great folk with jewels and fine houses. Lord Denethor wasn't interested in the poor folk."
"I am not Lord Denethor. I am Envinyatar, Aragorn Elessar. As King, I try to be as a father to all my people," said Aragorn, putting a fatherly arm around the child's thin shoulders. "I care about everyone who lives within my realms and if I can help them, I do. From the greatest to the least, it is our duty to try to help one another."
"That's what my mother says," said Iorlas, wiping his face with his tattered sleeve.
"Thank you sire." The boy rubbed his tears away with his sleeve then to Aragorn's bemusement hugged him, before scampering away, his tears replaced by an enormous grin.
Aragorn smiled as he watched the boy depart. This was what brought him the most joy from holding high office, the power to bring joy into his subjects' lives. He whistled cheerfully to himself as he went to join Arwen for supper.
A/n. This was written a while ago for a prompt, but I thought it suitable to post today. Wishing all my readers a happy and peaceful Christmas in the story take place about a year after Aragorn becomes King.
Chapter 88 - Star of the North
Star of the North; by Linda Hoyland
Rating; PG
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Summary; Aragorn receives an urgent summons from Gimli.
With thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
Orthanc towered impressively over the plain. It was a sight that never failed to cause Aragorn to catch his breath and reminded him to marvel anew at the skills of his ancient forebears.
"Soon we shall learn what secrets the tower still holds," said Aragorn, reining in Roheryn. Faramir did likewise on his own mount, Iavas, a feisty chestnut mare.
Once the repairs in Minas Tirith were complete, Aragorn had decided it was time that Orthanc was restored and thoroughly cleansed of Saruman's presence. To that end, he had despatched a team of workmen with Gimli at their head. The Dwarf had begged the commission for Orthanc was stuffed with all manner of unique and beautifully crafted treasures that his kind delighted in unearthing.
It was proving a lengthy and time- consuming task, which was constantly interrupted by Gimli's many other commitments, both to his own people and to Legolas.
Gimli sent Aragorn long letters detailing his progress and everything he had found at Orthanc. He had unearthed many beautiful swords, buckles, and helmets decorated with horse emblems, as well as beautiful jewels. Aragorn had suggested that Éomer should first see these artefacts, which the young King has identified as heirlooms of the House of Eorl stolen by Grima Wormtongue from King Théoden. Éomer had also identified many treasures stolen from the burial mounds of his forefathers.
Just over a week ago, though, a very different letter had been delivered into Aragorn's hands by a trusted courier. Unlike the others, it was brief and to the point. 'I have discovered a hidden doorway in the White Wizard's private chambers," Gimli had written. "There is writing on it in a tongue that neither I nor my workmen understand. I ask you to come. You have travelled further than any man living and might understand what the words mean. I feel there might be something of great importance behind the door, but am loth to open it unless the words are deciphered, lest it conceal some devilry of Saruman's best left untouched .'
Aragorn's curiosity had been piqued. He was also concerned that some threat to his realm lay hidden behind the door. Therefore, he decided to depart for Isengard at once, accompanied by a small detachment of guards.
Faramir had pleaded to go with him, reminding Aragorn that it was his ancestor, Beren, who had granted Orthanc to Saruman to dwell in.
"Much mischief could have been avoided had Beren refused the Wizard's request," said Faramir as he gazed upon the lofty tower.
"No doubt at the time, he felt honoured than one so mighty would grace Gondor with his presence," said Aragorn. "Saruman managed to conceal his true designs even from Gandalf."
Consoled by the King's words, Faramir changed the subject. "I wonder how our ladies are faring in our absence?" he said. "Éowyn hardly noticed my departure. She was excited that one of her mares was about to foal." He laughed.
"I expect Arwen is ruling wisely and well in our absence," said Aragorn. "I suspect she rather enjoys holding the reins of power sometimes. Her wisdom far exceeds mine."
"I hope only that this mystery of Gimli's poses no threat to our beloved land," said Faramir when they approached the gates of Orthanc.
"If it is some cunning weapon we can destroy it," said Aragorn. He looked around him approvingly. Where, a few years before had been utter devastation, was now a fair park of young trees, given to Aragorn by the Ents and lovingly tended by them. "The sooner we find out the better." He urged his horse forward. Faramir did likewise.
Gimli was waiting for them at the top of the steps, which led into the tower. "I saw you coming from afar," he said after greeting them warmly. "One of the few things this infernal tower has in its favour is that you can see for miles around from the top."
Aragorn looked around him approvingly. Gimli and his workmen had made good progress since his last visit and few traces of Saruman remained.
"We cleared the vile chambers where the confounded wizard bred his Uruk Hai first," said Gimli. "Then last month, we started emptying the Sauraman's private rooms. The walls of an inner chamber were covered with tapestries showing him as lord of Middle-earth. We tore them down and burned them. It was then it struck me how ill proportioned the room was. We found an extra wall had been added to one side, which we decided to demolish. It was then we found a concealed door. I will show you as soon as you have refreshed yourselves after your long journey. One of the men here will tend your horses." He ushered Aragorn and Faramir inside and showed them the bathing chamber and a sleeping chamber that had been prepared for the guests.
Aragorn and Faramir quickly performed their ablutions, but did not change out of their travelling clothes. A few minutes later, the two friends followed Gimli up a long winding stairway to the rooms that had been Saruman's private chambers.
The room was clean and bare. At the far side was a doorway decorated with elaborate carved letters.
"It is all gibberish to me," said Gimli. "It is certainly not in my tongue or any of the common tongues of Men."
Aragorn and Faramir stepped forward and studied it closely. "It is Adûnaic," Aragorn said at last.
"The old tongue of Númenor, which fell into disuse after Ar-Pharazôn caused her destruction," Faramir added.
"That's all very interesting," said Gimli, "but do you know what it means?"
"Greater than the Simarils are the treasures of the cunning mind," said Aragorn. "But look, the words have been altered, there and there. Saruman named the tower 'Orthanc', which means 'Cunning Mind' in the tongue of Rohan. It was called 'Angrenost', which means' iron fortress' before he dwelt in it. I think the inscription once read, "Greater than the Simarils are the treasures of the iron will."
"The White Wizard speaks with a forked tongue as ever," said Faramir.
"Indeed!" Aragorn replied.
"The door has no handle," said Faramir. "How can we learn what is inside?"
"It might well have been built to house the palantír," said Aragorn. "It could be empty now."
"We will soon find out," said Gimli. "There is no door impassable to a stout Dwarf!" He reached for the bag of tools, which he carried slung over his shoulder and set to work.
Aragorn and Faramir could only watch as the Dwarf selected a variety of implements and started work.
"This could take some time," said Gimli.
"Is there nothing we can do to help?" asked Aragorn.
"You can help me best by going to take food and drink," the Dwarf replied. "I work best unobserved.
Aragorn and Faramir forced themselves to restrain their curiosity and follow the servant that Gimli summoned. The ale they were served tasted good, but the rabbit stew was bland and unappetising and the apples small and sour. The culinary arts were obviously not one of the talents of Gimli's workforce.
Aragorn and Faramir had eaten far worse in their Ranger days, though, and they were hungry after their ride.
They had only just finished eating when Gimli burst into the chamber beaming. "The door is open," he announced. "I will leave the honour of looking inside to you."
The King and Steward hurried back to Saruman's chamber. Gimli had wedged the door open with a block of wood. Aragorn opened it wide. It opened into a narrow corridor, on the far side of which was a steel closet. The King made to go inside.
Faramir gripped Aragorn's arm. "No, mellon nîn," he said. "There could be concealed perils. I should go first."
"I do not fear a dead wizard," said Aragorn, trying to free himself from Faramir's grasp.
"Please, ada, it would help make right my ancestor's folly!" said Faramir.
Aragorn sighed. "Very well, ion nîn, but if I thought any real peril awaited you, I would not let you take risks on my behalf."
Faramir stepped forward through the doorway.
"We should get torches," said Aragorn.
"It quite light here," the Steward replied. "I will- Argh!" The ground suddenly gave way beneath his feet and he vanished into a black void.
For an instant Aragorn was frozen to the spot. Then he noticed Faramir's fingers, frantically clutching at the edge of the void. He dropped to his knees, crying "Hang on!" and reached down to grab hold of Faramir's wrists. Once he had a hold, he lay down to better spread his Steward's weight. He felt as if his arms would be wrenched from their sockets. Faramir was a slender man, but he was tall and muscular.
"I will fetch a rope," Gimli cried.
"Do not let go, ion nîn!" Aragorn called into the blackness. "I have you. Gimli is bringing a rope."
"May he be swift!" said Faramir. "I cannot hold on for much longer."
"I shall not let you fall," said Aragorn. He spoke no further word as he concentrated on keeping Faramir from falling into the abyss. Curse Saruman! Whatever priceless treasures he might have squirrelled away; they were not worth Faramir's life.
Moments passed, feeling like hours. Aragorn's hands started to grow numb. He willed himself to hold on. He would not, could not let the friend who had become dear as a son to him fall. He shouted out "Gimli, hurry!"
The Dwarf raced into the room with a coil of rope, which he tied around Faramir's wrists while Aragorn continued to grip the Steward's hands. Then the stout Dwarf heaved and tugged until Faramir was able to scramble out of the chasm.
Faramir collapsed on the floor where he lay ashen faced and panting. Aragorn knelt beside him in scarcely better condition. He felt as if he had just run forty leagues with a hoard of Orcs in pursuit. "Thank you, my friend," he told the Dwarf.
Gimli looked around the room and espied a plank leaning against the wall, left there by the workmen. He threw it across the gaping hole in the ground, and before Aragorn could collect himself, was walking across it with surprising agility for his build.
"What are you doing?" asked Aragorn. "Be careful!"
"I'm putting a stop to the confounded Wizard's tricks," said the Dwarf. "He shall give up his secrets now." He took a file from his tool bag and forced open the door of the cabinet. It was almost empty apart from a casket on a high shelf. Gimli snatched it up and cautiously made his way back across the plank.
"Let us see what is inside," he said. "Most likely some foul thing!"
"Faramir is hurt," said Aragorn. "Saruman's treasures can wait."
"I should like to see," said Faramir. "I have just pulled some muscles in my shoulder I think." The Steward had regained his breath, but still looked pale.
"Very well." Aragorn cautiously opened the casket. Within it, two things were laid.
One was a small case of gold, attached to a fine chain; it was empty, and bore no letter or token. Next to it lay a treasure without price, a white star of Elvish crystal upon a fillet of mithril. Never before had they beheld a jewel so fair. The very radiance of the stars seemed to be contained within the gem.
"It reminds me of Frodo's star glass," said Faramir. "So fair a thing I have never before beheld!"
"It is the Elendilmir itself," Aragorn exclaimed in awe as he took it reverently in his hands. "This jewel is descended from Silmarien to Elendil, and was last seen when Isildur took it as the token of royalty to the North Kingdom. It was believed lost with him. The one I have been wearing was made by Elven-smiths in Imladris for Valandil Isildur's son, it has neither the ancientry nor potency of the one that was thought lost forever."
"A priceless treasure indeed!" said Faramir in amazement. "That is surely the most precious jewel you have discovered in Gondor!"
"All save one," said Aragorn smiling. "More precious still is the jewel I discovered in the grip of the Black Breath after the battle of Pelennor Fields. No jewel can compare with a true and trusty friend."
A/n. Some lines are taken directly from Tolkien's Unfinished Tales.
This story was written for the Teitho "Jewels" challenge where it was placed 2nd.
Chapter 89 - The King's Holiday
The King’s Holiday by Linda Hoyland
Rating - K
Summary – Too many holidays leave Aragorn in a bad mood.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything save the original characters, everything else belongs to great Tolkien.
With thanks to Deandra, Virtuella and Raksha.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy - proverb
It was a perfect morning in early April, but Aragorn was in a morose mood that even Arwen’s loving smiles at the breakfast table failed to dispel. When a servant brought a message saying that the ambassador from Khand wished for an audience, the King snapped tetchily, “Again? I only saw the fellow last week!”
“I thought you liked the Ambassador?” said Arwen.
“I do,” Aragorn conceded. “I just feel rather tired. I have not been sleeping well.”
“You need a holiday, my love,” said Arwen.
“I have had enough holidays in March to last me an Elven lifetime!” Aragorn replied. “I would be happy if I never heard the word ‘holiday’ ever again! First, there was my birthday, when all the merchants’ guild decided because I wear the Elfstone that I must have a liking for green stones. I now have several chestfuls of beryls that I have no idea what to do with.”
“I have been thinking about that,” said Arwen. “Why not ask the midwives to distribute them and give one to every babe born on your birthday? I am sure you will think of other good uses for them too.”
“An excellent idea,” said Aragorn. “That was not the worst torment, though. I do not know how I managed to remain awake when that minstrel began to sing of my ‘great deeds’, most of which were grossly exaggerated or else the credit belonged to someone else.”
“You are too modest, my love,” said Arwen.
“Then I had to listen to another minstrel praising my deeds on Pelennor Fields on March 15th,” said Aragorn. “I would much rather we simply remembered those who fell that day. We could save the celebrations for the New Year when we remember how Frodo and Sam saved us all by destroying the Ring. I do not begrudge my people, especially the poor folk, having a holiday, but I find holidays far more tiring than my daily work.”
“That is precisely what I meant, beloved,” said Arwen. “You need a holiday to recover from all the celebrations you have had to preside over.”
“You must be exhausted too, vanimelda.” Aragorn’s tone was contrite.
“I have been accustomed to presiding over feasts for centuries,” said Arwen. You have not, my love. I suggest that you go out in the wilds for a few days to lift your spirits and restore your energy. Take Faramir with you to serve as a companion and bodyguard, some fresh air will surely benefit him too.”
“Faramir has worked harder than anyone organising the celebrations,” said Aragorn. If anyone deserves some rest, it is he! How I wish I could do as you suggest, but I have a trade delegation from Dale I have to meet in four days time.”
“Leave them to me,” said Arwen. “I know that you would like to buy toys from them, while they are eager to purchase wool. I have also had an idea to encourage trade between Dale and Harad after talking to Lady Adiva. We could levy a tax on goods that pass through Gondor and use it to improve the roads.”
Aragorn grinned at his wife then planted a loving kiss on her lips. “You have thought of everything, vanimelda,” he said. “I will leave the trade delegation in your capable hands.”
0000
Faramir took little persuasion to agree to accompany Aragorn. For once, there was little work for him to do in the City, while at home, Éowyn was preoccupied because one of her favourite mares were about to give birth. She had taken to spending most of her free time in the stables with the equine mother- to-be. Faramir had offered to keep her company, but his lady feared that anyone other than she might unsettle the skittish first time mother.
Three days after Aragorn’s conversation with Arwen; King and Steward set out soon after sunrise. They travelled light, taking only their swords, a change of linens, a little food, and their water skins. As was his custom, Aragorn also carried some healing supplies in his pack and he had placed a handful of the unwanted beryls in his pockets in the hope of finding some use for them. The previous night, the two had debated what route they should take and decided to visit Lossarnach rather than the wilds. The distance was not too great and the orchards would be putting forth spring blossoms, which were one of the loveliest sights in Gondor.
As soon as they left the city walls behind and the countryside stretched out before them, Aragorn’s spirits began to rise. What better way was there to spend a day than on faithful Roheryn’s back, with a good friend at his side and the feel of the sun and the breeze on his face.
It was late afternoon when they reached Lossarnach. Both men’s hearts soared as they rode alongside the orchards. The blossoms were so abundant that the trees looked as if they were covered in pink and white snow.
“It will be a good year for fruit,” remarked Faramir. “Yavanna is blessing us richly now that the Enemy is no more.”
Aragorn nodded his agreement. “We should stop here for a while,” he said. “The horses deserve to rest and I am starting to feel hungry.”
“Should we head for the nearest village or stay in the countryside?” asked Faramir. “Maybe we could visit Mistress Tasariel?”
“Let us find the nearest village, it is too far to visit Tasariel today,” said the King. “I like to visit my people without them knowing who I am. I can learn whether or not they are happy and if they are not, how best I might help them.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a holiday for you!” Faramir laughed.
“Can a King ever truly take a holiday?” Aragorn mused. “I enjoy being amongst my people, though without pomp and ceremony and officials fawning over me. When I was Chieftain of the Rangers there was far less formality and sometimes I miss those days of sharing a warm fire or a mug of ale with my folk. They always came to me with their concerns.”
The path widened out as the two riders approached a group of houses clustering around a village green. An inn stood a little way apart from the houses. The two men stopped beside a water trough and dismounted while their horses drank. Their eyes were drawn towards a group of children playing on the green. In the centre of the group, a boy lay on a tattered cushion. Around his head was a crown of leaves and in his hand he brandished a stick. Beside him, stood another lad, also clutching a stick while several other children clustered round.
“Off with her head!” cried the recumbent boy, pointing towards the only girl in the group, a child with pigtails and a freckled nose who looked to be about seven years old.
“Why?” asked the little girl.
“You didn’t bow low enough,” said the boy. “You didn’t give me enough gold either!”
“I’m tired of this stupid game!” said the little girl and started to walk away.
“Cut off her head, Lord Furamir!” cried the boy.
Faramir started at the near approximation of his name. Both men listened more intently to the children’s chatter.
“I’m going home now,” said the little girl, ignoring him.
The boy sighed then called out to the other boys, “Bring me more cakes to eat and assemble my army or Lord Furamir will cut off your heads!”
“When I’m king, I’ll cut off your head!” said the little girl.
“Stupid! Girls can’t be king!” the boy retorted.
“A girl can be a queen, though,” said Aragorn.
The children turned and stared at him.
“What game are you playing?” asked the King.
“Being king,” said one of the boys.
“And my brother always gets to be king because he is the biggest,” said the little girl. “It’s not fair. He gets all the fun, just like the real king!”
“What do you think the King does then?” asked Aragorn. There was a twinkle in his eye.
“Everyone knows that,” said the boy scornfully. He scrambled to his feet. “He lives in a fine house and lies on silken cushions and eats cakes all day. When people make him cross and don’t do what he says, he chops off their heads or asks Lord Furamir to do so because he’s the Steward.”
Faramir was seized by a sudden uncontrollable fit of coughing. Aragorn cleared his throat several times and pulled out his handkerchief. “No, being King is not like that at all,” he said at last.
“And what would you know about it?” asked the boy.
“We dwell in the City,” said Faramir. “I have seen the King on many occasions.”
“And he hasn’t cut your head off?” asked the boy who had been playing ‘Furamir’.
“The King only has people who do bad things killed,” said Aragorn solemnly. “They are killed by the state executioner, not Lord Faramir.”
“Do you mean bad things like pulling my hair and dropping my favourite doll in a puddle?” the little girl asked eagerly.
“I meant very bad things like killing someone,” Aragorn said gravely.
The little girl looked disappointed. “Oh, my brother hasn’t killed anyone – not yet at least!”
“The King works very hard,” said Faramir. “He most certainly does not lie on cushions all day eating cakes. He rises early and spends most of the day reading documents and signing treaties.”
“That sounds boring,” the children chorused almost in unison.
“But he does wear a crown?” asked the little girl.
“Only on special occasions," said Aragorn. “The crown is heavy and would give the King a bad headache to wear all day.”
The boy, who had been playing at being the king, sighed, removed his makeshift crown, and threw it on the grass. “What’s the point of being King if it is so dull then?” he asked.
“More things than you could ever imagine,” said Aragorn, a dreamy faraway look in his eyes as he spoke. “Most important of all, though, is that the King can care for his people and try to make life better for them.”
“I thought he fought in battles and killed dragons,” said ‘Furamir’.
“He has fought in many a battle, but never has he slain a dragon,” said Aragorn. He glanced around to see what the horses were doing. They were cropping the long grass at the edge of the green contently. “Would you like to hear a story about the King’s real adventures?”
“Yes, please,” chorused the children.
Aragorn sat down cross- legged on the grass with Faramir beside him while the children settled themselves in a semi- circle around him.
The King began with a tale of a visit to Bree during his Ranger days, but the oldest boy interrupted, “But he wasn’t King then!”
“I want to hear about battles!” said ‘Furamir’.
“I want to know about what he does when someone is accused of doing something bad,” said the little girl.
“If you children are going to argue, my friend and I will be on our way,” Aragorn said sternly, making as if to get to his feet.
“Please, we’ll be good,” chorused the children.
Aragorn decided to tell the children the story of Beregond combined with the tale of the Battle of the Black Gate. This time, his young audience listened with baited breath, and let out a collective sigh of relief when the Guardsman was pardoned and sent to a new life in Ithilien.
“You see,” Aragorn concluded. “The King likes to be merciful if the wrongdoer deserves mercy. He was taught by someone very wise.”
“The King had lessons?” asked the little girl.
So Aragorn began another story, this time of his younger days. A couple of the older boys lost interest and wandered off, though they stayed within earshot. By the time, the story was complete, the shadows were lengthening, and the children’s mothers were calling them indoors for supper. Aragorn feared too that his stomach would start to rumble if he delayed eating for much longer.
The little girl lingered after the boys had left, ignoring her mother’s calls from a nearby doorway.
“You should go to your mother,” said Aragorn.
“Thank you for the stories,” said the child. “I wish I could see the King.”
“Maybe if you ever come to visit the City you will,” said Aragorn. “I will give you a stone of the kind the King wears.” He reached in to his tunic and brought out one of the beryls and pressed it into her small hand.”
“Thank you.” She gazed at it with obvious pleasure in her eyes. “What is your name, master? I’m Haleth.”
“I am known as Strider,” said Aragorn. Impulsively, he added, “If you should visit the City when you are grown up, you can ask to see the King. Tell the guards that Strider sent you. Now go to your mother.”
Haleth scampered away.
“Why did you tell her that?” asked Faramir. “It would betray our disguise.”
“It would not matter years from hence,” said Aragorn. “I simply desire to remain unrecognised while we enjoy our brief holiday. Now let us see if yonder inn serves food to hungry travellers.”
A crudely painted sign naming the inn as “The Plough Horse” hung above the doorway, which was so low that Aragorn and Faramir had to duck their heads to enter. It took their eyes a moment to adjust to the dim interior. A cheerful fire burned in the hearth at one end of the long, low room. A tabby cat was curled contentedly on a rug in front of the fire. The floor was covered with rushes and the place smelled slightly of ale.
A grey-bearded man wearing a leather apron came to greet them. “Greetings, good sirs,” he said. “We don’t often get strangers in these parts. How might I be of service?”
“We are captains on leave from the City,” said Aragorn. He seated himself at a table in the corner. Faramir seated himself opposite. “We should like two mugs of your best ale, if you please. Do you serve anything to eat?”
“Right away, good sirs,” said the innkeeper. “My wife has a pan of mutton stew on the stove, right tasty it is and also some apple pie from what’s left of last year’s harvest.”
“That would be most agreeable,” said Faramir with more enthusiasm than he felt.
A few moments later, the innkeeper’s wife appeared clutching two steaming bowls, smiling; she placed them in from of the King and Steward.
Aragorn picked up his spoon and sampled the stew. It tasted surprisingly good. The mutton was tender and cooked with a variety of herbs and vegetables. The royal kitchens served the finest fare in the land, but the King sometimes missed the simple homely fare that he had enjoyed during his Ranger days.
“This is good,” said Faramir. “It reminds of the fare at “The May Bush” where we stopped on the way last time I visited Rohan with Éowyn.”
“That was a much larger inn,” said Aragorn. “This stew reminds me of the “Prancing Pony,” which I frequented in my Ranger days. This inn is much smaller, though.”
“A few more customers are arriving,” said Aragorn. He glanced around. Just at that moment, a group of men who looked like farmers entered. One of them, a stocky fellow with brown hair, came over to where Aragorn and Faramir were sitting.
“We don’t often see strangers here,” the man said. “You look alike too!”
“We are father and son, both Captains on leave from our duties in the City,” Aragorn replied.
“You leave the delights of the City to visit this remote village?” the man asked incredulously.
“The blossom here is most fair at this time of year,” said Faramir. “When spring comes the folk in the City long to leave its bustle for the peace and beauty of the countryside.”
The man shook his head. “If I could leave my farm, I should visit the City,” he said. “Still, each to their own!” With that, he went and took a seat by the fire.
Aragorn found himself using his sharp hearing to listen to the murmur of conversation at the surrounding tables. As King, he cared that his subjects were not being subjected to injustice or oppression in any form. These men seemed content enough, one complained of a nagging wife, another of a disobedient son, but their worries were purely of a domestic nature. The talk was mostly of growing crops and hopes for a good harvest.
Another man came in, a little taller than the others. He was beaming from ear to ear. “Drinks all round!” he cried. “My wife has just given me a fair son!”
“Congratulations!” said Aragorn. “I trust they both fare well?”
“The midwife says she and the baby are both doing well,” the man replied. “A bonnier babe you never saw and he has a right lusty cry. I have a boy to farm my land after I am gone!”
Aragorn reached in his pocket and took out one of the beryls, which he gave to the new father. “Keep that for your lad when he is older,” he said.
“What’s this?” said the farmer. “Ah I see now it’s an Elfstone. Folk say they bring good fortune and the King is partial to them. Well I reckon what’s good enough for the King is good enough for my lad. Thank you, good sir.” He looked more closely at Aragorn. “I saw the King when he was crowned,” he said. “Reckon you remind me of him a bit, save he was all dressed up in finery and jewels, quite unlike the garb you wear.”
Aragorn struggled to keep a straight face.
“The King is always immaculately dressed in public,” said Faramir.
“I reckon so, or how else could he be king if he weren’t dressed finer than the rest of us with his crown and that great green stone he wears.”
Aragorn smiled but said nothing. He almost unconsciously touched the Elessar brooch, which he was wearing concealed beneath his tunic. “May your lad prosper!” he said.
The innkeeper had finished serving the drinks, and everyone raised their glasses to echo the King’s words.
“This calls for a song,” said the new father. He turned to Aragorn. “Do you know any songs, sir?”
“He comes from the City,” said the stocky man glumly. “I doubt they have time for songs there.”
“We do!” said Faramir somewhat indignantly.
“Indeed we do,” said Aragorn, but I will sing you a song I have heard sung in an inn such as this one. He began to sing a song he had learned from Bilbo and heard Frodo sing on a memorable occasion.,
“There is an inn, a merry old inn
beneath an old grey hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
one night to drink his fill.”
It was a catchy tune and soon the others picked it up and sang along cheerfully. Faramir glanced at Aragorn who was singing merrily without a care in the world. It seemed that this holiday was just what his lord needed to restore his spirits. Faramir smiled contentedly and joined in the song.
A/n. this story was written for the Teitho “Holidays” contest where it was placed second. Tasariel is a character from “A Time to Reap”. Adiva is wife to the Ambassador from Harad and a friend of Arwen’s.
Chapter 90 - Messin' About on the River
Author: Linda Hoyland
Title: Messin’ about on the River
When the weather is fine you know it's the time
For messin' about on the river
If you take my advice there's nothing so nice
As messin' about on the river
There's big boats and wee boats ands all kinds of craft
Puffers and keel boats and some with no raft
With the wind in your face there's no finer place
Than messin' about on the river – Hatch/Reed
Rating: G
Theme: One Picture is Worth a Thousand Words
Elements: Beneath the willows
Author's Notes: Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Deandra.
Summary: Aragorn has a surprise for Faramir
Word Count: 1,070
Aragorn was not usually prone to feeling envy, but there was one small matter in which he slightly envied Faramir, his Steward and friend.
Faramir’s birthday was in early May, when nature was at her most beautiful and Yavanna’s abundance was evident in every tree and flower.
The trees were still bare for Aragorn’s March birthday and the only flowers were the brave snowdrops and crocus that dared to emerge at that time of year. Even in Rivendell’s sheltered climate, the birthday picnics he had longed for as a boy had been out of the question.
Aragorn reminded himself that despite the benevolent climate of Faramir’s birthday month, the Steward had fared even worse for celebrating his birthday when he was a child, as his mother’s death and father’s coldness had cast long shadows.
Now, as Gondor’s esteemed Steward, Faramir had enjoyed a lavish birthday celebration in Ithilien with Éowyn, his children and his Uncle Imrahil. His closest friends were invited too. Aragorn and Arwen had been the first to receive an invitation.
The day afterwards, Faramir returned to the City with the King and Queen, ready to resume his duties there.
A few days later, Aragorn entered the study where the King and Steward usually worked together, looking unusually cheerful for one who loved the outdoors and anticipated the day ahead to be spent poring over documents. “I have a birthday surprise for you, mellon nîn,” he announced, clapping Faramir on the shoulder.
“A surprise? But my birthday is over now and you and Lady Arwen have already given me a fine gift.”
“I could not bring this surprise to your celebration. Will you ride with me to the river this afternoon, ion nîn?”
“We are going swimming?” Faramir’s face lit up.
“Maybe,” Aragorn replied enigmatically. “You shall see.” He refused to say a word more on the subject.
As soon as the noonday meal was over, the two friends set out, urging their horses to a gallop. Given their heads, the steeds almost flew across the fields, their manes flying in the wind.
They quickly reached the Anduin and tethered their horses to a branch of one of the willows that lined the riverbank. The horses were soon contentedly cropping the lush grass.
Expecting to go swimming, Faramir look around for a secluded spot in which to undress. It was then he espied the small boat moored beneath the trees. “A fair boat indeed!” he exclaimed. “There must be a fisherman nearby, though. We shall have to go further down the river to swim.”
Aragorn shook his head and laughed. “There are no fishermen around, mellon nîn. The boat is yours! It is my surprise birthday gift to you.”
Faramir hugged the King delightedly. “It is perfect, ada! We can go fishing and I can take Éowyn and the children for river picnics. We can explore parts of the riverbank that are impossible to reach on horseback.”
“That is what I thought, when I had it made for you,” said Aragorn, clearly delighted at the enthusiastic reaction of the one he loved as his own son. “Now, let us try it out.”
The two scrambled aboard the boat, which was provisioned with a set of oars. To Faramir’s surprise, there was also a large picnic hamper and a flagon of wine stowed beneath the seats. “You think of everything, ada!” he exclaimed.
“That was Arwen’s suggestion,” Aragorn replied. “She sent a servant out with the provisions this morning and told me she did not expect my return until sundown.”
“Your lady is most generous,” said Faramir.
“She considers you a dear friend,” said Aragorn. He grinned. “Not to mention that she appreciates you accompanying me for some fresh air and exercise. My beloved says I am like a bear with a sore head if I spend too long indoors!”
“You could take your lady and children for a picnic too,” said Faramir. He took up an oar.
“Thank you. They would like that. I know Arwen misses the Bruinen.” He took up an oar too and the friends began to row.
“I should miss the Anduin if I had to live away from it,” said Faramir. He trailed his oar in the water as they rowed away from the bank. “Ah, this brings back so many memories.”
“Good ones, I hope?”
“Very good. When I was a lad, Boromir and I used to visit our uncle every summer. Those were the happiest times I recall from my childhood. Boromir and I would take a boat out and catch fish. We were so proud if the cooks deemed our catch worthy to serve at the evening meal. Fine though the fare at my uncle’s table was, the fish we caught always tasted better to us boys!”
“Food one catches oneself always tastes best,” Aragorn agreed.
The two lapsed into companionable silence as they rowed along the river. They stopped frequently to explore nooks and crannies along the banks. Aragorn was pleased to discover several healing herbs that were in short supply while Faramir delighted in the many species of birds they saw nesting along the banks. A family of ducklings swam alongside the boat and Faramir opened the hamper and took out some titbits to feed the little family.
The friends trailed their hands in the water when they became too warm and then Faramir launched into an old Númenorean sea-song in Adûnaic that he had learned from his Uncle as a boy. It was catchy tune, which Aragorn soon picked up and the two sang it together in harmony.
The exertions of rowing soon gave both friends a hearty appetite. The contents of the hamper did not disappoint. There was a selection of meats and several different cheeses, crusty bread and pickles. This hearty fare was followed by Faramir’s favourite honey cakes and a selection of fruits imported from Harad.
The meal was washed down with a fine wine brewed from grapes grown in Ithilien.
“This has been a perfect afternoon!” said Faramir. “Thank you ada!”
“I wanted to give you a special birthday celebration, ion nîn,” said Aragorn. “This makes up, too, for the lack of picnics on my own day of birth! To be serious, though, how much harder my task as King would be without your support and friendship.” He raised his glass in a toast. “Happy birthday, Faramir, and may you have many more!”
Chapter 91 - Crown and Sceptre
Crown and Sceptre
B2MeM Challenge Facets of Faramir- writer; Emotions1- delight; Roles and names of Aragorn - Stranger; Aspects of Aragorn - Traveller; Canon couples1 -Faramir/ Éowyn; Rangers of the North- Sceptre of Aninuminas;The Steward and his Sons - Prince of Ithilien; Snippets of verse-Day brought back my night; Injuries and other ailments - stomach ache;landscape - canon(gorge)
Format: short story
Genre: general
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Characters: Aragorn, Faramir, Éowyn, OFCs
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen, Faramir/Éowyn
Summary: Aragorn visits Faramir in Ithilien.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
"You are fortunate I do not have to blindfold you here," teased Faramir as the two men entered the narrow gorge that led to the waterfall at Henneth Annun. The torrent was overhung with dark boxwoods and holly, which served only to highlight the water's clear brilliance.
"Not if you value your title as Prince of Ithilien!" Aragorn replied. He laughed. "This is the one place that your grandfather never suggested that I visit."
"During the dark days of our struggle against Sauron, no stranger was permitted to come this way with eyes unbound," said Faramir. "We dared not betray our refuge to possibly unfriendly eyes."
"It gladdens my heart that I can now look upon it," said Aragorn. "The waterfall brings back memories of Rivendell and my childhood, while the view over the meadows is most fair. But you did not bring me here to look at the view nor visit your Rangers at the outpost here, did you, my friend?"
"How well you read my thoughts!" Faramir replied. "There is something I wish to ask you about."
The two men ceased walking and stood together gazing at the waterfall, the bright water sparkling in the sunlight as it cascaded over the stones. "I think sunset here is the fairest sight on earth," said Faramir. "I have tried to paint it, but cannot do justice to the colours. No matter how many times I behold it, I am filled with delight. How blessed I am that you have made me Prince of this fair land!"
"You deserve it, Faramir," said Aragorn, squeezing the younger man's shoulder. "You are a man of many talents."
"I should like to write down the story of your time here as Thorongil, if you would permit to do so," said Faramir. "That is the favour I wished to ask of you."
"Why not? If you think my youthful adventures an interesting enough tale to tell. You are a skilled writer who will tell the story well."
"I find it a wondrous tale that a traveller who was a stranger here should perform such great deeds and then vanish back into the shadows from which he came then re-emerge forty years later as our king!" said Faramir. "You came when all hope seemed lost and saved us."
"You should thank Frodo, not I," said Aragorn. "Now, if we are not to need saving from your good lady's wrath, we should get back in time for the delicious meal she will be helping her cook prepare for this evening."
"I wish we could stay until sunset," said Faramir. "I did promise Elestelle a bedtime story, though."
"We will return," said Aragorn. "I should like to bring Arwen here. The waterfall would remind her of Rivendell."
King and Steward lingered a moment longer, loth to leave such fair surroundings on a summer's day, then side by side made their way back along the narrow gorge to where the guards awaited them, together with their horses. They bade farewell to the Rangers and rode away back towards Emyn Arnen.
Rather to their surprise, Éowyn was nowhere to be seen when the two men returned.
"She is in the nursery with Lady Elestelle," said Mistress Elwen, the housekeeper in response to Faramir's enquiry. "The poor mite isn't feeling well."
Faramir almost ran to the nursery. Aragorn did likewise, Faramir's little girl was almost as dear to him as his own flesh and blood.
They found Éowyn sitting on a chair in the nursery trying to soothe a tearful Elestelle. The child managed a wan smile when her father and the King entered.
"She found some green apples this afternoon and ate them," said Éowyn in response to her husband's anxious questioning. "She now has a bad stomach ache as result. I've given her some peppermint tea, but it has not helped much."
"Maybe I can ease her?" said Aragorn.
"I would be grateful if you could," Éowyn replied. "I need to feed Elboron and I also have a lame horse I am concerned about, but I cannot leave Elestelle while she is in pain."
Aragorn took the child in his arms and held one hand a few inches about her stomach. Almost immediately, the little girl stopped crying. "Does that feel better?" he asked.
Elestelle nodded. "Why can you make me feel better when Naneth can't, Uncle Aragorn?"
"Because as the King I have healing hands," Aragorn explained.
"Why don't you wear your crown all the time?" asked Elestelle. "The kings in the story books all wear their crowns!"
Éowyn smiled gratefully at Aragorn. She kissed her husband and daughter then left the room.
"I think you will be telling the bedtime story tonight, mellon nîn." Faramir said with a smile. His little daughter was fascinated by stories of kings and queens.
"The crown is too heavy and uncomfortable to wear save on special occasions," Aragorn explained. "I could not always wear it, any more than I could always carry the Sceptre of Annúminas around with me.
"What is that?" asked Elestelle.
"You will not have seen it because it is a symbol of the Royalty of Arnor, rather than of Gondor," Aragorn explained. "It is the oldest thing that survives made by Men, as my longfather, Elendil brought it with him from Númenor. It is very special to me because Master Elrond gave it to me when I married Aunt Arwen."
"Can I see it, Uncle Aragorn?"
"When you next come to the City, you may. And one day you shall visit Annúminas, which is being rebuilt to be as splendid and beautiful as Minas Tirith."
"No city could be better than Minas Tirith!"
"We shall see, child. You can tell me your verdict after you visit Annúminas with your parents once the rebuilding is complete."
"Is the sceptre like ada's White Rod?"
"I suppose it is," said Aragorn.
Elestelle nestled contentedly in his arms as Aragorn continued to tell her about the sceptre in a soft low voice. Soon she was fast asleep. Aragorn laid her gently on her bed.
"Thank you, my friend," said Faramir as the two men tiptoed from the nursery, leaving Elestelle in the care of her nanny.
"It is always a joy to be able to help you," said Aragorn. "I enjoyed telling Elestelle about the royal regalia.
"It is not crown or a sceptre but your goodness that makes you such a great King," said Faramir, and hugged his friend.
Chapter 92 - Pondweed and Perfume
Author: Linda Hoyland
Title: Pondweed and Perfume
Rating: PG
Theme: Fanon Busters
Elements: eyes, believe, round,
Author's Notes: (Optional) A kind of sequel to the story I wrote last month and inspired by Rhymer23's comment on that story. I dedicate the story to her with my thanks and also to my friend, Julia on the occasion of her birthday.
Summary: Aragorn and Faramir have an unfortunate accident.
Word Count: 2692
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to my LJ friends for all their help.
The strawberry scones were to blame for the accident, or so Aragorn and Faramir were to tell their wives later.
One moment they were sitting contently in Faramir's little boat eating scones, lovingly made by Aragorn's cook to a recipe given him by Sam, then the next they were in the water, gasping and spluttering.
Or maybe it was the wasps to blame rather than the scones? All would have surely been well, had not the wasps shared the King and Steward's partiality for the strawberry jam which smothered the scones and swarmed around the two friends when they were enjoying their treat. Their frantic attempts to drive off the hungry swarm caused the boat to capsize, depositing both its passengers and the scones in the depths of the Anduin.
Most unfortunate of all, the two had been feeding the ducks crumbs of scone in a weed- infested inlet. Once Aragorn and Faramir had righted the boat, retrieved the oars and clambered back into it most of the water weed had transferred itself to their persons, clothes and hair. Not only were they wet, but they were also covered in stinking green slime.
"If only we had taken our clothes off to go swimming!" lamented Faramir. He ruefully pulled off his boots and emptied out the water together with some small fish, water snails and seemingly endless green tendrils.
"Most likely our clothes would still have been in the boat, though," said Aragorn.
"I would not have duckweed clinging to my back, though," said Faramir. "Ah well, at least the wasps have gone."
"Together with our picnic!" Aragorn said grimly. "The sooner we get home and change into clean, dry clothes the better."
"I thought you were used to being wet from your Ranger days?" said Faramir. "I believe it rains more in the North than in Ithilien."
"I am, but I am not accustomed to being covered in stinking weed!" said the King. "I had my fill of that when I hunted for Gollum."
The two fell silent as they rowed towards where they had left their horses grazing. The noble beasts neighed in protest at the smelly and slimy condition of their riders. At least the summer breeze and their exertions had removed most of the water from the King and Steward. The drying mud, which clung to their skins was even more uncomfortable than dripping garments.
"I hope no one sees us," Faramir fretted as they approached the City gates. He pulled his cloak more closely round his face.
"Our reputations will remain intact," said Aragorn. "No one will recognise us looking like this! I just hope we can sneak back inside the Citadel unnoticed. I do not even wish Arwen to see me until I have bathed and changed my clothes. I will never hear the last of our mishap!"
"Everyone will smell us coming for leagues around!" Faramir said grimly.
"I wish you peasants would wash before coming to the City," grumbled the guard at the gate.
Aragorn rewarded the man with a glare that made him visibly cringe under the King's steely gaze. The guard muttered an apology.
Aragorn simply grunted as they were waved through. Under the mud, Faramir flushed scarlet. His discomfort increased as they rode through the First Circle. Passers-by laughed at them while several children shouted rude comments,
"Don't you wash?" shouted one child.
"My grandpa's pigs are much cleaner than you two!" cried another.
"That the King should be treated thus!" groaned Faramir in a tone so low only Aragorn could hear.
"Peace! This is nothing new to me, mellon nîn," said Aragorn ruefully. "The Breelanders often treated us thus. It is far from easy to keep clean in the Wilds, much as I would have liked to do so. Then there was the time that Butterbur offered me and Halbarad a free meal and bed for the night if we mucked out his stables. One of the horses reared and knocked Halbarad over. The stench was so bad that we never did get our free meal and lodging!"
"The innkeeper should have provided a bath!" Faramir exclaimed indignantly. "Yet, I have heard your foster- brothers remark on your liking to be covered in mud."
Aragorn snorted. "Nonsense! They simply would tease me, because when I arrived back at Rivendell after months in the wild, I was usually in dire need of a bath, but yearning for one too! One of the nicest things about being King is being able to have as many baths as I wish. I do not mind a little mud, but nothing feels better than a hot bath afterwards!"
"There were many strange tales told about you when you first came to Gondor. Who knows how many are believed still?" said Faramir.
"I most clearly recall a mistaken belief that I despised Men in favour of Elves," said Aragorn. "Though why I should seek to rule Gondor were that the case, I have no idea!"
"I believe that came about when you toured the City with Legolas to discuss plans for the rebuilding," said Faramir. "I admit that even I believed that Legolas was your closest friend, being an Elf, as I knew you were brought up amongst Elves."
"Legolas is a good friend, but no dearer to me than the other members of the Fellowship," said Aragorn. "I had met him a few times before the Quest when Elves from Mirkwood visited Rivendell, but we were merely acquaintances. I shared a glass of Dorwinion with Legolas and his sire when I placed Gollum in the care of the Elves, but I was treated no differently than any other guest from Master Elrond's house. I was most grateful for the use of their bathhouse to wash off the mud that clung to my person, though."
"Before or after you were offered the wine?" asked Faramir.
"Before, of course! No King or Prince would drink with a muddy traveller."
"This Prince would!" said Faramir. "And it seems the King will ride alongside a muddy companion!"
The two had distracted themselves so well with their banter that they failed to notice a familiar figure approaching until he was almost upon them.
"Honoured friends, whatever has happened to you!" exclaimed Ambassador Tahir, his brown eyes full of concern.
"Our boat capsized and we fell in the river," said Faramir. "I fear we cannot stop to talk. We need to return to the Citadel to bathe and change our clothes."
"You must come to my residence," said Tahir. "It is much nearer."
Aragorn and Faramir looked at each other. On the one hand, they had no desire for the Ambassador and his household to see them like this, on the other hand Tahir already had done. Then there was the problem of dripping mud onto Arwen's favourite carpet. She would be far from pleased. Éowyn was in thankfully in Ithilien, but Arwen would be certain to tell her.
"We would accept your kind offer," said Aragorn. "We need hot water to wash in though, rather than the steam of your hamam."
"My servants will fill the pool in the soğukluk with hot water for you, honoured friends," said Tahir.
"You are very kind, but we could not put you to so much trouble, my friend," said Faramir.
"You would honour me greatly by coming to my humble abode," said Tahir. "Many times you have done great service, both to me and to my family. Please let me be of some assistance to you, honoured friends."
"Thank you, we will come," said Aragorn.
Tahir turned to the servant who accompanied him and said something in his own tongue. The man scurried off.
"The bath will await you by the time you reach my residence," said the Ambassador. "Better you should be bathed and wearing fresh clothes before your fair blossoms behold you."
"Indeed," said Aragorn drily, envisioning Arwen's face if she saw him covered in pondweed.
The three soon arrived at Tahir's spacious residence in the sixth circle. To Aragorn and Faramir's relief, once their horses were handed to the care of a groom, the Ambassador took them through a side entrance, which led directly to the hamam. To Tahir's great credit, he managed not to wrinkle his nose at the stench of pondweed emanating from his guests.
To Aragorn and Faramir's delight the round, deep bathing pool was filled with steaming water, which was perfumed with fragrant spices. Cooler water flowed from the fountain in the centre of the pool. The Undying Lands could not have presented a fairer prospect to the two bedraggled friends.
Tahir gestured towards the edge of the pool. "Here are towels and soaps, fragrant oils, sponges and scrubbing brushes," he said. "I have given orders you will not be disturbed. I will return when you have refreshed yourselves, honoured friends," he said. The Ambassador bowed low and left Aragorn and Faramir to their ablutions.
As soon as he had left, Aragorn and Faramir thankfully peeled off their stinking sodden clothes. Beneath them they found that mud and pondweed was clinging to almost every inch of their anatomy, even their toes. They plunged into the bath and swiftly scrubbed themselves clean.
"Tahir has thought of everything," said Faramir, as he scrubbed mud from his arms with one of the brushes. "We will not need fragrant oils, though; there is sufficient in the water to remove the stench of weed."
"We might," Aragorn said grimly, as he pulled a length of slimy vegetation from his hair. "Little though I wish my hair to smell of perfume, I imagine Arwen would prefer it to pondweed!"
At last, after much scrubbing and soaping, the two friends felt clean again and scrambled from the pool and swathed themselves in the towels Tahir had left for them. They regarded their discarded clothes ruefully. The garments had left muddy puddles on the pristine marble floor.
"We can hardly put these on again," said Aragorn. "They smell even worse than we did!"
"Apart from our cloaks, they are fit only for the fire," said Faramir. He laughed ruefully. "How spoiled we have become in these days of peace. As Rangers, we would somehow have washed them clean! But what do we do now? We can hardly return home clad only in towels."
"We should have thought of that before accepting Tahir's invitation," said Aragorn. "I so wanted to bathe swiftly, though."
Just then, Tahir poked his head around the door.
"Come in," said Faramir. "Thank you for the use of your pool. We greatly enjoyed our bath."
Tahir's body followed his head into the room. Aragorn and Faramir could see now that he was carrying a large bundle. "Would my honoured friends condescend to don some of my humble garments?" he asked. "I have brought you some of my best robes."
"We are honoured to accept," said Faramir. Even as he took the robes from Tahir, though, he wondered how the folk of Gondor who had lost loved ones to the scimitars of Harad would feel at the sight of their King and Steward walking through the streets dressed in the garb of their former enemies. He glanced towards Aragorn and guessed that his friend's thoughts were of a similar nature.
"I must ask a further favour of you, Ambassador," said Aragorn. "Please could I beg quill and parchment of you to write a note to my lady?"
"Of course, esteemed friend," said Tahir. "I will leave you to dress then you must share some sherbet tea with me while you write your letter."
Aragorn and Faramir swiftly donned the blue robes adorned with gold embroidery that Tahir had brought. They were worn over baggy breeches which were usually secured around the waist and ankles. They were, unfortunately too short for such tall men as Aragorn and Faramir and reached only to their mid calves, as did the robes. They were decent enough, though to leave the soğukluk and venture into the rest of Tahir's mansion. If the servants they passed were amused by their appearance, they were too well mannered to say anything.
Tahir appeared and beckoned them into the spacious hall that he used to receive guests. Aragorn and Faramir settled themselves on the large cushions that were scattered around the floor. Almost at once, a servant appeared and served them refreshing sherbet tea and small cakes flavoured with rose petals. Another servant brought writing materials for Aragorn.
While Aragorn penned his missive, asking Arwen to see that two sets of clothes be despatched to Tahir's residence, Faramir enquired after the Ambassador's wife, Adiva, and his family.
"My fair blossom is out riding," said Tahir. "My small blossoms are all flourishing and Fikri is doing well with his studies. I have hopes he might become a scholar or teacher."
"Those are good tidings indeed," said Faramir.
The three chatted contentedly until one of Aragorn's servants arrived, bearing two sets of Aragorn's clothes, one for him, and one for Faramir, who was much the same size, albeit a trifle shorter.
"What would you have done with your other garments?" asked Tahir.
"Burn them apart from the cloaks, which are dear to us," said the King. "The coins in our purses, please give to your servants to compensate them for all the trouble we have put them to. As for you, my friend, my lady and I would like you to dine with us on the morrow."
"You have rendered much service to me and to my family, honoured friends," said the Ambassador. "It pleases me greatly I could for once be of some service to you both."
Once Aragorn and Faramir again resembled their usual neatly dressed selves they took their leave, mounted their now perfectly groomed horses and hastened back to the Citadel.
Aragorn, though, was in an uneasy mood. The scent of the perfumed oil seemed to grow stronger with every pace that Roheryn took. Faramir would fare well enough. He was needed in the City for several days to attend Council meetings and by the time he was reunited with Éowyn the perfume would have disappeared. What would Arwen make of it, though? Would she think him less than manly, or horror of horrors, fear he had been enjoying the unchaste embraces of another?
Faramir went straight to his chamber to change out of Aragorn's clothes while the King went in search of his wife. He found Arwen seated at her embroidery in the solar.
"Estel, where ever have you been?" she exclaimed. "And why did you ask me to send clothes to Ambassador Tahir's?"
"The boat capsized and we fell in the river," Aragorn said ruefully.
"How could that happen? You and Faramir are experienced oarsmen both."
"I suppose the strawberry scones were to blame."
"Strawberry scones?" Arwen sounded incredulous. "I know the Secondborn are prone to gaining weight, but surely a few scones could not make you so heavy that your boat capsized?"
"It is a long story," said Aragorn. "I will tell it to you while I eat. I am tired and hungry."
"My poor Estel!" Arwen put her needlework aside and rose to her feet. She kissed her husband tenderly and ran her fingers through his unruly mop of grey-streaked dark hair.
Aragorn froze.
Arwen sniffed his hair curiously. "Your hair smells different!" she said.
"Tahir gave us some oil to remove the stench of pondweed," Aragorn replied sheepishly. "It should soon wear off."
"But it is delightful! You must use it again."
"I fear perfume would make me appear less than manly, my love," Aragorn said hastily. "Besides, I do not know what the fragrance is."
"But who would object when we are alone together," said Arwen, nuzzling her face in his hair. "I shall ask Adiva for a supply of the perfume for you.
Aragorn shook his head in bewilderment. He and Arwen could sense each other's thoughts and were as close as any couple could be, yet she still had the capacity to surprise him. He kissed her tenderly, the frustrations of the afternoon's misadventures rapidly fading like a half forgotten dream.
Chapter 93 - The Hawk and the Horselord
The Hawk and the Horselord
B2MeM Challenge:FirstLines1- When shall we (three) meet again, in thunder, lightning, or in rain; Beasts1 – hawk; Landscape1-hill; SongLyrics1- So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of the road; TalentsAndSkills1- rope making; AspectsOfAragorn1- healer, Emotions1- grief; Love1- unconditional love; Injuries1-arrow wound, Book titles- Out of the dust
Format: Short Story
Genre: General, h/c
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mention of wounds and death
Characters: Aragorn, Éomer
Pairings: none
Summary: On a visit to Rohan, Aragorn notices Éomer is troubled.
"When shall we two meet again, in thunder, lightning, or in rain?" Éomer looked up at the approaching storm clouds and angrily shook his fist at the heavens. He flinched slightly, a movement that an eye less observant than his companion's would have been unlikely to detect.
Aragorn raised his own hand to allow his hawk to alight on his gloved fist. "What ails you, my friend?" he asked. "It is unlike you to rage at the weather." He did not look at Éomer, but instead watched the King of Rohan's hawk as it wheeled and circled over the hillside. "We have had a good day's sport and should be able to reach shelter before the storm breaks. I espied an inn at the bottom of the hill.
"It is nothing," Éomer insisted. He stood waiting for his hawk to land on his gloved fist.
"Does your wound pain you?" asked Aragorn.
"No," Éomer said curtly. He shrugged his shoulders again with an almost imperceptible wince of pain.
"You forget I am a healer," said Aragorn. "I see what others might miss. An arrow wound is no light matter. Lothiriel is concerned about you."
"Women always fret," said Éomer.
"I should like to see the wound myself when we reach shelter," said Aragorn.
"There is no need. I …" Éomer bit back a cry of pain as the hawk landed heavily. The bird regarded him quizzically with keen beady eyes. "Very well," he conceded with a scowl.
The two men rode in silence down the hill; their hawks perched on their wrists. Aragorn was not especially keen on hawking, but it had seemed a good opportunity to spend time alone with his old friend, away from the many affairs of state that needed to be discussed on this brief visit to Edoras. Éomer, though, had been silent and withdrawn, quite unlike his usual affable self. Éomer's Queen, Lothiriel, had confided to Aragorn that her husband had recently been wounded in a skirmish with the Dunlendings. Wounds and battles were nothing new to Éomer, though. He had fought as soon as he was old and strong enough to hold a sword.
They reached the inn just as the storm broke overhead. After making sure their horses and the hawks were cared for, they went inside. It was a small, cosy inn, simply furnished, but clean and welcoming. If the innkeeper recognised them, he gave no sign. At Aragorn's request, they were shown to a small private chamber and hot water was brought.
"Now let me see your wound," said Aragorn.
"There is nothing you can do to aid me, said Éomer. "It seems that I shall have no peace until you see it, though!" He pulled off his tunic to reveal a partly healed arrow wound upon his right shoulder.
Aragorn washed his hands and carefully examined the torn flesh. It had been roughly stitched and looked red and somewhat inflamed. "These stitches need taking out," he said. "I shall then clean and re-bandage it. You are fortunate I have my healing supplies with me. You should have been resting, not going out hawking with a wound like this. It has not been expertly cared for."
Éomer shrugged, he then grimaced at the pain. "One does not take one's best healer on campaign," he said. In the Mark, it is the wise women who are the most skilled and they need to stay at home to care for the old and the children."
Aragorn carefully took out the rough stitches, cleaned the wound thoroughly, and rubbed honey on it. Beneath his hands, Éomer's muscles felt taut as a strung bow, even after the most painful part of the procedure was finished.
Instead of telling Éomer to put his tunic back on, Aragorn called for more hot water. He took two athelas leaves from his pouch and cast them into the steaming water.
"Breathe deeply," he instructed Éomer, placing the bowl on a table in front of Rohan's King. He then started to gently massage Éomer's neck and shoulders.
Éomer took deep breaths from the steaming bowl.
"It is time to make use of the Elvish arts that Master Elrond taught me," said Aragorn. "Sometimes a healer must tend more than the wounds of the flesh."
"You were ever a remarkable man, I knew that ever since you arose out of the grass before me," said Éomer.
"I shall never forget you and your riders appearing out of the dust," Aragorn replied. "Tell me, though, why your spirit now lies as if trampled into that dust, which was once dispersed before the flying hooves."
Éomer said nothing. Aragorn continued with his ministrations. The silence was broken only by the sound of the rain pattering against the shutters outside.
At last Éomer spoke. "Good men perished in the battle where I received this slight wound. I made a grievous mistake. I did not think they would attack us after nightfall from what I know of the Dunlendings. Good men paid for my foolish misjudgement with their lives. There, I have said it! What will you think of me now? "
"Love between good friends such as we are, is unconditional," said Aragorn. "You made a mistake, which proved to be costly, but you are human. A king is not unlike a rope maker, you sometimes weave the fabric of men's fates, as the rope maker weaves his strands of hemp together. One of the strands might break, but the rope can be mended. The rope is marred, but it remains strong, as are you, Éomer King, a strong man, and a good one. Mourn those you lost and let their kin know of your grief. Then see they are honoured in song while resolving to be more wary of the Dunlendings in future."
"I thought they were no longer a threat," Éomer said bitterly.
"Talk to their leaders and see if some new grievance troubles them," said Aragorn. "You are still young; you will learn to see into the hearts of Men as the years pass."
"You are ever wise, my friend." Éomer's voice was slightly unsteady.
Aragorn gently squeezed the younger man's good shoulder. Then he continued his ministrations until Éomer's muscles were completely relaxed beneath his fingertips.
At last he ceased and said, "Let us see if the innkeeper has some of the Riddermark's warming ale for us. The storm has passed, but it is getting dark and we must soon be on our way or your good lady will be worried. I recall that you told her you would return in time to bid young Elboron goodnight. "
Éomer pulled on his tunic and enfolded Aragorn in a bear hug. "So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of a road!" he said. "The end of a road filled with grief and darkness, from which I now see my way home."
Chapter 94 - Many Names and Guises
Many Names and Guises
B2MeM Challenge: Names
"In the hour of birth, or on some other occasion of moment, the mother might give a name to her child, indicating some dominant feature of its nature as perceived by her, or some foresight of its special fate."
Format: ficlet
Genre: family
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Characters: Aragorn, Arwen, Eldarion
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen
Summary: Eldarion is puzzled why his father has so many names.
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
For he went in many guises, and won renown under many names. - Tolkien
“Merry and I miss you, Strider, as does Sam. We hope we can come and visit you soon, affectionately yours, Pippin.” Aragorn finished reading the letter and placed it on the table by the side of his plate. “It is good to hear from Pippin that all is well with him and with the Shire,” he said.
“I would not be surprised if he marries that Mistress Diamond he speaks so highly of ere the year is out,” said Arwen.
“It is hard to imagine young Pippin being wed,” Aragorn replied.
Eldarion, who had been listening in silence, suddenly spoke. “Ada, why does Uncle Pippin call you ‘Strider’?” he asked.
“It was the name he first knew me by,” said Aragorn.
“But why were you called ‘Strider’ and why is it our name in Quenya?” Eldarion persisted. “And how do you come to have so many names when I only have one! It’s not fair. Naneth calls you ‘Estel’ and the people call you ‘King Elessar’ and Uncle Pippin calls you ‘Strider’ and Elbeth does sometimes too. Did your Naneth give you lots of names?” He eyed Arwen accusingly.
“I have many names because I have had lots of adventures, Eldarion,” Aragorn explained patiently. I took ‘Elessar’ as my throne name as it was given to me by the people because of green gem I wear, and which I was wearing the night Gandalf asked me to help the sick here in the City.” He touched the green stone that he wore upon his breast as he spoke.
“Was that when you cured Uncle Faramir, Aunt Éowyn and Uncle Merry?” Eldarion asked.
“Yes, and it was the first time I had used the stone to help me cure the Black Breath,” Aragorn explained. “Then Uncle Pippin greeted me as ‘Strider’ when I arrived at the Houses of Healing. I then decided I should be called King Elessar Telcontar, if my kingship came to pass, so as not to forget the Ranger I once was.”
“But what did your Naneth call you?” Eldarion persisted.
“My mother, your grandmother, Gilraen, just gave me one name, ‘Aragorn’ when I was born. She and my father chose the name together for me. All the chieftains of the Dúnedain had names beginning with ‘Ar’ as that means ‘royal’. I would have been happy to keep that one name all my days, but it was not to be.”
“Why not?” the little boy asked. “I’m still Eldarion!”
“You are blessed to live in more peaceful times, ion nîn,” said Aragorn. “Long may you bear the name that your Naneth and I chose for you! Alas, I cannot remember my father at all. When I was only two years old, he was killed and I went with my mother to live with your grandfather, Master Elrond, at Rivendell. He was worried that the Enemy might hurt me and gave me the name, ‘Estel’ to disguise me. I had only just found out my name was really ‘Aragorn’ when I met your Naneth and Grandfather Elrond was still calling me ‘Estel’ which is why your Naneth calls me by that name."
“It sounds very confusing!” said Eldarion. “You have too many names, Ada; can you give some back?”
Aragorn laughed. “I fear it gets worse, ion nîn! Soon after I learned my true name, I went back to my people to take up my duties as their Chieftain. They were careful only to use my real name in private and I gained all manner of nicknames that the Rangers used when strangers were within earshot. Just outside the Shire is a town called ‘Bree’. The folk there used to call me ‘Strider’ or ‘Longshanks’ when I visited the inn there. I am much taller than they are and walk with longer strides and it amused them.”
“But everyone tells me it is rude to remark on how people look,” said Eldarion.
“It is, ion nîn, but the folk of Bree thought the Rangers were dangerous vagabonds. They did not know that were protecting them from all manner of dangers,” Aragorn explained. “The name ‘Strider’ amused my cousin, Halbarad, and it became the nickname, I was known by throughout the northern lands. I introduced myself to Uncle Pippin as ‘Strider’ when I first met him, though I told him my true name too.”
“I’d like to be known as ‘Runner’ when I grow up and become a Ranger,” said Eldarion. “I can run really fast.”
“I know you can,” said Aragorn. “Rangers need to notice everything around them, though, and move very quietly. You cannot do that if you run everywhere.”
“Oh.” Eldarion sounded crestfallen.
“Sometimes Rangers do have to run though,” Aragorn added. “Uncle Éomer named me ‘Wingfoot’ when I first met him. I had been running across the plains of Rohan for days to try to rescue the Hobbits. He thought ‘Strider’ too poor a name! I was not always ‘Strider’ on my travels, though. When I was still a young man, Gandalf thought it would be a good idea if I travelled to Rohan and Gondor and became a soldier to learn more about the world. I had to choose what name I would be known by and chose ‘Thorongil’. That means the ‘Eagle of the Star’. I chose the name to honour Grandfather Arathorn, Grandmother Gilraen and the star shaped brooch that all Rangers wear.”
“I’ve heard of Thorongil’s great deeds!” Eldarion said proudly. “You were Gondor’s best ever captain!”
“Tales often become exaggerated in the telling,” said Aragorn. “Gondor has had many great captains. I have had many other names too. When I travelled in Harad I called myself….”
“Estel, it is way past Eldarion’s bedtime!” Arwen interrupted. “That tale must wait for another day.”
“ Ada, which is your favourite of all your names?” Eldarion asked as he mother prepared to lead him to the nursery.
“Can you not guess, ion nîn?”
Eldarion shook his head.
Aragorn smiled and hugged the child. “Why, it is ‘Ada’ of course!”
A/N.
Aragorn's first visit to Harad is described in my story "The Gift of Tongues" at
http://www.storiesofarda.com/chapterlistview.asp?SID=7074
Wtiger has also written a most enjoyable story on this theme, which you can read at
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7186280/1/A-Name-Above-All-Others
Chapter 95 - An Accidental Arrow
An Accidental Arrow
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
A/N This was written for the AA Group back in 2008 and has been languishing forgotten ever since.
"How Éowyn will scold us if we return empty handed!" Faramir said with a sigh. "We should never have volunteered to replenish her larder."
"I thought there was no better way to spend my visit here than a hunting trip so might impress our ladies with our skills. Now I can just imagine Arwen saying she thought she had married a Ranger; one who was said to be the greatest hunter and tracker of the Age," Aragorn replied glumly. He leaned heavily on his bow. "These woods around Emyn Arnen are said to be full of deer. Where have they all gone?"
"They must be hiding well," said Faramir, pacing the ground in frustration. "I have detected tracks but no deer apart from a doe with her fawn, which would not be fair sport."
A sudden movement caught Aragorn's eye. "Look! Over there by the stream," he whispered.
Faramir turned his head just in time to see a large stag disappearing between the trees. Swiftly he drew his bow, but before he could loose the arrow; the animal had vanished. He cursed softly in frustration.
"Come, let us give chase," cried Aragorn. "I will catch that stag if it is the last thing I do! We will bring our ladies venison to dine upon ere nightfall." Swift as a deer himself, he sped off in the direction of his quarry. Faramir followed, wondering not for the first time, why a man twice his age could usually outrun him.
The two hunters pursued their prey until they came to a fork in the path. Uncertain which way the stag had gone, Aragorn took one path while Faramir took the other.
The Steward was certain he was on the right track, as several times he caught a brief glimpse of the elusive deer. A sudden movement ahead of him in the undergrowth made him pause in his tracks. Smiling with grim satisfaction, Faramir nocked an arrow. They would dine well tonight and Éowyn would be impressed that he had supplied their table so well. He could see the stag clearly ahead of him. He fired, only for the animal to veer sharply to the right and disappear through the trees.
"Argh!" the cry of pain was no wounded deer.
A sudden feeling of cold dread seized the Steward. He plunged into the undergrowth in the direction of the cries. There was no sign of the stag, but under a great oak was Aragorn. The King was staggering, his face contorted in pain. An arrow with Faramir's distinctive fletching was protruding from his shoulder. As Faramir approached, Aragorn sank to his knees, his face white with shock.
"No! Whatever have I done?" the Steward cried. He raced towards his friend and crouched down beside him, supporting him. "I have shot my King! I am so sorry, mellon nîn! I mistook you for the stag we were pursuing!"
"You shot me!" Aragorn's tone was both accusing and disbelieving. "Do I look like a stag?"
"Much rather would I have shot myself through the heart than wounded you!" Faramir's voice was thick with emotion. "The stag veered aside just as I loosed the arrow."
"I know it was an accident," said Aragorn in a calmer tone. He grimaced. "The path goes round in a circle, which we had forgotten since we last came this way. The arrow will have to be removed quickly ere the wound becomes infected. Fortunately my healing supplies are in my pack, if you would assist me?"
Very carefully, so as not to push the arrow in any deeper, Faramir eased the pack from Aragorn's shoulders. He quickly found the familiar and well-worn satchel containing the King's healing supplies. "What do you want me to do now?" he asked Aragorn, though he suspected all too well what gruesome task he would need to perform.
"Make a fire first," said Aragorn. "We need to boil some water." He looked far less pale now, much to Faramir's relief.
"There is a stream nearby," said Faramir. "I bring the boys here fishing. Before I fetch water, though, I had better cut away the shaft," said Faramir. He took his hunting knife from his belt. "Brace yourself, this will hurt!"
"Do it quickly!" Aragorn gritted his teeth.
Faramir took a deep breath and grasped the shaft in one hand and his knife in the other. To his amazement, the arrow fell to the ground. For a moment, he stared at Aragorn in horror, convinced that he had done him a further grievous injury.
"What the…?" Aragorn pulled aside the torn fabric of his tunic and shirt to reveal his shoulder disfigured by nothing worse than a flesh wound, little deeper than a severe graze.
"But the arrow struck you!" Faramir said haltingly, hardly daring to believe that Aragorn was not badly hurt.
"It hit me hard and gave me a shock, but must have just caught against the strap of my pack and become entangled in my clothing while the tip grazed my shoulder," said the King. "Just as well you were not aiming for me or the shot would not have gone awry." He reached for his healing supplies to grab a cloth to staunch the bleeding. "I will clean and bind it, but it is only a slight hurt."
Faramir kindled a fire. He then hastened to the stream, filled a pan with water and put it to heat.
Faramir helped Aragorn remove his tunic and shirt while the water boiled. "I fear you will be black and blue tomorrow," he said ruefully. "Your clothes are ruined too."
"It will not be for the first time. Luckily, they are old ones I keep for hunting," said Aragorn. "Arwen did not stitch this shirt." He dabbed at his shoulder. The bleeding was already abating. He cleaned the wound and applied some salve, then bandaged it with Faramir's help. "At least we have a good excuse why we did not catch anything," he said as Faramir helped him ease his arms back into his bloodied tunic and shirt.
"Our wives will never let us go hunting again!" Faramir said sadly. "I do not know whether your lady or mine will be the angrier with me!"
"We will persuade them to let us go again ere long," said Aragorn confidently. "Arwen claims I drive her to distraction if I am confined within doors for too long!" He placed a comforting hand on Faramir's shoulder. "Remember, mellon, nîn you are human. No one could have guessed the stag would bolt in front of me. Accidents can happen to anyone and no real harm is done." A sudden light kindled in his eyes. "Are there fish in the stream, did you say?"
"Plenty," said Faramir.
"Why not catch some while I rest a while?" Aragorn suggested. "Then we will not return empty handed to our ladies."
"An excellent idea," said Faramir.
000
A few hours later, two contented friends made their way back to Emyn Arnen. Aragorn, despite his torn and bloodied clothing had already almost forgotten the accident after a nap on a comfortable mossy bank. Meanwhile, Faramir had caught a brace of plump trout, but had slipped on the bank while doing so and was covered in mud. Neither man cared in the slightest about their disreputable appearance. They whistled cheerfully, ignoring the shocked expressions of various guards and servants they encountered.
Arwen, Éowyn and the older children came out to greet the returning wanderers.
"Whatever has happened to ada?" asked Eldarion.
"Why is ada all muddy?" asked Elestelle.
"I think they will have some adventures to tell us," said Éowyn.
"After they have bathed," said Arwen grimly.
"Be not alarmed at our appearance," said Aragorn. "We had a minor accident but all is well."
"And there will be freshly caught trout for dinner," Faramir added.
"I thought you promised me venison, " said Éowyn.
"It is a long story," said Faramir.
"Never mind, " said Arwen, "if truth be told I much prefer trout."
Chapter 96 - The Reluctant Scholar
The Reluctant Scholar
B2MeM Challenge: Tradition.
"Then it was that the Noldor first bethought them of letters, and Rúmil of Tirion was the name of the loremaster who first achieved fitting signs for the recording of speech and song, some for graving upon metal or in stone, others for drawing with brush or with pen."
Format: ficlet
Genre: humour,family.
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Characters: Aragorn, Eldarion, Arwen
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen
Summary: Eldarion is a reluctant scholar.
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
"How is my son progressing with his studies? Aragorn asked Eldarion's tutor one autumn afternoon. "I believe he is studying the alphabet now?"
"His progress is slow, I fear sire," the man replied. "He speaks it aloud fluently, but shows little inclination to learn to write it down."
"I shall speak to him," said Aragorn. "I desire my boy to be well lettered."
Aragorn made his way to the nursery. He found Eldarion seated at his small desk under the watchful eye of a nursemaid. In front of him were quill, ink, and several sheets of costly parchment. The little boy was scowling as he dripped inkblots all over the parchment. He looked wistfully across the room to where his painted wooden dragon was sitting on a chair regarding him with gleaming painted eyes.
"How is your writing progressing, ion nîn?" Aragorn enquired.
"Who invented stupid writing?" Eldarion scowled as he answered. " I would much rather play with Smaug."
"Writing is not stupid," Aragorn replied. "It is an art. Tradition says that the alphabet was invented first by the loremaster, Rumil, and then improved by Fëanor, who also made the great light that adorns Eärendil's ship to light up the evening sky for us."
"He should have made more lights instead of these stupid letters!" cried Eldarion. "I hate them! I want to be the only person in Gondor who cannot write!" He threw the quill down, splattering ink everywhere much to the nursemaid's consternation.
"Eldarion!" Aragorn chided. "Have a care! Ink is difficult to wash away and parchment costs a good deal."
"I don't want to learn to write." Eldarion said stubbornly.
"I fear that cannot be so," said Aragorn. "There are many boys who would love to learn to write, but their parents are not able to send them to school. Instead, they must till the fields or tend the cattle."
"Well, let one of those boys learn writing in my place! It would be much more fun to work in the fields and I like cows!"
Aragorn pulled up a chair beside the boy. "That is not possible, ion nîn. You need to learn to write."
"I'm going to be a Ranger when I grow up and Rangers don't write letters."
"You are mistaken about that, Eldarion." Aragorn smiled. "What if you had a sweetheart and wanted to write to her?"
Eldarion looked horrified at such a prospect. "I don't like girls. They are silly and wear hair ribbons and play with dolls all day." He pulled a face.
"You might change your mind about that when you are older, ion nîn," said Aragorn gravely. "One day, though, you will be King of the Reunited Kingdom. A king must be able to read and write."
"Why?" asked Eldarion. "When I'm king, I'll order my servants to write things down for me so I won't have to do it!"
"Indeed you will employ scribes as I do," said Aragorn. "But if I make a new law or issue a decree, it must, by tradition and the law of the land, have my signature upon it as well as my seal."
"Why can't the scribe sign it?"
"If a decree was not signed by me, people would have no way of knowing that I issued it," Aragorn explained patiently. "Anyone could try to issue new laws. Maybe, for example, someone who didn't like cakes, might issue a decree saying no more cakes were to be made and claim I had issued such a decree. Then someone else might issue a law to ban toy dragons! No one would know which was a real law decreed by me and approved by the Council."
"You could tell them, ada," said Eldarion.
"Indeed I could, but while everyone was trying to decide which laws I had made, the bakers would stop making cakes and the toy dragons might be thrown away by mothers fearing that their children were breaking the law!"
"Could that really happen, ada?"
"It might if I did not sign every decree with my own hand. All sorts of bad things might happen." Aragorn said solemnly before being overcome by a sudden fit of coughing.
Eldarion looked thoughtful. He then slowly picked up his quill again. "Maybe I should learn to write then?"
"A wise decision, ion nîn." Aragorn tried to look grave, but he was smiling. He took the quill from the boy, dipped it in the ink, and wrote "Eldarion" in large clear letters on a fresh sheet of parchment.
"I suggest you practise writing your name," the King said. "I must leave you now as I have some decrees I must sign."
An hour later, Eldarion entered his mother's solar and proudly showed her his signature in rather shaky but legible characters. "I've got to learn writing so the scribes can't ban cakes and dragons!" he told her.
"Cakes and dragons?" Arwen asked in bewilderment.
"It is a long story, vanimelda," said Aragorn, who had just finished his paperwork and come to join her.
Arwen carefully studied the parchment. "I am so proud of you, Eldarion," she said. She smiled and kissed the little boy lovingly.
"And so am I, ion nîn," said Aragorn.
A/n. A revised version of a ficlet I wrote for BTME13.
Chapter 97 - Keeping Cool
Keeping Cool
Summary: Arwen and Éowyn seek respite from the summer heat.
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Beta: none
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
"Is it far from here?" asked Arwen.
Éowyn shook her head. "We are almost there. I promise you it is well worth the climb even on such a hot day as this."
"On days such as these, I miss the shady trees of Rivendell and Lothlórien," Arwen said somewhat wistfully. "Sometimes I wish I could still have dwelt amidst their beauty after my marriage to Estel. Try as I might, I find it hard to love the stone walls of the City. Wherever Estel is, though, is home for me. He tries so hard to make me happy with the gardens he has created for me and by bringing me out into the countryside whenever he can. It is kind of you and Faramir to often invite me to Ithilien."
"I am always glad of your company," said Éowyn. "I have little liking for cities of stone either and am thankful I can spend most of my time here in Ithilien with my children, my horses, and my herbs and manage my own domain there. I can enjoy my occasional visits to Minas Tirith to see the wider world, all the better as I know I have my haven here."
Arwen nodded. "I suspect I would now find the Elven heavens too quiet for my taste, beautiful though they are. I was accustomed to presiding over a large household at Rivendell, much as I do in Minas Tirith."
"You are well suited as Aragorn's Queen," said Éowyn. She laughed ruefully. "How foolish I was when I wanted to marry him. I would have exchanged one cage for another! Faramir and I are far better suited."
"I am glad I have no rival for my husband's affections!" said Arwen a trifle tartly.
"You would have nothing to fear even if I still loved your husband other than as a friend," said Éowyn. "Aragorn has never had eyes for any than you and never will." She turned around and gripped Arwen's hand. "You will see the Forbidden Pool just around the next bend. When Faramir first showed it to me, he told me to look out for the great tree at the foot of the cliff and turn left there. Come!"
The two ladies rounded the bend. They were immediately enveloped by a refreshing breeze, which blew cool air across their faces and ruffled their hair. Arwen gasped at the sheer loveliness of the scene in front of her. The sunbeams danced on the water making the river appear as a silver- flecked ribbon. The waterfall tumbled towards its rocky bed in a silver cascade, the droplets glittering like stars as they caught the sunbeams. The water swirled and foamed in the pool at the foot of the waterfall, before flowing through a narrow gap into a calm and level stretch of water beyond .
Éowyn ran towards the water in delight stretching out her face towards the cool droplets.
"This place is wondrous fair!" exclaimed Arwen. "It reminds me of Rivendell." She knelt beside the water to drink. Éowyn did likewise.
"The water is sweet and refreshing," said Arwen after she had drank her fill.
"Faramir and his Rangers guarded it well and kept it unspoiled," Éowyn replied. "Now shall we refresh our weary feet and paddle in the pool? It is quite shallow."
"That sounds delightful, but…." Arwen looked around her anxiously.
"We are quite safe here," said Éowyn. "There are guards on all the secret ways into this place and the most of the garrison are in a meeting with our husbands. We will be quite unobserved." She seated herself on a rock and pulled off her shoes.
"I wonder if we will ever be at peace sufficiently that this lovely spot need not be garrisoned," Arwen mused, pulling off her own shoes.
"I believe it will be so in your lifetime, if not in mine," said Éowyn. "The Kha Khan is secure on his throne after triumphing over the rebel factions, while the Orcs grow less with every year that passes so Faramir tells me. What are you doing?" she exclaimed as Arwen unlaced her gown and pulled it over her head.
"You assured me it was quite private here and I will paddle more comfortably in my shift," said Arwen. "This blue gown is a favourite and I would rather not damage it."
"You are wise, my friend," said Éowyn. "We can splash around in the water far more freely if we are not weighed down by heavy garments. We are decent enough. Why should only men enjoy splashing around in the water?"
"Why indeed?" Arwen carefully folded her gown on the bank and clambered down the bank.
Éowyn swiftly unlaced her own heavy gown and stepped down into the water. She sighed blissfully at its coolness.
Soon the Queen and Princess of Ithilien were splashing happily in the shallows uncaring that they were soon drenched to the skin.
"I used to love splashing around in the river when I was a young girl," said Éowyn.
"So did I," said Arwen.
"You did?" Éowyn sounded surprised.
"I was young once," said the Queen. "And today I will be young again." She playfully splashed Éowyn.
The two laughed, their mirth ringing like silver bells over the roar of the waterfall.
Chapter 98 - The Time that is Given
The Time that is Given – Linda Hoyland/ Raksha the Demon
"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us." - Tolkien - The Lord of the Rings.
Disclaimer: These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Deandra and Virtuella.
The young soldier coughed a shower of crimson droplets over the blankets. He struggled to breathe. Aragorn sighed deeply as he tried to ease his patient's pain. The man was slowly choking in his own blood. Time was swiftly running out for him There were some hurts that even Master Elrond would not have been able to mend, such as the arrow wound to the lung that this lad had taken. The wounded man reached out a trembling hand. Aragorn swiftly crouched beside him and took the outstretched hand between both of his own.
"Tell Miriel – my boy – love them." The young man regarded him urgently
"I will, Finrod," Aragorn replied. "I promise they will be provided for. Your son will know that his father died bravely."
Finrod smiled wanly. "Wanted to take him fishing- never had time."
"Imagine now you are sitting on a river bank with your wife and son beside you." Where was Finrod's home? Near Linhir, he had said a few days past, in a brief exchange the night before the battle. Aragorn searched hastily through his own long memory, seeking the sights and sounds of the rivers of Lebennin. Then he continued in a low and soothing voice: "The river warblers are singing and a cool breeze is blowing from the river Gilrain as its waters flow merrily southward. You have a bottle of fine wine to share and your lady is smiling. You can hear your little boy's joyful laughter."
This time, a genuine smile lit up Finrod's face. "The sun gleams in Miriel's hair – so fair!" He gave a deep sigh and breathed his last. Aragorn took a final measure of the stilled pulse, then closed the young man's brown eyes forever
Aragorn slowly rose to his feet. He stood for a moment sadly looking down at Finrod's lifeless body.
A sergeant approached him. "Sire, Lord Faramir asked me to remind you that a despatch rider leaves tonight with letters. Do you want me to write to this man's wife?"
"I will write to her myself. See that this soldier is buried decently with all due respect." Aragorn's tone was sombre.
"The battle went well, sire. We routed the Haradrim. They lost at least a hundred men. We lost but twenty."
"All men who should have lived to see their grandchildren, were it not for this cursed rebel leader! The Kha Khan of Harad keeps the treaty he signed to respect our borders, but there is always some hothead, alas, ready to lead young men to their deaths. See to it that the Haradrim dead are also decently interred."
Aragorn strode from the healers' tents, but instead of heading straight back to where the commanders were housed, he took a walk around the camp. Losing men was all too familiar an experience to him, but it never ceased to strike him as a personal blow. Nor should it, he told himself. Only a tyrant or an Orc could fail to care about the loss of life that war brought. He had hoped his reign would bring peace, which, by and large, it had done, but always new warlords brought strife from the South and East.
Finrod had been so young, having not even seen thirty years. The nineteen other dead were older and even younger - two Rangers, three mounted warriors, eight walking soldiers, two scouts and even a luckless messenger boy. None of them had the Elven-tinged blood of the Dúnedain; and had shortened their merely mortal days in the service of a king who was hale at well- nigh a hundred and could foresee many more years ahead, barring some blow from an enemy weapon. Aragorn's heart ached for them. Was it right that Aragorn Elessar was born to so long a life, while these brave men gave up their shorter spans to fight for him?
The messenger boy, a sturdy lad called Bregor, had grown his first beard during the campaign. Bregor had been so proud when Aragorn had noted the dark fuzz on the boy's chin; and vowed he would grow a proper beard, like his father who had died fighting the Easterlings.
So many years, so many missions and raids and battles. So many good men losing their time, while he went on and on, following his own very long road.
Does the Lady Vairë laugh at us as she weaves our destinies into her tapestry, Aragorn wearily wondered. Or does she weep?
Finrod and Bregor deserved more time. So did all their fallen comrades.
At least, he had been able to ease Finrod's dying moments, but how he wished he could have brought the young soldier home safely to go fishing with his child. With a start Aragorn realised he had long since promised to take Eldarion fishing, but had not yet found time to do so. Aragorn vowed inwardly to put aside an afternoon for a trip to the Anduin as soon as he returned from this campaign.
It was growing late and a glow in the western sky was all that remained of the sunset. Soon the stars would shine out over the Poros, their constant presence bringing comfort to men far from hearth and home.
The King paused at a handful of campfires to say a few words to the men. At the far side of the field, he could see his Steward doing likewise. The men were in good spirits. Once the area around the riverbank was secured, most of them could begin the long march home. A company of men would have to remain behind until they were relieved, though, to guard the Harad Road against further incursions. They had escaped lightly this time, but Aragorn had no intention of dropping his guard. The rebel warlord had escaped and, if he managed to regroup, could still pose a threat. He would ask the quartermaster to supply extra rations for those left behind. They had more than enough supplies as the campaign had been of short duration.
Aragorn blinked and rubbed the back of his hand across his tired eyes. It was time to return to his tent and snatch a few hours' sleep, but he still had letters to write before the messenger departed. These were the missives he found most burdensome; letters to the families of the fallen. Elessar Telcontar could at least tell the fallen soldiers' kin that they had died fighting for their king; and assure them that they would receive pensions.
There was still one more letter to write, Aragorn thought with a pang of guilt. Arwen would sense at once had any ill befallen him, but even so, she would fret for his wellbeing. He should have written days ago, but had just not found the time.
As soon as he reached his tent, Aragorn called for food and a cup of wine and began his task. He had twelve letters of condolence to pen, the other fallen had come from the White Company, and Faramir preferred to write to the families of the men he had known.
The candles had burned low by the time the sad task was completed. By now, Aragorn was struggling to stay awake. He had hardly slept during the past days. He was determined to write to Arwen .The despatch rider would leave at midnight and travel through the night so there was no time to lose.
Strangely, his sadness had eased. The gulf Aragorn had felt between himself and the men he had led to their deaths seemed less wide. Perhaps, because while he had a longer life than many men, he lived it much the same as they did; feeling the same joys and sorrows, filling up the hours with duties both large and small, the everyday tasks of living.
He dipped the quill in the ink and began to write, "Beloved, you have been constantly in my thoughts since I took my leave of you, but I have lacked the time to write. I hope you and Eldarion are faring well in my absence."
Aragorn rubbed his smarting eyes. There was so much he wanted to say to Arwen, but his weary brain could hardly form the words. He yawned and reapplied the quill to the paper. "I hope that I shall…
"Sire, the despatch rider is ready to depart." Faramir called through the tent flap. When there was no answer, he went inside.
Aragorn was slumped over the small table that served as a writing desk when on campaign. As Faramir approached, he began to snore softly. The Steward noted the half- written letter beside his lord. A large inkblot disfigured the parchment, where the quill had fallen from his sleeping hand.
Faramir took up the pen and added a message in his own neat script "My lady, the King is well, but exhausted. He should be reunited with you ere the week is out. He quickly signed his name and sealed the letter.
Faramir collected the letters and took them out to the waiting despatch rider to be added to the already bulging bag that the man carried. He then returned to the tent and half dragged, half- carried Aragorn to his cot. The King hardly seemed aware of his presence. Faramir smiled indulgently and covered the sleeping man with a blanket. There would be time enough in the morning to chide his lord for not taking better care of himself. Faramir chuckled softly at the memory of how often Aragorn had given him the same advice, which he too, often failed to heed.
Faramir suddenly recalled a favourite saying of Gandalf 's, "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."
What indeed. Some wasted that time on trifles, lust or greed. Some watched it go by. Some lost it through battle or misadventure. And then there were the few who lived every last instant to the full, through both joy and sorrow. Such were, perhaps, the heroes of legend. Such was his King and friend.
Chapter 99 - Relief
Title: Relief
Author: Linda Hoyland
Rating: G
Fandom: LOTR
Characters: Aragorn, Arwen, OFC
Summary: Aragorn finds the summer heat hard to endure,
Warnings: None
Word Count: 500
Author's Notes: For Great Tales Challenge 307 “Summertime, and the livin' is easy: True or False?”
Aragorn struggled vainly to concentrate on a lengthy treaty offering trading concessions to the Easterlings that he was supposed to be studying. He replaced it on his desk and wiped his sweating hands on his breeches. Then he went over to the open window and leaned out in the hope of a breath of fresh air. There was none to be had, though. The thick humid air made him feel as if he were trying to breathe underwater. The leaves of the White Tree did not stir. There was no breeze.
As King, he ruled over the Reunited Kingdom, but the weather was not his subject to command. Lord Manwë had supreme command of the winds. Aragorn sent up a silent prayer for at least a cooling breeze to bring respite to himself and his sweltering subjects.
From where he stood, he could see Arwen sitting in the courtyard beside the fountain playing with Eldarion. The heat failed to trouble her and Eldarion seemed to have been born with her resilience. Faramir strode into view and smiled cheerfully as he greeted the Queen and her son. He appeared as untroubled by the heat as they were.
Aragorn picked up one of the parchments he had been working on and fanned himself. For an instant, he thought somewhat wistfully of the Kha Khan of Harad, who kept several slaves for sole purpose of fanning him. He then smiled ruefully at the absurdity of employing a servant for such a purpose. How his subjects would laugh at the notion of such a pampered king!
It seemed only yesterday that he had been battling against the elements of a northern winter, struggling to find shelter from the biting cold.
Strange that the summers had not seemed so hot when he had served in Gondor as Captain Thorongil. Either the summers were hotter now the sun was unclouded by fumes from Mordor, or as he grew older, he felt the heat more. Or maybe Thorongil had been too engrossed in Gondor’s defence to notice the weather.
He heard a tap on his study door. “Come in!” he called.
“The Queen thought might like some iced apple juice to ease the heat of the afternoon,” said the maidservant.
“Thank you, Firwen.” He sipped the drink appreciatively. “I did not realise we still had some ice.”
“The cook had the ice house filled last winter,” said the girl. “There is still plenty left.” She wiped her apron across her sweating forehead.
“You and the rest of the kitchen servants must have iced juice if you wish,” said Aragorn.
The girl thanked him with a beaming smile, then scurried away.
Aragorn sipped his refreshing drink, his usual good humour restored. Arwen might not feel the heat, but she understood how it troubled him as Man of the North, born and bred. Aragorn decided he would spend next summer in the Northern Kingdom.
A sudden breeze blew through the open window and the refreshing rain began to fall.
Chapter 100 - Seasons of the Ring
Seasons of the Ring
Summary: Faramir lives though a fateful year
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Beta: Raksha
Author's Notes: A set of four drabbles. This was my second choice of BTME prompt to sign up for, so I thought I'd write it anyway.
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
Autumn came early that fateful year, without its habitual blaze of colour. The leaves turned brown and withered ere October was out, blighted by Mordor's foul poisons. With every day that passed, Faramir's heart grew heavier, while his father's mood grew ever darker. The weeks passed, and with them, their hope, for no news of Boromir reached Minas Tirith.
"It was a fool's errand," Denethor said darkly.
"It should have been mine," Faramir replied.
"I would not have your head turned further with riddles," said the Steward.
A cold wind blew through the Citadel as the year approached its ending.
0000
It was a hard winter. The sun rarely broke through the leaden skies while the east wind chilled the bones of the Ithilien Rangers.
Mettarë passed without mirth. Boromir's absence was keenly felt by all.
One February night, Faramir beheld his brother once more. He scarce knew whether he were in the world of dreaming or waking when the funeral boat glided past his eyes 'neath the silver moon and twinkling stars.
Real though, without doubt, was the cloven horn yielded up by the river. Darkest dreams became reality. Faramir wept, as did his father. They did not weep together.
0000
Spring brought no relief. The very earth seemed blighted by the Shadow's tightening grip. Denethor sat silent, the shattered horn held in his hands. The Enemy struck hard and fast. An arrow felled Faramir. His father fell by fire. All hope seemed forsaken.
Then Hope returned, Elendil's heir borne of the wind from the sea. A star shone upon his brow and healing was in his hands.
Faramir awoke from deathly slumber and recognised his King. Reborn, with strength renewed, he dared again to dream.
Eagles sang the yearned for tidings. The Ring was destroyed and with it, Sauron's might.
0000
Summer rushed in, riotous in green and gold array. Sunlight bathed Gondor in a golden glow of endless days. Life sprung up abundantly, birds sang in every blossom- laden tree. Faramir too found abundance, the fairest maiden's hand, a princely diadem and Gondor's rod of rule.
The King had returned, the summer king, the Renewer. The White Tree bloomed again and Faramir walked beneath it, inhaling the scent of sweet blossoms carried on the western breeze.
Boromir would not return, but the land he loved would flourish. Faramir was well content to walk beneath the unshadowed sun with his lady.
Chapter 101 - The Shining Path of Peace
The Shining Path of Peace – Linda Hoyland.
"Forgiving is rediscovering the shining path of peace that at first you thought others took away when they betrayed you. ~Dodinsky.
PG for mention of character death and minor violence.
Disclaimer: These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Raksha, Deandra, and Virtuella for editorial assistance and thanks to Dreamflower for suggesting the title.
Written for the Teitho "Betrayal and Forgiveness" contest where it was placed first.
The shadows were starting to lengthen, but the day was still warm. Aragorn and his Steward sat beneath an oak in the gardens engrossed in a discussion concerning the nature of the Simarils. Their wives had already gone inside to put the younger children to bed before dressing for the evening meal. Elbeth and Elestelle were out for the day, visiting Lady Adiva and her children. Eldarion and Elboron were playing on the nearby lawns.
"I'm tired of hearing about your boring uncle!" Eldarion suddenly yelled.
"My uncle wasn't boring! He saved the Hobbits from Caradhras and from the Orcs in Moria! He died a hero!" shouted Elboron. "He was the greatest captain of Gondor ever!"
"What about Captain Thorongil?"
"Uncle Boromir was a better swordsman than he was!"
"My father said your precious Uncle was a traitor!"
"Was not!"
"Was so!"
"My uncle wasn't a traitor! He was a great hero!" yelled Elboron. "Take it back!"
"I won't. Are you calling my father a liar? Aghh!" There was a resounding thud and Eldarion yelped with pain.
"Eldarion!"
"Elboron!"
The Simarils forgotten, the two fathers leapt to their feet and ran in the direction of the commotion. They waved aside the guards who had also come running. They found Eldarion rubbing his hand against a scratched and bloodied nose while Elboron prepared to swing another punch.
Faramir grabbed hold of his son. "Elboron, what is the meaning of this?" he said sternly. "Why did you strike Eldarion?"
"Eldarion said bad things about Uncle Boromir!" said Elboron, his young face flushed with anger.
"Only because he would not stop boasting," said Eldarion.
"I have told you not to fight with boys younger than yourself," said Aragorn. "Are you much hurt?" He was already examining Eldarion's bloodied face.
"Father, I didn't hit him back. I wouldn't hit a little boy. No, I'm not much hurt; it is just a bloody nose."
"Your nose is not broken," Aragorn pronounced after a careful examination. "You need to apply a cold compress to stop it swelling. I am most disappointed in your conduct, Eldarion. You should not slander Lord Boromir's memory."
"But I heard you say he betrayed Frodo," Eldarion protested. "I didn't make it up."
"We will talk about that later. You are to eat in your rooms tonight, rather than joining us for dinner," said Aragorn sternly. "I will decide how you should be punished later." Aragorn marched the two boys inside. Faramir lingered in the garden, a grim expression in his usually gentle eyes.
000
Aragorn, Arwen and Éowyn were frowning as they picked at their dinner an hour or so later. The baked trout was delicious and perfectly cooked, but their minds were not on their meal. Not only were they concerned about their sons' behaviour, but also that Faramir had failed to appear for the meal.
"He sent his apologies to Lady Arwen and begged to be excused," said Éowyn.
"Did he give no other reason?" asked Aragorn. "I cannot understand it at all. He was especially looking forward to this evening's meal. I told him we were serving his favourite dish; freshly caught trout. Maybe he is unwell? He seemed in perfect health and spirits but an hour ago, though. I will go and see how he fares after the meal."
"He said he desired to be alone," said Éowyn. "His expression was like a thundercloud! I can only think he is distressed over the boys' conduct."
"Have you decided what you are going to do?" asked Arwen.
"I thought making Elboron apologise and miss going riding for the rest of our stay," said Éowyn. She nibbled a piece of trout.
"That sounds an apt punishment," said Aragorn. "Does Faramir agree?"
Éowyn looked uncomfortable. "He said he intended to have a serious talk with Elboron about how violence was wrong, other than on the battlefield in defence of an honourable cause. He did not even seem enthusiastic when I suggested that Elboron ought to apologise to Eldarion for injuring him."
"Faramir loved his brother very much," said Aragorn. "No doubt he perceives him as defending his family honour. I have no idea what came over Eldarion to accuse Boromir of being a traitor. And to claim that the idea came from me too! I think I should have a word with Elboron as well as Eldarion to ensure that there is no misunderstanding."
"An excellent idea," said Éowyn. "He venerates the memory of Boromir, as a brave hero he can admire, all the more so after what happened to Lord Denethor."
"What has Faramir told him concerning Boromir's death?" asked Aragorn.
"Simply that he died bravely in battle. He intends to tell him the full story when he is a little older. It is a difficult subject for Faramir. He did Elbeth the truth about her father but he rarely speaks of Boromir's death unless he must."
"I have told the full story only to Faramir, Gandalf, Frodo, Sam, and my lady," said Aragorn. "Now it seems that the time has come for our sons to know too."
"Maybe it would be best if you were to tell him," said Éowyn. "After all, you were with Boromir when he died."
"I will speak to Elboron as soon as we have finished the meal," said Aragorn. "Then I will talk to Eldarion before bedtime. I have thought of an especially cruel punishment for him. Do not look so alarmed, vanimelda, you should know me better than that. I have decided he shall study Quenya verbs for an extra hour a day until he has learned better manners."
Arwen and Éowyn both laughed. "I will call for dessert now," said Arwen. "This dish is made of exotic fruits imported from Harad. I thought we could see how we liked it first at a private dinner before considering serving it at a state banquet."
000
Aragorn decided he would formally summon Elboron to his study to emphasise the gravity of the talk he intended to have with the boy. As soon as the tentative knock came at the door, he bade Elboron enter in a stern tone of voice.
The boy stood in front of his desk shuffling his feet nervously.
"I believe you have something to say to me?"
"Mother said to tell you that I'm sorry I hit the heir to the throne."
"But are you sorry you hit Eldarion? It matters not whether he is the heir to the Reunited Kingdom or a scullery boy. You should never strike the first blow."
"I'm sorry that Eldarion's nose bled, but he told horrible lies about my Uncle Boromir." Elboron's tone was indignant.
Aragorn's tone softened. "I fear there was some truth in what Eldarion said, though your uncle was no traitor." He rose from behind his desk and went over to a couch. He beckoned Elboron to come and sit beside him. "You know the story of Sauron's evil magic Ring, do you not?" he asked, once Elboron was seated.
"Of course I do, Sire. Every boy knows how the brave Hobbits, Frodo and Sam, destroyed it and saved all of Middle-earth. Uncle Boromir went on the quest to destroy the Ring as did you, Sire."
"You know your history well, Elboron, but did you also know just how terrible a thing the Ring was? There were few who could resist the magic contained within it. Your father was one of those few. Your Uncle Boromir was not as strong of will as your sire; and the Ring had exerted its evil force upon his mind for many weeks. He found it hard to understand why we had decided to destroy it rather than use its magic to save Middle-earth .The Ring tormented and tempted him until one day he tried to take it from Frodo by force, to bear it in the defence of Gondor that he loved so dearly. Frodo fortunately managed to escape and your uncle was filled with sorrow for what he had done. Just afterwards, we were attacked. He died bravely fighting to try to save Merry and Pippin and slew a great number of his enemies. The Uruk Hai shot him with many arrows. I came upon him just before he died. He was so sorry that he had tried to take the Ring. I told him to be at peace. "
Elboron said nothing but stared wide-eyed at the King. "So Uncle Boromir did do a bad thing?" he said at last.
"Yes, he did," Aragorn said softly. "But which of us has not at some time done something we should not have done? I forgave your uncle, as did Frodo. Do not think any the less of your Uncle Boromir because the Ring tempted him beyond endurance. Your Uncle swore no oath to the Ringbearer, but the Ring caused your Uncle Boromir to betray the trust that Frodo had placed in him."
Elboron again lapsed into silence for several moments before saying, "Why did my father not tell me about Uncle Boromir's death?"
"He did not yet deem you old enough to understand."
"I'm eight," said Elboron. "I'm almost grown up."
"So you are," said Aragorn. "Grown up enough to tell Eldarion in the morning that you are sorry you hit him and old enough to know in future not to strike the first blow. Not only is it wrong to strike someone, other than in self- defence , but also next time you could provoke a bigger boy into hurting you badly."
"I won't do it again, Sire, I promise."
"Then go now to your father and mother and accept whatever punishment they decide for you."
Yes, Sire, they are really angry with me."
"That is because you let them down today with your behaviour, but they will forgive you now that you are sorry for what you did." Aragorn smiled and lightly patted the boy on the shoulder. "Off you go!"
"Thank you, Sire." Elboron thankfully scuttled away.
Aragorn sat for a few moments lost in memories. Often he wondered how matters might have turned out had Boromir lived. Would Denethor's heir have accepted his claim to Gondor's throne and worked alongside him as Steward as comfortably as Faramir did? He and Boromir had respected each other, but that respect had never advanced into the friendship he shared with the others of the Fellowship. Would Denethor still be alive if his beloved older son had not fallen? There were so many things that might have turned out differently. Aragorn shook his head. It was pointless to dwell on what might have been. Far better to trust that the Higher Powers had allowed everything to happen as it was meant to. He could not wish for a better Steward or more devoted friend than Faramir. He could only hope that eventually their sons might become as good friends as their sires were.
Aragorn roused himself from his reverie and bade a servant tell Eldarion to come to his father's study.
Aragorn's son and heir had washed his face and changed into clean clothing. A swollen and bruised nose was the only evidence that remained of the day's events. Unlike Elboron, Eldarion did not shuffle his feet, but he looked uneasy and bore a shamefaced expression.
Before Aragorn could speak, Eldarion said, "Ada, I'm sorry. I should know better than to argue with little boys."
"You should know better than to insult anyone's dead kinfolk," Aragorn said sternly. "Would you have folk think that your mother and I taught you no manners? What manner of a king will you make if you do not display courtesy to all? When you wear the silver crown, you will encounter many who will seek to provoke you. You must learn to ignore them, or respond with a soft answer. Otherwise the land could be forever at war!"
"You have both always taught me to be polite to everyone, Sire," Eldarion replied. "It was just that Elboron provoked me beyond endurance claiming that Lord Boromir was a greater swordsman than you are. I could not suffer him to think you a lesser man than a traitor!"
"Lord Boromir was no traitor and I do not want to ever hear you say that again, Eldarion." Aragorn said sternly.
"But he betrayed Frodo's trust and tried to take the Ring for himself!" Eldarion protested.
"He did," Aragorn replied. "That does not make Boromir a traitor, though, because of one evil act which he bitterly regretted. Tell me, Eldarion, what you think of our forebear, Isildur?"
"He was a great hero who saved a fruit from the White Tree," said Eldarion, his eyes shining. "His noble deed has always been one of my favourite stories."
"This is the same Isildur who refused to destroy the One Ring when he had the chance. Much sorrow could have been avoided had he done so."
"Isildur made one mistake, which he later repented of, but he was still a great hero!" Eldarion protested. "You told me that no man could long resist the power of the Ring."
"And so it was with Boromir," Aragorn said gravely. "Do you understand now what I am trying to tell you?"
Eldarion thought for a long moment before nodding. "Yes, I think so."
"I found such matters hard to understand when I was but twelve years old too," said Aragorn. "There are few who have ever lived who have not made grave mistakes nor faced temptation. If a good man repents of his folly, he should be forgiven and his memory honoured. If Elboron should annoy you in future, just walk away from him and remember he is younger than you are."
"I will, Sire and I'm sorry. Naneth was distressed about my bloodied nose and it grieves me to upset her."
"Tomorrow, I want you to apologise to Elboron for insulting his uncle's memory. Then I want you to spend an extra hour a day improving your Quenya until I am certain you have learnt your lesson."
Eldarion looked utterly downcast at this news, but simply replied. "Yes, Ada. I want you to be proud of me."
Aragorn kissed his son's brow. "I am proud of you, ion nîn," he said. "We all do foolish things on occasion. Go to bed now. I will see you at breakfast."
As soon as Eldarion closed the door behind him, Aragorn heaved a deep sigh of relief. Boyish fights caused a great deal of trouble, but at least they were easily resolved. It seemed that Faramir was much distressed by his son's conduct, but no child could be expected to always behave perfectly. Once the boys apologised to each other on the morrow, all would surely be quickly forgotten and forgiven.
The next morning, the boys exchanged somewhat awkward apologies in front of their parents. After the sunshine of the day before, the weather had turned chill and a thin drizzle was falling, so there would be no playing outside that day. Within the hour, the boys were happily engrossed in a complex game with their toy soldiers, which were divided into two opposing armies, each trying to outwit the other with complicated battle manoeuvres. Aragorn, who was supposed to be in his study concentrating on state papers, found himself lingering in the solar instead and watching the boys' game. He noticed Eldarion was playing using battle moves he himself had been taught at Rivendell, while Elboron was using some strategies that Aragorn recalled from his days as Captain Thorongil. The King wondered if Faramir had played similar games with his brother and looked around the room for his Steward, but Faramir was nowhere to be found.
Faramir had joined the others for breakfast, but his expression was grim and he had said very little. He announced that he and his family would to return to Ithilien after the noonday meal. Éowyn had looked taken aback at these tidings. There was clearly something amiss with Faramir. The Steward was not himself at all. Aragorn decided to go in search of him. He did not have to look very hard as Faramir was in the rain- drenched garden, pacing the lawn like a caged beast.
"Is something wrong?" Aragorn enquired. "You are shunning my company and I sense that you are veiling your thoughts from me."
"I am well enough," Faramir said shortly.
"You are clearly not yourself, my friend," said Aragorn. "Why not come inside out of the rain and join the boys? They are devising battle plans with their toy soldiers. I was wondering if you used to play that game with Boromir."
Something inside Faramir suddenly appeared to snap. "Do not mention my brother's name!" he cried. "Since you betray and dishonour his memory in such a fashion, I would rather that you did not speak of him at all!"
Aragorn gazed dumbfounded at his usually even- tempered Steward. At last, he said, "I do not know what you mean. I have always respected Boromir's memory."
"Small respect you show him in calling him a traitor!" Faramir retorted. "How many others now speak of him thus?"
"I did no such thing. You should know me better than that."
"I heard it from Eldarion's own lips, as did you. I trusted you when you promised that Boromir's name would remain untarnished."
"And so it has. Before I spoke to our sons last night, I have spoken of what passed between him and Frodo to none, save the others in the Fellowship, yourself, and my lady." Aragorn's puzzled expression suddenly cleared. "Ah that is what Eldarion must have overheard. I was talking to Arwen the other night about how the Enemy's Ring wrought its wiles upon us all. I told her how it was an evil magic indeed that had caused Boromir to betray Frodo's trust. I then went on to tell her how it tried to tempt me too to abandon my duty."
"You were tempted by it?" Faramir sounded incredulous.
Aragorn nodded gravely. "I was only able to resist as Master Elrond had warned me of its power since my youth. I am sorry, my friend. The conversation was not meant for Eldarion's ears. I meant no disrespect to your brother."
Faramir's shoulders suddenly slumped. "It is I who should apologise. I should not have spoken to you, thus. Boromir was weak and unable to resist temptation. I so desired that Elboron should have at least one kinsman he could admire after how his grandsire deserted his post and met a most ignominious end."
Aragorn placed a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Elboron has many kin to admire, not least yourself and Éowyn. His great grandsire, Ecthelion, was a great man of wisdom; his grandmother was the gentlest and fairest of ladies and his uncle was a noble and courageous man. Then what finer example could there be than Imrahil, a wise and just prince? Why not stay here in Minas Tirith for a few more days and show Elboron some of the buildings your illustrious forebears constructed here?
Faramir laughed. "Elboron would think I had not forgiven him for fighting if I made him look at ancient buildings."
"Just stay a while longer then so our families can simply enjoy each other's company. Then I at least will be forgiven!"
"We will stay gladly," said Faramir. "None save a fool forgoes the company of friends. Or so Boromir used to say."
"A wise saying of your brother's that we would do well to act upon," said Aragorn. "I remember him sharing some of his sayings with the Hobbits."
Their thoughts again in harmony the two men walked side by side along the path engrossed in conversation. Overhead, the sun finally broke through the clouds and illuminated them with its rays.
Chapter 102 - Sights best Left Unseen
Title; Sights best Left Unseen
B2MeM Challenge: Loss of innocence
Format: short story
Genre: angst, humour, hurt/comfort, family
Rating: PG
Warnings: mention of wounds and medical procedures
Characters: Aragorn, Eldarion, OMC
Pairings: none
Disclaimer:The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
"My wound is healing nicely," said Aragorn. "I think the stitches should be ready to come out today."
"I shall decide that sire," said Aedred. "Now if you would just remove your tunic and shirt and sit over there on the couch so that I can examine you."
"I hope your hands are not as cold as last time," Aragorn grumbled. "They were freezing. You should warm them in front of the fire before you touch me!"
"I am certain my hands are warm enough," said Aedred. "It is not as if you were a baby or a frail old man. Now if you please, my lord."
Aragorn sighed. He reluctantly got up from his desk and walked over to the couch. He was about to sit down when he noticed Eldarion's wooden dragon, Smaug. He placed the toy on his desk out of the way.
"You would need more stiches from me if you had sat upon that dragon's spines," said Aedred.
"Well, I did not, and there is no need to look so cheerful at the prospect," Aragorn replied testily. "I am always telling Eldarion not to leave his toys lying around. He will be upset later, thinking his favourite toy is lost. You might have sat upon it yourself, if he had left it on that chair you have just vacated, then it would be you in need of a few stitches!"
"And you have no need to look so cheerful either!" Aedred retorted. "Now, sire, if you would permit me to examine you?" While Aragorn disrobed, he turned aside to wash his hands in a bowl of hot water that a servant had brought earlier for the purpose. Aedred then dried his hands and carefully unwrapped the bandages that adorned the King's left shoulder to reveal dark purple bruises and an ugly, jagged sword slash held together by a row of stitches.
"You are lucky, sire," Aedred pronounced. "The wound is healing cleanly and there is no infection. I suppose you have your strong Númenorean constitution to thank. You have been very fortunate this time. You should take better care of yourself, my lord."
"I am King and must lead my men into battle," said Aragorn. "Would you have me skulk at home and let others lead my armies? A king should not shun tasks that he commands others to perform."
"I am certain your Queen would be delighted if you let your capable captains do their job," said Aedred.
Aragorn made no reply, preferring to allow the healer to concentrate on removing the line of neat stiches.
"I will apply a salve of hypericum and then bandage it again," said the healer.
"Calendula would be a better choice," said Aragorn. "It itches now that it is starting to heal."
"Are you treating this wound or…" Aedred was interrupted by a knock on the door.
Aragorn reached for his shirt to cover himself, but too late.
Before either man could say anything, Eldarion burst into the room. "Smaug is lost!" he cried. "Ada, have you seen him?"
"How many times must I tell you that you should wait after knocking to be told if you may come in?" Aragorn chided. "I am occupied with Master Aedred here."
Eldarion was not listening. Instead, he was staring fixedly at the bruises and the livid wound upon his father's shoulder. "Ada, you are hurt!" he cried.
"I was hurt, but is better now," said Aragorn. "I told you that I could not lift you up for a while after the battle with the rebel Southrons."
"I didn't think you were hurt so bad," said Eldarion. His lower lip started to tremble.
Aragorn sighed. This was the last thing that he wanted his son to witness at such a young age. Eldarion had been to visit him when he was ill or injured since he was a baby, but he and Arwen had taken great care that his wounds were always covered. He knew that one day Eldarion would have to learn about wounds, but Stars, not yet! He was little more than a babe. Why did he have to lose his innocence so soon over the ugliness of fighting and the damage caused by weapons of war?
"Does it hurt much?" Eldarion asked tearfully.
"Not now, ion nîn."
"Did the bad men hurt you?"
"They did, but Master Aedred has made it better."
"Ada must stay at home and not let the bad men hurt him again," said Eldarion.
"I cannot do that, ion nîn. I am a soldier and the King. I have to fight to protect all my people from those who wish us harm."
Eldarion's sobs increased. Heedless of this still healing wound, Aragorn scooped the little boy up in his arms. "Shush," he soothed. "There is nothing to cry about. Ada is almost better now and he hopes it will be a long time before any more bad men want to fight against us."
"I'll fight the bad men!" said Eldarion.
"When you are older you shall, but that will not be for a long time."
Eldarion clung to his father, causing Aragorn to wince at the pain in his shoulder. Suddenly, he felt warmth emanating from Eldarion's small hands and easing the pain in his injury. He had hoped that the child would inherit the healing powers of his forebears, but had not dared to hope it would be so strong, and at such an early age. He struggled to hold back his own tears.
"Master Eldarion, I think this fine dragon belongs to you, does it not?" said Aedred, seeking to distract both father and son.
"His name's Smaug," said Eldarion. "He is the best dragon there is!"
Aragorn lowered the little boy to the ground. He ran and took the dragon from Aedred's outstretched hand."
"Thank Master Aedred and then take Smaug back to the nursery," said Aragorn. "Your nanny will be looking for you. I must let my healer finish tending my wound now, but I will come and tell you a story before bedtime."
His tears quickly forgotten, Eldarion left the room, Smaug tucked under his arm.
"Eldarion has the healer's gift," Aragorn told Aedred with pride in his voice. "I felt the pain leaving my wound when he held his hands above it. I would not have had him see a wound so young, though."
"Sadly, children cannot remain innocent for long," said Aedred. "I was already helping bind wounds at his age. My mother was sickly and my sister still a babe in arms. My father was a Rider and fought many a battle with his Éored. There was none save I to assist the healing woman when he came home wounded after fighting Orcs. I knew from an early age that I wanted to be a healer."
"You never wanted to be a Rider of Rohan like your father then?"
Aedred laughed ruefully. "I think I was the only boy in my village that feared horses. I saw one bolt and trample an old man when I was very young. My father's talents were not mine, but it seems your boy shares your gift. Maybe he will grow up to be a healer like his sire."
"I have always fought in the hope that no more fathers and sons would lose their lives in battle, and no more women would be left defenceless and bereft," said Aragorn. "I can hope only that by the time Eldarion is grown there will be fewer wounds that need healing and our little ones can remain innocent of the horrors of war."
Aedred nodded. "I fear that the nature of Men is such, though that our lands will always need both warriors and healers. But I must leave you now, sire to visit my next patient, a young lad who fell out of a tree picking apples. A healer's work is never done whether we have times of war or peace."
A/n. Aedred is a recurrent OC of mine. He was born in Rohan and trained in as a healer in Gondor, where he now has the unenviable job of being Aragorn's healer. He and Aragorn are good friends and colleagues.
Chapter 103 - Foreboding
Author Name: Linda Hoyland
Prompt: Danger
Summary: Faramir is troubled by a sense of foreboding.
Rating: PG.
Warnings: Mention of injuries.
Beta: None.
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
A revised version of a ficlet I wrote back in 2008 for the AA list and then forgot about.
Faramir had awoken that morning with a nagging feeling of unease, which he could not account for. There was nothing he had planned for the day that had reason to cause him any apprehension. He intended to spend the morning working in his study and accompany Aragorn to a public audience that afternoon then dine with the King and Queen that evening. It promised to be a very ordinary day.
The morning had passed without incident and by the time the noonday meal was concluded Faramir was beginning to feel more at ease. He concluded his earlier disquiet must be because he was missing Éowyn and his children, who were at home in Ithilien. The Steward stifled a yawn. The audience seemed to be endless today.
Instead of the high seat atop a slight of stairs, the King used a throne on a low dais for his audiences and usually either Arwen, Faramir, or Prince Imrahil sat a chair beside him and acted as an advisor when needed.
Faramir was starting to understand why his father had discouraged public audiences as much as possible. The people often brought problems which were mainly either trivial or absurd, which only the occasional one worthy of their lord's attention. Aragorn accepted this fact, but strongly believed that the King should be willing to help as many of his people as he could and not be a remote figure seen only by lords and ladies. Faramir wholeheartedly agreed, though sometimes he wished that his lord's subjects were not quite so eager for the King to solve every trivial quarrel that arose between them.
Within the past hour, Aragorn had patiently listened to two farmers from the Pelennor disputing the ownership of a cow; a drunkard who had spent all his money at the tavern, who now wanted the King to punish the innkeeper for letting him spend so much, and a woman who objected to her male neighbours hanging their underwear on the washing line where she could see it.
Aragorn had awarded ownership of the cow to the farmer who best described the animal, sternly admonished the drunkard before dismissing his case, and suggested that the woman would be far more offended if her neighbours had no clothes that needed washing.
Another woman was now requesting that Aragorn stop her husband from spending his evenings in the tavern with his friends rather than at home with her.
It was warm in the Great hall and Faramir started to feel his eyelids growing heavy. To keep himself alert, his eyes wandered round the vast room. Guards in the black and silver livery of the Citadel Guards were stationed at the doors, keeping a watchful eye on the crowd. Most of the folk looked bored. A few looked anxious as they waited to be heard.
Faramir's gaze fell upon a man. The fellow seemed to be fiddling with his boot. The Steward recognised him as the fellow who had squandered his money in the tavern. Strange that he had not left once Aragorn had dismissed the case like the other supplicants had done. A glint of steel suddenly caught Faramir's eye. The man had a knife!
Swift as an arrow, the Steward leapt from his seat and threw himself in front of Aragorn. The Guards raced to seize the man, but acted too slowly. He had already hurled the blade at the King. It flew through the air and struck Faramir. Several women screamed in terror.
Aragorn reacted swiftly. His years as King had not blunted his Ranger reflexes. He caught hold of the Steward before he could hit the ground. "Faramir!" he cried. "Are you much hurt? Guards, seize the miscreant and then clear the Hall. The audience is over for today."
The people needed little urging to leave. A couple of burly guards grabbed hold of the knife thrower. He shouted, "You rulers are all alike, you always favour the rich! A plague on you all!"
The innkeeper shouted after him. "It's all I can do to pay the rent thanks to the likes of you who don't want to pay their bills!"
Aragorn ignored the commotion. He gently eased his friend down on the cushioned throne, his eyes filled with concern and horror.
"Are you harmed, mellon nîn? Did the blade strike you?" Faramir asked, seemingly unperturbed by the knife embedded in his shoulder.
"I am unhurt, unlike you. You took the blade meant for me!" Aragorn replied. Tears glinted in his eyes.
"Shall I fetch a healer, sire?" enquired a Guard.
"I shall tend, Lord Faramir myself," Aragorn replied. "But send for Master Aedred to assist me. I require some hot water and my healing supplies."
The man hurried off. Aragorn supported the weight of the knife in his hands to prevent it causing further harm to his friend.
"Strange indeed that I should be sitting upon your throne!" mused Faramir, trying to take his mind from his pain.
"And on it you will stay seated upon it until Master Aedred and I have tended your wound," said Aragorn.
Once Aedred arrived and the healing supplies were brought, Aragorn dismissed everyone from the room, leaving the Guards stationed outside.
"Can you not even hold an audience without some ill befalling you?" said Aedred. "What has happened this time? Did you trip over your robes or knock yourself out with your crown?"
"I am perfectly well," said Aragorn. "Lord Faramir has been injured taking a would- be assassin's blow that was meant for me."
Aedred's usual composure was shaken at these tidings. "You are fortunate, my lord that the Steward is a man of such loyalty and valour."
"I am," Aragorn said simply. "Now help me remove this knife from his shoulder."
Faramir gritted his teeth and managed not to cry out when Aragorn and the healer removed the blade, albeit as gently as they could. The King quickly staunched the bleeding, Aedred assisting with a supply of clean cloths.
Once the bleeding had slowed, they eased Faramir out of his tunic and shirt. Much to their relief, the cut was not as bad as it had first appeared. Faramir's thick woollen tunic had somewhat deflected the blow.
"You should not take such risks!" Aragorn gently chided as he cleaned the wound. "No great harm has been done, but you could have been killed!"
"As could you!" Faramir replied, gasping in pain when Aragorn smeared the wound with honey. "Did you think I would just sit there while my friend and King were slain? Not while the sun and the moon travel across the sky, mellon nîn!"
"I am blessed to have you," said Aragorn, patting Faramir's good shoulder. He stitched the wound closed. Then Aedred carefully bandaged it. He wrapped Faramir in his cloak and sent a servant to fetch a clean shirt for the Steward.
A few moments later Arwen hastened into the Hall with a bundle of clothing.
"Estel, Faramir, what has happened?" she demanded. "I have just heard that you have been attacked."
"A miscreant threw a knife at me during my audience," Aragorn explained. "I was unaware of the danger until Faramir threw himself in front of me. He saved my life."
"We owe you a debt we can never repay, Faramir," said Arwen.
"It is reward enough that I was able to save my King," said Faramir. "Strange but I awoke this morning with a feeling of foreboding."
"You have the foresight of your forebears," said Aragorn. "It is a gift, which you use wisely."
"Do you feel well enough to have something to eat," asked Arwen.
"I believe so," said Faramir.
"Then I will ask the cook to prepare something nourishing and light," said Arwen.
"He deserves a meal fit for a king," said Aragorn and smiled at his Steward.
Chapter 104 - If Winter Comes
If Winter Comes
"The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?" - Shelley
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. This story is written for pleasure, not profit.
With thanks to Raksha
"I hate winter!" Eldarion said glumly. He looked out of the window of Faramir's home in Ithilien and stared at the pouring rain." You promised to take me out riding and now we can't go!"
Aragorn affectionately ruffled his young son's hair. "I was just like you when I was your age. I hated being cooped up indoors," he said. "We shall ride tomorrow if the ground is fit for the horses underfoot. I will tell you a story instead today."
The little boy was soon curled on his father's lap contentedly listening to his father's account of how the future king once hid all morning under his bed to avoid studying history with Glorfindel. It had been a day much like today and his anxious mother and half of Master Elrond's household had gone out searching for him in the pouring rain.
"What happened then?" asked Eldarion. "Were you punished?"
Aragorn laughed ruefully. "I was not allowed to go riding for weeks and was made to have extra history lessons when I would usually have been playing outside. I never hid during a lesson again."
"Ada, did you ever learn to like history?" asked Eldarion.
"I did once I was old enough to properly understand all the great deeds I learned about," said Aragorn. "Now come, we do not want to keep Uncle Faramir and Aunt Éowyn waiting. We are guests in their home and must not be late for the delicious meals their cook has prepared for us all."
000
Much to Eldarion's relief, the watery sun was shining through his bedroom window when he awoke the next morning. He hurried to eat his breakfast then joined his father and Uncle Faramir in the stables where they helped him saddle his pony.
The small party set off. They rode along the woodland paths past the wintery landscape of bare trees.
"Where are we going, ada?" Eldarion enquired impatiently.
"To visit Uncle Legolas and his Elven friends," the King answered.
"I love visiting Uncle Legolas," said Eldarion. "I like it when he climbs trees. Most grown- ups won't do that."
Aragorn and Faramir laughed.
"I climbed enough trees to last a lifetime in my Ranger days," said Faramir.
"As did I," said Aragorn.
Not long afterwards, Legolas appeared from amongst the trees to greet his visitors. The Elf proudly showed them the new homes the Elves had built and the wooded gardens they tended. Aragorn and Faramir enthused about what they saw, but Eldarion remained silent.
"What do you think of our Elven gardens, young one?" asked Legolas.
"They are very nice," the boy replied politely.
"You sound less than enthusiastic," said Faramir. "I think them quite beautiful and feel honoured that the Elves choose to dwell here in Ithilien."
"It is just that everything is so dull in winter!" Eldarion burst out. "The sky is grey. The trees are bare. I cannot even play hide and seek, since there are no leaves to shield me! There are not even any flowers to pick for Naneth."
Legolas laughed. "You should look more carefully, young one. Have you not seen the fair shapes of the trees now they are no longer concealed, and the bird's nests that are hidden from view by the leaves in summer?"
"Yes, but Ada says I must not touch the nests," Eldarion replied.
"Only when the birds are at home in spring and summer," said Aragorn. "Now, their homes are empty and deserted and you may safely look."
"But they are too high up to see properly," Eldarion protested.
"I shall bring you one then, Aragornion." Legolas nimbly climbed up the nearest tree and returned with a bird's nest, which he handed to the boy. Eldarion studied the densely woven twigs carefully, fascinated by the intricate design.
"There is far more to discover, ion nîn," said Aragorn." Can you see those specks of green peeping out of the earth? In a few weeks, they will be bluebells, which we could gather for Naneth."
Faramir then pointed to the tightly curled buds on a linden tree. "These leaves still sleep," he explained. "But soon, they will burst forth fresh and new, and give you cover to play hide and seek again."
"So you see, Eldarion," added the King. "Although winter seems drear, it holds the promise of all the bounty we shall enjoy in spring. If we had sunshine, and trees and flowers in full bloom all the time, we would grow too accustomed to them and fail to appreciate the marvels of Yavanna's gifts to us. Nature needs to sleep just like we do, but the promise is always there that when she wakes up again, she will be fairer than ever."
"You must visit again soon," said Legolas. "I would show you more of the hidden beauties of nature."
"I shall have lots to tell Naneth," Eldarion said thoughtfully. As they rode home, he looked eagerly around him, in hope of the promise of spring.
A/n. This is a revised version of a ficlet I wrote for a prompt on the AA list way back in 2008.
Chapter 105 - A Quiet Nook
An Obscure Nook
I give the fight up: let there be an end, A privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God. – Browning
With thanks to Raksha
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
“We should be able to persuade the Council of the need to change the inheritance laws in this afternoon’s debate,” said Faramir.
”This afternoon?” Aragorn groaned. ”I was certain it was next week.”
“I prepared all the documents last week,” said Faramir a trifle reproachfully. “I assume you have not read it?”
The King shook his head. ”I am sorry, mellon nîn, there always seems so many other things to engage my attention. Perhaps we could study the changes you propose now? Arwen is not expecting me to dine with her, since she is visiting the City Orphanage today.”
“I would be happy to,” said the Steward. “I will fetch the scrolls and join you in your study.”
“We may as well study them in my private sitting room,” said the King. ”We can at least be comfortable there and have something to eat while we work.”
Aragorn ordered a servant to bring a selection of breads, meat, cheeses, and fruit together with some wine. The woman had just placed them on a table by the couch when Faramir returned carrying a bundle of scrolls and documents. The two men were soon sitting side-by-side, papers on their laps and hunks of bread and cheese in their hands, scattering crumbs over the carpet.
“I believe when Elendil came to Gondor that he intended- “ Aragorn began, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come in,” he called tersely.
A maid entered. “Are you sure those refreshments are sufficient for you, my lords?” she enquired. “The cook said to tell you she had a nice roast chicken prepared if you were hungry and she would make you a gooseberry fool or some syllabub for dessert.”
“This is quite sufficient, thank you,” said the King, dismissing the girl. ”Now where was I?”
“On page twelve, where I wrote that I believe Elendil intended Númenorean law to apply to Gondor,” said Faramir, finding the place and taking another bite of bread, this time accompanied by cold roast beef.
A loud knock came on the door.
“Come in,” Aragorn called grumpily.
It was a servant carrying wood for the fire. The man dropped the bundle of logs so that they rolled over the floor, then kept apologising profusely as he picked them up and built up the fire. It was impossible to concentrate on reading. After what seemed like an age, he was finally left after many bows and further apologies.
Aragorn groaned. “The usual servant is unwell. I believe this fellow usually works in the stables, work he is obviously far better suited to.”
For a few minutes, the two men resumed their work. Then there was another knock on the door. This time it was a housemaid, carrying a brush.
“What do you want?” Aragorn asked unable to keep the irritation from his voice.
“The cook’s assistant who brought your refreshments said there were some crumbs on the floor that needed sweeping up,” said the girl.
“It will do later,” said Aragorn.
“But the Queen, is most particular about thiscarpet,” the girl protested.
“I said it will do later,” Aragorn said angrily causing the girl to blanch. He softened on seeing her frightened look.” I promise you that the Queen will not be angry,” he said smiling at her. “We just need some to be left alone to work at present. Perhaps you could tell the Housekeeper we are not to be disturbed during the next hour?”
“Yes, my lord.” The girl bobbed a curtsey and left.
“Has a King no privacy?” Aragorn sighed as she closed the door behind her.
“It seems not,” said Faramir sympathetically. "Neither does a Steward, for that matter at least not in Minas Tirith. Now, if we continue on page sixteen where I noted that the fourth King, Tar-Elendil, gave his daughter an equal share of his personal property with her brothers.”
At last, it seemed the King and the Steward would be left to discuss the document in peace. Their meal completed, Aragorn removed the plates from the small table in front of them and leaned back with his feet upon it.
Faramir sat only slightly more properly, with his feet sprawled out.
As the fresh logs burned brightly, the room grew hot and both men shed their outer tunics.
Just then the door opened without a warning knock
“Estel!” Arwen said angrily. “That table belonged to Father. It is older than I am! How could you put your dirty booted feet on it?”
“I am sorry, “said Aragorn, hastily putting his feet on the floor. “It is just that I think better sitting like this!”
“I think not,” snapped Arwen. “You blood will all be in your feet rather than your head! And just look at the state of the carpet! There are crumbs everywhere. I spent thirty years making it; it took me fifteen years alone to find the perfect threads!”
“Faramir and I were eating our lunch while we worked,” said the King. “Do not blame the servants; we did not wish to be disturbed while we discussed inheritance laws to be debated later in Council.”
Meanwhile, Faramir struggled to pull his tunic back over his head with all possible haste. It was considered a grave discourtesy to be seen less than fully clothed in the presence of a lady.
“You would have more privacy in your study," said the Queen, smiling at Faramir to show that her anger was not for him.
"Now I understand why Ecthelion used to retreat to the recesses of the White Tower to ponder matters of state," Aragorn grumbled as King and Steward heeded the Queen's words and carried their papers to Aragorn’s study. "A wise man, your grandfather; he had an office built, and let only his closest friends and counsellors and the guards know of its existence. The chamber had been hastily built and was small. Well I remember how Denethor and I were constrained in such cramped quarters. Now I agree with Ecthelion's words: 'Privacy is as valuable as comfort, and sometimes is more valuable still."
A/n . This was written several years ago for the prompt “Privacy” on the AA list and has languished forgotten on my hard drive.
Chapter 106 - I do
I do – by Linda Hoyland
Rated – K+
Summary – What does it take to frighten Aragorn?
Disclaimer: These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Never before Aragorn felt so afraid. He had faced countless perils in this long life, but never before had he felt his heart pounding so hard that it felt as if it might burst. This was not the icy dread he had felt when facing the Nazgûl, but a very different kind of fear.
"It is almost time." Faramir's voice roused him from his whirling thoughts.
Aragorn took a deep breath and studied his reflection in the looking glass. He hardly recognised the richly clad personage who stared back at him. He was clad in a black tunic, embroidered with mithril and black breeches, over which he wore the same white mantel he had worn at his coronation. His unruly hair had been washed, and then brushed until it shone and his beard was neatly barbered. The Star of Elendil adorned his brow. And he smelled of rose water; it must have been poured into his bath that morning.
"You look every inch a King my lord," said Faramir. "Your lady will be well pleased."
Aragorn forced himself to smile at the young man, though his words only served to intensify the rising sense of panic within him. He was indeed a King now and could make Arwen his Queen, but could he ever offer her all she deserved? Would she look at him and think of the mighty Elves she could have chosen to wed? Then he knew so little of the arts of love. Would he be able to delight her as a husband when they came to lie together?
"Are you ready now, sire?" asked Faramir.
Aragorn had waited for this moment since he came to manhood. How could he ever be ready to ask so much of the woman he loved? She was forsaking the life of the Eldar and the company of her kin until the remaking of the world.
Aragorn shook himself inwardly. She would lose much, but also gain much, the children they would raise together and at the last; the Gift of Men, the freedom to move beyond the circles of the world.
Faramir coughed. "They are waiting for us,, my lord," he said, sounding somewhat anxious at his liege's tardiness.
"I am coming. "Aragorn took a deep breath and followed Faramir outside to the Court of the Fountain. He hoped that none would notice how he was trembling. What if he forgot what he was supposed to say?
The summer air was scented with the White Tree's fragrant blossoms. The fountain sparkled in the bright sunlight. The courtyard was crowded and a cheer rang out as the King appeared.
Aragorn was deaf and blind to everything around him. As if in a dream, he followed Faramir to where Gandalf was standing beside the White Tree. He smiled benevolently at Aragorn.
There was no sign, though, of Arwen. Aragorn looked around him wildly. What, if now the moment to decide had come she changed her mind? Surely, this was something he should not fear though. Arwen was of steadfast heart. She would never forsake him. She had given him her pledge.
Then she, appeared, leaning on her father's arm. Her beauty eclipsed the dancing sunbeams while her eyes were brighter than any star in the heavens. She wore a gown of blue and silver and her hair was braided with bright gemstones. She looked into Aragorn's eyes and his fears melted away like mist in a morning breeze.
Master Elrond placed Arwen's hand in Aragorn's. Faramir, who stood at Aragorn's side, then handed a silken cord to Gandalf, which he twined around Aragorn and Arwen's wrists.
"Aragorn, son of Arathorn and Gilraen, do you give your solemn vow to take, Arwen, daughter of Elrond and Celebrian in wedlock? Will you bear love and faith only to her until the ending of your days? Will you cherish her and keep her, and raise her children with love?"
Aragorn turned and smiled at his bride, his eyes filled with love. "I do," he said. "With all my heart, I do."
A/n. Written for the Teitho "I do" challenge where it was placed third.
Chapter 107 - A Tale of Two Dragons
A Tale of Two Dragons
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
"Master Eldarion cannot sleep," his nanny informed the King and Queen who were just about to retire to their own bedchamber.
"I will go to him," said Aragorn. "My duties have, alas, kept me from spending much time with him today."
"I shall retire to bed then," said the Queen.
Aragorn followed the nanny into Eldarion's nursery where he discovered the very wide-awake little boy sitting upright in bed clasping his toy dragon, Smaug.
"What is wrong, ion nín?" enquired Aragorn after telling the nanny to wait in the next room.
Eldarion regarded his toy mournfully. "I've been learning about dragons in my lessons today," the child said thoughtfully. "My tutor said that dragons were all nasty and cruel, and that Smaug liked eating people!"
"That was only the real Smaug," Aragorn explained. "Your Smaug is a very friendly dragon."
"Are there no real friendly dragons?" Eldarion persisted.
"I think not, ion nîn, for the great Fire Drakes were creatures of Sauron and therefore evil."
Eldarion looked as if he were about to cry. "Poor Smaug will be so lonely if there are no friendly dragons for him to play with in the whole of Middle-earth!"
"All toy dragons are friendly," Aragorn said soothingly. "I will see if I can find you another wooden one to play with Smaug."
"Smaug is real! He plays with me," Eldarion insisted.
Aragorn stifled a yawn. He had no desire to spend all night discussing whether Smaug was alive with his son, neither would he lie to the boy. The child had a vivid imagination and to him, his toy was as real as Nimrodel, his puppy. The King well remembered when he was a boy, and had believed that his wooden horse was alive and talked to him. "Well, ion nîn, we do not know about what manner of creatures dwell in Elvenhome far beyond the Sundering Seas. Maybe there are friendly dragons there," he suggested, hoping to placate the little boy.
"Tell me a story about them, ada!" Eldarion pleaded.
"It is late, and time you were asleep," Aragorn demurred.
"Please ada!"
"Very well, just a short one," Aragorn agreed. Since Eldarion's sister had been born, there had been times when the little boy needed extra love and attention from his parents. Aragorn preferred to tell his son stories about Middle-earth's great heroes, but tonight he would humour him with a fairy tale. "Once upon a time, far away in Elvenhome, there lived two dragons. One was as crimson as flame, while the other was as white as snow."
"What were their names?" demanded Eldarion.
"You guess!" said the King.
"Was the crimson one was called Andúril and the white one Snowfire?" suggested Eldarion.
"Those were indeed their names," smiled Aragorn, delighted that he would not have to think of any at this time of night. "Truth to tell, he found choosing names difficult at any time of day. As King, young mothers often asked him to honour their infants with his choice of name."
"The two dragons lived in caves far away from each other and they were both very lonely," Aragorn continued. "Andúril was a magic dragon who could cast all manner of spells."
"What sort of spells?"
"He could make beautiful fireworks like Gandalf could and he could make the flowers change colour, or even turn them into butterflies so that they would fly away!"
Eldarion laughed delightedly.
"Snowfire was a healer," Aragorn continued. "She knew the uses of every herb and her very breath could cure very wound."
"She sounds like you, ada," Eldarion snuggled against his father's broad shoulder.
"One day Andúril was showing off his magic tricks to a group of Elven children. How they marvelled at his arts! He made a splendid firework for them, which exploded in a shower of golden sparks .One young, Elf, though, a boy called Dirlin, moved to0 close to the firework and it burned his face and blinded him. He cried loudly for help."
"What did he do since you weren't there to make him better?" Eldarion enquired anxiously.
"You forget that far better healers than I, dwell in Elvenhome," said Aragorn with a rueful laugh. " Luckily for Dirlin, Snowfire happened to be flying nearby, hunting for healing herbs. When she heard Dirlin's cries for help, she flew at once to his aid and breathed on his burned face after chewing some athelas. At once he was healed and able to play with his friends again."
"I'm glad." Eldarion started to sound sleepy and snuggled more closely against his father.
"The Elven children quickly ran off home as they knew their parents would be angry if they stayed out too late. The two dragons were left alone." Aragorn took a deep breath. He was certain this part of the story would swiftly send his young son to sleep. "Andúril thought Snowfire the most beautiful dragon he had ever seen, while Snowfire thought Andúril the most handsome! They fell in love, and the very next day they were married. They had many children and lived happily ever afterwards and were never again lonely."
Aragorn's voice dropped to a whisper. He looked fondly at Eldarion who was now asleep in his arms. The King lingered a while, lovingly studying every feature of his young son's face. Sometimes after so many years of waiting, he could hardly believe that he truly had gained all he had dreamed of at last. He had been just as lonely as the dragons he had imagined for Eldarion.
Aragorn gently lowered Eldarion down upon the bed and tucked the covers around him. Planting a kiss lightly upon the boy's brow, he tiptoed from the room and went to join Arwen and his baby daughter. Sometimes fairy stories did come true.
A/n, This is a story I wrote way back in 2008 for a prompt on the AA list. It was inspired by a dragon breeding game that was popular online at the time. Eldarion's dreams come true in "Carefully Taught".
Chapter 108 - Fit for a Queen
Fit for a Queen
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
"Where's Naneth and Ada?" Eldarion demanded of his nanny when he failed to see either of his parents one morning.
"Your mother is not feeling very well and your father is taking care of her," the nurse explained. "You shall see them later. Now eat your breakfast, Master Eldarion."
Eldarion spooned his porridge thoughtfully. His naneth had not been well yesterday morning either, though she had played with him later that day. He felt scared. Why had ada not made her better by now? Perhaps he could do something to help? He remembered his nursery maid going to visit her mother when she was ill. She had taken her a warm shawl, a cake, and some flowers. When she came back she had told Eldarion her mother was much better.
Eldarion considered this information carefully, his brows furrowed with concentration. He didn't know where he could find a shawl and had no idea how to bake a cake. That left flowers. He thought them rather boring, but his naneth loved them, like most ladies did. Maybe he could find some for her to make her better?
"Good boy, Master Eldarion, you have eaten all your porridge. Would you like some honey on toast now?" asked the nanny.
"Yes, please." Eldarion tucked in and quickly forgot about flowers.
After breakfast, Eldarion's nurse took him outside to play. She was soon engrossed in conversation with a kitchen maid who had come outside to pick some herbs. The little boy was left to his own devices. He felt bored and lonely. Sometimes the Guards' children came to play with him, but he longed for a playmate that was there every day. One of the Guard's sons had a puppy. He would love a puppy to play with! His Naneth said he was too young though to look after one properly.
Eldarion remembered that he wanted some flowers for his naneth and decided to go in search of some. He was about to pick some daises for her; the pretty pink tipped ones, when he espied a bed of white and yellow flowers. Eldarion's face lit up. These were special Elven flowers. His naneth had told him that they had come from where grandfather and grandmother used to live. Surely, these would cheer naneth up and make her better? Swiftly, Eldarion gathered as many of the flowers as he could. He then heard his nurse calling and ran back to her.
"Come inside now, Master Eldarion," said the nurse. "I expect the King and Queen will be waiting for you now."
Eldarion was pleased to discover that his mother was now up and in her solar with his father. She was sitting in the far corner engrossed in embroidering a shirt. He was about to run to his naneth with the flowers when he realised that his father had a visitor. The little boy recognised the head gardener, a burly fellow with a bushy black beard whom he always found rather scary. The gardener was obviously in a very bad mood.
"Some wicked thief has stolen your lady's elanor and niphredil flowers, my lord!" the gardener cried.
"This is an outrage," Aragorn replied. "Have the guards search for the culprit and arrest him! How dare any man touch my Queen's favourite blossoms."
The gardener bowed low and stormed off.
Eldarion stood rooted to the spot in terror. The flowers spilled from his hands.
"Eldarion!" exclaimed Aragorn. "Whatever are you doing with your naneth's flowers? You are a naughty boy!"
The child burst into tears." I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I wanted to bring her flowers to make you better!"
Arwen threw down her sewing. She hastened towards her son and drew him into her arms. "That was a kind thought," she said, "though you must not pick flowers, except buttercups and daisies in future without asking. I am not ill, ion nîn. Instead. I have some very special news to tell you. You will have a new playmate soon."
Eldarion beamed happily and jumped up and down with excitement. "You mean I can have a puppy?"
"Maybe one day, but this new playmate will be a baby brother or sister."
Eldarion felt disappointed. "Babies are dull and cry all day," he said, pouting.
"You brother or sister will grow up, though, then you will have fun playing together."
"I hope it's a brother then, girls are silly. Puppies are still more fun!"
"I would have loved a brother or sister," said Aragorn wistfully. "All my playmates were much older than I when I was a boy. I would happily have even made daisy chains to please a little sister."
"Truly, Ada?"
"Yes, truly. Being and older brother is a very important responsibility, ion nîn. If you try very hard to be a good big brother to the new baby, you shall have a puppy to play with or maybe a kitten."
Eldarion beamed. At last, he would have a playmate of his own.
A/n. This is a revised version of a story of a story I wrote back in 2009. I also incorporated material from a more recent drabble.
Chapter 109 - Hunter and Hunted
Hunter and Hunted by Linda Hoyland
Rated T
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Raksha and Deandra
Written for the Teitho "Beginnings" Challenge where it was unplaced.
"It has been a good hunting trip." Faramir sighed contentedly.
"We were wise to make no rash promises to our ladies concerning restocking the larders," said Aragorn.
"They know full well when we go hunting it is not for the thrill of the chase, but to return to the wilds of our Ranger days," said Faramir. "We are blessed that we can savour the sight of a fine buck without being compelled to kill it else go hungry."
"And to be able to ride out together and enjoy the touch of the breeze on our faces," said Aragorn. "Not to mention the pleasures of spending time on horseback together. We need a few days freedom every now and then, however much our advisors try to stop us. Once a Ranger, always a Ranger." He affectionately patted Roheryn's neck as he spoke. "We should be home ere nightfall if we keep this pace up."
"I hope you and your family can stay here in Ithilien a few days longer," said Faramir. "I am certain my Uncle Imrahil will not mind remaining in the City until the end of the week. He told me he had business to see to in the Citadel."
"Arwen and I are happy to accept your hospitality," said Aragorn. "She enjoys escaping from the City in summer as much as I do. Eldarion loves being in the country with all your animals. He now cannot make up his mind whether to be a Ranger or a farmer!"
Faramir smiled a trifle wistfully. "Maybe, unlike us, in these days of peace he can try his hand at both. He reined in his horse and looked around. "Every year sees the return of more farming folk to these lands," he remarked. "Ithilien is truly the garden of Gondor once more."
Aragorn brought Roheryn to a halt and surveyed the landscape. "Strange," he said. "That farm over there looks inhabited, but the gate is wide open and the crops are trampled."
Faramir followed his gaze. "There is something wrong," he said. "Let us investigate." He urged his horse forward and the two men galloped towards the farm. As they drew nearer, they drew their swords and slowed to a more cautious pace.
A sorry sight met their eyes, the fields had been churned up and there was not a single grazing animal to be seen. A few agitated looking chickens flapped aimlessly around the farmyard and a grey striped tabby cat fled at their approach. As they rounded the bend to the farmhouse, they could hear crows squawking. It was soon all too obvious what had attracted them. A man, his throat cut, lay lifeless on the ground; beside him, likewise slain, lay a great hound.
"Bandits," Aragorn said grimly. He swung himself from his horse.
"I heard reports that some farms had had livestock stolen and I sent Rangers to investigate, but they found no traces of the bandits," said Faramir. "The miscreants have sunk to new depths of infamy. They will pay for it, I swear."
Aragorn was already kneeling beside the lifeless farmer. "He has been dead for several hours," he pronounced. "See the pitchfork beside him? He must have tried to defend his land and was slaughtered for his pains, poor man. We must see he is properly buried. Can you help me move him inside, mellon nîn? I would bury him myself, though I promised Arwen I would try to return ere sundown tonight."
Faramir nodded. "We will send men to bury this poor fellow on the morrow. We should just…." He stopped, craning his neck in the direction of a weak mewling cry. "What was that?"
"A kitten, maybe. I saw a cat run off when we arrived. She could have a litter hidden somewhere."
"It does not sound like a cat to me. It sounds like a newborn infant's cry."
"How could a baby survive the carnage here? We should investigate, though."
Aragorn snatched up a sack from a heap that were lying on the ground and threw it over the dead man to try to keep the crows away. He then stood, listening, his head cocked to one side. Then the cry came again, a piteous mewling sound.
"That is no kitten," said Faramir. "It sounds like a newborn babe!"
"It came from within," said Aragorn.
The two friends approached the open door of the farmhouse, which had almost been torn from its hinges. A scene of utter devastation greeted them as they entered. Furniture had been overturned, and the stuffing pulled from a cushion and scattered across the rush matting that covered the floor. They searched the room thoroughly as well as an adjoining bedchamber, which was in a similar state of disarray to the living area and kitchen. Aragorn and Faramir even climbed into the hayloft, but there was no sign of any child.
"Where can the baby be?" asked Faramir.
"Let us listen for the cries again," said Aragorn. The two stood still and listened. After what seemed an age, they heard the cry again. It seemed to come from beneath their feet. "There must be a cellar!" Aragorn exclaimed. He began to roll up the rush mats.
Faramir began to do the same at the other side of the room. "Here!" he cried. "There is a trapdoor."
The two men pulled the door up by its ring and peered into the darkness within. A low moan of terror greeted them. "Do not be afraid," Aragorn called. "We mean you no harm.
Faramir managed to find a candle amidst the debris and lit it from his tinderbox. Sheltering it with his hand, he peered into the cellar. Amongst an assortment of dusty barrels and farming tools, lay a young woman, her gown stained with the detritus of childbirth. In her arms, she clasped a tiny newborn babe, wrapped in a shawl.
At the sight of the strangers, she gave another moan and clutched the baby more tightly.
"Have no fear, mistress, we are here to help you," said Aragorn in his most soothing tone. "This cellar is no place for a newborn baby."
Faramir moved away from the trapdoor and started to clear away some of the debris in the living room. A sturdy wooden settle had survived the carnage unscathed and he took off his cloak and folded it into a makeshift pillow.
The woman simply stared wide- eyed in fear at Aragorn and clutched the whimpering infant more tightly to her breast.
"We mean you no harm, mistress," Aragorn repeated in the same soothing tone. He reached for his sword and dagger and unbuckled them, and laid them down together with his bow. For a moment, he toyed with the notion of offering her his dagger, but decided against it. In her state of fear and confusion, she might harm herself or her child. "See, mistress," he said. "I am unarmed. I am a healer who would help you."
"You are a man with greater strength than I!" she almost spat the words at him. "If you touch me, though, I swear I will kill you!" She produced a small kitchen knife and brandished it in an unsteady hand. It was bloodied and Aragorn surmised she must have used it to cut the birth cord.
"Indeed, I have killed many enemies with sword, but my hands are those of a healer. I am sworn to protect the weak and innocent and defend them with my last drop of blood."
"My husband will protect us."
Aragorn shook his head sadly.
The woman gave a low keening moan and swooned.
Faramir ran back to join his lord. Aragorn jumped down into the cellar and prised the child from the young woman's limp grasp. He handed it up to Faramir. The Steward promptly tucked the infant under his tunic.
Aragorn half dragged, half carried the unconscious young mother out of the cellar, then laid her on the settle. He swiftly checked her pulse and briefly examined her. "She has swooned from shock, I believe. I do not think anything ails her that time and care cannot heal. There is not a great amount of blood on her clothing and she is a good colour, so it appears she has survived the birth unscathed, though a midwife should examine her and tend to her as soon as possible."
"We should take her to Éowyn," said Faramir. "She knows of such matters and would care for her and her babe." He gently removed the infant from beneath his tunic and gave it Aragorn. "How fares the child?"
"It looks to be a little early, but appears healthy," Aragorn pronounced after a few moments. "It is good that it is a girl child. They are often more robust."
The young woman stirred and opened her eyes. "My baby!" she cried.
"She is here," said Aragorn. He pulled a clean shirt from his pack then removed his cloak and wrapped the infant in the garments. "How do you fare, mistress?" He handed the child to Faramir then placed a supporting arm round the young woman's shoulders and helped her to sit up.
She gave a deep sigh. "I am so very tired."
"You have suffered a grievous shock as well as having faced the ordeal of childbirth alone. Aragorn turned to rummage in his pack and brought out his water bottle. The woman took a draught then demanded her child.
"You have a healthy daughter, mistress. Has she suckled yet?"
The young mother nodded. "We were hiding for many hours. The raiders came at dawn. My Basgorn told me to hide in the cellar, as I was great with child and could not fight to protect my home. He went out with his faithful hound to drive the ruffians away. I heard a dreadful cry then shouts. Soon afterwards my child was born. I was too afraid to come out."
"Your husband died bravely, mistress, his hound at his side."
The widow smiled sadly. "Basgorn named him Huan. He always claimed the hound was a valiant beast. It seems he was indeed."
"What is your name, mistress?" Aragorn asked.
"I am called Andreth." Just then, the infant began to wail lustily. Andreth gave the two men a pointed look.
"We will try and find you clean clothes, Mistress Andreth," said Aragorn and fetch water so that you can wash."
"There is a well outside."
"Thank you, mistress. We will return anon," said Faramir.
Aragorn went outside and filled a pail with water. He then kindled a fire in the grate and put the water in a pan to heat. Meanwhile, Faramir managed to find a crumpled but fairly clean dress and shift in the bedroom as well as some blankets and towels. He tidied the room as best he could. It seemed that the raiders had left Andreth's clothes as well as the bedding. Most likely, they were only interested in money and valuables as well as clothing they could wear. Faramir was filled with rage. Only the lowest of the low would prey on poor farming folk.
Aragorn put his head around the doorway and on seeing that the bedchamber now bore few marks of the raiders, suggested that he carry the water within. They then helped Andreth up from the settle and into the bedchamber.
"We will leave you to wash and change your gown, mistress," said Aragorn. "We shall be outside within earshot should you need us. We will help you bathe your daughter if you wish."
"What do men know about bathing infants?" said Andreth.
"We are both fathers, mistress," Aragorn said with a smile as he left the room closely followed by Faramir.
The two men wandered out into the yard. "We need to take Andreth and her child to Emyn Arnen as soon as we can," said Aragorn. He glanced towards her husband's body. "We must make sure she does not see this. This is one of the few times that I wish we had guards with us; more manpower would be very useful. We need a cart too; there is no way that Andreth can ride so soon after giving birth."
"What if I were to ride to the next farm?" Faramir suggested. "They might have something we could use. Then there is a Ranger outpost but a few leagues away. I could summon the men to bury Basgorn and they could escort us back to my home."
"Wise counsel, mellon nîn," said Aragorn. "We are more than capable of taking care of ourselves but if the raiders are still nearby it would be dangerous for Andreth and the baby to travel without a sizeable escort."
"I cannot help but blame myself for this!" Faramir exclaimed bitterly. "These are my lands. I encouraged folk to settle and farm here, telling them that it was safe to do so. I should be able to protect my people. I have failed this family dismally."
Aragorn gripped his shoulder tightly. "Do not forget the ultimate responsibility is mine as their King. We try our best, but we cannot predict where evil will rear its ugly head once more."
"The miscreants come from Harad most likely," said Faramir. "There are still Sauron worshippers aplenty who would wage war on us however many peace treaties their Kha Khan signs. Or they could be deserters from amongst our own men, who now live as outlaws."
"Or they might hail from Mordor," Aragorn said thoughtfully. "Many have made new lives since Sauron fell, but others are still steeped in evil and harry our borders. Whoever they might be, though, we shall hunt them down so that no more innocents suffer at their hands."
Faramir nodded his agreement and looked towards the West. "I should reach the Ranger outpost ere sunset if I set off now," he said. "We cannot expect Andreth to travel through the night with her child, so I will bid my men be ready to leave here at first light. On my way there, I will call at the next farm I come across and ask if we might borrow a cart."
"May the stars light your path!" said Aragorn by way of a parting benediction. The Steward mounted his horse and rode away. The King lingered outside a little longer, tending to Roheryn and ensuring the noble steed had sufficient grazing. Only then did he go back inside, whistling loudly to alert Andreth of his approach.
He found her decently clothed with the blanket swathed baby asleep in her arms. Aragorn took the bucket of bloodied water outside to empty it then put water in a pan on the fire to boil to make an herbal tea and boil some eggs he had found in the farmyard for a meagre supper. Andreth regarded him listlessly. At last, she said, "Where is your friend?"
"He has gone to fetch help. We will escort you to a place of safety in the morning where our wives will care for you."
"This is my home," Andreth said bleakly. She laid the sleeping baby down beside her and picked at the boiled egg Aragorn had prepared for her. "The land belonged to Basgorn's kin for many generations. Then they were driven out by the Dark Lord's forces. We were told it was safe for us to return only for my love to be slain." Anger suddenly flashed in her dull eyes. "A curse on those who failed to protect us! The King and the Prince of Ithilien sit in their well- guarded palaces while we poor folk are left for any passing rogue to prey upon!"
"The King and the Prince will see the bandits brought to justice and send men to tend your farm and protect you and your child, mistress," said Aragorn.
"How can you promise that?" Andreth said bitterly. "Who are you anyway? A healer? A soldier?"
Aragorn thought quickly. He knew he would have to tell her his identity before they arrived at Faramir's home on the morrow, but he had been putting off the moment for as long as possible. He felt poor Andreth had suffered enough shocks for one day already, but there was no help for it. He had to tell her the truth now she had directly asked his name.
"The King and the Steward do care, Mistress Andreth," he said gently.
"And how might you know that?"
"I am the King."
Anger flared in Andreth's dull eyes. "You jest, sir, in order to frighten me. I suppose you will next claim that your friend is the Steward."
"He is indeed Faramir, Prince of Ithilien." Aragorn held out his hand. "Behold, I wear the Ring of Barahir, and here, see, is the Elessar stone. He reached inside his tunic and unpinned the brooch so that she could study it.
Andreth turned even paler than she already was. She looked as if she were about to swoon. "Spare my child, lord!" she cried. "She is but an innocent babe."
"What do you fear?" asked Aragorn. "You and your daughter are both under my protection. No harm shall come to either of you."
"I threatened and cursed you!" Andreth said wildly. "Under the law my life is forfeit."
"You had no idea who I was and you have every right to defend yourself against intruders. You had no way of telling that I was not another ruffian," Aragorn said calmly as he pinned the Elessar back on his tunic. "Stars forbid that the King should use the law to oppress frightened women and babes in arms!"
Andreth visibly crumpled then burst into tears.
Aragorn hesitated for a moment. He then pulled her against his shoulder and held her, as a father would a frightened child. He reached in his pouch and crumbled an athelas leaf under her nose, then murmured soothing words and gently stroked her hair, all the while using healing touches to calm her anguish.
He knew not how long he remained thus, but eventually she quieted and fell into a deep sleep aided by his healing powers. He carefully laid her down upon the bed. He then picked up the baby and settled himself into a chair to wait until Faramir returned.
It was about two hours after sunset when Aragorn's keen ears heard someone entering the house. About an hour before, the baby had awoken hungry and crying to be fed. Aragorn had handed her to her mother and retreated to the kitchen to allow Andreth some privacy.
Instantly alert, the King leapt to his feet, his hand reaching for Andúril.
"It is I, mellon nîn," Faramir called in a low tone. "I have brought help."
Aragorn went to the doorway to join him. In the moonlight, he could make out a group of Rangers who were digging a grave for the fallen farmer.
"I bade them bury Basgorn now," said Faramir. "Better that Andreth remembers him as he was and sees a peaceful resting place for him."
Aragorn nodded. "The body was in no fit condition for her to see. The faithful hound shall be buried at his master's feet. The men can raise a cairn over their resting place. How many have you brought?"
"Half a dozen seasoned warriors. I have sent another dozen to scour the countryside and warn all the farmers in the area that there are brigands abroad. I rode to the next farm and found the folk there most helpful. They seem to be good neighbours to Andreth. The farmer's wife had planned to come and help deliver the child. I was able to reassure her that mother and baby are both well and tell them that my men were now protecting them. They will have a wagon prepared for Andreth and her baby in the morning."
"You have done well, mellon nîn. Once Basgorn is interred, we should set a watchman then snatch what rest we can."
The two men lingered while the farmer and his hound were laid reverently within the freshly dug grave. Aragorn stood beside it and intoned solemnly, "May you be blessed to find your peace beyond the circles of the world, son of Gondor."
The group stood with their heads bowed for a few moments then two Rangers filled in the grave while the others gathered stones for a cairn. They then made camp for the night in the farmyard.
Aragorn and Faramir had retrieved their cloaks earlier. They now wrapped themselves in them and stretched out on the rush matting to snatch what sleep they could.
The morning dawned grey and chill. King and Steward ate a meagre breakfast from the provisions in their packs and Aragorn brewed a tea for Andreth with herbs added to strengthen her. When Aragorn took it to her, he found her already awake and looking frantically around the room.
"They have taken everything we had of value!" she said bitterly. "What little money we had saved and my betrothal ring. I had a brooch and necklace my grandmother left me and they have gone too. Also some silver spoons that my mother's family cherished for generations. But to have killed my Basgorn for such trifles!"
"Come," said Aragorn. "Drink this and then we must make ready to leave. We will search for your property as well as the miscreants who took it."
"I want to see my Basgorn," Andreth said suddenly.
"I fear that will not be possible," said Aragorn. "We have already buried him as respectfully as we can. Lord Faramir brought men last night to assist and they made his grave, which you can visit before you leave if you so wish."
"I wanted to say goodbye to him, to look on his beloved face one last time and you have denied me that comfort, my lord."
"To see him maimed and exposed to the elements would have brought you only nightmares, mistress," Aragorn said gently. "Better that you should be angry with me than be haunted by your last sight of him. Remember him as he was and tell your daughter of the happy times you spent together as she grows to womanhood.
"I demand to see his grave."
"So you shall, mistress, but we must make haste once you have drunk your tea. Do not worry about clothing and provisions. We will find you whatever you need at Emyn Arnen."
Just then, the baby began to wail. "My daughter is hungry," Andreth said coldly. "Please leave me."
Aragorn left. He could hear a noise outside and when he went to investigate, he found that the neighbouring farmer had brought a straw filled cart, drawn by a sturdy horse. Faramir and the Rangers were clustered around it, arranging the straw to make it as comfortable as possible for Andreth and her child.
"One of yon Rangers said he'd stay to watch over my wife and little ones while I drive Mistress Andreth in the cart," said the farmer. "Star here don't like strangers handling her, though she be a good beast."
"Thank you, friend," said Faramir. "We are most grateful for your help."
"Mistress Andreth be a good woman and she and Basgorn were right good neighbours. They -"
Just then, a piercing scream rent the air.
"Something ails Mistress Andreth!" Aragorn exclaimed. He dashed back inside fearing that some ill had befallen the infant. He was unprepared for the fell sight that met his eyes. A wild- eyed, roughly clad man had seized the young woman, who was trying to fight him off while keeping hold of her baby. Her nails raked into his cheek and he yelped with pain and twisted her arm cruelly.
"Let go of her this instant!" cried Aragorn, drawing Andúril.
The man released Andreth then lunged towards her, snatching the baby from her arms. "Take one step nearer and I kill the brat!" he snarled.
Aragorn took a step backwards. Andreth shot him a glance of sheer terror. "What do you want with this woman?" he asked. "She has done you no harm."
The man laughed shortly. "After I've had a bit of fun with her, she'll fetch me a good price in the slave markets of Harad," the man replied. "I told her husband as much ere I cut his throat."
"You killed this woman's husband? But why?"
The man laughed bitterly. "Why not? You Men of Gondor left Mordor in ruins with nothing to sustain us."
"You could have applied to Gondor for help. Aid would have been sent to you."
"Why should we believe the promises of tarks?"
"Because the Men of the West keep their word. Let the woman and child go and you have my word your family will be provided for."
Silence fell. Outside a bird called for its mate.
"I prefer to believe in my sword and dagger. Come with me, wench, or the child is dead." He raised his knife.
Andreth screamed again, and Aragorn lunged towards the man. But he was too late, for Faramir had already felled the bandit from behind.
There was a cold gleam in Faramir's eyes as he withdrew his blade. "No one slays my folk and goes unpunished," he said as the assailant writhed in his death throes.
Aragorn caught the infant before she could hit the ground.
Andreth collapsed on the bed and burst into tears. Aragorn knelt beside her and placed an arm around her shoulders. "You are safe now. He will trouble no one ever again."
"I thought – I thought I-" Andreth swallowed hard, unable to continue. She took a deep breath "He came through the back door. He said his friends were waiting nearby for they had drawn lots who was to come in first and he had won."
"We will get them!" Faramir shouted out a command for his men to follow and raced outside in pursuit of the ruffians.
"Come, mistress, let us leave," said Aragorn once the young woman's sobs had subsided. "Your neighbour is waiting outside with a cart to take you to Lord Faramir's home. There you will find rest and care with his lady and mine. Do you have any family we could send for to comfort you?"
Andreth shook her head. "My parents are dead, my brother was slain in the war and my sister married a Rider of Rohan. I do have a good friend who dwells in the City, though. She and I have known each other since childhood."
"We will send for her to come and visit you," said Aragorn. "Now come." He picked up the baby and walked towards the door.
Andreth rose to her feet and belatedly realised that her gown was still unlaced. She flushed scarlet as she fumbled with the laces. Aragorn tactfully pretended not to notice and busied himself wrapping the blanket more closely around the infant.
As Andreth passed her assailant's corpse, she kicked it and spat out a curse. "May you know no rest while Arda endures!"
At a sign from Aragorn, one of the Rangers came and supported her as she slowly walked outside. Wordlessly, Aragorn indicated where Basgorn lay buried. Andreth stood for a moment with her head bowed, then plucked a rose from a bush that grew near the door and placed it on the grave.
Aragorn was anxious to leave. As soon as Andreth was helped up on to the cart, he handed her the baby and mounted Roheryn. Faramir had left two of his best men behind to serve as guards. Aragorn gave the order and they set off towards Emyn Arnen. He was confident that Faramir would soon follow.
The journey passed slowly and much to Aragorn's relief, without incident. He rode beside the cart ensuring that Andreth and the baby were as comfortable as possible. One Ranger rode on in front and the other followed behind, keeping a constant watch for enemies.
As soon as they neared Emyn Arnen, they encountered some of Beregond's men out on patrol. Aragorn sent one of them with a message to Éowyn to prepare for their unexpected guests. Of Faramir, there was no sign. Aragorn was certain that his Steward would not return until all the bandits were either captured or killed. It was rare Faramir was angered, but once he was, his wrath was almost an elemental force. The Steward took any attack on the folk of Ithilien as a personal insult. He would not rest until justice was meted out.
He glanced towards Andreth, who was staring fixedly in front of the cart as they travelled. Although, her brown hair and eyes showed little evidence of Dúnedain heritage, she reminded him in many ways of the women of his Northern homeland with her fierce courage. He could only hope she would have the same resilience as the women of the North and be able to build a life for herself and her daughter. Surely, it was harder to lose a loved one as result of senseless brutality than as a casualty of war? His musings were interrupted as Faramir's home came in sight.
Éowyn came out to greet them accompanied by several maidservants. She immediately turned her attention to Andreth. "Greetings, mistress, and welcome to my home. If you will come with me, I will do all within my power to make you and your baby comfortable."
Andreth curtsied somewhat clumsily. Éowyn immediately took her arm and supported her. Aragorn fell in step beside them, carrying the infant.
"Where is my husband?" Éowyn asked the King.
"He took the attack on Andreth's home hard and has taken men and gone in search of the ruffians. I wager the mission will not take him long."
Éowyn nodded her understanding of these tidings. As soon as Andreth was shown into a downstairs guest chamber, Éowyn offered the young woman refreshments then ushered her away for a much needed warm bath.
Aragorn noted that Éowyn had placed a cradle in the room for the infant and found a selection of suitable clothing for Andreth, some of her own linen nightgowns and shifts and some plain dresses of the kind she kept for tending the sick or working in the gardens. They would need to be shortened, but even as the thought came to him, a maidservant bearing a sewing basket entered to begin the task.
Aragorn went in search of Arwen only to be told by her maid that she was assisting Lady Éowyn in caring for their guest. Aragorn was glad to hear this as Arwen was skilled in all manner of Elven healing skills as well as sharing his ability to utilise athelas to soothe a wounded spirit. Satisfied that Andreth could not be in better hands, he went outside to tend to Roheryn. Faramir and Éowyn employed excellent grooms, but Aragorn still liked to care for the noble horse whenever he was able. He relished the quiet time spent in the stable, checking Roheryn's hooves for stones and his flanks for injuries, grooming him and seeing he was well provisioned. As Aragorn worked, he realised how hungry he was. He could not recall how many hours had passed since he had last eaten a proper meal. His hunting trip had been enjoyable but the spoils had been but a meagre rabbit or two. He was now looking forward to a bath, a change of clothes, and a good meal.
He spun round as another entered the stable. It was Faramir.
"It is over," the Steward said grimly.
Aragorn nodded and waited for his friend to elaborate.
"We caught up with them a few miles down the road and they surrendered, begging for mercy. We were marching them towards the garrison when they suddenly set upon us, so we slew them all save one, a lad scarcely out of childhood, who was acting as a herdsman for the stolen livestock. When he was the only one left, he was docile and ready to answer our questions. I have left him in the custody of my Rangers, but after a stern reprimand, intend to pack him back off home to his mother ere long, together with a band of trusted men to find out what ails them in Mordor and how we can help the innocents there."
Aragorn nodded his approval. "I fear we did not do enough to help Sauron's slaves have a new beginning."
"True, but had they asked for aid we would have offered it freely. There is no excuse to prey on good folk like Basgorn and Andreth." Faramir sighed deeply. "At least we have recovered her livestock and valuables."
Aragorn patted his shoulder. "You look weary, mellon nîn. Let the grooms tend your horse and come now to take rest and refreshment. Are you hurt?"
Faramir shook his head. "Naught but a few bruises and scrapes."
"I will tend you later."
The two men walked slowly back to the house and Aragorn went to bathe and change his clothing.
Faramir sent a maid in search of his lady before doing likewise. Éowyn soon emerged from Andreth's chamber to greet her husband.
"How fares Mistress Andreth?" asked Faramir.
"She is resting now, somewhat overwhelmed by the softness of our bed linens," said Éowyn. "Arwen is giving her some elven treatments to soothe her spirit. I was able to determine that she has suffered no harm from the birth and should in time recover from the shock she has suffered."
"If she wishes eventually to go home, we shall send men to protect her and her child and the farm," said Faramir. "What a beginning in life for that unfortunate infant though!"
"She lives, though, and thrives thanks to you and Aragorn," said Éowyn. "Without you, her life would have ended before it had even begun."
Faramir nodded but remained in a thoughtful mood while he and Aragorn ate the food that Éowyn had ordered to be prepared for them.
"What troubles you, mellon nîn?" asked Aragorn.
"The events of the last few days. I am stiff and sore from fighting too."
"I said I would tend you," said Aragorn.
"It is nothing of consequence. I will be well in the morning."
"I will fetch my healing supplies," Aragorn said firmly. "Go and lie down on your bed."
When Faramir pulled off his shirt, a long shallow cut on his arm was revealed as well as a large spreading bruise across his ribs.
"These hurts look painful," Aragorn observed.
Faramir shrugged. "I have known far worse."
"True, but there is no need to suffer needlessly." Aragorn took up a pot of salve and applied it to the bruise. He then selected another salve and applied it Faramir's arm and carefully bandaged the cut."
"You are tense as a bowstring, mellon nîn," said Aragorn. "Let me ease those knots in your muscles now."
Faramir nodded and Aragorn began to use the healing Elven touches taught to him by Master Elrond.
For a while, there was silence in the room, then Faramir spoke, so softly that Aragorn had to strain to catch his words. "I almost killed him."
"Killed whom, mellon nîn?"
"The boy who was with the bandits. I was so angry that I almost forgot myself and killed a child as if he was one of those scum, though I believe all he did was herd the livestock they stole!"
"You did not, though. You can sleep easy tonight."
"You too saw the devastation those bandits caused yet you could contain your wrath."
"That is because I have sadly seen it many times before in the North. When you fought in Ithilien, it had been abandoned by all save those who were fighting. "
Faramir nodded. He did not speak again until Aragorn had finished the Elven treatment. "Thank you, that feels much better." He sat up and pulled on his shirt. "I suppose I should remember that these are still early days after the war. It will take decades before all evil is eradicated from our lands."
"They are, but remember, Faramir, that all over Gondor, folk are now beginning new lives now the land is at peace. We are here to see that the peace endures and protect our people as best we may. Now let us find our ladies and see how Andreth and her child are faring."
A/n Wishing all my readers who celebrate, a happy and peaceful Christmas.
Chapter 110 - When All other Lights go Out
A Light in Dark Places
“May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
B2MeM Challenge: Friendship
"It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt.
It lies behind stars and under hills,
And empty holes it fills.
It comes first and follows after,
Ends life, kills laughter."
Format: Ficlet
Genre: friendship, angst, h/c
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Characters: Aragorn, Faramir, Legolas, Gimli
Pairings: none
Summary: A hunting trip goes awry.
With thanks to Raksha
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
Dedicated to Cairistiona and Ellynn Ithilwen on the occasion of their birthdays.
“Fossils are fascinating,” said Aragorn. “I love the shape of these ammonites. It amazes me to think they existed so long before Men. I wonder if I could remove one without breaking it to take to show to Eldarion.” He took out his pocket- knife and started chipping at the rock face.
“Eldarion would marvel at so ancient a creature, I am certain. I will just tell the others we will catch up with them in a few moments,” said Faramir. The King and Steward were enjoying a short respite from their duties on a hunting trip. Gimli was in Ithilien visiting Legolas and the King and Steward had invited the Elf and the Dwarf to join them. There had been little hunting but a great deal of exploring the countryside and enjoying one another’s companionship. Aragorn’s keen eyes had espied the ammonites at the mouth of a cave in the rock face and the two friends had lingered behind to examine them.
“I do not think they will hear you calling,” said Aragorn and grinned. Above him on the hillside, the Elf and Dwarf were engaged in a yodelling contest. Their calls echoed around the rocky pass. “I wish they had never heard those goatherds from Khand giving a demonstration of their yodelling skills. Now each is determined to outdo the other in demonstrating how well they have mastered the art!”
“They will scare every living thing for miles around if they continue to make such a noise,” said Faramir. “I will suggest that…” He was interrupted by a sudden ominous rumbling. “Look out!” he cried. He dashed inside the cave, pushing Aragorn inside with him. Seconds later, an avalanche came tumbling down, the rocks cascading where the two men had been standing and filling the cave mouth with boulders.
After a few moments, which seemed like hours, Aragorn called out. “Faramir!”
“I am here, mellon nîn.” Faramir crawled over the debris in the direction of Aragorn’s voice. It was pitch black in the cave now and the rocks across the entrance blocked out every glimmer of light.
“The yodelling must have triggered the avalanche,” said Faramir. “I hope Legolas and Gimli are not hurt.”
“I think they were higher up the mountain and out of harm’s way,” said Aragorn. "They must have dislodged a boulder as they climbed. The Elves told me that sound could not cause a rock fall, not even such a cacophony as they were making.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Faramir replied. “Otherwise the goatherds would endanger their lives with their traditional calls.”
There was silence for a few moments.
“We are trapped here, said Aragorn." He struggled to disguise the slight tremor in his voice.
Faramir reached out in the darkness for Aragorn’s hand. It was shaking slightly. Faramir grasped it tightly. “Have no fear, mellon nîn,” he said. “They will rescue us soon.”
Aragorn gave a deep sigh. “You know me too well, ion nîn. I like dark or enclosed places not at all. In Moria , the Hobbits’ courage put me to shame!”
“You have known even worse dark places since,” said Faramir. “It is no shame to be afraid. The Hobbits speak only of how you comforted them. I am certain they never knew of your fear.”
Aragorn’s only reply was to press Faramir’s hand more tightly. He coughed as the dust irritated his lungs.
“You need a drink to soothe your throat. Do you have your water skin?” asked Faramir.
“I do, but I must save it in case we are trapped for a long time.”
“Have some of mine,” said Faramir, fumbling for his own water skin in the darkness.
“You will have need of it for yourself. We might be here for some time.”
Faramir found his water skin, uncorked it and held it out in the direction of Aragorn’s voice. “I insist,” he said firmly.
Aragorn drank, albeit sparingly.
“Let us try to find a way out instead of just sitting here,” said Faramir.
The two men got to their feet and pushed against the rocks until their hands bled, vainly trying to move them.
“It is hopeless,” said Aragorn. “We might only bring more rock down and we are using up all the air in here.” He flopped to the ground, dejection evident in his tone.
“Legolas and Gimli will rescue us soon,” said Faramir.
“While we, two of Gondor’s finest warriors sit like rats in a trap!” said Aragorn bitterly. “What if they too are trapped by the rock fall, or worse?”
“I feel certain they will find us,” said Faramir. “And should they fail, our ladies will send out search parties when we fail to return.”
“That could take hours or even days,” Aragorn said morosely.
Silence fell, broken only by the sound of Aragorn’s laboured breathing. Faramir draped a comforting arm round the King’s shoulders. “I know how we might pass the time,” he said after a long pause. “We could play Bilbo’s riddle game. Frodo told me about it. It should help the waiting to pass more pleasantly. I will begin.
It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt.
It lies behind stars and under hills,
And empty holes it fills.
It comes first and follows after,
Ends life, kills laughter.
“Darkness,” Aragorn replied grimly. “The darkness which now surrounds us and surrounded Bilbo too under the mountains. You should not be trapped here too, ion nîn, you were far away enough from the cave mouth when the rocks began to fall. Why did you not jump clear?”
“Because you, my friend were in danger,” said Faramir. “I would not leave you. You once rescued me from the darkness too and I do not forget.”
“A true friend is like a light that burns still when all other lights go out,” said Aragorn.
Faramir squeezed the King’s hand again. “It is your turn to ask a riddle,” he said after a few minutes’ silence.
“Very well,” said Aragorn. “Voiceless it cries….”
He was interrupted by cries from outside. “Aragorn, Faramir!”
“We are both here and unhurt,” Aragorn shouted in reply.
“We will soon have you out of there,” cried Gimli’s voice. “These stones are easy work for a stout Dwarf.”
“And easier work still for a strong Elf!” Legolas retorted. “Stay clear while we free you!”
Faramir and Aragorn moved back further into the cave. They could only listen to the sounds outside and wait patiently.
Then there was a crash as the largest of the rocks was moved aside. Sunlight flooded into the cave, banishing the darkness. Never had daylight seemed so fair as it did when the two friends stumbled forth from their prison. They gratefully expressed their thanks to their rescuers.
“Are you well,” Legolas asked anxiously as he studied the two dust covered figures. Aragorn had started to cough again and Faramir was sneezing.
“We will be well enough once we get away from here and the breeze blows the dust away,” said Aragorn.
“We can resume our yodelling contest on the way down the mountain,” said Gimli.
“I do have rather a headache from being inside the stuffy cave,” said Aragorn, exchanging a covert glance with Faramir.
“So do I,” said the Steward.
“No matter,” said Gimli. “I am certain I beat the Elf hands down!”
“No matter, I shall triumph next time,” said Legolas.
“I only hope we are out of earshot,” Aragorn whispered to Faramir, but he was smiling.
A/n. The riddles are taken directly from “The Hobbit” by Tolkien. This is a revised version of a story I wrote for BTME13.
Chapter 111 - The Distant Shore
Title: The Distant Shore
Author Name: Linda Hoyland
Prompt:
http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=12195&picture=lapland
Summary: Aragorn embarks on his final journey.
Rating: PG
Beta: none
Author's Notes: WARNING– Character death
Aragorn closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He tried not to feel afraid now that the time had come for him to depart. He had never lived like a coward and was determined not to die like one.
Beside him, Arwen’s anguished weeping tore at his heart. It would be so easy to weaken his resolve and choose to live out what few days or weeks remained to him at her side. He was certain, though; she would weep even more bitterly if she were forced to witness him growing more infirm with each day that passed. He wanted her and his children to remember him as he was now; his mind still undimmed despite his rapidly declining body.
He took a deep breath and said inwardly. “Eru, Ilúvatar, I thank you for the Gift of my life. I now freely and willingly return it into your keeping.”
He felt a tugging sensation within him, not painful but very strange. Suddenly, he felt as if he were being pulled through a tunnel at great speed. The pain in his aging body melted away. He felt simply as if he were casting aside a broken, empty shell. Aragorn felt as light as air. He wanted to reassure Arwen and to tell her that all was well, but her weeping now sounded faint and far away.
Suddenly, he could hear the cry of the gulls and hear a distant lapping of waves.
He opened his eyes and found he was standing on the seashore, if ‘standing’ was quite the right word, as his body now had no weight or substance. He looked down at himself and saw that he still seemed to have a bodily form. He appeared as he had done in his prime. He was no longer stooped, but stood tall and straight. He was dressed simply in a plain, dark green tunic and breeches. He felt well content at this, but wondered what he was supposed to do next. This was a beautiful place, but he felt very alone here.
As if in answer to his thought. a small boat appeared on the horizon and swiftly glided to the shore, seemingly driven by the breeze. Three figures leapt ashore and ran towards him. Aragorn’s spirits soared when he recognised his mother, Halbarad and Faramir. Of all the folk, he had loved and lost over the years, these three he missed the most. They hastened to embrace him, though it was with their souls rather than their arms. He felt bathed in love in its purest essence.
“Welcome home, my son,” said Gilraen. “Long have I desired to tell you how proud you have made me. You were indeed the hope of your people and more. Your father is so proud of you to. He is waiting to greet you on the far shore.”
Aragorn regarded her joyfully. His heart had always ached that she had never seen him become King and he had been unable to heap the honours upon her that she richly deserved. His last parting with her when she was so aged and careworn had almost broken his heart. Now, she appeared as he remembered her from his boyhood, young and fair.
Halbarad grinned at him. He too appeared as when they first met, a hale young man.
“It saddened my heart greatly that you too never saw me crowned,” said Aragorn. “You gave your life for me.”
“It was my doom,” said Halbarad. “Never did I regret offering my life for my King.”
Aragorn turned then to Faramir, who also appeared as a young man in his prime. “I have missed you greatly, old friend,” he said. “Long life is a mixed blessing when you outlive so many who are dear to you.”
“All your loved ones who went before await you,” said Faramir. “Éomer and Éowyn, my grandsire, the Hobbits and many of your Rangers. You will see them all again soon. We should not tarry here too long as they are eagerly waiting for you. It is time for you to sail away with us.” He beckoned towards the boat.
Aragorn took a step towards it then hesitated. “What of Arwen? I fear she will not long endure our separation.”
“She must breathe the air of Arda a little longer,” said Faramir. “You shall be able to return here to welcome her when her time has come. It will not seem long. Seasons passe differently in this realm.”
“You always spoke the truth to me, my friend,” said Aragorn. “I will come.” He allowed his companions to help him into the boat.
A glorious golden light appeared on the horizon as soon as he took his place in the stern. As soon as they were all seated, a strong yet gentle breeze arose and drew the small craft across the furthest horizon and into the light beyond. Aragorn had embarked on his last and greatest adventure.
Chapter 112 - Eternal Day
itle: Eternal Day
Author Name: Linda Hoyland
Prompt:
http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=9724&picture=sunrise
Also inspired by Rachel’s beautiful drawing, which I have long planned to illustrate
http://rs9.livejournal.com/13073.html
Summary: Arwen is reunited with Aragorn.
Rating: PG
Warnings: character death
Author's Notes: Ficlet. A sequel to “The Distant Shore.”
http://lindahoyland.livejournal.com/540665.html?view=5820409#t5820409
Dedicated to Rachel
Arwen realised that she finally understood the purpose of the Gift of Men. She knew now that it was how Men were at last released from the pains and sorrows of Arda. Whence they departed to, though, she could not guess. Was there truly anything to look forward to, the promised Gift from Eru Ilúvatar being more than release from pain and grief, or was death nothing but an eternal sleep from which there was no awakening?
Since Estel had departed, where before there had been bright colours, she saw now only greyness. Their souls had been so closely entwined that now she felt but a shadow of her former self. She had become a living ghost, a mere empty shell. She had wanted to keep on living for her children, but she had seen that her suffering caused them even more pain than their father’s death had. They grieved for him, but their lives continued. Eldarion was determined to rule wisely and well in his father’s stead and her daughters’ lives were filled with everyday joys and sorrows. They could not understand why she could feel nothing but numbness and their eyes were filled with sorrow when they beheld her.
Therefore, she had ignored their protests and come here to Lothlórien, telling them that she desired to grieve alone in the place she had known such joy with Estel, and maybe find at last the healing desired.
Winter had come and the land was deserted. Arwen had not found the peace she craved. Every path she took was filled with memories; memories of her mother and grandmother, and above all memories of Estel.
She found her steps had led her to Cerin Amroth. Until today, she had shunned the place where she once had known such joy. The hill was filled with memories of springtime walks holding Estel’s hand and of their troth plighting. How much pain that choice had cost her, but also how much joy! Could any wife have been happier, or any children fairer than those she had given birth to? There was no joy left now, though. She ardently desired to receive the Gift of Men, but had no idea how it could be given to her.
She was weary beyond measure. She could not recall when she had last slept or eaten. Her restless hands clutched at Aragorn’s worn grey cloak, which she had brought here with her and carried everywhere she went. Climbing the hill took the last reserves of her failing strength. Arwen placed the cloak upon the ground and lay down upon it. She closed her weary eyes.
“Arwen, vanimelda!”
Arwen started at the sound of the beloved familiar voice. “Estel, my beloved!” she cried. She opened her eyes. Much to her joy and amazement, she saw him kneeling beside her, not as the frail old man she was mourning, but as she had beheld him here long ago, fair as any Elf –lord, clad all in silver and white with the Elendilmir glittering upon his brow. He gently stroked her hair, as had been his custom whenever she was frightened or distressed.
Aragorn held out his hand to her and said, “It is time now. Will you come with me, my beloved?”
“Lead me, and I will follow you, my love,” said Arwen without hesitation. She took his outstretched hand and immediately felt as if she were spinning through a long tunnel. She closed her eyes, but she was not afraid, for was she not with Estel?
The spinning sensation stopped. Arwen heard the cry of the gulls all around her. She opened her eyes and found she was standing on a beach. It was night, but the pink tinged sky on the eastern horizon suggested that dawn would soon break. Arwen felt curiously weightless and when she looked down at her body, she found she was no longer wearing her travel worn garments, but instead, her wedding gown over which was the mantel of silver and blue she had worn on the day when she had first met her beloved.
Aragorn stood beside her. Arwen fell into his arms and their lips met in a tender kiss. She had embraced him so many times before, yet this felt unlike any other embrace she had ever experienced. It were as if their very essences were mingled into one and she was bathed in his love. This was a greater love than she had ever known before, untouched by any kind of need, a love of the purest and highest variety.
“Where are we?” she asked when their lips finally parted. "I was so afraid I should not find you. I feared I would never see you again."
“ We are beyond the circles of the world,” said Aragorn. He smiled. “Did I not tell you that there was more than memory there? A boat will come soon to carry us beyond the horizon. Many are waiting there to greet you. There is no pain of parting here.”
Arwen looked out towards the horizon. The sun was rising and the sky glowed in brilliant shades of yellow and orange. The water gleamed as made of molten gold.
Joy such as she had never before known welled up within Arwen. Night had fled. The sun was rising on her eternal day.
Chapter 113 - The Oak's Secret
.The Oak's Secret by Linda Hoyland
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
PG
Aragorn pays tribute to the father he can scarce remember.
Written for the Teitho "Endings" challenge where it was unplaced. The events take place shortly after those in "Return to Rivendell."
With thanks to Deandra, Raksha and Elenbarathi for help with the inscription.
Based on a plot idea by Shirebound and dedicated to her on the occasion of her birthday.
Aragorn stretched out his legs across his grandmother's hearthrug and leaned back in the chair.
"You so remind me so of your father when you sit like that," said Ivorwen.
"So many folk tell me that I remind them of my sire," said Aragorn. "Yet, alas, I cannot remember him at all. Sometimes, I wonder if I have snatches of memory, or maybe I just recall what I have been told, little though that is."
"You were but two years old when he fell in battle," said Ivorwen. "You cannot expect to remember him."
"I recall him just barely," said Halbarad, who sat on the other side of the fireplace. "We children were all a little scared of him, as he was so grim of countenance, but he was always kind."
"His kindness and nobility were what drew your mother to him," said Ivorwen. "He was not easy to get to know, though. All the girls were a little in love with him, but he was shy around women. It was not until my Gilraen captured his heart that he cast aside his reserve. It was like watching the sun emerge from behind a cloud. He loved her so much."
"I wish she had told me more about him," said Aragorn. "While I was growing up she would only tell me that he was good, brave, and honourable."
"He was all those things and more," Ivorwen replied. "No Chieftain could have been more devoted to his people. It was hard for your mother not to say more about him, but Master Elrond decided you should not even know his name until you came of age. It was to ensure your safety. Your mother, sadly, spent little time under the same roof as Arathorn during her marriage. His duties so often demanded that he be out on patrol. The Orcs grew ever bolder at that time. Even now they can scarce be contained."
Aragorn sighed. "It seems my father will forever remain an enigma to me. Do I resemble him in appearance as much as folk say?"
Ivorwen eyed her younger grandson thoughtfully. After a few moments she said "Both yes and no. You had the good fortune to have my fair Gilraen as your mother so you are better looking than your sire. You have Arathorn's chin and brow, but Gilraen's eyes and nose. Wait! I might have something for you." She rose from her seat between her grandsons and took up the lantern. Going to a cupboard at the back of the room, she rummaged in it for several moments, before emerging triumphant with an oilskin wrapped parcel. "Your mother left this behind when she departed with you to Rivendell in such haste. I forgot I still had it until tonight." She carefully unwrapped the oilskin to reveal a portrait that she handed to Aragorn.
"Is this my father?" Aragorn asked after a few moments during which he gazed at the painted likeness in wonder. This man was so like him and yet unlike. The broad brow and strong chin were very like those he saw in his mirror, but Arathorn's eyes were sterner than his. The lips were parted in a half smile. He wondered if Arathorn had often smiled upon his son. He felt a sudden surge of anger that his father would forever be a stranger to him.
"The very image of him," Ivorwen replied. "Master Elrond and his sons gave it to Arathorn and Gilraen on their wedding day. I believe one of the Elves at Rivendell painted the likeness. I'm surprised there is no copy there."
Aragorn shook his head. His eyes glistened in the lamplight. "There is none that I know of. He indeed has a noble look about him. Curse the Enemy for taking him from me!" He rose and returned the portrait then embraced his grandmother. "Thank you. He feels more real to me now, more than just a name. I do not even know where he is buried."
"None do save Lords Elladan and Elrohir as far as I know," said Halbarad from his chair.
"That might easily be remedied," said Ivorwen. "I have been told that Elves forget nothing. You should ask Master Elrond's sons to show you the grave when they next visit these parts. Now, I'm off to bed, if you young ones must sit up and talk, put some more wood on the fire. You might as well be comfortable before you have to go out on patrol again.
000
By some fortunate chance, Elladan and Elrohir rode through the village the following week in pursuit of a band of Orcs. They rested their horses for a while outside Ivorwen's cottage. The old woman was uncertain if her grandson would indeed ask to visit his father's grave and took the initiative upon herself to bring mention the matter. To her surprise, Elladan, or at least she thought it was he and not his brother, replied, "Estel rode out to greet us and told us he wanted to know about where his sire is buried. We shall take him as soon as these Orcs are despatched."
000
Three days later, the small party rode out into the wilds. At Aragorn's request, Halbarad rode with them. "Are you certain you still wish me to come?" he asked as they left the village. "I am not of Arathorn's near kin."
"It is fitting you should join us," said Aragorn. "I would have my cousin beside me. You too have the blood of Elendil and Isildur in your veins."
"In much smaller measure than you, though."
"But royal blood, nonetheless," said Aragorn.
"Speak not of royal blood in the open, Estel!" Elladan said sternly. "Who knows what unfriendly ears might be listening, even on a bright summer morning such as this?"
"Best all believe that the line of Kings is ended," Elrohir added, his voice rose to carry the final words of the sentence in the breeze.
They rode on for several hours, stopping only to allow their horses to drink in a stream. Soon after the sun passed its noonday zenith, they reached the edge of a great forest. The sons of Elrond reined in their horses and looked around them.
"It is near this place," said Elrohir. "I remember it well. The Orcs struck him down with their arrows near here."
Aragorn shuddered. "Did my father suffer much pain?"
Elladan shook his head. "He was killed instantly with an arrow through his eye. I doubt he knew anything. He fell like a stone."
"We were certain the Orcs were seeking him," said Elrohir. "After Arathorn was slain, they made to retreat as they did not seem concerned about slaughtering the rest of the company. I pursued them and slew them with my own hand. Your father did not die unavenged."
"I thank you for avenging him," said Aragorn. "Were many with him that day?"
"It was only a small party," said Elrohir. "There were ten of us, including some Rangers from across the river. Arathorn rode at our head, as was his custom. He bore no token of office, but his demeanour was that of a noble lord."
Elladan took up the story. "I remained behind to guard Arathorn's body. I took from it his star shaped brooch and the Ring of Barahir, which I gave to Lady Gilraen as tokens."
"My poor mother!" Aragorn glanced down at the brooch upon his cloak and the ancient ring, which was now on his finger.
"She took the ill tidings with the gravity and dignity of her folk," said Elladan. "She is a noble lady, a fitting wife for a chieftain."
"So did you bury my father at the spot where he fell?" asked Aragorn.
Elladan shook his head. "We feared that if we buried him here it would be too noticeable that the ground had been disturbed. I removed the foul arrow then carried him into the shelter of the trees and buried him beneath the forest floor." He walked a little way into the forest with his brother and the two young Rangers following closely. "Here!" he exclaimed as they reached a clearing beneath a great tree. "We laid him beneath this oak tree. It has grown taller since we last beheld it."
Aragorn dropped to his knees on the forest floor. His companions stood silently and unobtrusively in the background. His keen Ranger's eyes made out that the earth beneath the tree was richer and darker than elsewhere. His father was now part of the land he loved and had died defending. He remained there for some time in silence, trying to recall something of the man who sired him. It frustrated him that he could recall only scattered fragments of memory that may not even have been true memories at all. In the tree above his head, he could hear a blackbird calling for her mate and a thrush singing sweetly. This was a fair spot for a final resting place, beneath the majestic tree, yet it seemed insufficient to mark the resting place of one who carried the blood of Lúthien and Elendil. He spotted an acorn on the ground and pushed it into the ground a little way from the parent tree. Then he rose to his feet and took a few steps backward. His lips formed words yet they remained inaudible to his companions. "Father, I vow that one day I will make you a memorial that is worthy of you."
He then re-joined the others. Halbarad patted his shoulder while the sons of Elrond remained grim and silent, lost in memories of the fateful day when Arathorn son of Arador was so cruelly slain.
0000
Many years later
"What if it is not a true likeness?" Aragorn fretted. "I should have insisted on seeing the statue before the unveiling."
"There is little you could have done if it were not to your liking, since we only arrived here yesterday," said Faramir.
"I could have come here to look at the statue while we were staying at Rivendell," said Aragorn.
"You would have had a long journey that would have achieved nothing, save to upset your Northern Steward and counsellors, not to mention your lady," Faramir replied. "They have planned long and diligently for your ceremonial return to your rebuilt city."
Aragorn stopped pacing the balcony of the King's House and looked out across Lake Nenuial and the rebuilt Northern capital of Annúminas. Fair buildings and gardens of every shape and size had sprung up on the southern shore, clustering around a central dome modelled after the fabled "Dome of Stars," and if anything, even more magnificent than the dome that Elendil had built in Osgiliath. The dome gleamed in the mellow autumn sunlight. Outside the dome was a fair fountain, beside which was a veiled statue, which the King's eyes constantly sought out. Around the fountain a crowd of people had gathered, all dressed in their finest clothes. "I can see Merry and Pippin and their wives are here," he said. "And there by the fountain is Sam and Mistress Rose and their children."
"When the White Tree next produces a fruit, we should plant one beside the fountain," said Faramir. "Master Samwise could come here to tend it."
Aragorn nodded, but his eyes never left the shrouded statue. "What if it fails to do them justice?" he said.
"As you asked the Dwarves of Erebor under Gimli's supervision to select the stone, while the Sons of Elrond oversaw the Elven sculptors who carved it, I cannot fail to believe that it will be a worthy tribute. They knew your parents well in life. Did not Legolas' friends in Ithilien create an excellent likeness of Boromir? None knows better than you the skill of Elven craftsmen. Enjoy this moment of honouring your parents, mellon nîn."
Aragorn shot Faramir a glance and saw the sadness in his friend's eyes. It was most unlikely that Faramir would ever desire a statue of his sire, who had not only destroyed himself and his reputation, but also the tombs of the long line of Húrin ancestors. "When we return to Gondor, we should commission a statue of your grandsire, Ecthelion," he said. "He was a great man who gave me the guidance about what a ruler should be that my own sire could not."
Faramir nodded. "I should like that very much."
Arwen appeared in the doorway of the room next to the balcony. "Estel, Faramir, you should make haste. The ceremony is about to start."
Aragorn gave the veiled statue a final lingering gaze then went to join his wife and son. Faramir was already beside Éowyn and young Elestelle clutched her father's hand. Elbeth walked beside them. Elboron was deemed too young to attend the ceremony and had been left with a capable nursemaid.
Arwen smiled at her husband. She looked especially fair today in a gown of purple, embroidered with mithril and tiny gems. She was carrying the Elendilmir, which she secured around Aragorn's forehead, where it gleamed like a great white star.
Aragorn gave the signal. A herald blew a blast on a silver trumpet as the King, Queen and young Prince Eldarion, followed by the Steward and his family, made their way in solemn procession to the Dome. The crowd cheered as the King and Queen came in sight.
Halthor, son of Halbarad, the Steward of the North, bowed low. "My lord, my lady, my Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn, we are honoured to have your presence here today."
Aragorn embraced his kinsman and replied. "The honour is mine to be here again amongst my people." His gaze took in the crowd. He knew so many of these folk, his Rangers, and their kin. It was a fair sight indeed to see how they have prospered since Sauron was defeated. Boys had grown to manhood, replacing their fallen fathers, while the women no longer looked careworn. There were many children there too, glowing with health and happiness."
Aragorn approached the veiled statue and took a deep breath. "My friends," he said. "We are gathered here today to honour my sire and mother to whom I owe my life and lineage. Sadly, they did not live to see our people restored, but their memory will remain here forever in the city of our forefathers." He took another deep breath and pulled aside the drapery that covered the statue.
He closed his eyes for an instant then opened them again as he heard Arwen's sharp intake of breath. Before him stood the perfect likeness of his mother carved in stone. She was as he remembered her in his childhood, ere care aged her before her time. She looked so lifelike; Aragorn had to restrain himself from embracing her stone likeness. She stood beside the image of Arathorn that Aragorn had beheld long ago in the portrait at his grandmother's house. On his brow was bound a replica of the Elendilmir. The carven figure clutched his wife's hand and they gazed lovingly at one another thanks to the sculptor's skill.
For a moment, Aragorn was swept back in time and his memory stirred. It were as if the figures were alive.
"The sculptor has caught your mother's likeness perfectly," said Arwen, drawing him out of his reverie. "Your father, I knew only in his youth."
Aragorn's eyes moved to the inscription at the base of the statue Ónem i-Estel Edain, ú-chebim estel mín. "We gave Hope to the Dúnedain, we kept no hope for ourselves" he murmured. "I thought it would be apt to base the inscription on the linnad my mother spoke. May this statue make a good ending to my parents' story."
Arwen smiled and looked towards Eldarion who was gazing in awe at the likeness of the grandparents he had never met. "Their story did not end, beloved, it continues in you and our son. Is it not said that the line of Lúthien shall never fail? It will endure far longer than even this fair statue."
In a deserted forest many leagues away, a strong young oak tree shed golden leaves upon the hidden grave of Arathorn son of Arador.
Chapter 114 - O, Beauty!
B2MeM Challenge: Beauty
Beauty
"‘For myself,' said Faramir, 'I would see the White Tree in flower again in the courts of the kings, and the Silver Crown return, and Minas Tirith in peace: Minas Anor again as of old, full of light, high and fair, beautiful as a queen among other queens: not a mistress of many slaves, nay, not even a kind mistress of willing slaves. War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend: the city of the Men of Númenor; and I would have her loved for her memory, her ancientry, her beauty, and her present wisdom. Not feared, save as men may fear the dignity of a man, old and wise
Format: ficlet
Genre: romance, friendship, biography
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Characters: Faramir.
Pairings: Faramir/Éowyn
Summary: Faramir reflects on beauty.
A/N; This was a somewhat experimental piece. I’ve no idea if it will work or not, but the joy of BTME is trying new ideas. I confess it is inspired by "Das Lied von der Erde" as well as Tolkien. You can hear it here
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQZ51udFtrg
With thanks to Raksha.
O Schönheit! O ewigen Liebens-, Lebens-trunk'ne Welt! – Das Lied von der Erde.
(O beauty! O world forever drunk in love and beauty.)
Beauty - Faramir had always revered and loved it. His mother had been beautiful beyond compare with her softly flowing hair and gentle smile. Most beautiful of all, were her gentle hands adorned with bright rings, and the tender caresses she bestowed upon her son.
He had thought his brother’s smile beautiful too even more so than his uncle's lively hound pups that played upon the hearth, or the cook's graceful green-eyed cat.
His world shattered into shards when his mother’s beauty was forever lost from sight. Faramir believed beauty had fled forever from the world, though he was too young to put into words what he was feeling.
Beauty gradually returned; little by little in a fair sunset; or some fragment of verse or lore that the growing boy discovered.
His father scorned such sensibility. Sunsets and poetry were for women to admire, or the bards to write about, not for a boy bred and born to be a warrior.
His brother laughed. Boromir had found beauty of his own in the bright sword he was now of sufficient age to wield. He polished it until it shone like a star and boasted how many enemies he would run through with his blade.
Faramir shuddered, envisaging bright blood pouring to the ground and the screams of the wounded and dying. When his time came to wield weapons, he liked better the bow than the sword. The arrow in flight had a beauty of its own when the bowstring sang to hasten it on its way.
There was no beauty in war, though, only in the land he sought to defend. The fair White City with her walls and battlements, which gleamed like pearl in the setting sun. Ithilien with her riot of lush greens and golds, and heady scents that could intoxicate him with their sweetness.
His fellows spoke of the beautiful girls whose kisses they sought, but Faramir’s heart remained untouched. How could he protect a wife and little ones in a land from which the beauty was draining, hour by hour, day by day, as the enemy drew ever closer?
The world grew dark indeed. Even the sun was blotted out for a time. Boromir had fallen in a far off place. His father’s heart turned to stone. Faramir walked, shrouded in deep shadow in a place where beauty was but fragments of memory scattered in the winds.
He was about to depart for that realm far beyond the world where beauty reigned supreme, save that one sought him out and plucked him forth from the darkness.
Fair as one of the Ainur did his rescuer appear. Yet, his true beauty was only revealed in the weary grey eyes that smiled upon Faramir when he could at last gaze upon his rescuer. Those eyes revealed a soul brighter than mithril and more precious by far.
Beauty was revealed again as Faramir’s strength returned, together with his hope. The sad lady of Rohan with her sun-bright golden hair and a daisy that defied the poisons of Mordor and grew defiant in the gardens. At last, the Eagle’s wings flashed golden in spring sunlight, bringing tidings of great joy.
Faramir now dwells daily in a realm drunk in love and beauty. What greater beauty than fair Éowyn riding to greet him upon her grey mare, or the merry laughter of his children as they look at him with loving eyes?
The King, the lord he loves, is come and the White Tree blooms each year. The land blossoms, each year more fruitful than the last. Beauty is no longer hidden, but present in every blossom and every child that gathers them.
Faramir is well content.
Chapter 115 - Under the Shadow of this Red Rock.
Under the Shadow of this Red Rock - Linda Hoyland.
“And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.” – T.S. Eliot – The Wasteland.
With thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
Rating T
Tolkien owns any recognisable character in this story. Only the OC’s are mine. I make no money from writing this.
Summary – Aragorn burns in the heat of a cruel sun.
Stars! This place was hot. Aragorn wiped his brow wearily and made his way towards a booth offering exotic juices for sale. Rather to his surprise, the stall was manned by a pretty little girl with copper- coloured skin and brown eyes.
"A mug of juice, please," said Aragorn, offering a coin.
"We don't serve tarks here," said the little girl, turning away from him.
"My coin is good and I am thirsty." Aragorn's tone was pleading.
"Tarks should be sacrificed in the fire to the Lord of Gifts," said the child. "Go get water from the village pump if you want some!"
Aragorn trudged towards the direction in which she pointed. For a small village, the distance from one side to another seemed endless. His way was constantly blocked by children. There appeared to be dozens of them. Strange that such a small village should be home to so many little ones.
Aragorn reached the pump and pulled at the handle. It came away in his hand.
“You have broken our pump!” cried a small boy angrily.
“I am sorry. It was an accident,” Aragorn said.
“We will all die of thirst now!” screamed the children.
Aragorn knelt in the sand and tried to work out how the pump might fit back together. His head throbbed and he could not focus his eyes clearly. Maybe if he could but have a drink he might concentrate better. He trudged back towards the juice stall and held out coins for several times what the asking price was. “Please, let me have a drink!” he begged.
“Never!” said the little girl.
“I shall surely die of thirst!” Aragorn threw down his coins and reached out to grab a mug of the juice. Suddenly the stall collapsed, spilling the contents of all the mugs. The juice trickled away in the sand.
Aragorn could have wept. He snatched up one of the mugs but there was not a single drop of moisture left in it.
He knew he must get away from this place or he would die. Summoning his last vestiges of strength, he tried to reach the track that led away from this village. The children, though, had other ideas; they blocked his path, shrieking and jeering.
Then they started to swarm all over him and tear off his clothes. The blazing sun seared his bare flesh relentlessly. He tried to crawl away, but the children would not let him go. “Sacrifice him to the Lord of Gifts!” they cried.
He was bound to an altar and a fire was lit below him. It was growing ever hotter. A man in scarlet robes, a priest he supposed, was chanting, though the words made little sense.
Everything went black.
0000
Aragorn trudged despairingly through the desert. He must find the lost child, he must! He had given her mother his word that he would save her. How could she have vanished so completely in this featureless landscape?
His throat burned. He reached for his water skin to quench his thirst. It was empty. He must find an oasis soon or he would surely perish. First, though, he must find the child. If he were suffering in this heat, how much worse it must be for a little one.
Suddenly he spotted her a short distance ahead. He summoned his last ounce of strength to quicken his footsteps. He caught up with her and took hold of her hand.
“Help me!” she cried as she sank into the sand.
Frantically, he tried to pull her out, but she vanished from his sight. Aragorn crept into the shadow of a great red rock. He fell to his knees and wept. Everything began to fade into blackness until Aragorn perceived a faint glow. It grew brighter and hotter.
Aragorn realised he was on the edge of bottomless fiery pit. He tried to grasp at the rough footholds before the flames consumed him. Foul goblins assailed him and tore at his robe. He was falling, falling into the abyss.
Out of the darkness, he heard a voice calling his name and a wondrous fragrance filled the sulphurous air. A hand reached out. He grasped it.
000
Aragorn blinked and opened his eyes to meet the concerned gaze of his wife. “Thirsty!” he muttered.
She supported his head with one hand and with the other held a cup to his lips, allowing him to drink. He drunk his fill then tried to take stock of his surroundings. He was lying on a rough pallet in a poorly furnished room. He appeared to be wearing only his drawers, but he was decently covered by a fine linen sheet, which seemed out of place in these surroundings, as was the soft pillow on which his head lay. Arwen was kneeling on the floor at his bedside. Behind her stood two men, one of whom he recognised as Master Aedred, his personal physician from the Houses of Healing, the other wore the robes of a Haradrim Physician. A bowl of steaming water stood by the pallet and the sweet scent of athelas filled the air.
“What happened?” Aragorn whispered. “The children? So thirsty and hot!”
Arwen offered him more water and when he had drunk his fill, she wiped his face and neck with a cool, moist cloth. Only when she had finished these tasks did she speak.
“Don’t you remember, Estel?”
He shook his head.
“There was an outbreak of fever amongst the children of the Haradrim who dwell here in Minas Tirith. You came here to help them and laboured day and night until you collapsed while you were tending a little girl here in this hovel. Her mother sent for a healer who deemed it unwise to move you. Then Ambassador Tahir was told what had happened, He was most concerned and insisted on sending his personal healer to attend you. The man was well versed in the malady, but he could not rouse you. You have been here two days and nights lost in fever dreams. The healers tried to break the fever, but in vain. It was only when I came that I was able to rouse you with athelas."
“The little girl, what happened to her? I could not find her!” Aragorn muttered fretfully.
“She is recovering, as are the other children, thanks to you, o honoured King.” The healer from Harad spoke. “This fever is common amongst our little ones, but the cold and damp of your land meant it afflicted them especially badly.” He moved towards the pallet and began to examine Aragorn. “The fever is breaking, o honoured King. In but a few circles of the sun, you will be fully recovered.”
“Varda be praised!” exclaimed Arwen. She squeezed her husband’s hand.
“I think we should be able to move you back to the Citadel later today, my lord,” said Aedred, the Gondorian healer. “You should recover faster in your own bed and you are no longer contagious.”
“That would be good,” Aragorn murmured. “Is Eldarion safe? How fares the kingdom? Where is Faramir?”
“Eldarion is safe and well,” Arwen assured him. “Éowyn has taken him to Ithilien for a few days. Gondor is Faramir’s capable hands. He wanted to come to your bedside, but I thought the risk of contagion too great. You will see him soon now you are recovering and he can tell you everything you wish to know.”
“Your tidings gladden my heart.” Aragorn struggled to keep his eyes focussed upon her. “Ah, I am so weary. I feel as if I have been lost for days in a desert!”
“Fever dreams are exhausting, my lord,” said the healer. “Maybe in future, you will have more of a care for your own well- being, though I very much doubt it! You have caused us all a great deal of worry, not least your lady!”
Aragorn nodded. He knew Aedred scolded because he cared about him. The two were good friends who often worked alongside one another at the Houses.
“Now drink this,” Aedred said in a softer tone.
Aragorn recognised the bitter taste of willow bark. He swallowed obediently.
“Rest now, my love,” said Arwen, raising a cup of clear water to his lips. “Rest and recover. You are safe and I am beside you.” After he had drunk, she kissed him lightly on the brow.
Lulled by the sound of her voice and the scent of the athelas, Aragorn fell into a deep dreamless sleep. His beloved was beside him, he was healing, and he would soon be home.
A/n. Written for the Teitho “Sickness” challenge” where it was unplaced.
Chapter 116 - Silken Peril
Silken Peril by Linda Hoyland
Rating T
Prompt - Faramir is poisoned by something meant to hurt Aragorn (food, drink, hidden needle, cloth soaked in something...) and Aragorn uses his power to heal him.
All recognisable characters are Tolkien's, not mine. I make no money from writing this.
Summary- A helpful gesture has dire consequences.
"I miss Arwen and the children already," sighed Aragorn. "However do you endure so long away from Éowyn and your little ones when your work keeps you here, mellon nîn?" He stretched out his long legs and leaned back against the cushions on the couch. After sharing a hearty supper with Faramir, the two men were enjoying a leisurely glass of wine in the solar.
Faramir sipped his drink thoughtfully. "Of course I miss them, but I have grown accustomed to often having to be apart from them. I cannot neglect my duties and neither can Éowyn. She would never be happy to live in the City all the time and it makes me happy to know that she is content."
"Your words are wise," said Aragorn. He sipped from his own glass of wine. "Arwen needs to spend time amongst the trees and blossoms in the countryside now spring is here. Her good health and spirits depend on it and I desire her happiness above all else."
"We will both join our ladies in a few days," said Faramir. "Until then, there are plenty of tasks to occupy us. I suggest now supper is over that we begin to sort through the birthday gifts you received."
Aragorn groaned. "Must it be tonight? There are so many!"
"All the more reason we should decide which ones to keep and which ones can be given to the poor without offending the givers. Your secretaries have already written letters of thanks. If we delay any longer you will have wedding anniversary gifts to sort through as well in another few weeks!"
"Very well, I see your point." Aragorn gave a resigned sigh. "It will make the task easier with you here." He called for the servants, who at his command, carried in six chests stuffed to the brim, which they placed before the King. He thanked them then dismissed them, telling them not to return until he called. They bowed low and took their leave.
"I will keep the gifts from young children," said Aragorn, poring over a selection of assorted parchments adorned with portraits, which mostly bore little resemblance to their subject and laboriously written poems. "They put so much love and care into their work. They can be stored in the archives."
"What of these?" asked Faramir, rummaging through an assortment of knitted socks, most of which were several sizes too small for the King.
"They can be given to the poor."
"And this?" Faramir held up an elaborate tunic made of embroidered orange velvet with a shining silver silken trim and a black edging."
"Ah, the colours of Rhûn," said Aragorn.
Faramir sighed. "The Easterlings are becoming a threat again. They come through Mordor to harass Ithilien, attacking my people and stealing their flocks."
"I intend to tell the Ambassador when I dine with him next week that such a state of affairs cannot continue or we shall be forced to retaliate," said Aragorn. "I suppose this tunic is a gift from Ambassador Khulan. It is the custom in Rhûn to give gifts of clothing."
"You could wear it at the dinner as a token of good will," said Faramir.
Aragorn took the tunic from Faramir and held it up. He regarded it doubtfully. "Would I not look foolish in such a gaudy garment? If only more of the ambassadors were like Tahir! He would never be offended by what I did or did not wear."
"The Men of Rhûn will no doubt be dressed in these colours. Perhaps you would have a better chance of settling the dispute peacefully if you wore it?"
"Hmm." Aragorn held the tunic against his body and went over to a looking glass. "If only Arwen were here; she would tell me if I looked foolish or not."
"What if I were to try it on?" Faramir suggested. "We are of similar build and colouring. If I look well enough in it, you most likely would too."
"An excellent idea! There is a matching shirt too." Aragorn retrieved a silvery silken shirt from the trunk where Faramir had found the tunic.
Faramir pulled off the tunic and shirt he was wearing. Aragorn handed him the orange and silver garments.
"They are magnificent clothes," said Faramir. "They must have cost a great deal to produce." He pulled them over his head. "Ouch! The tailor must have left a pin in the seam," he exclaimed. Then he gave a loud cry and fell to the floor, writhing in agony.
"Faramir!" Full of concern, Aragorn knelt on the floor beside his friend.
"It burns, it burns!" Faramir screamed.
Aragorn grabbed an ornamental dagger from amongst the heap of gifts and sliced through the orange and silver garments. Only then could he see that the Steward's upper body was covered in scarlet welts emanating from a point on his shoulder where a small needle was embedded.
"Have a care!" Faramir gasped between moans as Aragorn made to pick up the remains of the garments.
Aragorn kicked the fabric aside with one booted foot. It seemed that Faramir had been poisoned. Whether the poison was all on the needle or also on the cloth, he had no idea.
He took a deep breath. He needed to remove the needle swiftly before the poison could spread. "You need to remain still, ion nîn," he told Faramir. He looked around for another dagger that was not contaminated with the poison. There was one here with a richly jewelled hilt that the Dwarves from the Blue Mountains had sent as a birthday gift. He had no flame in which to cleanse the blade and no time to kindle one. He held Faramir still with one hand and cut out the poisoned needle with the other. Instead of staunching the wound, he allowed it to bleed, hoping that poison would be at the least diluted.
Faramir cried out repeatedly, which added to Aragorn's fears. Faramir was the most stoic of men and rarely complained, even when seriously wounded. The Steward was shivering. Aragorn pulled off his own tunic and wrapped it around his friend.
Aragorn called for help. A guard appeared almost at once, as did a scared looking serving maid. "Lord Faramir has been injured. I need my healing supplies, and then a healer from the Houses. I also need the Ambassador from Rhûn summoned here at once. And see that no one touches these clothes." He gestured towards the remains of the tunic and shirt.
"Yes, my lord." The guard sped away while the maid cried for further help.
More servants appeared, hearing the commotion. Aragorn sent one for blankets, which he wrapped around the Steward. In the meantime, someone brought his healing supplies. He rummaged in the satchel, wondering what was best to give Faramir. He had no knowledge of the antidote, so deemed the best course of action was to ease the Steward's obvious pain with poppy syrup while he sought for a cure. He knelt beside Faramir again, a cup in his hand and coaxed Faramir to drink, supporting his head with his free hand. The Steward was shaking and groaning so much that it took him some time to drain the potion.
Aragorn gripped his friend's hand while he waited for the poppy to take effect. At last, the Steward's eyes closed and he fell into an uneasy slumber. Even in his sleep, he continued to twitch and shake.
Only then did he feel that it was safe to move Faramir to the nearest bedchamber. He ordered a burly manservant to help him carry The Steward. They carefully laid Faramir on the bed. Aragorn then despatched the servant for hot water and another to gather fresh athelas leaves from the small herb garden he had cultivated in the Citadel.
He put Faramir to bed while he waited. Faramir still shifted uneasily in his sleep and his pulse raced when Aragorn checked it. This poison seemed unlike any other that the King had encountered during his many travels. Most poisons administered by arrows or sharp needles were used by hunters and caused the victim to become paralysed. Faramir's reactions seemed quite the opposite. Snake venoms had various ways of poisoning their victims, but Faramir was not bleeding and his heartbeat, though rapid, was regular enough. Athelas was effective against many poisons, so as soon as he had hot water and the fresh leaves, he made a poultice and applied it to where the needle had pierced Faramir's skin and the angry looking welts which now covered his upper body. The Steward immediately became more settled and seemed to slumber more peacefully.
Aragorn urgently needed to consult Master Elrond's healing books, but he dared not leave Faramir until a healer from the Houses arrived to sit with him. Now he had a few moments to think, he found he was shaking. The poisoned clothing had been destined for him, not for Faramir. If Faramir had not been so eager to help his lord and friend, it would be he who was lying here, fighting for his life just as he had done a few years ago when a crazed woman from Harad had stabbed him with a poisoned dagger. He has only survived the attack thanks to Faramir's determination to find an antidote. While the healers had despaired, Faramir had gone out and sought a cure.
Aragorn buried his face in his hands. How could he bear to lose his brave, loyal friend and wise advisor? Faramir was dear as a son to him. Why had he ever let him don the garments? He should have known the Men of Rhûn were not to be trusted.
A few moments later, Master Aedred, who was the chief assistant to the Warden at the Houses and Aragorn's personal physician, arrived. Aragorn swiftly explained the situation to him. He left Faramir in his care while he went to consult a weighty tome from Master Elrond's library concerning poisons and their antidotes.
He had no sooner begun to seek for answers in the book when a servant announced that the Ambassador from Rhûn had arrived.
"Show him to my study," said Aragorn. He hurried off to interview him.
Ambassador Khulan sat serenely on the chair usually occupied by Faramir when the two worked together. His were hands folded inside his orange and silver robes and his lips set in a smug smile. He reminded Aragorn of a snake about to strike its prey. He rose and bowed deeply when the King entered. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this invitation, Lord Elessar?" he asked before sitting down again.
"Did you send me garments in the colours of your land as a birthday gift?" demanded Aragorn.
"Maybe, but I cannot recall what gift was sent to you, my lord," said Khulan. "It is kind of you to summon me here to thank me, but my servants deal with all such matters."
"I would try to recall if I were you, Ambassador," said Aragorn. "The garments contained a poisoned needle hidden within the seams and my Steward lies dangerously ill after being pricked by it."
"That proves one of two things, my lord," said Khulan. "Either your servant should not have touched what was meant for his master, or that you are wise to have a subordinate test your clothing before you wear it. In either case, I know nothing of poisoned garments."
Aragorn leapt to his feet. It took all his considerable willpower not to fly at the man and shake the truth out of him. "You forget of whom you are speaking, Ambassador. I toy with no man's life and Lord Faramir is no underling, but one of the highest lords in this land. Tell me, if you value your skin, what manner of poison would be used in a poisoned garment?
"You threaten me, Lord King? The Emperor, may he live forever, would be most displeased to hear of this."
"What the Emperor knows nothing of cannot displease him." Aragorn's glare alone was enough to kill and his tone was like ice. "Let us speak in a theoretical manner. Should a man of Rhûn wish to kill another with poison, what poison would he use and more importantly, what is the antidote? Speak now or know the full force of my wrath!"
Khulan trembled but quickly regained his composure. "The Men of Rhûn have no lethal poisons. The Emperor, may he live a thousand years, has forbidden their use. Our poisons do not kill; instead, those who ingest them die by their own hands within a day, or maybe two, which is far more reasonable do you not think? That is how we execute our criminals. Not that I know about how poisons work, my lord. This is simply what I have heard others say."
Aragorn shouted for the guards. Two burly Citadel Guards appeared at once. "Escort Ambassador Khulan to his residence and see that he remains there under house arrest," he said.
"The Emperor, may he live forever, will hear about this outrage!" fumed Khulan.
"You can be certain of it," said Aragorn. He gestured to the guards to take the Ambassador away.
The King cursed under his breath. He was certain the man was lying and that we was indeed responsible for the poisoned needle. Unfortunately, it was almost certain he was telling the truth about the poison. He vaguely recalled hearing of poisons that drove men to madness during his many travels and Faramir had certainly been in considerable pain. Surely, though, a man who had survived the Black Breath and many other wounds and misfortunes could not succumb to some scheming snake's plot of which he, Aragorn, was the intended victim. He could not, would not, let this happen.
Aragorn leafed through Master Elrond's book. It provided no answers. Sighing, he scribbled a note to Éowyn asking her to return to the City. In it, he simply said that Faramir had been attacked, but gave no further details. He gave it to a messenger to deliver at first light tomorrow. He did not want to risk more tragedy by inciting Éowyn to gallop through the night. He then returned to Faramir's side.
"How is Faramir?" Aragorn asked Aedred.
"He is still sleeping, my lord," said Aedred. "He appears to be slightly feverish."
Aragorn placed a hand on Faramir's brow. Maybe the fever was a sign that his body's natural defences were fighting against the poison. Master Elrond had been fond of telling him how wondrous these natural defences were against anything that invaded the body. Surely, given enough time Faramir could expel the foul poison. Maybe his friend and King could help to give him that time, by subduing his pain with poppy syrup. It was not a plan without risk, for poppy was a strong and dangerous drug, but if Faramir continued to sleep, he could not be driven mad with the pain and seek to take his own life. He would make sure that Faramir did not harm himself and that he drank plenty of water to cleanse his body of the poison whenever he awoke. First, though, he would use more athelas to try to help his injured friend.
Aragorn asked Aedred to fetch boiling water. He pulled back Faramir's covers and removed the poultice. The area around the wound was stained with a noxious yellow matter. It seemed that the athelas was drawing forth at least some of the poison. Aragorn applied a fresh poultice and bandaged it against the wound.
He then washed his hands, asked for more hot water and crumbled two athelas leaves into the bowl of water after breathing on them. He placed the steaming bowl on a table beside Faramir and breathed deeply to inhale the refreshing vapours. If he could connect his own spirit with his friend's, he could help him fight for his life.
Aragorn took Faramir's limp hand in one of his own and placed his other hand on Faramir's brow. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Almost at once, their spirits connected.
The Rhûn poison was not like the Black Breath, a device of the Enemy, so Faramir's spirit was not wandering. He appeared to be in the very bed in which he actually lay, but impaled upon thorns rather than lying on a soft mattress and blankets. Flames shot from a point on his shoulder.
Aragorn bit back a cry of horror. He knew this was not the real world, but Faramir's pain was all too real.
"Sheath Andúril lest I be tempted to snatch the blade to end my torment!" cried Faramir.
Rather to his surprise, Aragorn realised he had his sword drawn. He quickly placed it in its scabbard.
"I do not want to die," said Faramir. "I would see my children grow up and I would not leave Éowyn bereft. Neither do I wish to leave you, and the land we both love, but I do not think I can endure this burning pain for much longer."
"Listen carefully, ion nîn," said Aragorn. "You have been poisoned, but your body can fight the poison and expel it. It will take time, though."
"How much time?" asked Faramir.
"The worse should pass in a day or two," said Aragorn.
Faramir groaned. "I know not if I can endure that long."
"I shall do all I can to lessen your pain. You can sleep for most of the time thanks to the poppy syrup."
Faramir gritted his teeth and writhed amidst the thorns, moaning quietly. The flames continued to erupt from his shoulder.
Aragorn's heart went out to his friend. He could not bear seeing him suffer like this. He reached out his hand and plunged it in to the flames, seeking out the wound from which they emanated.
"No!" Faramir cried. "You will burn too!"
Searing heat and pain shot through Aragorn's hand and along the length of his arm. It took all his considerable willpower not to pull away. He told himself sternly that none of this was real and the flames had no power to burn him. Although, he felt that his flesh was burning, his clothing remained untouched. His hand connected with the wound and he struggled to draw out the poison. Then the pain overcame him and everything went black.
"My lord!"
Aragorn opened his eyes to meet Master Aedred's concerned gaze. He was lying on the floor beside Faramir's bed. "Athelas!" he murmured.
Master Aedred held the bowl in front of Aragorn's face. The King inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the healing vapours. His hand still burned through there was no injury to be seen. He wanted to see how Faramir fared, but as yet he lacked the strength even to get up from the floor.
"You should have a care for your own safety, my lord," Aedred scolded. "How can you help Lord Faramir if you make yourself ill? Let me do my job and be of service. What do you want me to do?"
"Just keep on holding the bowl," Aragorn whispered. "Athelas alone can aid me and I alone can use it. I will be well soon." He continued to take deep breaths and gradually felt his strength returning. He dragged himself upright to a sitting position so that he could see Faramir. At least, his friend and Steward seemed no worse. After a few minutes, he noticed that Faramir no longer tossed so restlessly. Accepting Aedred's outstretched hand for support he got to his feet and checked the bandages. They were now heavily stained with evil matter that was oozing from the wound profusely. It seemed that Faramir's body was expelling the poison as he was also sweating heavily.
Aragorn placed a hand on his brow and brushed his fingertips against Faramir's eyelids sending him into a deep healing sleep. "We need to bathe him to keep the fever within limits," he told Aedred.
"Should you not leave that to me while you rest, my lord?" asked the healer.
"I will rest when Faramir is made more comfortable," said Aragorn.
"You will rest as soon as Lord Faramir is bathed," Aedred said sternly.
The King called for a servant to bring more water and together with Aedred, they bathed Faramir with lukewarm water and changed the bedsheets.
He then settled down on a chair at Faramir's bedside and prepared for a long vigil throughout the night.
"You should go to your bed now and rest properly, my lord," Aedred said. "I can keep watch."
"I shall stay here," said Aragorn. "Had Faramir not tried on the poisoned shirt, it would be I who lay there fighting for my life."
"Lord Faramir will need you when he awakens. As your healer, I insist that you rest. "
Aragorn sighed. "You are here as Faramir's healer today, not mine, but to please you, I will rest for an hour or so, but I shall remain here. Faramir should not wake until I rouse him, but you are to alert me if his condition changes in the slightest. Do not try to bring the fever down any further; it is his best chance of overcoming the poison."
"I do have some knowledge of poisons too, my lord," Aedred said tartly. He tucked a blanket around Aragorn.
Aragorn did not expect to sleep, but exhaustion caught up with him almost as soon as he closed his eyes. He had had a busy day crammed with royal duties and had intended to spend a relaxing evening with Faramir doing very little.
He woke up with a start to the sound of birds greeting the dawn. Aedred was sponging Faramir's face. "How is he?" asked Aragorn. "You should not have let me sleep so long."
"You needed the rest." Aedred was not in the least cowed by Aragorn's scolding. "There is no change that I can perceive, my lord. The fever still rages and I have had to change the dressing on his shoulder twice."
"Has he appeared to be in much pain?" Aragorn was already scrambling to his feet.
"He stirs and moans in his sleep, but no worse than most wounded men whom I have tended."
"I shall use more athelas for a fresh poultice then I must wake him," said Aragorn. He called for a servant to bring hot water. He prepared the dressing and then applied it with the healer's assistance. He looked across the bed to Aedred, "Will you leave us, please, for a moment?" he said.
Aedred looked doubtful. "I do not know if that is a good idea, my lord," he said. "You could overtax yourself again giving your strength to Lord Faramir."
Aragorn glared at the stubborn healer then his glance softened. He had known Aedred for many years and knew the healer genuinely cared about him. "I give you my word I shall not use my healing powers until you return. I simply desire to spare Faramir's dignity if he awakes screaming with pain."
"Very well, then, my lord. I shall return in a short while."
Aedred left the room, but Aragorn did not hear his retreating footsteps and suspected that the healer was still hovering outside.
The King took a deep breath and looked down at Faramir's sleeping face. He appeared to be in a fairly peaceful slumber and he wished that he did not need to rouse him. It was essential, though that he drink water and be dosed with more poppy juice in order to keep the poison caused pain at bay.
He called the servant to bring more hot water. Aragorn looked around the room to assure himself there was nothing with which Faramir could harm himself. He then took two athelas leaves, breathed on them and crumbled them before casting them into the water. He waited for the living freshness to fill the room before calling to Faramir to awaken and brushing his fingertips against his eyelids once more.
Faramir stirred and opened his eyes, his gaze meeting that of his King. "Ada, again you came for me in the darkness!" he said.
"How do you fare?" asked Aragorn, taking one of Faramir's hands in his own.
"Not too ill, though I have been better," said Faramir. "I am so thirsty."
Aragorn held a glass of water to the Steward's lips. Faramir drank greedily. "How is the pain now?" he asked once Faramir had drunk his fill.
"It burns and stabs still, but it is much easier to bear." Faramir gazed at the King; his eyes alight with love and gratitude. "You took it from me did you not?"
"I tried to."
"You should not risk yourself so for me."
"I would not lose you to the Easterling poison," Aragorn replied. "Éowyn would most surely kill me if I allowed any harm to come to you! She will be here soon. Now, would you like some more water before I give you your medicine and change the dressings?"
Faramir nodded.
"I am so sorry that I permitted you to try on that shirt, ion nîn," Aragorn said as he prepared a fresh poultice. "The poison was intended for me not for you."
"I am glad that you did not don the poisoned garment," Faramir said staunchly. "Gondor has need of her King and I have need of the one who is like a father to me."
"Gondor needs her Steward, as do I," said Aragorn. "Now drink your medicine before I change these dressings."
When Éowyn arrived a few hours later, Faramir was sleeping peacefully. "I believe the worst is over and he will recover," Aragorn told her.
0000
Several weeks later, Aragorn and Faramir were working on official documents together when two messengers delivered a large trunk. They bowed and took their leave.
"I wonder what this can be," Faramir mused.
"I think we can take a short break from deciding on trade tariffs to open it," said Aragorn.
The King opened the chest. It was packed to the brim with rolls of the finest silks in every colour that could be imagined. There was a sheet of parchment on top of the rolls of silk. Aragorn picked it up and began to read. "Esteemed Lord King, please accept these finest silks my land has to offer. Your own tailor can make them into raiment of your choice, so you will know that no foul poisons are concealed within. I would like your esteemed self, your esteemed lady, and your esteemed Steward to enjoy this gift as a small token of contrition for what your esteemed Steward suffered at the miscreant Khulan's hands.
Your humble servant, Ganzorig son of Ganbaatar."
"A gift from our new ambassador," said Faramir.
"I like Ganzorig," said Aragorn. "He is a very different man to Khulan. He speaks plainly."
"Since Khulan left there have been no further attacks on Ithilien," said Faramir. "Maybe he was behind them and not the Emperor?"
"The Emperor appeared genuinely outraged by the attack on you," said Aragorn. "He demanded that Khulan return home at once to face trial. That was the last thing I had expected."
"I am simply glad that the threat of war has been averted," said Faramir. He fingered one of the rolls of silk. "This is fair indeed, as fine as any silk from Harad."
"Most Harad silks have their origins in Rhûn," said Aragorn. "The climate of Harad is too hot for the mulberry which the silkworm lives off. Rhûn sells many of the cocoons to Harad to be woven into silk, but the silk they weave themselves they guard jealously. Unlike the Haradrim, they rarely trade it. We are honoured by this gift."
Faramir eyed a roll of sea-green silk. "Éowyn would look most fair in that colour," he said.
"Then she must have it," said Aragorn. "We will ask our tailors and dressmakers to fashion this silk into fine raiment and wear it to a state banquet to which we will invite Ambassador Ganzorig and his lady. Your full recovery and the improved relations between our two lands deserve a celebration."
A/n Written for the Teitho "Raiment" Challenge where it was placed third.
Chapter 117 - Silken Peril
Silken Peril by Linda Hoyland
Rating T
Prompt - Faramir is poisoned by something meant to hurt Aragorn (food, drink, hidden needle, cloth soaked in something...) and Aragorn uses his power to heal him.
All recognisable characters are Tolkien's, not mine. I make no money from writing this.
Summary- A helpful gesture has dire consequences.
"I miss Arwen and the children already," sighed Aragorn. "However do you endure so long away from Éowyn and your little ones when your work keeps you here, mellon nîn?" He stretched out his long legs and leaned back against the cushions on the couch. After sharing a hearty supper with Faramir, the two men were enjoying a leisurely glass of wine in the solar.
Faramir sipped his drink thoughtfully. "Of course I miss them, but I have grown accustomed to often having to be apart from them. I cannot neglect my duties and neither can Éowyn. She would never be happy to live in the City all the time and it makes me happy to know that she is content."
"Your words are wise," said Aragorn. He sipped from his own glass of wine. "Arwen needs to spend time amongst the trees and blossoms in the countryside now spring is here. Her good health and spirits depend on it and I desire her happiness above all else."
"We will both join our ladies in a few days," said Faramir. "Until then, there are plenty of tasks to occupy us. I suggest now supper is over that we begin to sort through the birthday gifts you received."
Aragorn groaned. "Must it be tonight? There are so many!"
"All the more reason we should decide which ones to keep and which ones can be given to the poor without offending the givers. Your secretaries have already written letters of thanks. If we delay any longer you will have wedding anniversary gifts to sort through as well in another few weeks!"
"Very well, I see your point." Aragorn gave a resigned sigh. "It will make the task easier with you here." He called for the servants, who at his command, carried in six chests stuffed to the brim, which they placed before the King. He thanked them then dismissed them, telling them not to return until he called. They bowed low and took their leave.
"I will keep the gifts from young children," said Aragorn, poring over a selection of assorted parchments adorned with portraits, which mostly bore little resemblance to their subject and laboriously written poems. "They put so much love and care into their work. They can be stored in the archives."
"What of these?" asked Faramir, rummaging through an assortment of knitted socks, most of which were several sizes too small for the King.
"They can be given to the poor."
"And this?" Faramir held up an elaborate tunic made of embroidered orange velvet with a shining silver silken trim and a black edging."
"Ah, the colours of Rhûn," said Aragorn.
Faramir sighed. "The Easterlings are becoming a threat again. They come through Mordor to harass Ithilien, attacking my people and stealing their flocks."
"I intend to tell the Ambassador when I dine with him next week that such a state of affairs cannot continue or we shall be forced to retaliate," said Aragorn. "I suppose this tunic is a gift from Ambassador Khulan. It is the custom in Rhûn to give gifts of clothing."
"You could wear it at the dinner as a token of good will," said Faramir.
Aragorn took the tunic from Faramir and held it up. He regarded it doubtfully. "Would I not look foolish in such a gaudy garment? If only more of the ambassadors were like Tahir! He would never be offended by what I did or did not wear."
"The Men of Rhûn will no doubt be dressed in these colours. Perhaps you would have a better chance of settling the dispute peacefully if you wore it?"
"Hmm." Aragorn held the tunic against his body and went over to a looking glass. "If only Arwen were here; she would tell me if I looked foolish or not."
"What if I were to try it on?" Faramir suggested. "We are of similar build and colouring. If I look well enough in it, you most likely would too."
"An excellent idea! There is a matching shirt too." Aragorn retrieved a silvery silken shirt from the trunk where Faramir had found the tunic.
Faramir pulled off the tunic and shirt he was wearing. Aragorn handed him the orange and silver garments.
"They are magnificent clothes," said Faramir. "They must have cost a great deal to produce." He pulled them over his head. "Ouch! The tailor must have left a pin in the seam," he exclaimed. Then he gave a loud cry and fell to the floor, writhing in agony.
"Faramir!" Full of concern, Aragorn knelt on the floor beside his friend.
"It burns, it burns!" Faramir screamed.
Aragorn grabbed an ornamental dagger from amongst the heap of gifts and sliced through the orange and silver garments. Only then could he see that the Steward's upper body was covered in scarlet welts emanating from a point on his shoulder where a small needle was embedded.
"Have a care!" Faramir gasped between moans as Aragorn made to pick up the remains of the garments.
Aragorn kicked the fabric aside with one booted foot. It seemed that Faramir had been poisoned. Whether the poison was all on the needle or also on the cloth, he had no idea.
He took a deep breath. He needed to remove the needle swiftly before the poison could spread. "You need to remain still, ion nîn," he told Faramir. He looked around for another dagger that was not contaminated with the poison. There was one here with a richly jewelled hilt that the Dwarves from the Blue Mountains had sent as a birthday gift. He had no flame in which to cleanse the blade and no time to kindle one. He held Faramir still with one hand and cut out the poisoned needle with the other. Instead of staunching the wound, he allowed it to bleed, hoping that poison would be at the least diluted.
Faramir cried out repeatedly, which added to Aragorn's fears. Faramir was the most stoic of men and rarely complained, even when seriously wounded. The Steward was shivering. Aragorn pulled off his own tunic and wrapped it around his friend.
Aragorn called for help. A guard appeared almost at once, as did a scared looking serving maid. "Lord Faramir has been injured. I need my healing supplies, and then a healer from the Houses. I also need the Ambassador from Rhûn summoned here at once. And see that no one touches these clothes." He gestured towards the remains of the tunic and shirt.
"Yes, my lord." The guard sped away while the maid cried for further help.
More servants appeared, hearing the commotion. Aragorn sent one for blankets, which he wrapped around the Steward. In the meantime, someone brought his healing supplies. He rummaged in the satchel, wondering what was best to give Faramir. He had no knowledge of the antidote, so deemed the best course of action was to ease the Steward's obvious pain with poppy syrup while he sought for a cure. He knelt beside Faramir again, a cup in his hand and coaxed Faramir to drink, supporting his head with his free hand. The Steward was shaking and groaning so much that it took him some time to drain the potion.
Aragorn gripped his friend's hand while he waited for the poppy to take effect. At last, the Steward's eyes closed and he fell into an uneasy slumber. Even in his sleep, he continued to twitch and shake.
Only then did he feel that it was safe to move Faramir to the nearest bedchamber. He ordered a burly manservant to help him carry The Steward. They carefully laid Faramir on the bed. Aragorn then despatched the servant for hot water and another to gather fresh athelas leaves from the small herb garden he had cultivated in the Citadel.
He put Faramir to bed while he waited. Faramir still shifted uneasily in his sleep and his pulse raced when Aragorn checked it. This poison seemed unlike any other that the King had encountered during his many travels. Most poisons administered by arrows or sharp needles were used by hunters and caused the victim to become paralysed. Faramir's reactions seemed quite the opposite. Snake venoms had various ways of poisoning their victims, but Faramir was not bleeding and his heartbeat, though rapid, was regular enough. Athelas was effective against many poisons, so as soon as he had hot water and the fresh leaves, he made a poultice and applied it to where the needle had pierced Faramir's skin and the angry looking welts which now covered his upper body. The Steward immediately became more settled and seemed to slumber more peacefully.
Aragorn urgently needed to consult Master Elrond's healing books, but he dared not leave Faramir until a healer from the Houses arrived to sit with him. Now he had a few moments to think, he found he was shaking. The poisoned clothing had been destined for him, not for Faramir. If Faramir had not been so eager to help his lord and friend, it would be he who was lying here, fighting for his life just as he had done a few years ago when a crazed woman from Harad had stabbed him with a poisoned dagger. He has only survived the attack thanks to Faramir's determination to find an antidote. While the healers had despaired, Faramir had gone out and sought a cure.
Aragorn buried his face in his hands. How could he bear to lose his brave, loyal friend and wise advisor? Faramir was dear as a son to him. Why had he ever let him don the garments? He should have known the Men of Rhûn were not to be trusted.
A few moments later, Master Aedred, who was the chief assistant to the Warden at the Houses and Aragorn's personal physician, arrived. Aragorn swiftly explained the situation to him. He left Faramir in his care while he went to consult a weighty tome from Master Elrond's library concerning poisons and their antidotes.
He had no sooner begun to seek for answers in the book when a servant announced that the Ambassador from Rhûn had arrived.
"Show him to my study," said Aragorn. He hurried off to interview him.
Ambassador Khulan sat serenely on the chair usually occupied by Faramir when the two worked together. His were hands folded inside his orange and silver robes and his lips set in a smug smile. He reminded Aragorn of a snake about to strike its prey. He rose and bowed deeply when the King entered. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this invitation, Lord Elessar?" he asked before sitting down again.
"Did you send me garments in the colours of your land as a birthday gift?" demanded Aragorn.
"Maybe, but I cannot recall what gift was sent to you, my lord," said Khulan. "It is kind of you to summon me here to thank me, but my servants deal with all such matters."
"I would try to recall if I were you, Ambassador," said Aragorn. "The garments contained a poisoned needle hidden within the seams and my Steward lies dangerously ill after being pricked by it."
"That proves one of two things, my lord," said Khulan. "Either your servant should not have touched what was meant for his master, or that you are wise to have a subordinate test your clothing before you wear it. In either case, I know nothing of poisoned garments."
Aragorn leapt to his feet. It took all his considerable willpower not to fly at the man and shake the truth out of him. "You forget of whom you are speaking, Ambassador. I toy with no man's life and Lord Faramir is no underling, but one of the highest lords in this land. Tell me, if you value your skin, what manner of poison would be used in a poisoned garment?
"You threaten me, Lord King? The Emperor, may he live forever, would be most displeased to hear of this."
"What the Emperor knows nothing of cannot displease him." Aragorn's glare alone was enough to kill and his tone was like ice. "Let us speak in a theoretical manner. Should a man of Rhûn wish to kill another with poison, what poison would he use and more importantly, what is the antidote? Speak now or know the full force of my wrath!"
Khulan trembled but quickly regained his composure. "The Men of Rhûn have no lethal poisons. The Emperor, may he live a thousand years, has forbidden their use. Our poisons do not kill; instead, those who ingest them die by their own hands within a day, or maybe two, which is far more reasonable do you not think? That is how we execute our criminals. Not that I know about how poisons work, my lord. This is simply what I have heard others say."
Aragorn shouted for the guards. Two burly Citadel Guards appeared at once. "Escort Ambassador Khulan to his residence and see that he remains there under house arrest," he said.
"The Emperor, may he live forever, will hear about this outrage!" fumed Khulan.
"You can be certain of it," said Aragorn. He gestured to the guards to take the Ambassador away.
The King cursed under his breath. He was certain the man was lying and that we was indeed responsible for the poisoned needle. Unfortunately, it was almost certain he was telling the truth about the poison. He vaguely recalled hearing of poisons that drove men to madness during his many travels and Faramir had certainly been in considerable pain. Surely, though, a man who had survived the Black Breath and many other wounds and misfortunes could not succumb to some scheming snake's plot of which he, Aragorn, was the intended victim. He could not, would not, let this happen.
Aragorn leafed through Master Elrond's book. It provided no answers. Sighing, he scribbled a note to Éowyn asking her to return to the City. In it, he simply said that Faramir had been attacked, but gave no further details. He gave it to a messenger to deliver at first light tomorrow. He did not want to risk more tragedy by inciting Éowyn to gallop through the night. He then returned to Faramir's side.
"How is Faramir?" Aragorn asked Aedred.
"He is still sleeping, my lord," said Aedred. "He appears to be slightly feverish."
Aragorn placed a hand on Faramir's brow. Maybe the fever was a sign that his body's natural defences were fighting against the poison. Master Elrond had been fond of telling him how wondrous these natural defences were against anything that invaded the body. Surely, given enough time Faramir could expel the foul poison. Maybe his friend and King could help to give him that time, by subduing his pain with poppy syrup. It was not a plan without risk, for poppy was a strong and dangerous drug, but if Faramir continued to sleep, he could not be driven mad with the pain and seek to take his own life. He would make sure that Faramir did not harm himself and that he drank plenty of water to cleanse his body of the poison whenever he awoke. First, though, he would use more athelas to try to help his injured friend.
Aragorn asked Aedred to fetch boiling water. He pulled back Faramir's covers and removed the poultice. The area around the wound was stained with a noxious yellow matter. It seemed that the athelas was drawing forth at least some of the poison. Aragorn applied a fresh poultice and bandaged it against the wound.
He then washed his hands, asked for more hot water and crumbled two athelas leaves into the bowl of water after breathing on them. He placed the steaming bowl on a table beside Faramir and breathed deeply to inhale the refreshing vapours. If he could connect his own spirit with his friend's, he could help him fight for his life.
Aragorn took Faramir's limp hand in one of his own and placed his other hand on Faramir's brow. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Almost at once, their spirits connected.
The Rhûn poison was not like the Black Breath, a device of the Enemy, so Faramir's spirit was not wandering. He appeared to be in the very bed in which he actually lay, but impaled upon thorns rather than lying on a soft mattress and blankets. Flames shot from a point on his shoulder.
Aragorn bit back a cry of horror. He knew this was not the real world, but Faramir's pain was all too real.
"Sheath Andúril lest I be tempted to snatch the blade to end my torment!" cried Faramir.
Rather to his surprise, Aragorn realised he had his sword drawn. He quickly placed it in its scabbard.
"I do not want to die," said Faramir. "I would see my children grow up and I would not leave Éowyn bereft. Neither do I wish to leave you, and the land we both love, but I do not think I can endure this burning pain for much longer."
"Listen carefully, ion nîn," said Aragorn. "You have been poisoned, but your body can fight the poison and expel it. It will take time, though."
"How much time?" asked Faramir.
"The worse should pass in a day or two," said Aragorn.
Faramir groaned. "I know not if I can endure that long."
"I shall do all I can to lessen your pain. You can sleep for most of the time thanks to the poppy syrup."
Faramir gritted his teeth and writhed amidst the thorns, moaning quietly. The flames continued to erupt from his shoulder.
Aragorn's heart went out to his friend. He could not bear seeing him suffer like this. He reached out his hand and plunged it in to the flames, seeking out the wound from which they emanated.
"No!" Faramir cried. "You will burn too!"
Searing heat and pain shot through Aragorn's hand and along the length of his arm. It took all his considerable willpower not to pull away. He told himself sternly that none of this was real and the flames had no power to burn him. Although, he felt that his flesh was burning, his clothing remained untouched. His hand connected with the wound and he struggled to draw out the poison. Then the pain overcame him and everything went black.
"My lord!"
Aragorn opened his eyes to meet Master Aedred's concerned gaze. He was lying on the floor beside Faramir's bed. "Athelas!" he murmured.
Master Aedred held the bowl in front of Aragorn's face. The King inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the healing vapours. His hand still burned through there was no injury to be seen. He wanted to see how Faramir fared, but as yet he lacked the strength even to get up from the floor.
"You should have a care for your own safety, my lord," Aedred scolded. "How can you help Lord Faramir if you make yourself ill? Let me do my job and be of service. What do you want me to do?"
"Just keep on holding the bowl," Aragorn whispered. "Athelas alone can aid me and I alone can use it. I will be well soon." He continued to take deep breaths and gradually felt his strength returning. He dragged himself upright to a sitting position so that he could see Faramir. At least, his friend and Steward seemed no worse. After a few minutes, he noticed that Faramir no longer tossed so restlessly. Accepting Aedred's outstretched hand for support he got to his feet and checked the bandages. They were now heavily stained with evil matter that was oozing from the wound profusely. It seemed that Faramir's body was expelling the poison as he was also sweating heavily.
Aragorn placed a hand on his brow and brushed his fingertips against Faramir's eyelids sending him into a deep healing sleep. "We need to bathe him to keep the fever within limits," he told Aedred.
"Should you not leave that to me while you rest, my lord?" asked the healer.
"I will rest when Faramir is made more comfortable," said Aragorn.
"You will rest as soon as Lord Faramir is bathed," Aedred said sternly.
The King called for a servant to bring more water and together with Aedred, they bathed Faramir with lukewarm water and changed the bedsheets.
He then settled down on a chair at Faramir's bedside and prepared for a long vigil throughout the night.
"You should go to your bed now and rest properly, my lord," Aedred said. "I can keep watch."
"I shall stay here," said Aragorn. "Had Faramir not tried on the poisoned shirt, it would be I who lay there fighting for my life."
"Lord Faramir will need you when he awakens. As your healer, I insist that you rest. "
Aragorn sighed. "You are here as Faramir's healer today, not mine, but to please you, I will rest for an hour or so, but I shall remain here. Faramir should not wake until I rouse him, but you are to alert me if his condition changes in the slightest. Do not try to bring the fever down any further; it is his best chance of overcoming the poison."
"I do have some knowledge of poisons too, my lord," Aedred said tartly. He tucked a blanket around Aragorn.
Aragorn did not expect to sleep, but exhaustion caught up with him almost as soon as he closed his eyes. He had had a busy day crammed with royal duties and had intended to spend a relaxing evening with Faramir doing very little.
He woke up with a start to the sound of birds greeting the dawn. Aedred was sponging Faramir's face. "How is he?" asked Aragorn. "You should not have let me sleep so long."
"You needed the rest." Aedred was not in the least cowed by Aragorn's scolding. "There is no change that I can perceive, my lord. The fever still rages and I have had to change the dressing on his shoulder twice."
"Has he appeared to be in much pain?" Aragorn was already scrambling to his feet.
"He stirs and moans in his sleep, but no worse than most wounded men whom I have tended."
"I shall use more athelas for a fresh poultice then I must wake him," said Aragorn. He called for a servant to bring hot water. He prepared the dressing and then applied it with the healer's assistance. He looked across the bed to Aedred, "Will you leave us, please, for a moment?" he said.
Aedred looked doubtful. "I do not know if that is a good idea, my lord," he said. "You could overtax yourself again giving your strength to Lord Faramir."
Aragorn glared at the stubborn healer then his glance softened. He had known Aedred for many years and knew the healer genuinely cared about him. "I give you my word I shall not use my healing powers until you return. I simply desire to spare Faramir's dignity if he awakes screaming with pain."
"Very well, then, my lord. I shall return in a short while."
Aedred left the room, but Aragorn did not hear his retreating footsteps and suspected that the healer was still hovering outside.
The King took a deep breath and looked down at Faramir's sleeping face. He appeared to be in a fairly peaceful slumber and he wished that he did not need to rouse him. It was essential, though that he drink water and be dosed with more poppy juice in order to keep the poison caused pain at bay.
He called the servant to bring more hot water. Aragorn looked around the room to assure himself there was nothing with which Faramir could harm himself. He then took two athelas leaves, breathed on them and crumbled them before casting them into the water. He waited for the living freshness to fill the room before calling to Faramir to awaken and brushing his fingertips against his eyelids once more.
Faramir stirred and opened his eyes, his gaze meeting that of his King. "Ada, again you came for me in the darkness!" he said.
"How do you fare?" asked Aragorn, taking one of Faramir's hands in his own.
"Not too ill, though I have been better," said Faramir. "I am so thirsty."
Aragorn held a glass of water to the Steward's lips. Faramir drank greedily. "How is the pain now?" he asked once Faramir had drunk his fill.
"It burns and stabs still, but it is much easier to bear." Faramir gazed at the King; his eyes alight with love and gratitude. "You took it from me did you not?"
"I tried to."
"You should not risk yourself so for me."
"I would not lose you to the Easterling poison," Aragorn replied. "Éowyn would most surely kill me if I allowed any harm to come to you! She will be here soon. Now, would you like some more water before I give you your medicine and change the dressings?"
Faramir nodded.
"I am so sorry that I permitted you to try on that shirt, ion nîn," Aragorn said as he prepared a fresh poultice. "The poison was intended for me not for you."
"I am glad that you did not don the poisoned garment," Faramir said staunchly. "Gondor has need of her King and I have need of the one who is like a father to me."
"Gondor needs her Steward, as do I," said Aragorn. "Now drink your medicine before I change these dressings."
When Éowyn arrived a few hours later, Faramir was sleeping peacefully. "I believe the worst is over and he will recover," Aragorn told her.
0000
Several weeks later, Aragorn and Faramir were working on official documents together when two messengers delivered a large trunk. They bowed and took their leave.
"I wonder what this can be," Faramir mused.
"I think we can take a short break from deciding on trade tariffs to open it," said Aragorn.
The King opened the chest. It was packed to the brim with rolls of the finest silks in every colour that could be imagined. There was a sheet of parchment on top of the rolls of silk. Aragorn picked it up and began to read. "Esteemed Lord King, please accept these finest silks my land has to offer. Your own tailor can make them into raiment of your choice, so you will know that no foul poisons are concealed within. I would like your esteemed self, your esteemed lady, and your esteemed Steward to enjoy this gift as a small token of contrition for what your esteemed Steward suffered at the miscreant Khulan's hands.
Your humble servant, Ganzorig son of Ganbaatar."
"A gift from our new ambassador," said Faramir.
"I like Ganzorig," said Aragorn. "He is a very different man to Khulan. He speaks plainly."
"Since Khulan left there have been no further attacks on Ithilien," said Faramir. "Maybe he was behind them and not the Emperor?"
"The Emperor appeared genuinely outraged by the attack on you," said Aragorn. "He demanded that Khulan return home at once to face trial. That was the last thing I had expected."
"I am simply glad that the threat of war has been averted," said Faramir. He fingered one of the rolls of silk. "This is fair indeed, as fine as any silk from Harad."
"Most Harad silks have their origins in Rhûn," said Aragorn. "The climate of Harad is too hot for the mulberry which the silkworm lives off. Rhûn sells many of the cocoons to Harad to be woven into silk, but the silk they weave themselves they guard jealously. Unlike the Haradrim, they rarely trade it. We are honoured by this gift."
Faramir eyed a roll of sea-green silk. "Éowyn would look most fair in that colour," he said.
"Then she must have it," said Aragorn. "We will ask our tailors and dressmakers to fashion this silk into fine raiment and wear it to a state banquet to which we will invite Ambassador Ganzorig and his lady. Your full recovery and the improved relations between our two lands deserve a celebration."
A/n Written for the Teitho "Raiment" Challenge where it was placed third.
Chapter 118 - Wedding Bell Blues
Wedding Bell Blues by Raksha the Demon and Linda Hoyland
Rating PG
Disclaimer: The characters and places of the Lord of the Rings are the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien.
A/n Originally written for the TEITHO Alphabet Challenge.
Aragorn woke up with a bad headache. By the time he had dressed and bathed, he was feeling even more unwell. Could the day be off to a worse start, he wondered? Drinking Dorwinion with the Hobbits the night before had not been a good idea. Especially not accepting Merry's drinking challenge. Foolishness indeed to imagine that Merry would decide that a couple of glasses were quite enough! Gandalf had always warned him never to underestimate a Hobbit! How Aragorn wished he had heeded the Wizard's advice!
Instead, he was left with a truly splitting headache, which felt as if a Dwarf were striking a hammer inside his skull. Just as he thought his head would explode, Aragorn remembered that only a few hours remained until his bride's arrival. Kings were not meant to get drunk, especially not when awaiting their brides! Lamenting his plight would do him little good, however.
Many headache remedies existed that Master Elrond had told him about, most of them tasting extremely unpleasant. Nothing could be worse than this pounding headache, though.
Opening the window, Aragorn leaned out and took deep breaths of fresh air. Perhaps it was good for his lungs, but it did nothing for his headache.
"Quiet!" he yelled at a lad who was whistling cheerfully as he walked past.
Reason dictated that only swallowing some herbal concoction might help. "Salix" or willow bark was the most potent remedy he knew, but it was also the worst tasting, being as bitter as gall.
Taking a supply from the healer's pack he still kept with him, Aragorn called for the maid to bring hot water and brewed himself a tea. Until the remedy had time to work, Aragorn could only wait.
Walking out into the gardens, he espied Gandalf with Xerxes, the Easterlings' envoy.
Xerxes bowed and smiled cheerfully.
"You are far too cheerful for this hour of the morning on my wedding eve," Aragorn said grumpily, letting slip what had been a closely guarded secret known only to a few.
Zirak-Zigil..." the wizard intoned, then inhaled his pipe and blew out a very recognisable smoky image of a mountain.
"Actually, far easier to manage as a ring of smoke than as a battleground," Gandalf said. "Believe me my friend, I will never forget that long climb up the Endless Stair and the last fight in my tattered robes of grey."
"Doubtless, a memorable battle, but did you have such a headache as I am plagued with this morning?" asked Aragorn.
"Easily far worse, my dear boy," said Gandalf.
Faramir appeared, dressed in finery but looking as purposeful as a Ranger Captain surveying his troops before a battle
"Good that you are here, my lord," he exclaimed. "Hours only remain until before your bride arrives and there is much left to do. I think you should begin your preparations, sire"
"Just leave me in peace!" groaned Aragorn.
"Kings have their duties to perform, and one of those is to look is to look their best for their future queens," said Gandalf. "Legolas can braid your hair then Faramir will help you dress for the ceremony of greeting; so let us return to your chambers."
Maybe an hour later, inside the King's antechamber, Aragorn sat scowling while Legolas tugged and twisted his hair in every way imaginable.
"No more!" Aragorn cried.
"Only one more braid to plait," said Legolas. "Please stay still a little longer. Queen Arwen will be delighted with your Elvish appearance."
"Rest your hands, Legolas. Such treatment makes my headache worse. Though, I am to wed the fairest Elf in Middle-earth, my hair, and the rest of my parts, are still those of a Man."
"Ungrateful Man!" Legolas protested, but his twinkling eyes belied his words.
Various garments of linen, wool and silk were brought in on the arms of a nervous tailor and his servant.
"Why so many?" Aragorn grumbled, as his head seemed to swell with dull pain.
Xerxes appeared again, rather to Aragorn's surprise and produced a brightly wrapped parcel, which he presented to Aragorn.
"You must wear this gift, Great King," said the envoy proudly, bowing low and presenting a multi -coloured, undeniably beautiful, but also undeniably garish, cloak.
"Zounds, that is certainly a masterpiece of warp and woof!" Gimli, who had until now been watching the proceedings in silence, proclaimed.
"A gift it is from my Emperor," Xerxes explained. "Best wedding-cloak in the land for noble lord West-King bridegroom."
"Could it make my eyes hurt any worse?" Aragorn mumbled in Quenya.
"Don't refuse the cloak, though you could put off its use for another kingly bridegroom if you could find one," Gandalf replied in the same ancient tongue.
"Excellent," the current kingly bridegroom agreed. "Fair and nobly given, Lord Xerxes," he told the Easterling in Westron."Gladly would I wear the Emperor's gift, but the honour of my house and that of my fair bride demands that I save it for our firstborn son when he is born and then comes to the estate of marriage. His house will be even greater than mine, son that he will be to Arwen Evenstar, grand-daughter of Eärendil the Star-Bearer and heiress of Luthien Tinúviel."
"I am of your honour most satisfied," Xerxes answered and bowed again. "Joyful will my Emperor be that his gift has so high a place with you, Lord Great King Elfstone", the envoy continued.
King he might be, Aragorn reflected as Xerxes left the chamber with another bow; but he could be in serious trouble if Arwen did not approve of a son of theirs wearing the Easterling gift one day.
"Lovely but troublesome thing," Aragorn said. "Meanwhile, I want to go outside and clear my head."
"No, my lord!" Faramir objected.
"Only a moment," said Aragorn.
"Perhaps it might be better if we all left you to dress in peace," said Faramir. "Quiet is the best remedy for a headache."
Realising he must collect himself and be ready before his bride arrived, Aragorn swiftly changed into the festive garments, grimacing as he did so.
Soon Arwen would be here. The very thought made his spirits lift. Useless to preoccupy himself with a mere headache when all his dreams were about to be realised. Vows exchanged on the morrow would make Arwen his wife until the ending of the world. Wife and wedding, Aragorn thought with a sudden piercing dart of terror, and a renewed pounding in his brow. Xerxes had the essence of it; for I am not just any man marrying his beloved, but a king! Young and fairest in all the world she is, but also a lady of the highest lineage in Middle-earth. Zeal in the planning of this day and the next, from the comfits to be served after the feast to the richness of these robes and the choosing of my attendants, was not misplaced. Arwen should be wed with the pomp and panoply of a queen of Númenor.
But with all that pomp, came the price of dealing with Arwen's high ancestry. Celeborn had looked down his elven-pale nose at Aragorn from the first day he had entered Lórien. Daeradar to Arwen he was Celeborn, kin to Thingol and Nimloth as well as Galadriel's husband; and he had never let a mere Lord of the Dúnedain forget it. Elrond would surely gaze upon Aragorn with that particularly heart-breaking mixture of love and sorrow that would make him feel like a misbehaving child once more.
Forcing his pounding heart to slow, Aragorn walked forth from the Citadel where the Hobbits were waiting to join the procession.
Gimli chuckled as young girls leaned out from their windows and threw flowers that landed on Aragorn's head and under his striding feet.
"Happy is the bridegroom the sun shines upon," Frodo said, his face still pale despite his wistful smile.
"I am pleased enough that the sun shines at all," Aragorn answered, not mentioning that Arien's appearance was making him somewhat over-warm beneath his various linens and silks and that heavy crown. "Just yesterday, it rained from morning through the night."
"Kings may not command the weather, but the sun may choose to shine on the King's welcoming of the Evenstar," said Gandalf.
"Love is in the air today and you'll wed the Lady Arwen tomorrow in fine style," Sam chimed in.
"Maybe," answered Aragorn, who felt his stomach roil again and his head tighten. Never had he thought that the crown would feel so heavy and warm on his brow! Oh, just to be able to take it off as a Ranger could doff his hood!
"Press on, my friend," said Legolas with a laugh; "Queens wait not on laggard kings."
"Rather would I be a little late than fall headlong in my haste," said Aragorn. Tetchy he might be, but when was the last time that his elven friend had prepared for a king's wedding? Until he took Arwen in his arms as his wife, he could not feel at ease. Verily not until he held her, after all this time, all the tribulations that held them apart...Wave to the people, Aragorn reminded himself as a little girl darted forward and presented him with a scrubby bunch of dandelions. Xanthic rather than their usual bold yellow colour, a part of Aragorn's mind noted as he smiled down at the child.
"Yow!" Merry exclaimed as a strange, agonizing sound filled the air; causing Pippin and the other Citadel guards to grasp their swords.
"Zither string has snapped; be at ease, my lord and friends," Faramir said quickly.
Aragorn whirled around, nearly knocking Sam down and colliding with Gandalf in a whirl of entangled silver and white robes. But just as Faramir had already seen, an embarrassed minstrel was withdrawing from amongst the accompanying musicians to re-string his instrument.
"Calmly now," Faramir addressed the assembled guards and bards. "Do you need to stop a moment, my lord?" he asked Aragorn with cheerful voice and kind eyes. "Even a king should pause to smell the fresh air during his wedding celebrations, and take some refreshment as well."
Faramir's concern soothed Aragorn's disordered nerves, if only slightly. Grateful for his Steward's perception, he squared his shoulders and lifted his crowned head. Heavy though his burdens felt, Aragorn would at least manage to walk to meet his bride with the kingly valour for which he was named!
"I am well, my friend," Aragorn answered, as they passed through the gate that divided the Third Circle from the Second.
"Join me then, in a song," Faramir suggested. "Know you the tune of "Beren's Wedding March?"
Loud trumpet blasts answered Faramir's request and the old paean of Beren's long climb to the hill where he wed his Nightingale erupted from the throats of twenty minstrels, then the crowd, then the guards, and finally Faramir and Aragorn himself.
Moving briskly, they came at last to the last gate. Now was the time! Once they had all passed out from the wall, Aragorn looked forth upon the Pelennor.
Prince Imrahil rode up at the head of half his company of Swan Knights. Smartly turned out in the blue and silver of Dol Amroth, he smiled merrily at his King. "The bridal party approaches, my lord!"
Under the cooler sun of the late afternoon, Aragorn watched, heart pounding, as a cloud of dust heralded the coming of many horses. Viewing first the proud steeds of Dol Amroth bearing an honour guard of Swan Knights, he craned his neck to see more. Where was his Lady, his Love?
Xylophones rattled and flutes trilled out a Sindarin wedding greeting that was old, according to Glorfindel, before Imladris was built. Years seemed to pass in the moments between Aragorn's hearing the bold music and the sight of the Elven bards bearing the ancient instruments. Zithers, and pipes and trumpets of Gondor answered the Elves' music. And the Elves of Imladris and Lothlórien rode slowly toward the opened gate, Elladan and Elrohir in the fore guard.
Beams of sunlight poured down to gild the Elven-steeds and their fair riders. Celeborn and Galadriel smiled down upon a pleasantly surprised Aragorn. Dismounting, they beckoned to their kin. Elrond swung easily down from his grey stallion, his face showing naught but joy as he looked upon his foster-son.
Fairer than the stars, fairer than any sight Aragorn had ever seen, was Arwen, clad in a gown of green and silver, her eyes outshining the gems that adorned her hair. Gracefully, she alighted from her palfrey's back into her father's hands and came forth to Aragorn. His aches and anxieties subsided and his heart swelled with longing. I am here, he called to her in thought, come now to me.
Joy filled Aragorn as he took Arwen's hand in his and he felt the gentle, real caress of her fingers around his own. King I am in full, now that my Queen is here beside me!
And Aragorn the King Elessar wedded Arwen Undómiel in the City of the Kings upon the day of Midsummer, and the tale of their long waiting and labours was come to fulfilment. - The Return of the King – Tolkien.
Author's Note from Raksha: Frodo's line "Happy is the bridegroom the sun shines upon" is paraphrased (and slightly changed) from a line in the novel "Hornblower and the Hotspur."
Author's Note from Linda; I consider this story AU as in the book, the Hobbits seem to be unaware of Aragorn's impending marriage until Arwen actually arrives. This is a standalone story and not part of my usual interconnected series. I think only a select view knew of Arwen's impending arrival. I also think it highly unlikely Aragorn would over indulge the night before his bride arrived (unless of course nerves got the better of him.) This story was written for the "Teitho" Alphabet challenge, which I found almost impossible. The bulk of the story was skilfully written by Raksha.
I thought it would be seasonal to publish it now around the time of the wedding.
Arwen's arrival as imagined within my sub universe is described in "Somewhat Grim to look upon" from Pippin's point of view and the wedding from Aragorn's point of view in "I Do".
Chapter 119 - Wealth and Want
Wealth and Want – Linda Hoyland
"Wealth and want equally harden the human heart." - Theodore Parker
Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again. – The Bible – Luke 6.38
Rating G
The named characters belong to Tolkien and his heirs. Only the OCs are mine.
With thanks to Deandra.
Written for the Teitho "Money" challenge where it was placed second.
Eldarion loved to visit the marketplace, especially when his father was able to take him. He liked going with his mother, too, but she spent too long looking at the stalls that sold threads and fabrics, both of which Eldarion considered extremely boring. Wandering around the interesting stalls with his father was almost as much fun as going out in the wilds and being a Ranger; almost, but not quite. Still, it was great fun to see all the strange and wonderful things that the merchants had on sale, and to watch all the comings and goings as folk from all over Gondor and beyond came to buy and sell.
Eldarion was especially fascinated today by a stall that sold intricate model ships. He had liked ships ever since Lord Imrahil had taken him, his mother and father, Uncle Faramir and Aunt Éowyn sailing around the bay at Dol Amroth a few weeks ago, just before summer had turned to autumn. The merchant had assured him that the model ships would float and Eldarion wanted one more than anything else in Middle-earth.
"How much are they?" the boy asked.
"Ten coins, young sir," said the merchant.
Eldarion took out his purse and counted. He only had seven. He showed them to the merchant.
"You do not have sufficient coin, young sir," the man said. "I am sorry."
"You will have sufficient next week after you receive your allowance, ion nîn," said Aragorn, coming forward.
"My lord!" cried the merchant. "I did not realise it was the young Prince. Of course, he can have the model ship free of charge. My sincere apologies."
"Thank you," said Aragorn. "I fear we must decline your generous offer. You have a living to earn. Maybe, though, you could put the ship aside until next week?"
"Ada!" groaned Eldarion.
"One day you will be King, ion nîn," said Aragorn. "It is important that you learn about money and how life is for most of your future subjects who have to save up to buy things they would like. When you are older, too, you will realise that waiting and saving up for something special, makes it all the more precious when you finally get it."
Eldarion still looked unconvinced. His father led him away from the stall and towards another that sold assorted comfits. He purchased a bag for them to share between them.
"Did you have to wait for things you wanted when you were a boy, Ada?" asked Eldarion.
"No," said Aragorn.
"Then it's not fair I have to wait!"
"I had every luxury I could desire as a boy," said Aragorn. "In fact, I was rather spoilt. It made it very hard for me when I went out into the wilds and became a Ranger. Everything in the Ranger villages was in short supply and often I lacked sufficient coin even to take refreshment at an inn on my travels. I am glad now, though, for those times of hardship, as I can understand how my people suffer and try to make things easier for them."
Eldarion thoughtfully chewed a sugarplum. "I think I understand," he said. "Can we come back, though, when I will have saved up enough to buy the ship?"
"I have a free afternoon next week," said Aragorn. "We can return then to the market. Now we should be returning home. I promised Naneth we would not be late."
As the two left the marketplace, they passed an old man wearing shabby worn clothes who was arguing over the price of a loaf of bread at a baker's stall. Aragorn pressed several coins into his gnarled hand and walked swiftly away. Eldarion struggled to keep up on his shorter legs. "Please, Ada, do not go so fast!" the child pleaded. "Who was that old man?"
"I do not know," said Aragorn. "I intend to make enquiries. We should always try to help those less fortunate than ourselves, though."
"I don't understand," said Eldarion. "You gave more coins to that old man than I needed to buy the ship I wanted."
"You will have a good meal waiting for you when we get home," said Aragorn. "Then you will sit by a warm fire and play with your many toys before you fall asleep in a soft bed. I doubt that old man had any of those things."
"I don't always like what I have to eat," Eldarion grumbled. "And I think it would be fun to sleep outside more often than when you and Uncle Faramir take me camping!"
"You would soon appreciate how fortunate you were if you could not take the luxuries you enjoy for granted," said the King. "You have a great deal to learn, ion nîn."
Eldarion would have argued more, but seeing his father's serious expression, decided it was better to remain silent.
0000
The next few days passed with agonising slowness for Eldarion. It seemed that the day on which he received his allowance would never arrive. Then when it did and he finally had sufficient coins to buy the model ship, he still had to wait another two days before his father had a free afternoon to take him to the marketplace.
The little boy spent his every waking hour thinking about the model ship. His mother had promised to make it some special sails decorated with the White Tree and his father had promised to take him to sail it in a stream on the Pelennor. Eldarion constantly counted his coins and imagined the moment when he could hand them to the merchant.
At last, the great day arrived. Eldarion was so excited that he could hardly eat his noonday meal until his nanny sternly admonished him that if he did not eat, she would suggest that the King forbid the outing as it was bad for the health to go to the market on an empty stomach! Eldarion ate, hardly tasting the beautifully cooked food that the cook had prepared for him and scarcely noting that it was his favourite apple pudding for dessert.
Aragorn and Eldarion set out to the marketplace, accompanied by two guards who walked a few discreet paces behind. They had almost reached the stall where the model ship was displayed when one of the nobles, Lord Turgon appeared. He bowed low to the King. "May I have a word, please, my lord," he said. "Duties at home prevent me from attending the next meeting of the Council and I am concerned about how the new taxes on wool might affect my flocks."
"Very well." Aragorn looked somewhat irritated. "Could you not arrange a meeting in a more suitable place, though, Lord Turgon?"
"I had intended to, sire, but my wife's health means we must urgently leave the City."
Aragorn turned to Eldarion. "This might take some time, ion nîn. Why not go on ahead with one of the guards? I will join you as soon as I can."
Eldarion dragged his feet as the young guard led the way to the stall selling model ships. He badly wanted his ship but he wanted Ada to be there when he bought it. It would not be the same buying it with just a guard for company.
He stopped in front of a stall selling material, not the silly silks and linens that his mother liked to look at, but thick, warm cloth.
"Ada says Rangers' cloaks are made out of this stuff," Eldarion informed the guard, eager to show off his knowledge. He fingered the ten shiny coins in his purse as he spoke.
The young man smiled. "Soldiers cloaks are made of wool too. It is lovely and warm. We often use our cloaks to double as blankets."
Just then, a stick-thin young woman, wearing a threadbare shawl approached the stall. In her arms, she clutched a sickly looking baby, while a skinny boy of about Eldarion's age trailed at her side. "How much does enough fabric to make a cloak cost?" she asked the stallholder.
"Eleven coins, mistress," said the stallholder.
"Alas, I only have one," said the woman. "Do you have any damaged material I could have cheaper? My little ones and I are so cold."
The stallholder shook his head. "I sell only the best woollen cloth, mistress."
The young woman turned away sadly. Eldarion's fingers ran over the ten coins in his purse again. The lady and her children looked very cold, and hungry, too. He was wearing nice warm clothes and his nanny had promised him his favourite foods for supper. He called out to the woman, "Mistress, wait!" He thrust his shiny coins into the stallholder's hand and said. "Some warm material for the lady, please."
"Thank you, young master. May the Valar protect you!" The woman looked close to tears.
Eldarion hurried away, averting his eyes from the stall where the model ship was displayed. He almost bumped into his father who was striding towards him.
"I am sorry I kept you waiting, ion nîn," said Aragorn. "Are you ready to buy your ship?"
"I've changed my mind. Ada, I'd like to go home now." Eldarion sounded close to tears.
"Whatever is the matter, ion nîn?"
"Nothing, I just don't want the ship any more. You told me I had lots of things to play with."
Aragorn raised his eyebrows and was about to press the matter further when the young guard said something to him so quietly that Eldarion could not hear. The guard marched swiftly away at the King's bidding. Without another word, Aragorn took Eldarion's hand and led him home.
After supper, Eldarion's nanny helped him prepare for bed. Usually his mother or father, or both of them, would come to the nursery to tell him a bedtime story, but tonight they were late. Rather to his surprise, his nanny let him stay up and read his favourite book by lamplight.
Suddenly, his father appeared. The nanny curtsied and left the room.
"Why did you lie to me earlier, ion nîn?" Aragorn asked Eldarion gravely. "One day you will be King. A king must be a good man who does not tell lies. I know you still want the model ship."
"The lady looked so cold, Ada!" Eldarion blurted out. "How did you know?"
"The guard told me everything," said Aragorn. "Why did you not tell me about her? You should know I desire no one to be cold or hungry in my realm and I have passed laws to help the poor."
"I don't know," said Eldarion, staring at his feet. "You weren't there and I wanted to help. I was thinking about what you said about me having plenty of toys and lots to eat."
"I am proud of you for that, ion nîn," said Aragorn, kissing the boy affectionately. "You have a generous heart."
"I hope the lady and her children will be warm tonight," said Eldarion.
"Indeed they will," the King replied. "The guard discovered where she lived and I have ordered food, blankets, and firewood to be delivered to her lodging. Your mother will arrange for mending to be sent to her so she can earn a decent living for herself and her little ones."
"Why is she so poor?" asked Eldarion.
"Her husband was killed in an accident," Aragorn explained. "She came to Minas Tirith from the country hoping to find work, but was unable to do so."
"Her little boy can have some of my old clothes and toys," Eldarion offered.
"That is a generous offer. We will see what we can find tomorrow," said the King. "Now it is way past your bedtime." He looked up at the doorway where Arwen had appeared. "Naneth has come to tuck you in for the night."
When Eldarion was left alone and the lamps extinguished, all save one that burned very low, giving off a comforting glow in the darkness, he was both happy and sad. Happy that the poor lady would no longer be cold and hungry, but sad that we would never own the beautiful model ship.
000
"Wake up, Master Eldarion!"
Eldarion blinked as the bright sunlight streamed into his bedroom as his nanny pulled back the curtains. He looked across at the broad windowsill and could hardly believe his eyes for there stood the model ship of his dreams.
"Where did that come from?" he gasped.
"The King put it there last night after you fell asleep, Master Eldarion. He wanted you to have a surprise when you woke up. Now hurry up, you need to get up and eat your breakfast before your tutor comes."
Eldarion bounced out of bed, a huge smile on his face. Today, not even the prospect of lessons could dampen his spirits.
Chapter 120 - Burning the Midnight Oil
Author: Linda Hoyland
Title: Burning the Midnight Oil
Rating: G
Theme: Wisdom
Elements: No man can be a good ruler unless he has first been ruled.
Author's Notes:
Summary: Faramir is concerned that Aragorn is working too hard.
Word Count: 884
Faramir put down his pen and glanced across the room to where the King was still working. "I have done all I can for tonight," he said. "I think I will retire to bed now."
Aragorn sighed. "There are still several sections of this treaty I need to work on."
"You can continue it in the morning," said the Steward. "We still have five days before the Grand Potentate arrives."
"The treaty has to be checked by the experts in law and copied out several times by the scribes before he does," said Aragorn. "I must finish it tonight. You should go and rest, though, you look exhausted."
"So do you, mellon nîn," said the Steward. He studied Aragorn's familiar features in the candlelight. The King looked so weary that he appeared old and haggard instead of his usually vigorous self.
"Your lady will be waiting for you," said Faramir. He got up from his desk and locked the parchment he was working on into a drawer.
"Arwen understands I need to work on this," said Aragorn. "Goodnight, Faramir, May Elbereth bless your slumbers!"
Faramir said no more but quietly left the room. Instead of going to his own chambers, though, he turned down the corridor that led to the King and Queen's apartments and tapped on the door.
"Come in," the Queen's voice that answered. She had obviously sent the servants to bed. "Oh, it is you, Faramir. Come sit down and take a glass of wine." Her welcome was cordial, but her eyes betrayed her disappointment that the Steward stood before her and not her husband. Her hair was unbound and she was clad in a loose robe and looked as if she were ready for bed. She was not alone as an elderly lady in waiting was snoozing on a chair in the corner of the room.
Faramir accepted the wine, but instead of drinking, he fingered the glass in his hand.
"I thought you were Estel for a moment," said Arwen.
"I am concerned about him," said Faramir. "He is exhausted, but he insists on sitting up to finish the treaty he is working on. He has been up since dawn and it is gone midnight now."
"Estel spent all morning in a meeting and only paused to snatch a noonday meal before rushing off to the Houses of Healing as the healers sent for him to help a badly wounded man," said Arwen. "Healing always drains him. He is the strongest of living men, but even he has his limits. I tried to persuade him not to return to work after the daymeal."
"We felt we needed to work on the treaty after the messenger brought tidings from Khand late today," said Faramir. "I am dealing with the part concerning trade and still have a good deal of work, but I knew if I worked any longer tonight I would write about tortoises rather than tariffs! I tried to get Aragorn to rest for the night too, but he would not listen," said Faramir. He took a sip of his wine and tried to stifle a yawn. "I fear he will fall asleep at his desk. I came to you as I know he will heed your words, my lady."
Arwen smiled at the Steward. "You know Estel all too well, my friend. Finish your drink and then we will see if we can persuade my weary husband to go to bed."
"It will not be easy I fear, my lady. He can be very stubborn." He drained his glass and placed it on the table. The lady in waiting began to snore softly.
Arwen laughed, but expression was determined. "I know Faramir, I know."
Queen and Steward marched down the corridors together to Aragorn's study. The King did not appear to have written anything since Faramir had left him. Faramir hovered on the threshold while Arwen entered the room.
Arwen coughed loudly. Aragorn did not move. "Estel?" she called, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.
Aragorn sat up with a start. "Yes, my love?"
"Come, Estel. It is time for bed."
"I will come as soon as I have finished this treaty, my love."
"You were half asleep. You should come and lie down now."
"The treaty will be finished in an hour," Aragorn protested.
"We have an important meeting in the morning," said Faramir coming forward. "You need a good night's sleep."
"Do I have to send you to bed as I do Eldarion?" threatened an exasperated Arwen.
Aragorn turned to face his wife and his Steward. "Can the King not choose whether or not to sleep?" he asked them in mock irritation. He tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.
"No man can be a good ruler unless he has first been ruled," said the Queen firmly.
"A very good point to which I concede defeat," said the King. He picked up the treaty and locked it in the drawer of his desk. "I am a fortunate man to have both a wise wife and a wise Steward."
Arwen exchanged a triumphant glance with Faramir. He blew out the candles before Aragorn could change his mind.
"Goodnight, my friend," said Aragorn as Arwen led him towards the royal bedchamber. "May the stars ever shine upon you!"
A/n Wishing all my friends in the USA a very Happy July 4th.
Chapter 121 - Circles of the City
Circles of the City – Linda Hoyland
Rating PG13
Aragorn and Faramir seek to help a mysterious woman
All familiar characters belong to Tolkien. Only the OCs are mine.
Aragorn was just leaving his apartments when he nearly bumped into Faramir, who was also making his way outside.
“I was just going to see if any blossoms were sprouting on the White Tree yet,” said the Steward. “I felt like some fresh air.”
“I am on my way to the Houses of Healing,” said Aragorn. “The warden is at a loss with a difficult case and sent a message asking if I could assist. It seems they have a very agitated patient with a young child and hoped if I were free this afternoon I might be able to use my Elvish abilities to help calm her. She refuses draughts of either valerian or poppy.”
“I will come with you,” said Faramir. “Some exercise would do me good. I can wait in the gardens while you tend your patient.”
“I will be glad of your company,” said Aragorn. “Truth to tell, I welcome some distraction. Arwen is attending a meeting all afternoon, and though I have work to do, I feel I need to stretch my legs.”
“I finished the documents I was working on sooner than I expected,” said Faramir. “It helps a great deal now that we have simplified the levies on imported wool.”
The two men fell into step together. They paused in front of the White Tree.
“Look!” cried Faramir, “the first buds are opening. The tree will soon be covered in blossoms.”
“Let us hope that is a good omen,” said Aragorn, reaching out his hand to gently caress the tree trunk.
It was always quiet in the seventh circle and the two men’s footsteps echoed on the stones beneath their feet. At a discreet distance behind, their guards followed.
They walked swiftly and soon reached the sixth circle. On their way to the Houses of Healing, they passed many an imposing mansion. All the great lords of Gondor had their homes or town houses on this city level. Here, too, dwelt the Ambassadors from many foreign realms, all vying to have the most imposing residence. No location in Gondor was considered a more prestigious place to live.
The Houses of Healing were set apart in spacious gardens to give the sick peace and quiet away from the hustle and bustle of the City. “I will take a walk in the gardens,” said Faramir as soon as they reached the Houses.
“I will try not to be too long,” said Aragorn.
“Do not hurry on my account,” said the Steward. “These gardens bring back happy memories of the days I was courting Éowyn.”
Aragorn smiled at the younger man and entered the houses to be met by the warden and Mistress Uzza, a woman who had initially trained as a wise woman in her native Harad and had come to Gondor seeing vengeance after the Ring War. Instead, she had been persuaded by Aragorn to study the western arts of healing.
“It is good of you to come, sire, but I fear you are too late!” exclaimed the warden. “She is gone!”
“The poor woman has died?” asked Aragorn.
The warden shook his head. “As far as I know she still breathes, but she has disappeared with her child,” he said. He glared at Uzza. “No one could understand a word she was saying so I put her in Uzza’s sole charge, in the hope that she could communicate with her. I would usually entrust such patients to Dame Ivorwen, but she is not here today.”
“The woman could not be from Harad, though,” said Uzza. “I felt certain she was, but she did not respond when I spoke to her. She just became more terrified when I tried to reassure her and speak to her in the manner of my people. She had a bad cut on her arm, which she would not let me examine, nor would she accept any pain relief. I had to leave the room for a moment and when I returned the woman had disappeared, together with her little girl.”
The warden glared at his colleague. “You should not have left her alone.”
“You told me to tend her, not guard her!” Uzza retorted her accent becoming more pronounced. “She was guest, not prisoner!”
“Ever since you left a perfectly decent husband your attention has been on your son, not on your work,” the warden scolded.
“I told him, I am darwisa not slave! I should have followed the way of our people, but I needed heir!” snapped Uzza. She was a tall imposing woman and stood glaring at him, dark eyes flashing and arms akimbo. “I not with son, son cannot honour ancestors if always tied to mother’s skirts! I needed to ask advice what I should do for patient who seemed so scared of me!”
Aragorn held up his hand for silence. Both the Warden and Uzza were excellent healers, but they rarely saw eye to eye. “Peace, both of you,” he said sternly. “Your bickering will not help find this unfortunate woman and her little one. Now think carefully, can you tell me anything at all about her?”
“Her skin was a similar hue to Mistress Uzza’s as was her hair,” said the warden. “She is of small statue, though.”
“Her clothes, which were loose robes such as my folk favour, were torn and blood stained,” said Uzza. “She was far too thin.”
“Do you think she was mentally disturbed?” asked Aragorn.
“I do not know,” said the warden. “Maybe.”
Uzza shook her head. “I think not. She screamed because she felt great fear.”
“Did you find any injuries as well as the cut on her arm?”
The warden looked questioningly at his colleague.
“Her wrists were red and sore,” said Uzza. “I was not able to examine her further, nor the child, though she looked healthy enough.”
“How old was the little girl?” asked Aragorn.
“I would surmise around two years old,” said the warden.
Feeling he had learned all he could, Aragorn bade farewell to the healers and went in search of Faramir. He found his Steward sitting on a bench in the gardens, admiring the apple blossom.
Faramir got to his feet. “I did not expect you back so soon,” he said.
Aragorn explained to Faramir what had happened
“Alas, poor frightened woman! Are you going to ask the Citadel Guards to look out for her?”
“That would be the usual thing to do, but the woman has done nothing wrong. Guards would only panic her more. I thought, maybe we could find her. She cannot have gone far, especially with a small child.”
“A good idea,” said Faramir. “We can put our old tracking skills to good use.”
“I fear the good warden’s cleaners will have already removed any clues,” said Aragorn. “Someone will surely have seen the woman, though. She was dishevelled and dirty, and thus would look very out of place here in the sixth circle. The lords and ambassadors even vie to have the best dressed serving maids.”
“We should ride down to the lower circles then and question the guards at each gate,” said Faramir.
“We should call first at Ambassador Tahir’s residence,” said Aragorn. “If the woman does indeed hail from Harad, maybe she sought help there.”
The Ambassador’s imposing mansion was only a short walk from the Houses of Healing. When the King knocked on the door, a smartly dressed manservant appeared and bowed low. Aragorn explained his errand.
The manservant shook his head. “She has not come here, esteemed lord King, or we would try to help her. Neither does she dwell here. When the Ambassador’s servants are unwell, his personal physicians attend them, such is our custom. The honoured Ambassador, long may he live, would never permit his servants to go around injured and untended.”
Aragorn thanked him and walked back to where Faramir was standing.
“If the woman indeed came from Harad, surely she would have conversed with Mistress Uzza?” said Faramir.
“Maybe she was too afraid and does not desire anyone to know her origins,” said Aragorn. “There is still much darkness in those lands. On the other hand, she might come from some other land where the stars are strange. We must try to find her before she comes to any harm.”
The two men made their way towards the main stables where the horses belonging to the King and the Steward’s households were housed, as well as those of the nobility and diplomats. The horses used by soldiers and officials were stabled there too. After the war, the stables had been refurbished and expanded, using the latest designs for horse comfort as developed by the Rohirrim.
Roheryn neighed joyfully as Aragorn approached his stall and nuzzled hopefully expecting a carrot. Aragorn apologised to the faithful horse for his oversight in not bringing one while the stable hand brought Roheryn’s tack. Aragorn liked to saddle his own mount and Faramir did likewise.
The two men rode towards the gate, all the while keeping a sharp look out for the woman and her child, but there was no sign of them. They questioned the guard at the gate, but he said that so many folk went back and forth to the Houses of Healing that he could not recall any woman and child in particular since most of them looked distressed or were injured when in need of a healer.
“This woman left the Houses still in distress and bleeding from a wound on her arm,” Aragorn pressed.
The guard shook his head. “Sorry, sire, but a large group of women went through the gate together a little while ago when the cleaners from the Houses finished their work. I do keep my eyes skinned, I do, sire, but it is for men bearing weapons.”
Aragorn and Faramir rode on through the gate down into the fifth circle. There were more houses here, fine stone mansions occupied by the city’s prosperous merchants and craftsmen. A smart looking tavern, “The Silver Star”, catered for the folk who dwelled nearby. King and Steward searched the main street and looked down the alleyways between the houses, but the woman was nowhere in sight.
Eventually, Aragorn reined in Roheryn alongside an elegantly dressed woman who was walking along the street with a plainly dressed companion, who appeared to be her maid. “Have you seen a dark skinned, dishevelled young woman, who appears to be injured, together with a little girl, mistress?” he asked.
Obviously unaware to whom she was speaking to, the woman glared. “Indeed not! This is a respectable area. We don’t have foreign beggars here. They know they won’t get anything. I don’t know what Minas Tirith is coming to with all these foreigners everywhere!”
“The folk from other lands have brought a good deal of wealth and prosperity to the City,” said Faramir, halting his horse alongside Aragorn’s.
“My husband will take their coin if it’s good,” said the woman. “He’s a goldsmith and a good one at that.”
“It is the King’s wish that hospitality and courtesy be shown to all,” said Aragorn. He urged Roheryn forward and trotted away leaving the woman glaring after him.
They rode on towards the gate and again questioned the guard. This time he did recall seeing a dark skinned woman and a child, but he had waved them through the gate without paying much heed to them.
Aragorn thanked the man and the two rode down to the fourth circle. This was a much livelier, busier place than the three upper circles with many houses and inns. The market was held here and many merchants had permanent booths. Tradesmen and soldiers dwelt here in the spacious houses. Since the war, many had planted small gardens or cultivated pots of colourful blooms.
Aragorn and Faramir tethered their horses to a post in the market square and questioned the shopkeepers as to the whereabouts of the woman and her child. No one had seen her until they came to a baker’s booth.
“There was a woman who could not speak our language, who was here earlier,” he said. “She was gesturing towards the loaves, but appeared to have no money to buy one. I felt sorry for the child and gave her a stale loaf that I had planned to throw away.”
“Did you see where she went?” asked the King.
“Down in the direction of the next circle,” said the baker.
Aragorn thanked him and the King and Steward remounted their horses and made their way towards the next gate.
The guard at the gate recalled seeing the woman and the child hurrying down towards the next circle. He remembered her as she was bloodstained and the child was crying pitifully. Aragorn and Faramir hurried through the gate hoping they could at last catch up with her.
This was easier said than done, as the lower circles of the city were far more crowded and sprawling than the upper levels. The houses were smaller and connected by an intricate series of alleyways that twisted and turned. People bustled to and fro. The merchants traded their wares to the stallholders here and folk haggled in every tongue known in Middle-earth under a roofed enclosure open to the elements at the sides . There were more stables in this circle too, to house the working horses that pulled carriages, and even an enclosure for camels, which was used by the merchants from Harad who travelled in camel caravans across the desert with their wares.
Aragorn and Faramir swiftly rode through the streets, followed by their long- suffering guards, past the orphanage and the soldiers’ refuge and the many taverns, which were almost empty at this hour of the day. They asked passers- by if they had seen the woman and her child, but everyone seemed too engrossed in their own affairs to pay much heed to anyone else.
“We are going round in circles here,” Faramir said at last, reining in his horse. “Let us speak to the guard at the gate.”
“We are looking for a dark skinned woman with a small child who appears distressed,” said Aragorn.
“There have been folk passing back and forth all day, my lords,” said the man.
“She has an injured arm,” said Faramir.
The guard scratched his head. “Now you mention that, I did see an injured woman less than an hour ago. I told her she should be going up to the healers in the sixth level, not down to the second, but I doubt she understood a word I was saying. She seemed in a great hurry, but then most folk are nowadays, not like when I was young when-”
Aragorn quickly thanked him, before he could begin what promised to be lengthy reminiscences. King and Steward passed through the gate into the second circle. This was one of the most densely populated parts of the city, inhabited mostly by the poorer folk. Many had moved here from the first circle during the war when their homes had been destroyed in the siege and remained here, sometimes with two families sharing one of the small stone houses. Folk had been loth to return to the first circle, as they no longer felt secure there, despite the strong new walls and gate that had been erected after the war.
Between the houses were many taverns, as well as a variety of small shops.
Aragorn looked around him and for a moment enjoyed seeing that his people bustling through the streets looked contented and well fed, while the streets and houses were clean and well paved. He forced his thoughts back to his current quest.
King and Steward dismounted, taking Aragorn’s healing supplies. They asked in several taverns if anyone had seen the woman and child. The only reply was a shaking of heads and murmured apologies.
“I doubt she would stay in this circle,” said Faramir. “Unless she collapsed from her injuries, she would most likely make her way to the first circle. A woman from Harad would stand out amongst all the folk here.”
“If she does hail from Harad,” said Aragorn. “We will speak to the guard at the gate.”
The guard was not very helpful, as he could not recall whether he had seen the woman and her child or not, as so many folk had passed through the gate that day.
“We will search the first circle for her,” said Aragorn. “If she is not there, she has left the City and all we can do is ask the soldiers to keep an eye out for her.”
“I do not like to think of an injured woman out in the wilds with a child,” said Faramir.
“Neither do I, but we must hope that we can find her in the first circle.”
“You should not go to the first circle without more guards, sire, “ one of Aragorn’s bodyguards protested. “Begging your pardon, sire, but there are all manner of undesirable folk living there!”
“I was dealing with all manner of folk while you were still drinking your mother’s milk, lad,” said Aragorn. He directed his horse towards the gate, closely followed by Faramir. The reluctant guards followed.
The first level was a crowded colourful place. Languages from all corners of Middle-earth were heard in its labyrinth of alleyways.
The first circle had been badly damaged during the Ring War and many houses had been destroyed. Aragorn had done his best to rebuild, but funds had been limited just after the war, and the first priority and been to replace the great gate and the city walls. Any dangerous buildings had been demolished and most of the original inhabitants who had survived, never returned. Instead, the very poor had seized their chance and constructed homes from the abundance of rubble.
Other parts of the first circle were occupied by immigrants from the South and East, who, once they had learned that the King of the West was no monster, had come to seek their fortunes. Some came from Khand and Rhûn, but the majority were from Harad. They had their own taverns, and small shops that sold many strange items, some of which even Aragorn had no idea of their purpose.
Aragorn decided to search the Haradrim quarter for any sign of the injured woman and her child. The streets here were too narrow and crowded to comfortably accommodate horses unless they rode at a snail’s pace, so he and Faramir dismounted, leaving their horses with one of the guards. The other followed them reluctantly as they entered a tavern called “The Coiled Serpent”, which marked it out as a haunt of the Haradrim.
“I well recall this tavern as I came here looking for a darwisa when you were poisoned,” said Faramir. “It looks very different in daylight.”
“You did not need to come all this way,” said Aragorn. “Mistress Uzza at the Houses of Healing is a darwisa and an expert in poisons!”
“Mistress Uzza a darwisa? I suppose no one thought to consult her. I thought she came to the West to study our healing methods.”
“Uzza has an interesting story. I will tell you it when there is more time.”
It was too early in the day for many to be drinking in “the Coiled Serpent”, but several old men sat around a table, watching two younger men who were playing chess and wagering on the outcome.
“Have you seen an injured woman and her child, good sirs?” asked Aragorn in the tongue of Harad.
“No decent woman enters a tavern,” said one.
“Ask the juggler,” said another. “He sees everything.”
“Where might we find him?” asked Aragorn.
The old man clicked his tongue impatiently. “You tarks know nothing!”
The Guard’s hand went to his sword. Aragorn stopped him with a gesture.
“True enough,” said Aragorn mildly, yet with an air of command in his voice. “That is why I am asking one who does know.”
“The juggler plies his trade outside the shop that sells sweetmeats,” said the old man. “It is down the next alleyway.”
Aragorn thanked him and hurried outside.
“You should return to the Citadel, sire,” said the guard. “These foreign savages cannot be trusted.”
“I am in no danger unless they see me as a threat,” said Aragorn. “Why should they harm men of Gondor when we have a treaty with their king?”
“But they insult you by calling you a tark,” said the guard indignantly.
“I imagine they use the term almost without thinking much as you use the term savage,” said Aragorn. “I would have Gondor welcome all who come with peaceful intentions to help rebuild and repopulate our land.”
The guard fell silent.
A crowd was gathering, as it was almost sunset when by the King’s degree, any unsold perishable food, such as bread had to be distributed to the poor, most of whom lived in the first circle. Aragorn and Faramir pushed their way through the throng and made their way down a narrow alleyway. At the bottom was a small shop with a courtyard outside. A man, wearing only trousers and a leather jerkin, was skilfully juggling with an assortment of coloured balls. At present, only a couple of bored looking dark skinned children were watching him, but it seemed he was popular as a cup at his feet was filled with coins.
Aragorn cleared his throat loudly then called to the man, “A word if you please.”
The juggler ignored him until he had caught all his balls. He then turned to the King scowling. “You tarks have no appreciation of skill, always telling me to move on. How’s a man to make a living?”
“I have no objection to your juggling,” said Aragorn, throwing a coin in the cup. “I congratulate you on your skill. You would be welcome to entertain the guests at a royal feast. I simply wanted to ask if you had seen an injured woman and her child this day.”
“Royal feast indeed! That would be the day!” the juggler snorted. “An injured woman would go to the darwisa, Hayat, who lives yonder.” He nodded towards a tiny shop at the other end of the alley then resumed his juggling.
Aragorn and Faramir didn’t stop to reply. They hurried towards the shop. A sign outside in the language of Harad offered love potions, potions to increase desire and potions to ensure sons. None of the wares promised gave Aragorn any confidence in the woman’s ability to heal the injured.
Gesturing the bodyguard to wait outside, he pushed open the hanging that served as a doorway and entered the darkness within. The place reeked of herbs and spices, not all of which Aragorn was familiar with. A wizened old crone with nut-brown skin, dressed in a faded scarlet robe emerged out of the shadows to greet them. “How may I help you, Men of the West?” she asked. “I have powerful potions to help you satisfy your women.”
“No thank you, mistress,” Faramir said hurriedly.
“We are seeking an injured woman and her child,” said Aragorn. “We mean her no harm, we desire to help her.”
Hayat jerked her head towards a room at the back. “In there,” she said. “Take her, I have no room for patients to stay here, especially those with no coin. They are disturbing my paying customers”
Aragorn and Faramir hastened to the back room. On a dirty pallet in a corner lay a young woman, either unconscious or asleep. Her robe was splattered with blood and a grubby bandage was wrapped around her arm. Beside her crouched a little girl of about two who whimpered and sucked her thumb.
Aragorn dropped on his knees beside her. “Mistress, I am a healer. I am here to help you,” he said gently in the tongue of Harad.
The woman’s eyes opened. They were wild with terror. She made to get up, but fell back on the pallet exhausted.
“There is nothing to fear,” Aragorn said, taking her hand.
“Do not take my child!” the woman screamed. “I’ll kill you if you try to take her, tark!”
“No one wants to take your child,” Aragorn said firmly. “What is your name, mistress?” he glanced towards Faramir. The Steward went back into the shop and asked the old woman for some hot water.
“Lunah,” the woman replied. She was shaking with fear.
Aragorn remained kneeling beside her in silence until the old woman, followed by Faramir came in with a bowl of steaming water.
“That will be a coin,” said the crone. “I’m a darwisa not a maid to fetch and carry.”
“Take your money,” said Faramir giving her the coin she demanded from his purse. He followed her back out into the shop, leaving Aragorn alone with his patient. The King took two athelas leaves from his healer’s supplies and cast them into the water. The stench of stale herbs was replaced by a living freshness. “Breathe deeply,” Aragorn instructed his patient.
“Did Qutaybah send you?” asked Lunah after a few moments. She gazed at him anxiously.
Aragorn shook his head. “I know no Qutaybah. The healers from the Houses sent me.”
“The woman there was of my people and of Qutaybah’s tribe. She tried to drug me.”
“I am certain Mistress Uzza does not know him either,” said Aragorn. “She desired only to tend your injuries. Who is he?”
Some of the fear left Lunah’s eyes. Whether it was Aragorn’s words or the athelas, he could not say. “My master,” she said. “I am his slave. He brought me as his comfort woman with his caravan.”
“There are no slaves or comfort women in Gondor,” said Aragorn. “Qutaybah has no power over you here. Was it he who hurt you?”
Lunah nodded. “He said that now Murjanah was almost weaned he would sell her. I begged him not to and then I became angry and lashed out. He drew his dagger and we struggled. He cut my arm. I managed to stab his leg and flee. I had no coin and a passer-by told me to go to your Houses of Healing, but I was afraid when the woman introduced herself. She is of of Qutaybah’s tribe.”
“She only wanted to help you,” said Aragorn. “Now will you permit me to tend your arm, then I will take you back to the Houses of Healing.”
She nodded again. Very gently, Aragorn unwrapped the dirty bandage from around her forearm to reveal an ugly, jagged wound. He bathed it with the athelas mixture and wrapped a clean bandage around it. “We will take you and your daughter to the Houses of Healing now,” he said. “The women there will tend to you both.”
“They will not let Qutaybah take my daughter?” Lunah fretted.
“No, mistress, you will be under the King’s protection and none shall harm you.”
Aragorn called to Faramir and found that the Steward had already brought the horses to the small shop. He persuaded Lunah to let Faramir take her little girl, while he carried the woman and placed her in front of him in the saddle. She weighed as little as a child. The bodyguards took up their positions and the small party made their way back through the circles of the City until they reached the Houses of Healing.
Uzza and another woman healer took Lunah and her child to be bathed and provided with clean raiment.
The warden came out to speak to Aragorn. “She is not the only mysterious foreigner we have seen today,” he observed. “Soon after you left, sire, a man with a bad cut to his leg came here. Uzza translated while one of the male healers tended him. He claimed his woman had attacked him.”
“Is he still here?” asked Aragorn.
The warden nodded.
“When he recovers, I want him arrested and taken before the magistrate. I have evidence that he brought slaves and abused women here in Gondor, contrary to every value we hold dear. I intend to make sure he is deported and banned from ever crossing the borders of my kingdom again.”
0000
Aragorn had much to relate to Arwen that evening when the royal pair dined together.
“Poor woman,” said Arwen. “She cannot return to Harad. She must be helped to find a new life in Gondor.”
“I agree,” said Aragorn. “The problem is, she speaks not a word of our tongue.”
“Maybe Ambassador Tahir and Lady Adiva could find her employment?” suggested Faramir, who was dining with Aragorn and Arwen that evening.
“Something must be arranged,” said the King. “It will be a while before she is strong enough to work, though. We must supply food and lodgings for her until she is fully recovered. I plan to go and see how she fares after the Council Meeting tomorrow. I fear I might be late again for the noonday meal, vanimelda.”
“It is for a good reason,” said Arwen.
0000
The next day, Aragorn left the meeting as soon as he was able and left Faramir to conclude the proceedings. He made his way to the Houses of Healing and asked to speak to Mistress Uzza. He did not have to wait long before she strode briskly into the room. “How is Mistress Lunah?” he asked.
“She fares as well as she might for a woman who has suffered much,” Uzza replied, her face grim. “When I examined her, as well as the cut to her arm, I found many bruises on her body which indicated she had often been beaten and abused.”
Aragorn sighed. “The poor woman. She should remain in Gondor when she is healed where she is safe from her former master and others like him.”
“There are men in Gondor as evil,” Uzza said grimly. “At least you punish them when you find them, though, my lord. I have been thinking about Mistress Lunah and her child. There is room at my home for both of them and the Houses are always in need of more cleaning maids. The little girl could stay with my son and his nursemaid. He would like a playmate.”
“That sounds an excellent solution if Mistress Lunah agrees,” said Aragorn.
“She does,” said Uzza.
Aragorn laughed. “Maybe I should put you in charge of managing the Kingdom, mistress! I will pay for Mistress Lunah’s lodgings until she is able to work and for some clothes for her and the child. Now I should like to see her if she is well enough for visitors.”
“She is.”
Uzza led Aragorn along a spotless corridor to the women’s rooms and knocked on the third in a row of doors. Inside was a cheerful small room simply furnished with a bed and a comfortable chair.
Lunah was sitting up in bed. She was now dressed in a fine linen nightgown with a shawl around her shoulders. On a rug beside the bed, the little girl sat playing with a rag doll. Lunah started when Uzza and Aragorn came in but smiled when she recognised them.
“Good Day, mistress, how do you fare?” Aragorn asked in the tongue of Harad.
“Very well, lord. I am happy. The healing women are kind to me and they gave my little one a doll. They tell me you looked all through the circles of this great city for me. But why, lord?” she looked puzzled.
“While we are within the circles of this world, we should help one another, “Aragorn answered. “It was my pleasure, mistress.”
A/n. Written for the Teitho “Circles” challenge where it was unplaced. You can read Uzza’s story in “The Revenger’s Tragedy” also on this site. "The Coiled Serpent" is mentioned in "Dies Irae".
Chapter 122 - Stirrups and Stitches
Stirrups and Stitches by Linda Hoyland
Rating - T
Summary - Arwen and Éowyn try to help a distressed young Princess.
Disclaimer – The familiar characters belong to Tolkien and his heirs. I make no money for writing this story.
With grateful thanks to Raksha and Deandra for editorial assistance and to Pauline and NiRi for their expertise in subjects I know little about.
She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff – Proverbs 31.15 – The Bible
Éowyn restlessly patrolled the beds of herbs, pausing now and then to pull up a weed. The morning sun pleasantly warmed the herb garden. Arwen sat beneath an apple tree, her skilful hands embroidering a shirt for Aragorn.
“Éowyn!” Faramir chided gently. “Leave the weeding for the gardeners. You will get earth on your hands. Princess Minnah will arrive any moment.”
“We have awaited her for over an hour,” Éowyn grumbled. “I could have taken the children riding.”
“I know the Princess is an inconvenience for you, my love,” said Faramir. “But we are the only kin of Elphir’s with whom the Princess could stay. The traditions of Harad dictate that a bride to be should stay with a married female relative of the groom’s, if the families live too far apart to travel on the wedding day. She is not permitted to see her husband- to -be at all, or his male kin, unless a female relative is present.”
Éowyn sighed. “I think it is a cruel tradition. I only wish that Amrothos and his wife had not decided to go and escort Lothíriel to the wedding. They would be more suitable hosts or even Ambassador Tahir and his lady.”
Aragorn strode into the garden just in time to overhear the end of the conversation. “Éomer could hardly foresee the situation with the Dunlendings would worsen. He cannot leave Rohan to escort Lothíriel to her brother’s nuptials. Tahir and Adiva would welcome the Princess but they are not of Elphir’s kin as custom demands.”
Arwen looked up from her sewing. “I only hope that the Princess will be happy in Gondor. It seems an unlikely match. I am glad that I can be here to welcome her.”
“Sometimes, I wish I were more like you, my friend, able to make diplomatic duties a pleasure,” said Éowyn.
“It will be beneficial for you and the children to spend some time in the country, vanimelda. I am sure you ladies will have an agreeable time planning the wedding,” said Aragorn.
“While you men escape back to the City!” Éowyn retorted.
“We were fortunate to be able to be with you today at all with the full council in session,” said Faramir. Uncle Imrahil and my cousins cannot not leave the City while the Council debates seaport tariffs. We will return to escort the bride to Dol Amroth for the ceremony. I might also need to console Uncle Imrahil, as I believe he had hopes of Elphir marrying one of Lord Húrin’s granddaughters.”
“Elphir already has an heir of high Númenorean lineage on both sides so I believe Imrahil is simply thankful that his heir finally has shown an interest in remarrying,” said Aragorn. “Poor Elphir has been sad of heart since Lady Morwen died in childbirth. Imrahil is delighted, now, that I chose to send Elphir on that diplomatic mission to Harad. Now only Erchirion lacks a wife.”
“It seems almost unbelievable that Elphir decided to wed the Kha Khan’s daughter after merely glimpsing her looking out of a window!” said Éowyn.
Aragorn laughed mirthlessly. “Kha Khan Janab is wily as a fox,” he said. “The last time I heard, he had thirty five daughters in need of advantageous marriages. If Elphir had paid the lady merely a passing compliment, Janab would seize on it as an opportunity for a diplomatic alliance. Elphir would not dare refuse. He seems content enough, though, by all accounts. The Princess is said to be most fair and of a gentle demeanour. She should make a kindly stepmother for young Alphros.”
“I suppose the poor woman was traded for a camel!” Éowyn said sharply.
Aragorn shook his head. “No, Janab demanded a favourable trading deal with Dol Amroth as his daughter’s dowry. From now on his merchants will not need to pay a levy to anchor in the Belfalas harbour.”
“That is worth more than an entire herd of camels,” said Faramir. “Sadly, the women of Harad can seldom marry for love. I am sure my cousin will endeavour to make the Princess happy, though.”
Just then, a serving maid hurried into the herb garden with the news that the Princess’ travelling party had been sighted.
Éowyn hastily wiped her hands on an apron she was wearing then pulled it off and handed it to the maid. The King and Queen, together with the Steward and his lady hurried into the courtyard to await the Princess’ arrival.
“She is highly honoured to have the highest in Gondor waiting to greet her,” Éowyn observed.
“Protocol does not demand it, but it should help ensure good relations with the Kha Khan,” said Aragorn.
“The children wanted to be here too, but I feared too many people might overwhelm the poor girl,” said Éowyn.
“I told Eldarion he could meet her after she was rested,” said Arwen. “I do hope she speaks our language, or you will have to remain here to translate, Estel!”
“I am needed in the City, but I will stay until one of the women from the Houses of Healing who speaks her language can be summoned, if you cannot understand the Princess,” said Aragorn.
Just then, a band of scarlet and gold horsemen armed with scimitars clattered into the courtyard. Aragorn and Faramir’s guards instinctively placed their hands on their swords.
An ornate carriage drawn by four black horses followed behind the horsemen and another group of armed riders brought up the rear of the procession. The carriage halted and one of the riders opened the door. The horsemen all turned away as the carriage’s occupants emerged.
A young woman clad in rather crumpled scarlet and gold robes was helped from the carriage by a plainly clad young woman who was obviously a maidservant. The Princess appeared to be very young. She had olive skin, delicate features, and soft brown eyes that held weariness and apprehension.
The Princess espied Aragorn and Faramir and prostrated herself on the ground before them, her maid quickly following her.
“Please rise, Princess, and your companion,” Aragorn said gently in the tongue of Harad. “I am King Elessar and this is my Queen, Lady Arwen. We are honoured to welcome you to my kingdom of Gondor and Arnor. May you dwell in our lands in peace and gladness!”
“The honour is all mine, o great and exalted King,” said the Princess softly. She raised herself to a kneeling position and held out her hands, palms-up. “I am Minnah, daughter to the Khan of Khans, Janab son of Jabari, may the sun never burn him!” After rushing the lengthy salutation out in heavily accented Westron, the princess looked up expectantly.
Faramir came forward and raised her up gently but firmly “Welcome, Minnah, daughter of Janab, on behalf of Elphir, son of Imrahil, my kinsman.” he told her courteously. “I am Faramir, son of Denethor, Prince of Ithilien, in whose lands we now stand, and Steward of Gondor. My lady and I welcome you to our home and hearth.” Faramir released her slender hands. He was rewarded with a hesitant smile. He gestured to a waiting servant who handed him a small box, which he offered to the Princess. “Prince Elphir has sent you this gift, an heirloom worn by all the Princesses of Dol Amroth. He eagerly awaits your arrival to unite with him in marriage.”
Minnah opened the box and lifted out an exquisite mithril and crystal pendant in the form of a swan. She looked pleased at the gift. “My lord and husband- to- be honours me greatly with this gift of great excellence,” she said. “May he forever dwell in the shade of an oasis!”
Éowyn smiled at the young woman. “I am certain you must be tired after your journey,” she said. “I will show you to the chamber we have prepared for you. I am Lady Éowyn, Princess of Ithilien and of the Mark. There is refreshment and accommodation for your guards in the barracks.”
“May my handmaid, Raha, be allowed to accompany me, most honoured lady?” asked Minnah. She gazed at Éowyn with sad brown eyes, looking more like a hunted doe than a joyful bride.
“Of course, Princess, and I will provide any other servants you might need,” said Éowyn. “Come now, you will wish to bathe and change your gown.”
“I cannot, noble lady!” said Minnah and promptly burst into tears.
“You cannot?” Éowyn regarded the weeping princess in bewilderment.
Aragorn and Faramir gestured for the guards and servants to leave. Once they had done so, they tactfully withdrew, leaving the three women alone.
Arwen hurried forward and placed a comforting arm around the girl. “No one will make you do anything, you do not wish to, Princess,” she soothed. “If you are unhappy about your forthcoming marriage you have only to tell the King. Elphir is an honourable man who would not wed you against your will.”
Minnah shook her head. “Honoured Lord Elphir seems kind, I like him, I am sad to leave my homeland, and fearful about becoming a wife, but I could have a far worse husband chosen for me,” she said between sobs.
“Tell me then what troubles your heart so,” Arwen coaxed.
“I cannot change my gown.”
“You can have only your own maid to help you dress in the privacy of your bedchamber.” Arwen now looked as perplexed as Éowyn. Whatever could be so daunting about changing a gown?
“You not understand, honoured lady,” Minnah sobbed, her Weston becoming increasingly garbled. “No other gown do I have. We crossed great river and horse drawing the cart with my dresses stumbled. The cart went in river and all my clothes are gone, including gown for wedding!”
Éowyn looked greatly relieved. “Do not worry, Princess Minnah. We can lend you some clothes until the seamstresses can make you new ones.”
Minnah shook her head. “You most kind, honoured lady, but wedding robe from Harad most special. The honour of my esteemed father is besmirched! I bring shame on my noble ancestors and my esteemed Lord Elphir too!” She sobbed even more piteously.
“My seamstress is highly skilled. She could make you a beautiful wedding gown.” Éowyn struggled not to roll her eyes at so much of a commotion over a mere dress.
“My gown had much embroidery from greatest seamstresses in all Harad,” sobbed Minnah. “Another such cannot be made!”
Arwen suddenly smiled. “I have some skill with the needle, Lady Minnah. I promise you I shall make you a wedding gown that will bring honour to you and your house. I know the seamstresses of Harad are skilled, but the skill of the Elven women is even greater. I am the only granddaughter of Galadriel, a great Elven lady, who taught me the art of needlework for years uncounted in the golden wood of Lothlórien. Fear not, young Princess; I shall make you such a dress that it will long be remembered in song and story!”
Minnah’s sobs final quieted. “You would do this for me, exalted Queen? I am but a stranger; and the daughter of those who once drew swords in these lands. ”
“Gladly, child.” said Arwen. “For I, too, came to this land a stranger. First, though, you must refresh yourself and permit us to lend you something to wear for the time being. When you have eaten, you can tell me exactly what sort of a wedding gown you require and we will send for the materials needed.
Minnah beamed through her tears and allowed herself to be escorted indoors.
Éowyn sighed with relief. Praise the Valar that Arwen was here. In the meantime, she looked out a gown of her own for the Princess and while the lady was bathing, her maids hastily took up the hem and took in the bodice, as Minnah was shorter and even slighter of build than the Princess of Ithilien.
Éowyn then led her guest into the dining room. She stood with the others to face West before they ate, though she was obviously puzzled by the custom.
“Facing the West reminds of where we came from and who we are,” Faramir explained. “Also the Higher Powers dwell in the utmost West.”
“Ah,” said Minnah. “Our High Ones dwell in the sky.”
“The One who created us dwells everywhere,” said Aragorn.
Minnah looked more bewildered than ever but said nothing.
Fortunately, Princess Minnah seemed to like the dishes set before her. Éowyn had asked the cooks to add extra spices to the dishes served to their guest. Minnah hardly spoke throughout the meal, though, and seemed to be overwhelmed to be in the presence of the King and the Steward, despite their best efforts to treat her kindly.
When the meal was over Aragorn and Faramir announced they would set off to return to the City, Arwen asked if they could delay for an hour or so. The men agreed and Arwen then obtained a large sheet of parchment from Faramir and then, armed with a tape measure, quill and parchment, escorted the Princess to her bedchamber.
“What was your wedding gown like, Minnah?” she asked the girl.
“It was scarlet and gold as is the custom of our people.”
“I know it must grieve you greatly to lose a dress that you must have put such time and care into choosing.”
“I did not choose it, honoured lady. It is what is appropriate for a princess of my people.”
Arwen thought for a moment, then dipped the quill in the ink and started to draw on the parchment. After a few moments of sketching, she showed her sketch to Princess Minnah. “I think something like that would suit you,” she said. “It is a flowing robe like those worn in your land, but the design also has elements from Gondor and from the Elves in the style of the sleeves, bodice, and train.”
“It looks beautiful!” Minnah whispered, gazing in awe at the design. “Like the bride’s dress in the tale of Prince Gengi and the Fire-spirit!”
“Do you have a headdress?” asked Arwen.
“My jewels and the gold for my dowry were in another chest,” said Minnah. “They are safe. I have too honoured Lord Elphir’s gift to wear for wedding.”
“And what of nightgowns and under linens?”
“I had some with me in a bag in the carriage, but most were with my gowns.”
Arwen picked up the tape measure. “Now if you stand still for a moment, I will measure how much material we will need. We will first make the design roughly in plain linen to make sure it fits you. Wait there while I go and speak to my husband.”
Arwen found Aragorn in the solar with Faramir and Éowyn. “I have an errand for you, Estel,” she said. “When you return to the city, I want you to speak to my lady in waiting, Lady Haleth, and ask her to send me a bale of the scarlet silk that Lady Adiva sent me last Mettarë. It is genuine Haradraic silk and should be perfect. I also need gold, silver and mithril thread, and three rolls each of blue, white, and gold lightweight silks and plenty of sewing thread and needles. I also need several rolls of fine linen and a roll of lace, and at least three seamstresses from the City to help with the trousseau.”
“I had better write all that down, vanimelda,” said Aragorn looking worried. “Does a wedding really take so much material?”
“It does indeed,” said Arwen. “Did you not notice my gown when we were wed?”
“I had eyes only for you, not for what you were wearing,” said Aragorn.
“I have worn it since at feasts,” said Arwen. “You must recall my blue and silver gown!”
“Yes, of course, it is most fair, but you would look fair in a flour sack,” said Aragorn.
“No lady would feel fair wearing a flour sack,” chided the Queen, though her eyes were smiling. “I need the materials and the seamstresses as quickly as possible, on the morrow if that can be arranged.”
“I will do my best, vanimelda,” said Aragorn.
“Why not ask Legolas for help too?” Faramir suggested. “There are surely some skilled seamstresses in his colony but an hour’s ride away.”
“That is an excellent idea, my friend,” said Arwen.
“There is space in my sewing room for eight ladies,” said Éowyn.
“Do you have any material to hand I could use to make a pattern with?” asked Arwen.
“I expect so, but you would need to ask my maid,” Éowyn replied. “She is in charge of my seamstresses and sewing supplies.”
“I will leave you ladies to the dressmaking,” said Aragorn. “We must depart now if we are to reach the City before nightfall.”
“May Lady Star Kindler protect you on your travels, my love,” said Arwen. The royal couple embraced as they said their farewells, as did Faramir and Éowyn. The men then took their leave.
“I must write a message to Legolas at once,” Arwen told Éowyn. “Then I must return to Minnah. I need to make a pattern for her dress. Do you wish to join me?”
“I would stick so many pins in the unfortunate maiden that it would cause a diplomatic incident! Since I have no desire to start the next war with Harad, I thought I would take the girls out riding. Shall I take Eldarion too?”
“Thank you, he would like that. I fear I will be spending less time with Eldarion today than I had hoped to. Will you tell him I will read him a bedtime story?”
“Of course, my friend.”
“I shall see you at the evening meal then.”
The ladies went their different ways, Éowyn first to the nursery and then to the stables while Arwen asked the maid the fetch some coarse linen. In her elegant hand, the Queen wrote a message to Legolas, seeking his assistance. By the time she had finished, the maid had returned with a roll of coarse linen. Arwen returned to Minnah’s chamber with it.
“I shall need you to undress to your underwear while I fit this material on you, Princess,” said Arwen. “I will try not to stick any pins in you.”
Minnah gestured to her maid who helped her out of the long sleeved, high- necked gown she was dressed in. Beneath it, she wore long silk drawers secured around the ankles and a long sleeved high- necked shift of the same fine material, which was secured around the wrists.
“You will need a shift with a lower neckline if you wish to wear Elphir’s gift at your wedding,” said Arwen.
“Will the sand not irritate my skin?” asked Minnah. “Lord Elphir told me his land had much sand like mine. Sand blows everywhere, so we wear special garments to protect the skin. Do they not do so in my lord’s lands too?”
Arwen struggled not to laugh. “The sand in Dol Amroth is moist and does not blow around. The tide washes the beach twice every day.”
Minnah looked at her wide- eyed. “So much water, esteemed lady, that even the sand is washed? These lands have many marvels.”
“I have never seen a desert; that too must be a marvel to behold, so my husband tells me.”
“The King knows my land?”
“You should ask him to tell you about his travels when he returns.”
“I could not be so bold, honoured lady.”
“I shall ask him to tell you then, he enjoys sharing tales of his travels.” Arwen replied. She continued to drape and pin the folds of fabric around Minnah. “Elphir’s father is quite well travelled too, though I doubt any who still dwell in Middle-earth have travelled as much as my husband.” Arwen stood back to survey her handiwork. “I think a slightly fuller skirt should suit you better and wider sleeves. You will look beautiful, Minnah. Elphir should be well pleased with his bride.”
“I hope I can give my esteemed lord many sons,” Minnah said, though she looked fearful at the prospect.
“He has an heir. I am certain daughters would please him too,” Arwen said reassuringly.
“My honoured mother bore only daughters to my exalted father and lost his favour,” Minnah said mournfully.
“I am certain you will not lose Elphir’s favour,” said Arwen. “Will your kinsfolk be attending the wedding?”
Minnah shook her head. “The esteemed Kha Khan, may he live a thousand years, has matters of state more important to attend to.”
“And your mother?”
“The women in our land rarely travel and if they do so, then only with their husbands or fathers. The honoured ambassador, may he forever prosper, will take my father’s place at the wedding. He is of my tribe and my kinsman.” She suddenly burst into tears. “Alas, I will never see my mother or my sisters again!”
A sorrowful look came into the Queen’s eyes as she drew Minnah close. “My father was at my wedding, as were my grandparents and brothers, but my mother was far away. I shall never see her again until the breaking of the world. Do not despair, Minnah, your parting is not so final. Elphir might take you to visit your family one day.”
“I am sorry, my lady,” Minnah sniffed. She rubbed her eyes on her sleeve.
Arwen patted her shoulder. “There is nothing to be sorry for. You are very young and a stranger in a strange land, but I hope in time you will look upon me as your friend and you will gain a new family when you wed. I have gained far more than I lost through my marriage.”
“Already I see you as a friend, esteemed Lady Arwen.”
Now let us see, how the bodice of this gown should look,” Arwen said briskly. “I think a square neckline should show off the pendant well, but not too low.”
0000
The preparations for Minnah’s wedding dress and trousseau continued apace. The next day, three of Arwen’s seamstresses from the City arrived, bringing with them the materials that Arwen had requested. Three Elven seamstresses also arrived from Legolas’ colony, and together with Arwen, and Éowyn’s seamstress, they set to work with a will, cutting and pinning and stitching. Arwen decided to concentrate her efforts on the embroidery for the wedding gown as that was her especial skill. The three Elven seamstresses stitched the gown together while the other ladies worked on day dresses, a travelling dress, undergarments, and night gowns. It was a time- consuming task. Arwen was careful, though, not to neglect her son. She would tell Eldarion stories while he sat at her feet for part of each day while she sewed.
Éowyn had plenty to occupy herself with and yet she felt oddly at a loss and left out. She had always heartily detested sewing and begrudged every hour spent learning it as a girl. Now the knowledge served her only when she needed to stitch a patient’s wounds. She much preferred to leave the household’s sewing needs in the capable hands of her seamstress and maids. Truth to tell, although she desired to look her best on state occasions, she saw dresses as being solely for warmth and decency.
Although she and Arwen were close friends, where the feminine arts were concerned, they were complete opposites. Usually, they complemented one another with their different skills, but since Princess Minnah had arrived, Éowyn had felt oddly excluded. She only saw both Arwen and the Princess at mealtimes when they all dined together and even then, their talk was all of dresses.
000
The days passed until one day, a letter from Elphir was delivered to Princess Minnah. It arrived while the ladies were dining together.
Minnah studied the seal with apprehension. “My esteemed lord has sent me a message? I hope he is not displeased with me.”
“It is our custom for betrothed couples to write to one another,” said Éowyn. “Lord Faramir and I exchanged many letters before we were wed.”
“As did Estel and I,” said Arwen.
“Alas, although I can speak your tongue, honoured ladies, I cannot read or write it,” said Minnah.
“I will read it to you,” said Arwen. She did not tell the Princess that she had written to Elphir to express her concerns about how young and afraid Minnah was. It seemed the Prince had sent a prompt response. She began to read the letter aloud; “My dear Minnah, It gladdens me to know you have arrived safely. I hope you are in good health and contented to dwell with my kin until our wedding day.
I eagerly await your arrival. I long to show you our fair land with its beautiful beaches and cliffs. I long also to show you the castle of which you will be mistress and for you to meet my son.
Have no fears of the wedding night, my dear one, I only desire our marriage to be complete once you are a little older and we have grown to know one another better.
I look forward to riding through the streets of Dol Amroth with you after the ceremony and showing my beautiful bride to my people.
In eager anticipation of your arrival, Elphir, son of Imrahil.
Arwen had carefully watched Minnah’s face as she read. The young Princess had let out a sigh of relief at Elphir’s promise to get to know her better, but before the letter had finished she looked utterly woebegone. “Are you quite well, Minnah?” the Queen asked.
“My esteemed lord expects me to ride through the streets with him?” Minnah said dolefully.
“That is the custom in Dol Amroth so the people can see their new Princess.”
“But I cannot ride!”
“You cannot ride?” Éowyn looked shocked. “I have been told that not many women in your lands do, but I assumed as you were about to marry a Lord of the West you would have been taught. Are you afraid of horses?”
“I like horses very much, honoured Lady Éowyn,” said Minnah. “I would watch my honoured father ride his great war stallion into battle and I was sometimes permitted to visit the foals and fillies.” She smiled wistfully. “Horses are prized by the khans even more than their second-born sons. Yet no maiden in Harad is permitted to ride. It is said such exercise might cause her fail the sheet test on her bridal night and bring great shame upon her family!”
“There is no such test in my lord’s realms,” said Arwen. “Our maidens are well chaperoned and protected, but the young women of the noble houses learn to ride, alongside their brothers.”
“Alas!” cried Minnah. “I will bring shame upon my honoured lord and upon my house!”
“I am certain that Elphir would-“
“Nonsense!” interrupted Éowyn. “I can teach you to ride, Princess Minnah.”
“But how can I master such a skill in so short a time, honoured lady?”
“All you need to learn is stay atop a gentle horse,” said Éowyn. “It is simply a question of balance. You like horses so that is a good start since they know full well who likes them or not. Arwen, do you need the Princess for dress fittings in the morning?”
Arwen shook her head.
“Good, then we will begin your riding lessons after breakfast on the morrow, Princess Minnah.”
“You honour me, esteemed Lady Éowyn. I shall strive to master this noble art.”
“Have no fear that you will,” said Éowyn. “I taught Elestelle to ride when she was three years old, while Elboron who is not yet two can sit astride his pony with ease.”
000
A little later, Arwen and Éowyn found themselves alone together when the Princess retired to her chamber.
“Why did you not let me suggest to Minnah that Elphir would surely not mind if she rode in a carriage?” asked Arwen.
“The girl is timid as a mouse,” said Éowyn. “She needs some confidence before she becomes a bride. Learning to ride would give her that. I deplore how women in Harad are treated like fragile hothouse plants to be plucked by the menfolk! Exercise and fresh air should make Minnah blossom.”
“I believe you are right,” said Arwen. “And should she fail to learn to ride, there is always a carriage.”
“She will learn,” said Éowyn. “I need the help of the children first. May Eldarion join Elboron and the girls outside?”
“Of course,” said Arwen. “Are you planning to take them riding? I must return to my embroidery.”
“I simply need them to go to the paddocks with me,” said Éowyn rather mysteriously.
“The fresh air will be good for Eldarion,” said Arwen. She was already halfway out through the doorway.
Éowyn went first to the stables to speak with her grooms and then to the nursery and told the children to gather up all their musical instruments. A few minutes later, she led them out to the paddock where her young mares were grazing. She told the children to play their instruments and shout and sing as loudly as they could.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to make a lot of noise near the horses,” said Elbeth.
“Usually, you should not,” said Éowyn. “I want to find one that is not scared by noise and making lots of noise is the only way to do it. So please make as much noise as you can.”
The children set to with a will and produced an ear- splitting din that made Éowyn cringe. Elboron yelled at the top of his voice and banged a drum as only a toddler can, while Eldarion blew a trumpet. The girls sang and waved tambourines. She carefully observed the mares. Several bolted off to the far side of the field with their ears flattened, others simply stopped grazing and looked around while one or two took no notice at all.
Éowyn told the accompanying servant to fetch her grooms. They arrived a few moments later carrying tack, as Éowyn had instructed them previously. She ordered them to saddle up the mares that had remained calm and ride around the paddock. She then told the children to play the instruments again and alternately cheer and boo at the tops of their voices. She sincerely hoped that most of the folk in Dol Amroth would welcome Princess Minnah, but there was always a risk that some might not.
One of the mares reared and almost threw her rider. She told him to dismount and unsaddle the horse and return her to the paddock. She continued to watch the others, most of them looked fairly untroubled, but two, a bay and a sorrel seemed especially calm. Éowyn instructed the grooms to take those two to the stable and release the others back into the field. She then returned to the nursery with the children and stayed with them for a while.
0000
Before bedtime, Éowyn visited the two mares in the stables. She had been trying to breed horses that would be good for riding under a variety of circumstances. She tried to decide which of the two would be most suitable for the nervous Princess, but both mares were equally friendly and placid. It might be best if Minnah chose her mount, or better still the horse chose her! In the Riddermark, horses almost always chose their riders.
After breakfast the next morning, Éowyn found some riding boots that would fit Minnah and took her out to the stables. The ever- present Raha trailed behind them. Éowyn introduced the Princess to the two horses she had chosen the day before. The bay hung back, but the sorrel immediately nuzzled against the girl.
“She is beautiful!” Minnah exclaimed.
“If you can learn to ride her, she is yours,” said Éowyn.
“You would give me so great a gift, honoured Lady Éowyn?” Minnah’s eyes lit up, though she looked as if she could hardly believe her ears.
“She will be my wedding gift to you if you can master her. She is a good horse, her sire is of elvish stock, while her dam came from my homeland, which is famed for its horses.”
Minnah beamed and clapped her hands in delight. She turned to her maid and for a moment chatted to her excitedly in her own tongue before returning her attention to Éowyn. “I have heard of the horses of Rohan,” said Minnah. She fed the sorrel a carrot that Éowyn had handed to her. “What is this horses’ name?”
“Her name is Rusca,” said Éowyn. “My husband named her soon after she was born. Now let us get her saddled and you can begin your first lesson.”
“I can hardly wait, honoured lady. Long have I desired to ride a horse.”
Éowyn smiled at the girl who was almost childlike in her excitement.
One of the grooms saddled Rusca and led her to a nearby paddock where the children usually rode their ponies. Éowyn asked the man to bring a mounting block and hold the mare’s bridle.
“Today, you will just learn to get used to sitting upon Rusca’s back,” said Éowyn. “Tomorrow, you can start learning to ride at a slow walking pace. This mare is well trained and you can trust her, but she will need to trust you too.”
“I shall try my utmost, honoured Lady Éowyn,” said Minnah. She allowed Éowyn to help her sit in the side- saddle, and place her feet in the stirrups. The young Princess nervously looked down and around her. “It is very high up here, esteemed lady!” she said.
“You will learn that is a good feeling,” said Éowyn firmly. “Now, don’t slouch, keep your back straight and your hands steady. If you pull at Rusca’s mouth, you will hurt her. Keep your legs steady too so that you are secure. Your toes should point upwards. Keep your ankles flexed and your heels down as that will keep you secure by not allowing your feet to slip through the stirrups.”
Minnah screwed up her face in concentration as you tried to follow these instructions. “What if I fall?” she asked anxiously.
“You will not if you do what I say,” said Éowyn. “Try to feel at ease. If you feel upset, so will Rusca.”
“I do not wish to upset her,” said Minnah. “She is so beautiful.”
By the end of the morning, Minnah looked almost as relaxed upon Rusca’s back as she did sitting upon a chair. Éowyn was pleased with her pupil and told her so.
The next morning, Éowyn again took the Princess out into the paddock and helped her mount the mare. Then she handed the girl a whip.
“I will not hurt Rusca!” Minnah protested indignantly.
“Neither do I wish you to,” said Éowyn. She was beginning to warm to the girl. “You use the whip to give your horse cues, as riding side-saddle you only have one foot to show her where you want to go. Now keep your posture correct. Your hips and shoulders should be square on and your spine aligned with the horse’s spine. Your heels should be below your toes and both ankles flexed. The left heel must touch the side of the horse whilst in the stirrup, and the right heel stays down for balancing.”
“There is so much to remember, honoured Lady Éowyn.”
“I shall teach you to remember,” said Éowyn. “I shall now lead you round the paddock. Hold on to the reins evenly.” She started to lead Rusca around the field at a very slow pace. With every step they took, Minnah became more confident.
“I’m riding a horse!” she exclaimed when they reached the far side of paddock.
“Indeed you are,” said Éowyn. “Is it not the most wonderful feeling? Tomorrow, you shall try guiding Rusca yourself.”
Minnah nodded and smiled broadly.
At the noonday meal, Minnah excitedly informed Arwen that she had been riding. Her eyes were alight and her skin was glowing. She ate her food with enthusiasm and even requested a second helping.
As the days passed, Minnah became increasingly confident. Éowyn concluded the young princess had a natural affinity with horses. As her riding skills increased, she blossomed like a flower too long in the shade, suddenly exposed to the sun.
When Aragorn and Faramir returned for a visit, they found their wives engrossed in wedding preparations.
“How is our timid Princess faring?” asked Aragorn, putting his head around the door of the sewing room.
“You will be surprised when you see her,” said Arwen. She put her embroidery to one side and went to join her husband. “Éowyn is teaching her to ride and she is blossoming.”
“That is excellent news,” said Aragorn. Linking his arm in his wife’s, the royal pair walked outside to where they could see Minnah riding around the paddock under Éowyn’s close supervision. The Princess’s laughter was carried to them on the breeze. “Elphir will be delighted. Faramir and I were talking to him while we were in the City. He told us that one of the reasons that he asked for Minnah’s hand in marriage was because he felt so concerned for her wellbeing. It seems that no one wanted to marry her because her mother is presently out of favour with the Kha Khan. The Kha Khan tried to persuade Elphir to marry another of his daughters instead, the sister of his heir, but Elphir was able to decline as the girl was only fourteen years old.”
Arwen sighed. “I feel for the maidens of Harad.”
“The lowly born women have far more freedom then their high born sisters,” said Aragorn. “As do the nomads, many of the wandering groups are led by very competent women.” His eyes fixed on Minnah as she executed a perfect turn around a hedge on the sorrel mare. “I believe Minnah’s mother came from one of those tribes. Minnah reminds me of the nomads in the way she sits on the horse as if it were part of her.”
The King and Queen wandered over to the paddock. Arwen was somewhat apprehensive, wondering how Minnah would react to the King’s presence. The Princess from Harad rode over to them and inclined her head. “Greetings my esteemed Lord King and my esteemed Lady,” she said with a smile.
Aragorn smiled back as he called out a greeting.
Ooo
The days passed until the date of the wedding neared. It had been decided that the wedding party would travel to Dol Amroth mostly by water, along the Anduin and then along the coast to their destination.
The Royal Barge was large enough to comfortably accommodate the King and Steward and their families, as well as the Princess and her maid and their horses. Minnah’s escort travelled overland to meet up with the bride at her destination.
Minnah was as excited on the journey as the children. Fortunately, she was not seasick. She could hardly believe her eyes when they reached the coast. “So much water!” she exclaimed as she stood on the deck beside Arwen and Éowyn and the children. “It is as vast as the desert!”
“You will soon grow accustomed to your new home,” said Arwen.
“I like it already, esteemed Lady Arwen,” said Minnah. Then she looked anxious. “Shall I see you and honoured Lady Éowyn again?”
Arwen smiled reassuringly. “Of course you will. We often visit Lord Imrahil and his family, as do Faramir and Éowyn.”
“And Faramir and I shall invite you and Elphir to stay with us in Ithilien,” said Éowyn.
Faramir owned a house in Dol Amroth, which he had inherited from his mother. He had decided it would be perfect for the bridal party to stay there for two days before the wedding. The ladies continued with wedding preparations and shooed their husbands and children off to the beach.
The day of the wedding dawned clear and sunny, a perfect day for a celebration. Ambassador Tahir and Lady Adiva had arrived the previous day. Aragorn had been asked to perform the ceremony in the town square where the groom and his family, including Faramir and Éowyn, would be waiting. The newlyweds would then ride through the streets in their wedding finery before enjoying a wedding banquet.
Arwen and Minnah’s maid helped the young bride dress. After she had bathed in water scented with rose petals, Arwen and Raha dressed her first in a linen shift with a low neckline and then eased her into her bridal gown. After the initial fittings, Arwen had kept the dress hidden from the young princess. Now she saw the finished dress for the first time, she clapped her hands in delight. It was truly a magnificent dress. The full skirt of scarlet silk fell in graceful folds as did the long sleeves, which were lined with the blue of Dol Amroth. The bodice was of the same blue while embroidered in silver and mithril were two graceful swans with diamonds for eyes. Around the hem, coiled the serpents of Harad, embroidered in gold thread. A train of shining gold silk, and a silvery veil secured by a gold coronet, completed the outfit.
“It is beautiful!” Minnah breathed. She hugged Arwen gratefully. “Truly this gown will be remembered in song and story. Even my esteemed father’s favourite wife does not own such a gown!”
“I enjoyed making it,” said Arwen, returning Minnah’s embrace. “The silk is of a good quality so it should last well. You will be able to wear it for many state occasions after today if you wish.”
“It shall always be my favourite dress,” said Minnah. She admired her reflection in the glass as if hardly able to believe what she saw.
“Tahir and Adiva are waiting for you,” said Arwen. “I must go now and join Estel in the town square.”
“I like the honoured Ambassador and his wife,” said Minnah. “They are most kind.”
A short time later, the bridal procession made its way to where the groom and his family were waiting. First came Minnah’s guards from Harad and then Tahir and Adiva who were escorting the bride.
Music was played by Imrahil’s minstrels, but the crowd remained silent, unsure of what to make of this young woman from the land of a former enemy.
Elphir stood waiting, flanked by his father, son, brothers, and sister, together with the rest of his kin. When he beheld his bride, his eyes opened wide in admiration and amazement. He beamed at Minnah and she smiled shyly back at him.
Aragorn, with Arwen at his side, bound the couples’ hands with a silken cord and asked them to repeat their vows after him. There was no hesitation in the voices of either bride or groom as they declared their commitment to each another. Aragorn pronounced them to be man and wife. He looked at the crowd expectantly and a cheer went up. The people of Dol Amroth might have their reservations about the foreign princess but they loved their Prince and his heir and trusted their King.
Elphir escorted his new bride to where the horses were waiting and helped her mount the sorrel mare.
The procession set off through the winding streets. First came the musicians and then the guards from both lands, followed by the Swan Knights, then the bride and groom, Imrahil and his family, the Ambassador and his wife and the King and the Steward and their wives. More guards and Swan knights brought up the rear.
Minnah rode confidently beside her husband and smiled at the crowd. They cheered their lord and his bride for his sake. Some younger voices seemed to cheer the bride for her own sake as well.
“No one would guess that Minnah has only just learned to ride,” Arwen whispered to her husband. “Éowyn achieved a marvel in teaching her so swiftly.”
“She did indeed,” said Aragorn, “as did you my love, in making that fair dress for her.” He smiled proudly at his wife and then caught Éowyn’s eye and smiled at her too. No two ladies could be more complete opposites, but together they had helped Minnah begin her new life.
Riding references –
http://www.lovehorsebackriding.com/how-to-ride-a-horse.html
http://www.horsemart.co.uk/general-equine/tips-on-riding-side-saddle/911
Written for the Teitho “Opposites” challenge where it was unplaced.
Chapter 123 - Finding the Way
Finding the Way – Linda Hoyland
Rating K+
The familiar characters are the property of Tolkien and his heirs. This story is written for pleasure, not profit.
Aragorn and Arwen are concerned about Eldarion.
With thanks to Deandra.
"The cook has made your favourite honey cakes, Eldarion, and there is fresh raspberry jam." Arwen smiled at her son as she poured herself a cup of mint tea from the pitcher her maid had brought. For the first time, Eldarion was joining her in the solar for afternoon tea.
"Thank you, Naneth." Eldarion stood and faced the window.
"Whatever are you doing, dear one?"
"Facing West for the Standing Silence. I know you and Ada don't do it when you are alone, but I was born in Gondor and I want to."
"Of course, you may if you wish, ion nîn, but you are facing East, not West!"
"But we always face the window for the Standing Silence," Eldarion protested.
"That is because the windows in the dining room face west, as do those in the Merethrond."
"Oh," said Eldarion. He looked utterly confused.
Arwen thoughtfully took another sip of tea. "Eat up, dear one," she said. "Then we can greet your ada when he returns from his meeting."
0000
Later that night, Arwen snuggled up against her husband in the royal bedchamber. "I am concerned about Eldarion," she said.
"Why, vanimelda?" Aragorn answered sleepily. "He is a good child. I am proud of our son."
"As am I," said Arwen. "He seems to have no sense of direction, though, and he is the son of a Ranger!"
"No sense of direction!" Aragorn sat up abruptly. "My son has no sense of direction?" His thoughts went back to a young Ranger lad he had tried to train many years ago. The boy had been able bodied, willing, and skilled with sword and bow, but he had been capable of getting lost almost anywhere since he completely lacked any sense of direction. After he had almost led his fellows into a swamp, when he had gone South instead of North, Aragorn had concluded that there must be something ailing his brain. He had taken him aside and suggested he was better suited to the life of a farmer than that of a Ranger. Surely, Eldarion, his own flesh and blood had not been born with such a handicap?
"Eldarion is destined to be King," said Arwen sensing his thoughts. "He does not have to become a Ranger first, even though I know he would like to be."
"Even a King has to know his way lest he need to lead his troops into battle," Aragorn said grimly. "What if Harad attacked and the troops ended up in Rohan instead!"
"Eldarion will have advisors," said Arwen. "Maybe we are making too much of this. Perhaps Eldarion has simply not been taught how to tell North from South?"
"My mother taught me when I was younger than Eldarion," said Aragorn. "She used to point out how the sun rose in the East and set in the West. She would show me the North Star and from her I learned the cold winter winds came from the North and the mild summer breezes from the South."
"My mother taught me too," said Arwen. "My father was too preoccupied with ruling Imladris."
"I fear we have been too preoccupied with ruling the Reunited Kingdom to teach our children," said Aragorn. "I have three free days next week so I shall take Eldarion out into the Wilds and teach him the points of the compass. Maybe Faramir can accompany us?"
"You need to take guards with you too," Arwen said firmly.
"Faramir and I are well able to protect the boy."
"It is too much of a risk to go unaccompanied." Arwen's tone allowed no argument.
Aragorn sighed, knowing full well he was defeated. "Very well, but they must keep their distance."
000
The sun shone brightly the next week when Aragorn, Faramir, and a very excited Eldarion set off for their camping trip. Aragorn had decided that they should camp out on the wooded lower slopes of Mount Mindolluin. Two guards trailed discreetly behind the small party.
As they rode, Aragorn pointed out various sights to his son, carefully emphasising what direction he should look in. When they made camp for the night, Aragorn continued the lesson.
"We will get a good view of the sunset, here, ion nîn. The sun always sets in the West and rises in the East. Tomorrow we will get up early and watch her rise.
"It is good the sun rises each morning, is it not?" Eldarion said thoughtfully.
"Indeed, ion nîn. There would be no life without her rays."
"So why do we speak of the East as if it is bad?" Eldarion sounded puzzled.
"Sauron once dwelt there and he was very bad indeed," said Aragorn.
"But he's gone now and everyone still likes the West better. Why?"
Both Aragorn and Faramir were silent for a moment pondering the question.
"Our forefathers came from the West and the Valar dwell in Elvenhome in the utmost West," Faramir said at last. "We revere our past when we lived in Númenor."
"History is boring!" said Eldarion.
"You will change your mind when you are older," said Faramir, sounding rather shocked. "We Men of Gondor love our rich history."
"Maybe our preference for the West lies with the wind," Aragorn said hastily before Eldarion could inform them in great detail why history bored him so much.
"The wind?" Eldarion's attention was caught.
"When I was a Ranger, I dreaded the east wind above all else. It usually heralded snow, and even when it did not, it chilled me to the bone. The east wind is a lazy wind. It goes through you rather than around you."
Eldarion burst out laughing and Faramir smiled.
"We are fortunate that the wind is in the West tonight," said Aragorn. "It is gentle wind that feels like a caress against your hair. See the way the leaves are blowing?" He pointed towards a nearby branch.
Eldarion intently studied the swaying leaves.
"The south wind is gentle too like the west wind," Aragorn continued. "The north wind is fierce and blustery, but here in Gondor, I welcome it, for it carries with it the scent of my homeland where I grew up. Now, it is your bedtime, ion nîn."
"But the sun hasn't disappeared yet, Ada. You promised we would see her set!"
Aragorn smiled indulgently. "Very well, but remember that she sets late and rises early at this time of year and we must rise with her."
The three sat in silence watching the pink and gold tipped clouds scudding across the scarlet orb of the setting sun.
They then settled down for the night and Eldarion was soon sound asleep, nestled snugly between his father and the Steward.
"Eldarion listened very carefully to everything you told him today," said Faramir. "You are an excellent teacher."
"But did he take it in?" said Aragorn. "We still have no idea whether the boy has any sense of direction or not. Tomorrow, I will show him my lodestone." He yawned. Faramir had already fallen asleep and within moments, Aragorn was slumbering too.
00
Eldarion was the first to awaken and swiftly roused his father and the Steward.
Aragorn looked out of the tent, yawning. He groaned. "We rise with the sun, ion nîn. She is still abed as we should be!"
"She is waking," Eldarion insisted. "Look in the East!" He pointed a small finger towards the faintest sliver of light on the Eastern horizon.
Aragorn smiled proudly, his weariness forgotten.
The three enjoyed a spectacular sunrise. As the sun cleared the mountains, though, Eldarion pronounced that he was very hungry. They soon had breakfast prepared. While they ate Aragorn took his lodestone from his pocket and showed it to his son.'
"It's magic!" Eldarion exclaimed as he watched the needle quiver and then settle.
"It always points to the North," Aragorn explained.
"Why?" asked Eldarion.
Aragorn was momentarily taken aback.
"North comes first when we talk about directions," Faramir said. "We use the North Star to guide our travels at night and sailors use it to help find their way at sea." Aragorn shot him a grateful look.
"What other star helps guide travellers at night, ion nîn?" Aragorn asked.
"The Star of Eärendil!" Eldarion exclaimed, bouncing in excitement at knowing the answer.
"That is correct," Aragorn said with a smile. "You can see Eärendil guiding his ship across the sky if you look west after the sun has set." He placed the lodestone on the ground and waited for the needle to settle. "Observe the needle carefully," he said. "We know now that North is that way." He pointed towards the trail. "We travel south this morning and should reach a stream I know of by midday where we can catch some fish for our meal."
"I like fish," said Eldarion.
Aragorn returned his lodestone to his pocket wondering if his son's mind was more focussed on food than finding the trail.
They quickly broke camp and set out on their way. Aragorn continued to point things out to Eldarion as they rode along the trail. The sun climbed higher in the sky and her rays penetrated the woodland canopy. Birds sang in the treetops. Aragorn's spirits soared. It was a perfect day to be out in the wilds. Faramir's contented expression showed that he felt likewise. Aragorn started to sing an old Ranger song and Eldarion and Faramir joined in. Faramir then started a lively drinking song from his days as a Captain, changing some of the words to make them suitable for Eldarion's young ears. The three continued lustily as they rode on their way until they reached a stream where they paused to refill their water bottles and let the horses and Eldarion's pony drink.
Aragorn suddenly realised that he could not hear the guards. The men had struggled to remain unobtrusive, especially as both were City born and bred. They crashed through the forest like a pair of mumakil. He reined in his horse and turned to Faramir. "Have you heard our guards in the past hour?" he asked.
Faramir shook his head. "No, now that you come to mention it, I have not. Maybe they are lost and we should look for them?"
Aragorn groaned. "They are supposed to be looking after us, not the other way round!"
"We should have brought a couple of my Rangers not City boys," said Faramir. He called out loudly. "Maglor, Caranthir! Where are you?"
The only answer was the twittering of the birds.
Aragorn sighed deeply. "There are no known dangers in this forest or I would never have brought Eldarion here. As my lady frets, I even had my men check for any sign of danger before we set out."
"They still might be in trouble so we had better go and look for them," said Faramir. "They could be anywhere."
"The sooner we start searching the better then."
"Ada," Eldarion interrupted.
"Not now, ion nîn. The Steward and I have a problem to solve."
"But Ada-."
"I said not now. I am trying to concentrate." Aragorn dismounted from his horse and started to walk back studying the ground intently for tracks. "If only we knew when they lost us."
Eldarion rode up on his pony beside the Steward's horse. "Lord Faramir, listen, please. We heard them last when we turned East. It was just before we started to sing."
Faramir brought his horse to a halt and asked. "You are certain, Eldarion? Aragorn, come here, we have a clue."
Aragorn strode back up the track and re-joined his son and his Steward.
"I heard the guards talking, Ada, when you told me to watch the sun didn't get in my eyes. Then I could only hear the birds and us singing."
"That is about a league back," said Aragorn. He remounted Roheryn.
"We ride westwards for a league," said Eldarion proudly. "Maybe then we will find our guards."
"I certainly hope so," said Aragorn. "I dread to think what your naneth will say if we return home without them!"
They urged their horses and the pony to a canter and rode back towards where the path forked. It was not long before they came across two riderless horses grazing in the undergrowth.
"The guards' horses!" Faramir exclaimed. Just then, they heard a loud groan. Rounding the bend in the path, they came across Maglor and Caranthir in the middle of the track. Caranthir was groaning and holding his head while Maglor was supporting him.
Aragorn and Faramir dismounted and hastened to the side of the guards. "What has happened?" Aragorn demanded.
Caranthir's only answer was another groan.
"I'm sorry, sire," said Maglor. "Caranthir's horse stumbled and he fell and hit his head. I dismounted to go to his aid and tripped over a tree root. I think I've broken my ankle for I cannot walk."
"Why didn't you try to get on your horse and come for help?" asked Faramir.
"I feared to leave Caranthir, my lord. I thought a bear or a wolf or something might eat him!"
"A bear!" Faramir exclaimed incredulously. "There are no bears or wolves in these woods."
Aragorn knelt beside Caranthir and started to examine his head. "Look at me!" he commanded.
"The light hurts my eyes, sire." He started to retch violently. "I feel sick."
"You have a concussion," said Aragorn. "You need to rest." He turned his attention to Maglor's ankle. "Your ankle is badly sprained, not broken. I will bind it for you." He reached for his pack and took out his healing supplies. After removing Maglor's boot and stocking, he applied a comfrey salve and then securely bandaged the damaged ankle. "You both need to go to the Houses of Healing," he told the guards. He then turned to Faramir. "Help me get these two on to their horses, Lord Faramir."
Not long afterwards, the party began their way back to the city. Aragorn rode ahead with Eldarion while Faramir and the two guards made up the rear. The Steward kept a close watch on the injured men. They groaned every time the horses jolted them on the rocky trail.
"I thought soldiers were brave," said Eldarion.
"Soldiers are men like any others," said Aragorn. "Some are brave while others are less so. Most soldiers are usually more competent, though."
"Are they going to lose their jobs, Ada?"
"No, but I shall send them both for extra training," said Aragorn. He knew Caranthir had an old grandmother to support while Maglor had a wife and infant daughter. He would give them another chance. Maybe the recruits nowadays were not spending enough time training in the wilds.
"I thought guards were supposed to look after us?" said Eldarion.
"They do usually, ion nîn, but accidents can happen and sometimes we have to look after them instead it seems," said Aragorn. "I am proud of you today as we would not have found them so quickly without your help. You have a good sense of direction, Eldarion."
So can I be a Ranger when I grow up then?" Eldarion said eagerly.
"I am certain you have what it takes to be an excellent Ranger, ion nîn," said Aragorn. "Now tell me, is this the path we should take to?"
"It is, Ada. We go North now."
Aragorn smiled. "Then lead us the way home to your mother and sister, ion nîn!"
A/n.This story was written for the Teitho "Directions" contest where it was placed second.
Chapter 124 - Curiosity killed the Cat
Title: Curiosity killed the Cat
Rating: PG
Theme: Animal Friends
Elements: "The winter wind rattled the windows and the startled _ darted from behind the curtains."
Author's Notes: Inspired by a true story. Elbeth is recurrent OC of mine. She is Boromir's illegitimate daughter who has been adopted by Faramir and Éowyn.
Written for the LOTRGFIC Challenge.
With grateful thanks to Deandra.
Summary: Elbeth is worried when her cat goes missing.
Disclaimer: The familiar characters belong to Tolkien. The story is written for pleasure not profit.
"Curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back" – traditional proverb.
The winter wind rattled the windows and the startled cat darted from behind the curtains.
"Laurea!" cried Elbeth. "There's nothing to be scared of. It is only the wind."
"I expect he is upset by all the preparations for Pippin's arrival," said Faramir. "Cats greatly dislike any sort of upheaval. They are creatures of habit."
"Much like you, Uncle Faramir," said Elbeth.
The Steward laughed. "I have lived through so many turbulent times that I find daily routine enjoyable."
"Some routines are nice, but I do not enjoy my daily mathematics lessons," said Elbeth." A servant entered as she spoke and softly asked her uncle a question.
"Neither did I," said Faramir. "If you want to be a healer, though, you must be able to accurately calculate what herbs to give your patients. Now, I must go soon and see if the cook has ordered plenty of mushrooms. A visiting Hobbit is a disruption I warmly welcome."
"Does Master Pippin like cats?" asked Elbeth.
"I think so," said Faramir. "I am certain he will like Laurea. He is a very fine cat indeed."
"He's the best cat in Middle-earth," said Elbeth. "Where has he gone, now?"
"He dashed behind the couch," said Faramir.
Elbeth left the window and went to investigate. She searched every nook and cranny of the room, but there was no sign of the large ginger tom. "I can't find him," she said.
"He must have got out when the cook's boy came in," said Faramir. "He will not have gone far. I expect he is out catching mice now."
"He doesn't like going out when it's so windy," Elbeth protested.
"He has found a nice quiet corner to curl up in then," said Faramir. "He will re-emerge when he is hungry. You should be getting changed now to greet Uncle Aragorn and Master Pippin."
"Strider doesn't mind what I wear," Elbeth retorted with a scowl.
Faramir sighed. "He is our King and we should show respect to him and to Master Pippin. I wish you would call the King Uncle Aragorn as I told you too. Your gown is covered in cat hair!"
"The King said I could call him Strider when we first became friends," said Elbeth. "He said I could keep using that name."
Faramir sighed again. "Very well, but go and change into one of your smart gowns or Aunt Éowyn will be cross." He hurried off to speak to the cook.
Ooo
Several hours later the guests had arrived and enjoyed a hearty meal. Elbeth usually would have enjoyed being allowed to dine with her elders, but tonight she was restless.
"Stop fidgeting, Elbeth," Éowyn said sternly. "Whatever is the matter with you?"
"I haven't seen Laurea for hours, Aunt," Elbeth replied. "I'm worried about him.
"I was wondering where he was too," said Aragorn. "He usually comes to greet me."
"I've a fine cat at home in the Shire," said Pippin. "He is black and white and an excellent mouser."
"Laurea is a ginger tabby with a very long tail," said Elbeth. "Please may I leave the table to go and look for him? I have finished my meal."
Éowyn glanced around the dinner table; only Pippin was still eating, having accepted a third helping.
"Don't wait for me," said the Hobbit. "I just cannot resist this delicious pie."
"Very well," said Éowyn. "If you go outside, though, you must take a servant with you."
"I will go with her," said Aragorn. "I need to stretch my legs."
"Thank you, Strider," said Elbeth as she left the room with the King. "I'm really worried."
"He cannot have gone far," said Aragorn. "Shall we look in the courtyard and the stables? Maybe he is sheltering from the wind?"
Elbeth accepted Aragorn's arm as they went outside into wind. A servant went with them, carrying a lantern. There was no sign of life in the courtyard. Many pairs of gleaming green eyes greeted them in the stables, but they belonged to the stable cats, but no Laurea appeared in response to Elbeth's calls. Aragorn lingered a little while to calm the horses spooked by the wind while Elbeth paced impatiently.
They next searched the kitchens, but found only the kitchen cats in residence. Mice and rats were a constant threat to Emyn Arnen and Faramir and Éowyn kept a good many cats to control the problem. Elbeth was fond of them all, but no cat could compare to Laurea, who had been her constant companion since he was a kitten and slept beside her on her bed each night.
"Have you looked to see if he is in your bedchamber?" Aragorn asked.
"I looked earlier, but he wasn't there," said Elbeth. "He likes to sit by the fire, but the maid couldn't light a fire in my room today as the wind is so strong it kept blowing it out."
"Why not look again?" Aragorn suggested. "He might have crept in there while we were eating."
As they approached, Elbeth's chamber, they heard a faint plaintive mewing. Elbeth's face lit up. "That is Laurea!" she said. He is in my room." She quickened her footsteps, as did Aragorn. Much to their surprise, no ginger cat ran out of the door to greet them.
Elbeth looked under her bed, calling "Laurea!" as she did so then opened the cupboard and a large chest. There was no sign of her beloved cat, but the plaintive mewing continued.
"It is coming from the chimney!" Aragorn exclaimed. The King walked over to the fireplace and peered up the chimney.
"Oh no!" cried Elbeth. "Poor Laurea. He must be trying to hide because the wind have scared him." She called up the chimney. "Come on, Laurea, it is safe to come down now."
Laurea only mewed more pitifully.
"I think he is trapped," said Aragorn. "I will try to get him down." He pulled off the embroidered tunic he was wearing and threw it on to Elbeth's bed then climbed into the fireplace and stretched his arms up the chimney.
Elbeth watched anxiously while Laurea's mewing became more frantic. After a few moments, Aragorn emerged from the fireplace. His face was covered with soot and he was frowning. "He is too far up for me to reach," he said.
Elbeth looked as if she were about to burst into tears. "Poor Laurea will die up there," she said in an unsteady voice.
"That will not happen," said Aragorn. "We shall find a way to save him. Go and fetch your Uncle Faramir. I do not want to leave a trail of sooty footprints. I need a change of boots."
Elbeth hurried off and returned a few minutes later with Faramir, Éowyn, Arwen, and Pippin.
"The poor cat!" Arwen exclaimed.
"Please get him out somehow, Uncle Faramir," Elbeth begged.
"I promise we will, even if we have to knock down the chimney breast," said Faramir.
Éowyn sighed. "It will make a dreadful mess, but we cannot let the cat starve."
Pippin had remained silent. He sauntered over to the chimney and examined it closely. Then he spoke. "I can climb up and rescue the cat," he said.
"It is too dangerous," said Arwen.
"Not for a Hobbit, Lady Arwen, and much easier than knocking the wall down. Laurea gave another plaintive mew.
Éowyn went out in the corridor and called to a passing servant to fetch an old sheet and towels and spread them in front of the hearth. She then closed the bedroom door. Pippin, meanwhile, was peeling off the finery he had worn at dinner until he was dressed only in his shirt and drawers.
"Good luck, Uncle Pippin," said Elbeth as the Hobbit climbed into the fireplace.
"I will have your cat back in two shakes of a lamb's tail," said Pippin.
Everyone held their breath as the Hobbit ascended the chimney. Laurea's mewing became increasingly frenzied.
"Don't be scared, Laurea, Uncle Pippin is trying to help you," called Elbeth.
"I have him!" Pippin's voice was muffled.
They heard scuffling g sounds accompanied by a shower of soot and debris. Then Pippin stood in the hearth with a wriggling Laurea in his arms. Hobbit and cat were both as black as ink.
Oblivious of the mess, Elbeth rushed to clamp Laurea in her arms. "Thank you, Uncle Pippin, you are a hero!" she cried.
Pippin bowed to her and grinned. "The Tooks are always happy to help a maiden in distress and her cat."
Laurea wriggled free from Elbeth's embrace and leapt on to her bed, leaving a trail of sooty paw prints across the cover. Éowyn sighed resignedly and grabbed a towel to clean Laurea. She called to the servants to prepare baths for Aragorn, Pippin, and Elbeth. She rubbed the sooty cat until the white towel turned black.
Laurea wriggled free and sat down on the bed again. He regarded everyone with a superior stare and began to carefully wash himself.
"I wonder why he went up the chimney?" mused Arwen.
"He was scared of the wind, I expect," said Elbeth.
"Or maybe he was simply curious," said Aragorn. They do say "Curiosity killed the cat", but fortunately not this one."
Laurea began to purr.
Chapter 125 - Of Bakers and Bears
Of Bakers and Bears
By Linda Hoyland with grateful thanks to Raksha and Deandra
Rating PG
Aragorn and Faramir get more than they bargained for when they visit a bakery.
Written for the Teitho "Creatures" contest where it was placed third.
The familiar characters and settings are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit will be made from this story.
"Have you heard the news?" Faramir asked as he entered Aragorn's study.
"Should I be alarmed or pleased by it, as you appear to be both?" the King asked.
Faramir frowned. "I am uncertain what to make of the tidings. Éowyn told me this morning that her maid told her that two Beorning brothers have opened a shop in the City where they are selling honey cakes."
"Arwen and Eldarion will be pleased by the news," said Aragorn. He smiled and gestured for Faramir to sit down. "They both love honey cakes. Gimli told me that there are no better bakers than Beornings."
Faramir sat down and toyed with a spare quill on the desk. "I do not doubt they are excellent bakers, but is it safe for them to be at large here in the City? I do not wish to appear inhospitable, but I have heard it say they can change into bears at will!"
"They can indeed, but they do not like to draw attention to their abilities," said Aragorn. "I can hardly prevent them opening a shop in Minas Tirith. I have decreed that all who are willing to obey our laws are welcome here. You still look anxious, my friend. What say you if we visit the shop after the Council meeting this afternoon and meet these skin changers ourselves? We can appear as two ordinary customers."
Faramir smiled for the first time that morning. "As ever, my friend, you speak wisely. That is an excellent plan and I shall enjoy the walk. I can surprise my lady and son with a bag of honey cakes this evening."
"It is settled then," said Aragorn. "We had better make our way to the meeting, little though I relish spending the morning debating land taxation, but it must be done."
000
It was a fine afternoon so King and Steward decided to walk down to the bakery in the fourth circle rather than ride there. Their guards trailed behind them, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible.
"It is a long time since I have tasted Beorning honey cakes," said Aragorn.
"You have met Beornings before, then?" Faramir sounded surprised. "I have heard Mithrandir speak of them , but did not realise you had met any, though I suppose it ought not to surprise me. Do they appear as ordinary men?"
"They dwell in the upper vales of Anduin and also live as woodsmen near the western eaves of Mirkwood. They can be as dark haired as we Dúnedain or as fair as the Rohirrim."
"I have heard Mithrandir tell of Beorn. He said that he was a great strong black-haired man with huge arms and a great beard."
"I believe Beorn was exceptional. The Beornings I have met appeared much as other men. Some came to my coronation. Did you not notice them?"
Faramir shook his head. "They must indeed appear as other men, then. I wonder-" He broke off looking slightly uncomfortable.
"You wonder what?"
"It sounds foolish, I know, but I was wondering if any man had died of fright when his friend or drinking companion suddenly turned into a bear!"
Aragorn laughed. "I have not heard of any such thing. I know Bilbo and his companions found Beorn quite remarkable, but then Beorn was a legend, even amongst his own people." He paused in his stride and looked around him. "I think that is the bakery across the street. Trade appears to be brisk."
A small crowd was gathered around a small stall from whence emanated the delicious aroma of freshly baked cakes. Two burly, bearded men were serving their eager customers.
An old lady reached the front of the queue and held out a coin. "Three honey cakes, please, one for each of my grandchildren."
"Don't you want one for yourself, mistress?" asked the slightly taller Beorning. Faramir observed that he looked much as other hard-working bakers; a florid-faced man in his prime, with wide shoulders, strong, well-muscled arms, and a grin for his customers. Neither baker looked likely to change into bears.
"Maybe next week, Master Ragnar. I have used all my coin today. My grandchildren love your cakes. Master Olaf suggested that they try them."
Aragorn and Faramir watched as Ragnar surreptitiously added another cake and smiling, gave the parcel to the old lady with a cheery, "See you again soon, mistress, I hope." Both brothers smiled and waved as the old dame hobbled away.
When Aragorn and Faramir reached the front of the queue, they ordered a dozen cakes each.
"Have you children, good sirs?" asked Ragnar.
"I have a son whose favourite food is honey cakes," said Aragorn. "My wife is partial to them too."
"I will give your little boy a cake if you ever bring him this way," said Ragnar.
"Thank you, I will," said Aragorn. "I am certain he would like to meet you."
"What child does not like honey cakes?" said Faramir. "I have enjoyed them since I was a child and so do my children."
"I hope you enjoy these, good sir," said Olaf. "The honey comes from our own bees."
Aragorn and Faramir were unable to resist the aroma of the freshly baked cakes. They settled themselves on a nearby bench where they continued to watch the Beorning brothers serving their customers.
"Mmm, delicious," said Faramir as he nibbled a cake. "These are the best honey cakes I have ever tasted. Maybe having these Beornings here is a good thing after all."
Aragorn took a bite of his own cake. "I wonder if it is something they feed to their bees that makes the cakes so good?" he mused.
Olaf disappeared into a room at the back of the stall and a few moments later, a comely young woman emerged from behind the counter, carrying a tray of freshly baked cakes, which she placed at the front of the stall.
Just then, a group of rowdy young men emerged from a tavern opposite to the bakery. They ambled over to the cake stall and pushed past a group of middle -aged ladies and children waiting to be served.
"How might I be of service, sirs?" said the young woman. Despite her polite words, she was frowning as she backed towards the stall.
"I can think of a good many ways," said one of the men, causing the woman to blush.
"Give us a kiss, fair maid," said another.
"I think not," said the woman. "Now be on your way if you don't want to buy any cakes."
"Don't be like that," said one of the men.
"We can give you sweeter pleasures than honey cakes," said another. He seized one of her long braids and pulled roughly pulled her towards him roughly. The woman screamed and kicked her assailant.
"Unhand my wife this instant!" cried Ragnar.
"A lusty wench like this deserves better than a great oaf like you," said a third man.
Aragorn and Faramir reached for their swords, but before they could intervene, the man grabbed the woman and pulled her towards him. At the same instant, Ragnar gave a great roar and changed into a great black bear before their eyes, his garments tearing apart and falling from his body as the transformation took place.
The men fled. The bear gave a great leap over the counter and pursued them.
The ladies screamed and jumped out of the way, pulling their children with them.
The louts knocked over a barrow of potatoes in front of a greengrocer's stall, scattering them over the road. Aragorn and Faramir raced after the bear, but stumbled on the potatoes, which slowed them down. Everywhere, folk screamed, panicked, and dived into shops and behind market stalls. One old lady clutched her chest and fell to the ground in a swoon. Other, calmer stallholders grabbed their merchandise and placed it out of harm's way.
Aragorn hesitated, wondering whether to go to the old woman's aid, and then decided that if the bear were not stopped there could be many more casualties. He shouted for help and guards came running from all directions armed with swords, spears and bows and arrows. He kept running in the direction of the bear. Though it was out of sight, the screams and commotion in the street ahead made its presence all too clear.
"Ragnar!" he yelled. "Surrender so you will not get hurt!"
The bear continued its rampage through the City streets. Aragorn spotted the group of louts trying to creep out from an alleyway and called to a nearby guard to arrest them. He kept on running; Faramir was close at his heels.
Suddenly, he spotted the bear a little way ahead. The gate to the third circle had been closed and the bear found itself trapped.
One of the guards drew his bow and nocked an arrow.
"No!" Aragorn cried.
The commotion drowned out his voice though. The guard loosed the arrow. The bear fell to the ground. The crowd gasped. Aragorn ran forward. There was no sign of the bear. Instead, a hirsute, naked man lay on the ground, writhing in agony, an arrow protruding from his back.
The guards ran forward too, their weapons in their hands. They regarded the fallen man in bewilderment.
Several people in the crowd cried out and a woman swooned.
Aragorn knelt beside Ragnar and covered him with his cloak. "Sheathe your weapons!" he cried. "This man must be taken to the Houses of Healing with all haste."
"There is some dark magic here!" cried a man in the crowd. "Have a care, sire!"
"Fear no sorcery, my good man," Aragorn said calmly. "This man is a skin changer. There are others like him in the North."
"Return to your homes," said Faramir, who had now caught up with the King. "There is nothing to see here."
"Disgraceful!" muttered a woman as she turned to walk away. "Whatever is the City coming to?"
Aragorn turned to Faramir. "Would you give my lady a message that I will be delayed as I am going with Ragnar to the Houses of Healing?"
"Gladly, my friend," said Faramir. "And shall I see how the Baker's lady is faring?"
"Thank you," said the King. "Please send word to me at the Houses."
Two guards brought a stretcher and supervised by the King, they lifted Ragnar on to it. This was no easy task as the Beorning was no lightweight who writhed and struggled in their grasp.
Ragnar looked at Aragorn, fear in his eyes.
"Be easy now," said the King. "There is nought more to fear. The guards will take to where your wound can be treated."
Ragnar fell back on the stretcher with a sigh and the small procession set off for the sixth circle."
Ooo
Several hours later, Aragorn sat at Ragnar's bedside in a small room in the Houses of Healing. Shortly after their arrival there, the King had assisted one of the healers in removing the arrow. The Beorning had been fortunate as the arrow had missed any vital organ and merely shattered the two ribs it had wedged between. An unpleasant, painful injury, but one from which he believed the skin changer should make a full recovery in time.
Ragnar stirred and opened his eyes. "Where am I?" he croaked.
"In the Houses of Healing," said Aragorn. He went over to the bedside table and poured a glass of water, which he held to Ragnar's lips. "You were injured by an arrow and will need to rest a while here to recover."
Ragnar drank then looked wildly around him. "My wife?"
"She is safe and will visit you soon."
They sat in silence for a few moments then the Beorning's eyes came to rest on the guard stationed at the door. "Am I in trouble? Will I be locked up? What will become of poor Astrid? Those creatures- how could they? She is with child."
Aragorn gestured to the guard to step outside before he spoke again. "I think you have been punished enough," said Aragorn. "The guard is here to protect us. We do not have any law forbidding a man becoming a bear, but we do have several laws concerning causing a disturbance and public decency. We cannot have folk turning into bears in the streets. One old lady was taken ill as result and lies here in the Houses too. You were sorely provoked, though, and the miscreants who assaulted your wife will be punished with the full weight of the law."
"I am sorry," said Ragnar. "I meant harm to none save the thugs who assaulted my wife. Our women do not change skins in public or she would have taught them a lesson herself."
"You need to do as the other shopkeepers do and keep a cudgel or a sword behind the counter to brandish at miscreants who threaten you," said Aragorn. "Do I have your word you will not change into a bear in public again?"
Ragnar gave a sign and nodded.
"What you do in the privacy of your home; or alone in the countryside is up to you as long as you do not harm anyone," Aragorn added.
"Skin changing is important to us," said Ragnar. "It plays an important part in our courtship rituals."
Aragorn was briefly amused by the image, in his thoughts, of two bears, one with a wreath of flowers on its head, dancing a harvest reel. He decided it were best not to imagine the courtship any further. He got up to leave. "I need to return home now. You will be well looked after here. The guard will remain, but he is for your safety, not to detain you. You are not under arrest."
Ragnar regarded him curiously. "How can you be so certain? Are you the mayor or something?"
Aragorn smiled. He would not further burden the injured Beorning by revealing his identity. "You could say I am something like a mayor. I do have authority here."
"I suppose we will need to give up our bakery and return home after what happened today," said Ragnar sadly.
"That decision would depend on your customers," said Aragorn. "Now I must bid you farewell."
000
Several weeks later.
"Can we have a really big bag of cakes?" asked Eldarion.
"I cannot see why not?" said Arwen.
"They are the best cakes ever!" said Eldarion.
"Better than cook's?" asked Elestelle.
"Better even than our cook's," Eldarion replied.
"You must not tell the cook you think that," said Arwen.
"Are they really so good, Naneth?" asked Elestelle.
"You need to taste them and see," said Éowyn.
"Want cake!" demanded little Elboron who was perched on his father's shoulders.
"Why do we have to wait so long?" grumbled Elbeth.
"Because we are not the only ones who like cakes," said Faramir. "Be patient, my brother- daughter!"
"It is almost our turn," said Aragorn.
A woman turned round balancing her shopping bag and a large bag of cakes. She almost collided with Aragorn. "Pardon, my lord!" she cried.
Aragorn recognised her as one of the Healers who tended the women and children at the Houses of Healing. "Be easy, Dame Ivowen," he said. "These cakes are so popular it is no wonder it is crowded here."
Ivorwen curtsied. "I never expected to see you and the Queen and the Steward and his lady queuing for cakes!" she exclaimed.
"We like to walk in the City sometimes and let our sons see how the people live," said Aragorn. "And more than that, we like honey cakes!"
"I always imagined you would have your servants come and buy them for you," said Ivorwen.
"I believe honey cakes taste better after a walk and a wait," said Aragorn.
"I wasn't going to come here after that um- incident a few weeks back," said Ivorwen. "I cannot resist these cakes though and the bakers are good people albeit a little um, unusual."
"Ada!" Eldarion tugged his father's sleeve. "It is our turn now."
"Good day, Mistress, Ivorwen," said Aragorn. "I will see you soon at the Houses." He turned towards the stall to find Ragnar staring at him in astonishment.
"You are the King?" asked the Beorning. He gestured towards Faramir. "And he is the Steward?"
"We are indeed."
"The King at my stall and you were so kind to me!" Ragnar bowed low, as did his wife and brother who had emerged from the room at the back.
"How are you, Ragnar?" asked Aragorn.
"Much improved, my lord. He shook his shaggy head. "The King at my stall?" he repeated.
Aragorn smiled. "Can a King not like cakes? If you wish, you may put up a sign above your stall saying, By Kingly Appointment. Now, I should like a large bag of your best honey cakes."
A/n Wishing all my readers a peaceful and Happy Christmas season.
Chapter 126 - Heart of Darkness
Heart of Darkness by Linda Hoyland
Rating PG
I make no money from this story. All familiar characters belong to Tolkien.
Summary - Old wounds are reopened for Aragorn and Faramir.
With grateful thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
“It is an outrage, sire!” The plump merchant’s double chin wobbled in indignation.
“I cannot see why, Master Finfarin. The homeless shelter is nowhere near your property.”
“That my taxes are to be spent on the lazy and feckless is a disgrace!” Finfarin continued.
Aragorn’s eyes gleamed dangerously, forcing the merchant to look away. “I would remind you, Master Finfarin, that hard times may come upon anyone.”
“They are drunkards and idlers!” the merchant protested.
“Many who are now homeless fought for Gondor during the war against Sauron. Some cannot endure the things that they saw and seek now to numb their minds with liquor.” Aragorn’s tone was like ice. “If you too had fought for Gondor, you too would know and would understand.”
“I had to look after my business and see my old mother safe to Lossarnach.”
“Quite so, now I have no more time to waste on this matter. Good day, Master Finfarin.” Aragorn’s tone brokered no further argument. The merchant bowed low and retreated, the light gleaming on the rich silks and velvet of his clothing.
Aragorn sighed and turned to Faramir, who was hearing petitions with him that morning. “I know a King must listen to all his subjects, and I like to know what troubles them, but some truly try my patience. They have little knowledge and even less understanding of the issues they bring before me.”
“At least not all the merchants are not like him,” said Faramir. “Many have offered food and clothing to the homeless. Maybe the next petitioner will have some matter of import.”
A herald announced the next petitioner and Aragorn turned his attention to the middle- aged man who had hesitantly entered the hall.
“Boron son of Calmacil,” announced the herald.
Faramir looked up at the sound of the name as if it had some import and frowned as if trying to recall something, but Aragorn had no chance to speak to him.”
“Draw near, Boron, and tell me how I might help you,” said Aragorn.
Boron slowly approached with dragging footsteps. He bowed low and knelt before the King. He was of medium height, with short greying hair. “My lord, I thank you for seeing me,” he said. “ I come before you as my father died a few weeks ago.”
“I am sorry to hear of your loss,” said Aragorn. He waited for Boron to continue, but when the man said nothing further he broke the silence. “How might I be of help to you, Master Boron?”
“My sire was sorely troubled during his final illness,” said Boron. “I had to promise I would ask for an audience with you before he could rest easy. I hope you will not be angry with me.”
“You may speak freely,” said Aragorn. “I hope my wrath falls only on those who truly deserve it.”
Boron cleared his throat. “My father was chief scribe to Lord Denethor,” he began. “He was advanced in years and came to live with me and my family when the old Steward died.”
“I recall Calmacil well,” said Faramir, his frown replaced with a smile. “He was my sire’s most trusted scribe. It saddens me to hear of his death.”
Boron smiled wanly at Faramir and shuffled his feet. Aragorn gestured for him to continue. “My father told him that the day Lord Denethor died, he sent for him. Lord Denethor dictated several letters. They were delivered to their recipients once the fighting was over, all save one that is.” Boron reached inside his tunic and took out a sealed letter. “That letter was for you, sire. My father knew what was in it, you see, my lord, and he feared if he gave it to you, you’d have his head for certain!”
Aragorn reached out to take the letter, but Boron seemed loth to relinquish it from his grasp.
“Please don’t be angry with me, my lord King, I’m but a poor weaver with five children to support, not that my father approved of my trade what with him being a scribe to the Steward, but I weave a fine cloth and-“
“It is an honourable profession, my friend,” said Aragorn, gently but firmly prising the letter from Boron’s grasp. “I assure you I would never punish a man for his father’s actions.”
“My father was an honest man, sire. He only kept this because he was afraid.”
“You, too, are an honest man, Boron,” said Aragorn. He smiled. “I shall see that you are rewarded for your honesty. You may leave us now.”
Murmuring thanks and further apologies, Boron bowed low again and hastened from the hall.
Aragorn turned the letter over in his hand. He recognised the seal of Gondor’s Ruling Stewards, familiar to him from the time he had spent in Ecthelion’s service. Why had Denethor written him a letter just before his death and what had it contained that had so frightened Master Calmacil? He glanced towards the herald, who caught his gaze.
“There are no further petitioners today, my lord,” said the man. “Master Boron was the first to arrive, but he hung back and kept letting others take his place until there were none here save he.”
“Thank you,” said Aragorn. “I shall retire to my chambers now. You may have the rest of the day to spend as you please.” He rose from the ornate chair in which he sat to hear petitions. He only used the throne on state occasions as it was difficult to hear what nervous subjects were saying from its lofty heights. Faramir, who had sat in a less ornate chair at his side, rose to his feet too. The Steward looked troubled. Aragorn wished that Arwen had been hearing petitions with him that day instead. It had obviously come as a shock to the Steward to learn of the letter from his father. Aragorn would have preferred to tell Faramir about it in his own time, but it was not to be. He turned to his Steward. “I shall read this letter in my study. Will you accompany me?”
“Would you not prefer to read it alone?”
Aragorn shook his head. “It is only fitting you read what may well have been your father’s last letter, that is, if you wish to.”
“However unpleasant the contents might be, knowing the truth cannot be worse than speculating what the letter might contain.”
“Wise words, mellon nîn.”
In contrast to the vast splendour of the throne room, Aragorn’s study was warm and cosy. A cheerful fire burned in the grate. At Aragorn’s command, a servant brought wine. Aragorn poured out a glass for Faramir and one for himself. He then settled on the couch opposite his desk and sprawled out his long legs. He gestured for Faramir to sit beside him.
He held up the letter for a moment before breaking the seal and starting to read.
“Thorongil, or Aragorn, or whoever you call yourself nowadays. I know you are on your way to seize what is rightfully mine. The City burns even as I compose this letter, nothing will await you here save dust and ashes, a fine kingdom for you to rule over!
I know you expect me to bend the knee and fawn over you, even as my poor sire did in his dotage – never will I yield to the last of a ragged line bereft of dignity! Far sooner would I die. Better to burn as the heathen kings of old than to fall to the enemy.
Gondor is falling, falling to darkness and you will soon fall with her. You who were spawned and reared in the Northern wastes, you know nothing of ruling a proud kingdom that has endured and prospered long after Arnor fell.
You could not fool every man as you fooled my poor sire in his dotage. Why did you steal his love from me? Was it not enough for you that your men loved you? You stole my father’s love then you broke his heart by slinking away like a thief in the night.”
Aragorn paused and took a deep breath then took a sip of wine from his goblet. Beside him, Faramir sat as if turned to stone. After a few moments, Aragorn continued reading,
“You would never have stolen my Boromir’s love as you stole my sire’s. It was indeed a fortuitous chance for you that my son fell when he did. The Halfling did not see Boromir’s final moments. Was was son indeed slain by Orcs, Thorongil, or did he perish by your hand to clear your path to the throne?
The line of the Stewards has ended. Faramir still draws breath, but the dark fire consumes him from within. He shall accompany me in death. None shall ever take him from me! The Enemy shall not despoil his body. Let him perish as a true son of mine and not as a Wizard’s pupil, doomed to dote upon an upstart would- be king.
We serve the line of Anárion, not Isildur. My longsire soon sent the would be king Arvedui packing back to the northern wastelands where he belonged. Would that my sire had done the same to you, Thorongil!Or, better still, that you had perished on the docks of Umbar. I have no doubt that if you had given up your life to a Corsair blade, my Boromir would not have lost his.
Come then, make your long overdue return to the City you once forsook. Claim this kingdom of ashes burn with it!
I go now to join my longfathers,
Denethor, son of Ecthelion, the last Steward of Gondor.”
Aragorn silently handed the letter to Faramir. There was a long silence then at last the King spoke. “I always wondered what Denethor truly thought of me after all those years,” he said dryly. “Now I know.” Then his voice dropped almost to a whisper.” Alas, but I did break Ecthelion’s heart, which I bitterly regret. I loved your grand sire almost as a father, Faramir, but I never sought to come between him and your father.” Aragorn buried his face in his hands for a few moments. Then he looked up. “I felt I had no choice but to leave. I suspected he might offer me the crown, which could have led to civil war.”
“You could only do what you believed to be best,” said Faramir. “If only my father had been more reasonable. How could he say such things?” He continued to peruse the letter silently for a few moments.
“He had lost his mind,” said Aragorn. “Not that he thought any better of me when he was sane. It grieves me though, that he thought I played some part in Boromir’s death. He was heavily outnumbered by the enemy. Alas, that I came upon him too late to save him. When he died, all I could think of was the fair babe I recall being proudly held in your father’s arms.”
“I am glad you were with my brother when he drew his final breaths,” said Faramir. “The handwriting shows my sire’s state of mind. His signature was usually far clearer than this. Well I recall it on the letters he sent while I was in Ithilien with my men, as well as Master Calmacil’s hand. Parts of this letter are far from Calmacil’s usual neat penmanship. I am glad that he, at least, survived the war and lived to be ripe in years. As for my father, I believe he had lost all will to live when Boromir died. He loved him very much. He gave one half of his heart to my mother, I believe and the other half to Boromir. Once Boromir was gone, his heart broke asunder.”
“You suffered the loss of those you held dearest too, ion nin, but you live and thrive, the Valar be praised!”
“You called me back from the darkness. I met you, my King, and father of my heart. Then soon afterwards I met my Éowyn. Hope returned together with my strength. Those days were dark, but they brought me joy as well as sorrow.” Faramir handed the letter back to Aragorn.
Aragorn took back the parchment and read it again. “I will lock this away in the archives,” he said.
Faramir looked anxious. “What if future generations should come to believe my father’s ramblings? Would it not be better to burn it?”
“I hope the knowledge that those who come after me have of my reign will come from my deeds,” said Aragorn. “I am simply sorry that you had to have old griefs rekindled today.”
“Often I wondered what thoughts were in my father’s mind ere he died,” said Faramir. “Better to know the truth than to imagine what drove him to such despair.”
“Had Denethor lived, I would have treated him with all courtesy and honour,” said Aragorn. He squeezed Faramir’s shoulder. “My friend, let us leave the ghosts of the past behind. We cannot know what the future holds. I do know, though, that my lady awaits us. Come and break bread with us in the clear light of the sun.”
A/n. Denethor's state of mind is further explored in Kingdom of Ashes.” This story was written for the Teitho “Knowledge” contest where it was placed first.
Chapter 127 - The Great Escape
The Great Escape – by Linda Hoyland
Rated PG
These characters belong to Tolkien and his heirs. This story is written to entertain, not for financial profit.
Aragorn and Faramir's hunting trip is disrupted.
With thanks to Deandra.
Aragorn sipped his drink with appreciation. It was a good ale, or maybe it simply tasted better for being drunk in a country tavern. Opposite him, Faramir smiled as if sensing his thoughts. Both King and Steward cherished these rare opportunities to escape from the City, cast off their court finery and travel unrecognised amongst their people. Dressed in humble garb, the two were enjoying a brief hunting trip in Lossarnach. Catching their own supper and sleeping under the stars was nowadays a rare treat to be savoured like fine wine.
Aragorn and Faramir had arrived in the village just as a wedding was about to take place. The village headman had invited the strangers to join in the celebrations and witness the blacksmith marry the miller's daughter. After feasting and dancing, the happy couple had retired to the smithy where the smith had carried his bride over the threshold, before firmly closing the door. The women and children had then returned to their cottages while most of the menfolk had made their way to "The Ploughman's Rest" to prolong the feasting well into the night.
One man, who looked like a farmer, took out a set of pipes and struck up a merry tune. Soon everyone was singing. Aragorn and Faramir joined in. It was a popular song; the tale of a soldier who had wooed and won a farmer's pretty daughter.
"I used to sing this on winter nights with my men," Faramir murmured during a break in the singing, during which the innkeeper refilled everyone's tankards.
"It was a favourite of my men, too, when I was serving your grandsire," said Aragorn. He took a sip of his drink then joined in as the song resumed.
"Be you a minstrel?" asked a man at a nearby table when the song ended. "Thou sings well."
"I have been many things," said Aragorn.
"Give us a song!" said the man with the pipes. "I will play for thee. Know thee' The Soldier's Lament'?"
"Aye," said Aragorn. He began to sing the plaintive tune. He knew the words well from his days as Captain Thorongil when his men would sing around their camp fires. The song told of a soldier who despaired of ever being able to return home to his young bride. As he sang, he wandered round the room and he noticed a young man was also moving around, pausing at each table in turn. The man made Aragorn suspicious. The others, though, did not seem to notice anything. Maybe it was because they had drunk considerably more than the King.
His song ended, Aragorn took advantage of the hubbub while drinks were refilled to watch the man more closely. He was certain he saw the fellow dip his hand into the pocket of the man he had just walked past. Aragorn felt angry. These were honest farmers and labourers enjoying a wedding feast.
The man was now making his way towards where Aragorn and Faramir were sitting.
"Who is that?" Aragorn asked a man at the next table.
"That be Turgon, the Smith's apprentice, poor lad. Rumour has it he be sweet on the lass who wed today.."
Aragorn was about to get up , but the innkeeper had obviously spotted something was amiss too….
"Turgon, a word with thee," he cried.
Turgon looked startled and stumbled heavily against Aragorn. He righted himself and pointed at the King. "This fellow here has been picking pockets!" he announced.
The innkeeper looked taken aback. "But I saw thee going round the tables suspicious like, Turgon," he protested. "Search me," said Turgon. "Thee'll not find nothing."
The innkeeper rifled through Turgon's pockets while the Smith's apprentice grinned cheerfully. He seemed not to be concerned in the slightest. All the search yielded was a couple of small coins and several nails.
"Now be searching him!" Turgon demanded, pointing towards Aragorn.
The innkeeper hesitated.
"I let thee search me and I be one of your own. He be a stranger." Turgon now sounded belligerent.
"I be sorry," the innkeeper said apologetically to Aragorn, "but if thee don't be a-minding us, good sir."
"Very well," Aragorn consented. He was annoyed, but unperturbed. His pockets held only a handkerchief, which was a gift from Sam, a flint, a lodestone and a few small coins. To his horror, though, when the innkeeper rifled through his pockets, he brought forth a collection of worn purses, filled to varying degrees with coins. The innkeeper grabbed Aragorn's arm.
"That be my purse there!" cried one of the men sitting near the bar.
"And that be mine!" cried a man at a table by the window.
"Punish the thief!" cried Turgon.
Faramir leapt to his feet. "There is some mistake!" he cried. "Unhand my friend this instant!"
"That be his accomplice!" cried Turgon. "Seize him before he be running away!"
Two burly farmers grabbed hold of Faramir's arms.
"I did not take the purses," said Aragorn. "They have been planted on me."
"All thieves be saying that," said the innkeeper. "I be taking you to the head man"
"Put them in the pillory!" cried one of the men whose purse had been taken.
"Give them a good whipping!" cried Turgon.
Aragorn glanced towards Faramir, indicating that he should flee. It would surely be easier to explain everything and clear their names if they talked to the village elder. But he had no desire to risk them both being captured The mood in the tavern had turned ugly and although these country folk would be no match for seasoned warriors, Aragorn had no desire to harm them. They were rightly angry, albeit with the wrong men. "There is no need to restrain me," the King said calmly. "We should like to see your head man. He seems a just and reasonable fellow."
"Thee looks as if thee could run well with thy long legs," said the innkeeper doubtfully. "I be taking no chances."
"There is no need to restrain me!" Aragorn shouted. He stretched out a leg and kicked over a chair.
Faramir took advantage of the diversion to slip away.
One of the farmers noticed and cried out "After him!"
The men hesitated, trying to decide who should pursue Faramir. The Steward used his few moments' advantage to ride away into the night.
Aragorn allowed himself to be marched out of the inn and through the village. Luckily few folk were abroad to witness this humiliation.
The headman's dwelling was at the far end of the village and a little larger than the other homes. The innkeeper banged on the door, which was opened after a few minutes by the man who had earlier that day conducted the wedding ceremony. He looked irate and appeared to have got dressed in a hurry as his tunic was on back to front. He was of ripe years with grey hair, rather overweight and sported a bushy beard.
"I hope this is important!" he snapped. "My wife be unwell and we were a-resting."
"Beggin' your pardon, Master Tuor, but I be a- catching this fellow a-stealing my customers' purses. ",
"We are honest men and have stolen nothing," said Aragorn.
"All thieves be saying that," said Tuor. "Be bringing him in and put him in the cellar. I'll be a-dealing with him in the morning. Shame on thee after we welcomed thee and invited thee to the wedding."
Aragorn took a deep breath. He had no wish for a night in the cellar rather than under the stars, a rare treat to be savoured on a summer night. It was time to cast aside his disguise. His captors dragged him over Tuor's threshold into a stone- flagged hallway furnished with an oaken bench.
"I am no thief," he said. "I am the King."
"Where be your crown then?" asked Tuor scornfully.
Aragorn struggled to keep his temper. "It is locked safely in a casket in the citadel. It is too heavy to wear often. I have other tokens with me. This sword is Andúril, the sword- that-was- broken." He would have reached for the blade, but the innkeeper prevented him. He lifted up his hand. "This ring is the Ring of Barahir."
"One sword looks much like another to me, I be a farmer not a warrior" said Tuor. "Be taking his weapon and a- stowing it safely. As for the ring, surely a king would be having a ring adorned with some kingly beast, not serpents. No doubt thee stole it."
Ignoring Aragorn's protests, the innkeeper unbuckled Andúril and placed it in the far corner of the hallway.
"I am no common thief!" Aragorn protested. "The Smith's apprentice stole the purses and planted them on me."
"Turgon be one of our own and thee be nothing but a stranger and a vagabond," said Tuor.
"He said he be a travelling minstrel," explained the innkeeper. "That kind often be light fingered."
"I never claimed to be a minstrel, you assumed that because I sing well enough," said Aragorn. "Listen to me, man, I am your King!"
"I suppose he be saying his accomplice is the Lord Steward next," said Tuor.
"He is," said Aragorn.
Tuor burst out laughing but quickly sobered.
"It be a serious offence to be pretending to be the King and his Steward. What sort of fool be thinking up a story like that? If thee were the King thee would be dressed in fine clothes and have servants and guards with you. No King nor Steward would be a- coming alone to our village."
"I like to walk in disguise amongst my people," said Aragorn.
"That sort of thing be a- happening only in tales," said Tuor. "Well, whoever thee might be, thee deserve a day in the pillory then a good flogging. That will teach thee not to steal and slander our King's good name! We be upholding his laws here and protecting his honour."
"The King would care not what men said about him and condemns no man without a trial," said Aragorn.
"This be a small village, there be no magistrate here and I can't be a-sparing men to be taking you to the City." Tuor nodded to the innkeeper and the farmers. "Lock him in the cellar. My sick wife be needing me."
"I am a healer, maybe I could help her," said Aragorn.
"Thee will keep your filthy thieving hands off of her!" cried Tuor. "First thee be a minstrel, then the King, then a healer. Enough of thy lies! To the cellar with thee!"
The innkeeper and the two farmers grabbed Aragorn and marched him across through the kitchen and into a cellar at the back. The King was sorely tempted to overpower them and flee, but he reminded himself again that these were his subjects and he must protect rather than harm them. They were strong country fellows and it would be impossible to overpower them without using considerable force. He knew he must think of some other means of escape. He decided to try using his natural authority. "I tell you, I am your King and no thief. Release me at once!" he cried in his most commanding tone. "You can send to the City for the Captain of the Guard to identify me."
"Maybe we should do as he says?" The innkeeper sounded uneasy. The farmers murmured their assent.
"Nonsense!" snapped Tuor. "These rogues be saying anything to escape their just desserts. Lock him in the cellar."
Somewhat hesitantly, the innkeeper and the farmers pushed Aragorn down some steps and inside the cellar. "I be sorry," the innkeeper muttered before he shut the door.
Aragorn heard the key turning in the lock and the sound of footsteps retreating along the passage. He sighed deeply and tried to take stock of his surroundings. It was pitch dark, so he had to feel his way around his makeshift prison. There were barrels around the walls, which suggested it was usually a wine store. A heap of straw in one corner and an old bucket in the far corner made the room into what Aragorn suspected was the village prison.
He sat down on the straw and glumly considered his predicament. It would almost be amusing, were it not so humiliating, the King of Gondor and Arnor imprisoned by a handful of his loyal subjects. At least Faramir had escaped. He would be riding through the night to fetch help. Aragorn groaned at the prospect of being freed by his guards. The indignity of it all! And the worst thing of all, he would lose what little freedom to roam that he still had as King. He knew that kings were not supposed wander the wilds incognito, but he had been a Ranger for too long to completely abandon that way of life whatever his Council thought. Arwen, somewhat surprisingly, encouraged his rare hunting trips. She understood that he feared he would lose his wits if forced to remain cooped up in the Citadel. She preferred a happy husband to a grumpy one. He suspected too that she enjoyed using her considerable gifts to rule in his absence.
A King needed to move freely amongst his people and learn how his kingdom was truly faring and not merely what his advisers wanted him to know. Aragorn groaned again at the prospect of his future freedom being restricted to a ride across the Pelennor accompanied by his guards, or a walk through the market place with everyone bowing and scraping to him. It was intolerable. He must escape, but how?
Mistress Tasariel , a respected healer, and her folk lived in a neighbouring village who knew him and would vouch for his good character, though only Tasariel knew his true identity. He would have to break free when they took him out in the morning. He had no intention of submitting to either the pillory or a flogging. Hopefully, he would meet up on the road with Faramir and the guards his Steward would bring. Poor Arwen, she would be so worried when she learned her husband had been arrested.
Aragorn got to his feet and restlessly paced the cellar. The air was starting to feel oppressive. He hated above all else to be confined and he admonished himself sternly not to let his fears overcome him. He could feel fresh air through a grille in the wall and knew he would not suffocate.
He tensed as he heard a sound. A chink of light appeared as the door slowly opened. It seemed that Tuor had returned to check on his prisoner. Aragorn braced himself. Now would be a perfect opportunity to flee under cover of darkness.
"Aragorn?"
The familiar voice whispering held him rooted to the spot. His Steward was standing in the doorway with a lantern in his hand.
"Faramir? I thought you would be half way to the City by now."
"I would not leave you here alone. Come, we must hurry! I have left the front door ajar." He handed Aragorn his sword. "Here is Andúril. I found it in the passageway."
Aragorn needed no second bidding and hastened up the cellar steps with his Steward. The house was dark and silent until a sudden gust of wind blew the front door shut with a crash.
"Who be there?" Tuor appeared, clad in his nightshirt and clutching a candle. "Help, thieves, murder!" he yelled at the top of his voice.
Aragorn placed his hand on Andúril's hilt. "Stay there!" he ordered.
"I'll not be letting a thieving good- for- nothing get away with it!" Tuor retorted, descending the stairs determinedly. "I have to be upholding of the King's laws."
"Let us leave. We are armed," Aragorn said sternly. He moved to stand beside the open doorway to the living room. He nodded to Faramir.
As Tuor approached them, the two men gently, but firmly pushed him into the living room. "Let me go, thou ruffians!" he cried.
"I am sorry," said Aragorn, leaning against the door to stop Tuor escaping. "You give me no choice, though. I will see that you are freed soon."
"There is coin on your kitchen table to pay for the damage I caused by breaking into your home," said Faramir.
"Thou can't be keeping me here. There be no lock on the door! I be getting every man in this village to be hunting thee down in the name of the King!"
Faramir was already dragging the oak bench in front of the door.
The two men raced out of the front door to the sound of Tuor's enraged shouts.
"The horses are just around the corner," said Faramir. "Where do we ride for, home or deeper into the countryside?"
"Deeper into the countryside," said Aragorn. "We are not expected back for a few days, so let us make the most of our freedom. I should like to visit Mistress Tasariel and her folk. But first, we must rouse the innkeeper."
The two set off at a canter down the moonlit village street, stopping only when they came to the inn. "Hey there!" cried Aragorn in a loud voice.
After a few minutes, the innkeeper's head appeared at the window. "Thee again!" he cried.
"Your friend, Master Tuor needs your help," said Aragorn. "Tell him that Elessar Telcontar sent you!"
Before the innkeeper could reply, King and Steward had urged their horses to a gallop, and quickly disappeared from sight. They rode onwards until they reached the forest, where they stopped to rest their horses.
"We will make camp here for the night," said Aragorn. "We have come far enough to evade pursuit."
"Never did I think I'd live to see the day you had to flee from your own justice," said Faramir. He dismounted from his horse and tethered him to a tree.
"Neither did I. That rogue, Turgon, must not be allowed to get away with robbing his fellow villagers, though." Aragorn likewise dismounted.
"I agree, but what do you propose to do?" Faramir began to gather wood for a fire.
"I will send a small troop of guards to the village with some of them in disguise as rich travellers. I surmise Turgon will try to rob them when they dine at the inn. The guards in uniform will then arrest him. I believe we should send officials around the villages more often. I have little liking for punishments without a proper trial. Tonight has taught me that I have not paid enough attention to justice in country areas."
"It seems you can never escape your burdens, even on a hunting trip," said Faramir.
"I am King," said Aragorn. "With the crown, goes the burden."
A little later, the two men sat beside their campfire and prepared for the night.
"I have not yet thanked you," said Aragorn.
"For what, mellon nîn?"
"For helping me escape."
"I could not ride away leaving you captive."
Aragorn squeezed Faramir's shoulder then lay back and studied the stars twinkling through the forest canopy. Their beauty against the midnight sky never failed to soothe his spirits. He took a deep breath and rejoiced in the sweet pine-scented air. It was the scent of freedom. Soon his eyelids grew heavy and he fell into a dreamless untroubled sleep.
A/n. Written for the Teitho contest – Escape- where it was placed 3rd.
Chapter 128 - Tales after Dinner
B2MeM Challenge; Storytelling, original character, canon character. A canon character tells a story about an original character.
Format: Short story
Genre: Friendship
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Characters: Aragorn, Faramir, OMCS
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen, OMC/OFC
Summary: Aragorn reminisces about his first visit to Harad.
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been nor will be made from this story.
A/n; Fadil’s time with Aragorn is told from the merchant’s point of view in “A Gift of Tongues” and his adventures in the desert are told in “Desert Skies”.
“I thank you, honoured friends,” said Tahir, as he finished his meal and licked his lips appreciatively. “You honour me beyond measure by inviting me to your table and serving me with such delicacies. My fair blossom will be most sad that she had to miss such delight.”
“The cook was happy to prepare your food in the way you like it,” said Arwen. “We keep a supply of your favourite spices for when you visit us. You must come again and bring Adiva when your little one is recovered. Éowyn should be able to join us as she is in the City next week too. ”
“Few would be as kind to a former enemy as you are, esteemed friends,” said the Ambassador.
Arwen rose to leave the table and the men followed her into the living room where Aragorn, Arwen, and Faramir settled themselves on comfortable chairs and Tahir reclined on cushions that had been placed there for him.
A servant served drinks. When they had departed, Aragorn spoke. “Once I believed, as some sadly still do, that all the Men of Harad were cruel and violent and very different to the Men of the West. It was not until I met Fadil that my opinion changed.”
“Who was Fadil?” asked Faramir.
“You have heard me speak of him before, melon nîn,” said Aragorn. “He was the merchant whom I served for a while. He taught me to speak the Tongue of Harad.”
“Ah yes, I recall you mentioning a merchant,” said Faramir.
“You were a servant to a merchant, esteemed Lord King?” Tahir sounded horrified.
Aragorn laughed. “I have been many things in my life. I found my time with Fadil most profitable. It is a long story.”
Faramir glanced at the Ambassador and noted the eager gleam in the eyes of the Man of Harad. Tahir was far too well mannered, though, to demand a story, so he said, “I should like to hear it, if you would share it with us.”
“Gladly,” said Aragorn. He took a sip of his drink and closed his eyes as he remembered. “It was long ago. I had been serving in Gondor under the guise of Captain Thorongil, but it was time for me to leave there. I felt somewhat at a loss. I knew I should return north and take up my duties as Chieftain again, but I felt I had not learned all that I could in the South. I had fought against the Haradrim and I desired to know more about them. They were after all, Men ,not Orcs and I wondered if they all truly venerated Sauron or were they simply in thrall to him.”
“By no means, esteemed friend,” said Tahir. “Many of us never bowed the knee to the false Lord of Gifts, even if it cost our lives.”
“I had much to learn,” said Aragorn. “One day, I was in a tavern in Umbar wondering how I might travel to Harad without arousing suspicion, when I heard a dreadful commotion outside. I hastened to see what had happened and found a young man writhing in agony on the ground. From the angle of his leg, I could see that it was broken. He had been kicked by a camel. To my dismay, everyone seemed more concerned about the camels than the injured man. I realised he must be a slave. His master seemed more angry with him than concerned. I tried to offer my help. At least his master spoke the common tongue. A soldier drew a dagger as if to despatch the poor fellow and the slave’s owner looked about to agree. It was all I could do not to draw my sword to defend the injured boy, but I was heavily outnumbered and surrounded by angry Haradrim. My glare must have impressed the slave owner, though, as he agreed to let me tend the lad.”
Faramir laughed. “There are few who can withstand your gaze!”
“Only my lady, I believe,” said Aragorn, patting Arwen’s arm affectionately.
Arwen laughed. “Your glare pales in comparison to that of my beloved Grandmother!” she said. “She taught me to flinch from the gaze of neither Man nor Elf.”
Aragorn stretched out his long legs and resumed his story. “I soon realised there was more to Fadil, as he told me his name was, than I first thought,” he said. “Once he had made up his mind to let me tend his slave, he hired a room at the tavern and assisted me while I set the broken leg, though I could see he had little stomach for the task. When I examined the boy, whose name was Kedar, I found so marks of ill treatment on him and he looked to be properly fed. I cannot condone slavery, but it seemed that Fadil cared for Kedar in his own fashion and Kedar cared for him. Fadil paid for a room at the inn until he came that way again to collect his slave, though he grumbled about the expense. He was concerned about the prospect of travelling alone through the desert. It was then that I seized my chance and asked to go with him as his servant if he would teach me the Tongue of Harad. It was not easy to convince him as he had no love for tarks.”
“Foolish man not to realise the honour you were granting him!” exclaimed Faramir.
“He agreed in the end to take me in exchange for having tended Kedar,” said Aragorn. “He first insisted that I change my clothes for those worn by his people.”
“We consider the clothes that Men of the West wear indecent,” said Tahir. He looked uncomfortable. “My apologies, honoured friends, I should not have spoken of such matters.”
“I never knew that,” said Faramir. “Why is that, my friend?”
“We believe all garments must cover the limbs and the form of the body,” Tahir explained. “Your ladies follow our custom of decency, but not your men. My people believe only undergarments should cling to the limbs.”
“I had to learn to become accustomed to wearing robes over close-fitting undergarments,” said Aragorn. “We set out into the desert a few days later and I soon learnt my new duties of caring for camels.”
“Not an easy task, esteemed friend,” said Tahir.
“Indeed not,” said Aragorn, “It felt simple, though compared with learning your language.”
“Very few Men of the West ever master it,” said Tahir. “We find it easier to learn your Common Speech than to teach others our tongue.”
“Fadil was a hard taskmaster, but a fair one,” said Aragorn. “By the time we reached Harad, I was proficient enough in the language and customs so as not to stand out. The merchant said I could stay with him as his servant. I had told him that I sought to make my fortune to win a lady who had captured my heart.” He looked fondly at Arwen as he spoke. “Fadil thought all I needed to do was earn sufficient coin to buy a herd of camels to offer to your father as bride gift!”
Arwen and Faramir both burst out laughing.
“Whatever would my father have done with a herd of camels!” Arwen exclaimed.
“Fadil was a good man in his own fashion,” said Aragorn. “Not that he liked to be seen to do good. Those were harsh times when to show kindness was to disobey Sauron’s edicts. Fadil was devoted to his three wives and twenty children he never ill- treated his slaves or those whom he employed. He was harsh but fair and honourable. I learned a great deal from him, though servitude did not come easily to me. I especially disliked having to scrub him in the hamam!”
“I can well believe that, esteemed friend,” said Tahir. “A most demeaning task for a great lord such as you.”
“It was hot as Orodruin,” Aragorn replied. “I, naturally insisted on keeping on my robe for decency. He would spend half the day bathing.”
“Such is our custom,” said Tahir. “If a man can afford his own baths, he makes full use of them.”
“Did Fadil revere the Dark Lord, though?” Arwen asked.
“I think not,” said Aragorn. “Such matters were never spoken of aloud, but never did I see him attend any of the sacrifices when prisoners of war and those who disagreed with Sauron’s rule were given to the fire. I would sometimes come across him looking up into the night sky, but he always looked down quickly if he realised he was being observed.”
I believe he venerated the Lord and Lady of the Moon in secret,” said Tahir. “I wonder if he were of the merchant line of my tribe?”
“I often wonder what became of Fadil and his family,” said Aragorn. “I worked for him for several months and then took my leave and told him I desired to travel further to learn about the desert folk. He paid me generously for my services and even insisted I take a camel, which I had to sell before leaving Harad.” He took a draught from his glass and looked thoughtful. “Fadil will be long dead now, but I owe him a good deal for all he taught me. He was taking a risk in employing one who could have been a foreign spy, which in a way I was. He believed I was native to Umbar. I hope his family have prospered.”
“I will try to find out,” said Tahir. He rose to his feet. “I must take my leave now, esteemed friends, my fair blossom awaits me.”
Faramir rose too. "I leave early in the morning for Ithilien," he said."So I must bid you goodnight too."
“You must dine with us again soon, Tahir,” said Aragorn. “We welcome your company and your friendship. Fadil was my first friend from your land and I am glad he was not the last.”
Chapter 129 - The Prince's Portrait
The Prince's Portrait.
B2MeM Challenge:Eldarion, possibly other Gondorians - baby's first armour
This ridiculously cute photo of a kid cosplaying a young Eldarion is making the rounds over at Tumblr:
http://marta-fandom.tumblr.com/post/114847236279/eldarion
and I thought it would make for some interesting fic. What did Eldarion, his proud parents, or anyone else think of this finery? Is it new, or is it inherited from somewhere? What did Arwen think about seeing her child wearing the Evenstar, which neither waxed nor waned? What of the craftsmen who made it? I'd love to see what people make of different aspects of this post, and would welcome either an Eldarion-centric piece or something about other Gondorians' reactions.
Format: short story
Genre:Family, humour
Rating: G
Warnings:None
Characters: Aragorn, Arwen, Eldarion, OMC, OFC
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen
Summary:Eldarion has his portrait painted.
The canon characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been nor will be made from this story.
<img src="http://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/images/b2mem2015/participant30.jpg" alt="Back to Middle-earth Month 2015 Participant" />
With thanks to my friends here on LJ and to Medcat for editing.
“I think it quite absurd,” said Arwen.
“It is the tradition, my love, not only in Gondor, but for all the surrounding realms.”
“You are the High King; you should create your own traditions!” Arwen retorted. “Eldarion is a child of only eight short years, so why dress him as a grown warrior holding a sword?”
“He always enjoys holding Andúril when I permit him and he loves to play with his wooden sword too.”
“That is quite different. Every child likes to pretend to be grown up. The portrait should capture our son's childhood. He should be painted in his ordinary clothes playing with his puppy.”
“I am sorry, vanimelda, but this is an official portrait. We cannot have our own people, not to mention the Kha Khan of Harad and the other lords of the South and East, thinking that one day Eldarion will be less of a force to be reckoned with than I am. Much as I hope Eldarion will never have to raise his sword in anger; he must look like he would be capable of so doing.”
Arwen sighed. “Very well, I understand, but I still wish that my son could be portrayed as the innocent child that he is.”
000
When Eldarion saw the outfit he was to wear, he was even less happy about matters than his mother. “These clothes look silly!” he complained. “I don't want to put them on.”
“I thought you admired the uniforms the Citadel Guards wear,” said Arwen. “You told me only last month that you wanted to be either a Guard or a Ranger.”
“That was ages ago! I only want to be a Ranger now, and in any case the Guards don’t wear all this silly red and blue velvet, nor any jewels!” Eldarion scowled deeply.
“Your father has to wear jewels and velvets sometimes as part of his official duties.”
“Well, I don’t want to.”
“Well. you are heir to the Reunited Kingdom and this part of your duties,” Arwen said firmly.
Eldarion pulled a face. He brightened, though when he saw the sword he was to carry. “I’m a warrior now!” he cried, brandishing the blade.
“Not until you are a man grown,” said Arwen. “Now hold it very carefully and stop waving it around. Someone might get hurt.”
000
Farawyn was teething had been fretful all morning. Arwen was already late for an important meeting she desired to attend, when the children's nanny appeared.
“Please, my lady, I thought I’d better come and ask your advice. Master Eldarion just won’t sit still for the artist. He does nothing but fidget. He wanted his dog with him, but I feared that would only make him more restless.”
Arwen sighed deeply. “Ask one of the nursery maids to take Nimrodel in and play with her. Hopefully that will distract my son. Meanwhile, I want you to stay with Farawyn and settle her down. I am sorry, but I have to go now or I will be late. I will not be gone for long.” She gestured to her maid to fetch her cloak.
“Very well, my lady,” the nanny said somewhat doubtfully, but summoned a nursery maid to do as the Queen asked.
000
Aragorn was engrossed in studying the finer points of a planned decree concerning the upkeep of Gondor’s roads when he heard the commotion. First a series of piercing barks and hisses, then a loud crash followed by a scream and more barking. The sound came from the family sitting room. He hastened to see what the matter was.
An unforgettable sight met the King’s eyes. In the centre of the room, the artist’s easel and paints lay on the ground. Paint was splattered everywhere, on the floor, on the painting, on Nimrodel, and, in copious quantities all over Eldarion’s clothes and armour.
The spaniel was barking frantically at the nursery cat, who sat on top of a bookshelf, washing her whiskers.
Eldarion was waving his sword and shouting, “Naughty dog!” The artist was wringing his hands while the nursery maid looked about to have hysterics, as did the housekeeper.
“What has happened here?” Aragorn sounded stern, though inwardly he wanted to laugh. He took the sword from his son. “I have told you to treat swords with respect, Eldarion. Why is Nimrodel not outside in her kennel?”
“Naneth told Nanny that I might watch her play while my picture was painted,” said Eldarion. “It wasn’t her fault that the cat walked in and she started chasing it. I didn't do anything naughty. Somehow the easel got knocked over and the falling picture knocked over the paint and-”
“That is why she lives in her kennel and plays with you outside so she will not get into mischief like this,” said Aragorn, cutting short what he was certain was a long list of excuses. “We will send for the maids to clean up this mess before your mother returns. One of the grooms can take Nimrodel outside. Master Turin will have to return tomorrow to paint your portrait after I pay him to buy more paints. I want you to apologise to him.”
“I'm sorry, Master Turin,” Eldarion muttered.
The nursery maid looked glumly at Eldarion’s finery. “I fear Master Eldarion’s clothes are ruined, my lord.”
“We shall have to find him some new ones then.”
“Do I still have to have my picture painted, Ada? Sitting still is so boring and I hate wearing these stupid clothes!”
“Yes, you do, ion nîn. Why not watch Master Turin as he works? Maybe you could paint a picture of your own one day?”
“Painting is for girls,” Eldarion said glumly.
“I quite like to paint myself when I have the time,” said Aragorn. “So does Uncle Faramir. I do not think either of us are girls! Now go with your nursemaid and wash away the paint before your mother sees what a sight you are. You are covered in it.”
000
A few weeks later
Aragorn and Arwen stood in front of their son’s portrait. They were both smiling appreciatively. “It is such a fair likeness,” said Arwen. “This will be one of my dearest possessions. If any at Rivendell sail, I shall ask them to take a copy to my mother and father.”
“We will have many copies made so that the people can see what their prince looks like,” said Aragorn. “I should have listened to you to begin with, vanimelda. It is my place to introduce new traditions, not be enslaved by old ones. There should be plenty of time in the future for Eldarion to be depicted as a warrior. This portrait will help us remember him as a small boy when he is grown to manhood.
Eldarion’s painted likeness smiled at them from the canvas. He was sitting on the grass in the Queen’s garden, clad simply in a black tunic and trousers, while Nimrodel reclined on his lap. The only marks of his status were the white tree embroidered upon his tunic, a copy of those Aragorn liked to wear, and a mithril circlet about his head.
“I wonder however Master Turin persuaded both Eldarion and Nimrodel to stay still?” Aragorn mused.
Arwen laughed. “It proved quite simple. Eldarion played with the dog until they were both tired out before each sitting. I think they were both happy with the arrangement as was Master Turin!”
Chapter 130 - Night Terrors
Night Terrors
B2MeM Prompt and Path:"And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good." John Steinbeck. Purple Path;
Format: Short Story
Genre: Angst, friendship, hurt/comfort
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Characters: Aragorn, Faramir , Sam, Rose.
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen, Sam/Rose
Creator's Notes: The story is set before the ban on Men entering the Shire.
Summary: Aragorn and Faramir discover all is not as well as it seems in the Shire.
"So what do you think of the Shire, Faramir?" Aragorn asked sleepily.
"I like it well. It is as green and fertile as Ithilien and it is good to see our friends again. I just wish the beds were a little larger, though."
"So do I," Aragorn debated whether to stretch out his legs which meant his toes would hang over the bed, or whether curling them beneath the covers and risking cramp was the greater evil. He and Faramir had been paying a brief visit to Éomer on an important matter of state and were now visiting the Shire or their way home. They were staying at Bag End as Bilbo had had a special room constructed for Gandalf's visits, which was furnished with a man sized bed and chair. It was proving rather cramped for the two former Rangers, though.
"I should like to bring my lady to visit Merry," said Faramir.
"We should see him tomorrow afternoon and can maybe arrange a visit," said Aragorn. He yawned. Weary after a day of travelling, the King and Steward soon fell asleep.
Aragorn was lost in a pleasant dream that he was beside Arwen in his own bed and when he kissed her lips they smelled like rose petals bathed in the first morning dew.
A loud shriek rudely awakened him. He sat bolt upright, feeling for a dagger beneath the pillow and finding none. He looked around the room, for a moment unsure of where he was. The room was dark apart from a low burning candle on the nightstand. He took a deep breath. He was in Bag End, not some place where danger might threaten.
"Whatever was that?" cried Faramir, clambering out of bed and reaching for his sword.
"It came from Sam and Rose's chamber," said Aragorn. He strained his ears, listening. He heard another cry then the soft murmur of Rose's voice. "I hope Sam is not ill," he said. He got out of bed and pulled on his robe over his night attire.
Making his way to Sam and Rose's bedchamber, he tapped on the door. "I heard a cry, is aught wrong?" he called.
After a moment, the door opened and Sam's head appeared. "Sorry you were disturbed, Strider. The baby gets restless when teething. All will be right as rain come morning."
"Is there any way I can aid you?" asked Aragorn.
"Thanking you, Strider, but Rose and I can manage."
Aragorn could do nothing but bid the Hobbit goodnight and return to his room where he told Faramir what Sam had said.
"If that was a teething baby we heard I am the Kha Khan of Harad!" said Faramir.
"I agree with you, but I cannot force Sam to tell me what is wrong," said Aragorn, pulling off his robe. "I suggest we try to sleep and see what we can learn on the morrow."
000
Faramir gasped at the size of the breakfast Rose had prepared. There looked sufficient to feed at least a dozen. The platters were piled high with thick crusty bread, creamy butter, cheeses, sausages, eggs, bacon and crocks of several different varieties of preserves.
"A Hobbit spread more than fit for this King," said Aragorn as he piled his plate high. "So how are things in the Shire, Sam?"
"Well enough save for all the big folk who come here to gawp at us," said the Gardener. "I was planting taters not long ago and a group of them just came and stood there staring as if they were watching a play or something."
"That should not be!" Aragorn said angrily. "I shall see what I can do to ensure that you are not treated thus in future."
"Things were way better when Men hadn't heard of Hobbits," Sam continued. "But apart from that, the Shire is thriving and things are growing just as they ought to. You should see the new Party Tree grown from the Lady's gift, Strider! If was as if she knew we would need her help!"
"Galadriel saw many things," said Aragorn. "We shall not see her like again, I fear."
"Eat up now," said Rose. "I hope the food is to your satisfaction, sirs. You must be used to fine cooks preparing your vittles."
"I have never tasted crustier bread or tastier eggs," said Faramir. "Our cooks would have much to learn from you."
"We make sure the hens are happy." Sam smiled. "It makes the eggs taste good when they are."
"I've some fresh baked scones, goose eggs and a nice bit of chicken for second breakfast," said Rose. "Then there's a loaf of bread to go with them or two if they are needed."
"It sounds delicious." Faramir loosened his belt, wondering how he could find room for any more food before nightfall.
Sam cleared his plate and put down his knife and fork. "Beggin' your pardon, Strider and Lord Faramir, but I need to water my herb patch before the sun gets too high. Are you coming to help your dad, Elanor?"
Sam left the table followed by his eldest child.
As soon as he had gone, Rose looked around somewhat furtively. "I was wondering if I could have a word, Mister Strider, in private like.
"Of course, Mistress Rose," said Aragorn.
Faramir got to his feet." I should like to take a walk round the village," he said.
"You should walk up past the duck pond to see the Party Tree," said Rose. "Sam and I never tire of that walk."
" Thank you, Mistress Rose, I will see you later." Faramir left the room.
"What troubles you, Mistress Rose?" asked Aragorn as soon as Faramir had closed the door behind him.
Rose twisted her hands nervously. "Sam won't like me saying anything, Mister Strider,"
"I shall not tell him you spoke to me," said Aragorn. "You have my word."
Rose continued to fidget. She then took a deep breath and said, "It's the nightmares, you see, Mister Strider. They've troubled him something dreadful since Mister Frodo left. He won't talk to me nor to Merry and Pippin for fear of bothering them. As you were in the Black Land too, I wondered if you might be able to help, you being a healer and all."
Aragorn reached out and clasped her hand. "I shall certainly do all I can, Mistress Rose."
Despite Rose's protests, Aragorn insisted on helping her clear away the dishes. It was not long before Sam came in from the garden. He sent his little daughter off to play with the new toys Aragorn and Faramir had brought for her.
"Would you take a walk with me, Sam?" asked Aragorn. "I should like to see the new Party Tree in the daylight."
"I'd love to show it you," said the Hobbit. "I'll just get my cloak."
King and Hobbit strolled together through the village. It was yet early and few folk were abroad. Aragorn at first encouraged Sam to talk of his family and his garden. Then he said "Do you ever suffer from nightmares about the war, Sam? I do and wondered if you did too?"
Sam flushed scarlet. "I'm sorry, Mister Strider, I shouldn't have told you an untruth last night. I'm just so ashamed!"
"There is nothing to be ashamed of. It happens to almost all old soldiers including myself."
Sam paused as if lost in thought. "Well, I reckon if it even happens to you too, maybe I can speak about it. I just feel so daft that I wake up crying and shrieking like a bairn. When I've so much to be thankful for what with Rose and the little ones and my garden and everything fair and growing and - " He suddenly stifled a sob.
Aragorn reached out and took his hand and squeezed it gently. "When did this start, Sam? When you came back from Mordor?"
Sam shook his head. He sniffed loudly and blew his nose in his handkerchief. "No, things were alright until Mister Frodo left. I had to be strong for him, you see and we'd talk about things together. Now, though, almost every night, I have such dark dreams. That Mister Frodo is being tormented by orcs and I can't save him or that Mount Doom is erupting and I'm choking in the ash and smoke. It's horrible, Mister Strider, just horrible!"
"I know, Sam," Aragorn said softly. "I have these dark dreams too as result of the war and other things that have happened to me."
"You are strong, though, Mister Strider."
"And so are you, Master Gamgee! Nightmares are the way the brain allows us to live normal lives during the day, as the bad thoughts have to be released. Don't bottle it up, Sam. Talk to Rose, or if you feel you cannot, to Merry and Pippin. They will understand. Then remember, you can write to me anytime in complete confidence. I will give you my seal that no other is allowed to break"
"I feel I have to be strong for the young Hobbits."
"You are good, Sam, but you do not have to be perfect. I expect it would help Merry and Pippin to talk too."
"You really think so?"
"I do." They had reached the new Party Tree. Even after a few years' growth, the young Mallorn looked strong and vigorous. They gazed at it in silence for a few minutes the resumed walking. Then Aragorn said, " Do you grow athelas in your herb garden, Sam?"
"I do. I used to try and help Mister Frodo with it when he was taken bad on the anniversaries of his woundings."
"Then I suggest you crumble a leaf in hot water at bedtime and sleep with the mixture beside you. It makes the air more wholesome."
"I will do that, Mister Strider."
"I will do it tonight for you."
"Thank you, Mister Strider. I feel lighter somehow talking to you."
"Remember, Sam, I am your friend and you can always talk to me. Now we had better get back, Mistress Rose will be waiting for us with second breakfast."
The morning sun had reached Sam's garden by the time King and Hobbit returned. They found Faramir outdoors playing with Elanor while Rose carried the baby round the garden, pointing out the brightly coloured flowers to him. Faramir was bending to allow Elanor to place a daisy chain around his neck.
"Is all well?" asked Rose." I was beginning to wonder if you were going to be late for second breakfast."
Sam smiled at her. "All is very well or will be in time."
Chapter 131 - The May Cup
The May Cup by Linda Hoyland
Rating G
Little Eldarion wants to make a guest feel welcome.
I borrowed these characters from Tolkien and make no money from this story.
With thanks to Med Cat.
Eldarion was bored. He was supposed to be playing with his wooden bricks, but the castle he was building was the wrong shape and he'd already built two forts and three castles and knocked them down again. He wanted his mother or father to play with him, but they were engrossed in a conversation. It was very boring, but Eldarion listened, hoping they would start talking about something more interesting soon.
"I think everything is ready for the Emperor of Rhûn's visit," said Aragorn.
"I hope we have done all we can," said Arwen. "I know nothing about him or his people,though."
"They are a fierce but highly cultured people," said Aragorn. "Both the men and the women have a great fondness for fine garments and make up."
"We must do our best to make our visitors feel at home," said Arwen. "You will help us welcome him, Eldarion, will you not? You are a big boy now."
Eldarion beamed."Of course, I'll help. I promise."
"Thank you." Arwen turned her attention to Eldarion's bricks. "Shall we build something together, or would you rather I tell you a story?"
"I'd like a story,please."
Arwen smiled and began to tell her son a story about her childhood.
000
Later that night when Eldarion was supposed to be asleep in bed, he pondered on his mother's words. This was the first time he had been allowed to help entertain a visiting ruler, apart from King Éomer, who was more like a sort of uncle than a king anyway. The little boy was determined to make the Emperor of Rhûn feel at home and make his parents proud of him. The only problem was how? He could show him his favourite toys and invite him to play with them like he did with King Éomer , but somehow he didn't think that was what his mother meant. What had his father said? That the Emperor liked nice clothes and May Cups. Well, he didn't think his clothes were any use to the Emperor as they would be too small, so he would have a to find him a May Cup. What was a May Cup, though? It was July now and Eldarion hadn't noticed people using different cups in May, unless he had forgotten. His father would surely know as Ada knew everything. With that comforting thought, Eldarion fell asleep.
000
The next morning, Eldarion managed to sneak away from his nanny and make his way to his father's study. To his relief, the door was open as a servant was bringing Aragorn his mid morning refreshments. The King dismissed the servant and turned to his son, "What are you doing in here, Eldarion? You are supposed to be in the nursery."
"Can I ask you a question, Ada?"
"Of course, but I have to return to my work soon." Aragorn smiled encouragingly at the little boy. "Would you like a honey cake?" He gestured towards the tray on his desk.
Eldarion took one and nibbled it for a moment, then he said,"What is a May Cup?"
For a moment, Aragorn looked puzzled and stroked his beard thoughtfully. Then his expression cleared. "Ah, you must mean the Goblet of the Dúnedain. This is one of our ancient treasures which belong to our family. In the North, we hold a great festival on May Day to honour Lady Yavanna." He went over to a cupboard behind his desk and took out a small goblet. It looked very old and was engraved with a pattern of leaves and set with green gems. "The Chieftain asks Lady Yavanna to make the land and the people fruitful and we drink from this goblet."
"Is she even in Rhûn ?"
"She dwells in Gondor and Rhûn, and in Rohan, and all of Middle-earth," said Aragorn.
Before Eldarion could say anything else, his nanny appeared looking flustered. "Ah there you are, Master Eldarion!" she cried. "I'm sorry, sire, if he disturbed you."
"Not at all," said the King. "I was just taking my mid morning refreshment and my son decided to join me. It is time he return to the nursery now, though. I will see you later, Eldarion."
000
Eldarion didn't see his father that night as the Emperor arrived and spent the evening talking to the King in his study. There was a formal reception the next day that Eldarion had been told he could attend.
Now that his father had shown him the May Cup, Eldarion decided he would welcome the visitor by offering him a drink of water in the goblet. How proud his father would be.
Early the next morning, before his nanny was up, he went to his father's study. The door was open, but there was no sign of his father. The cup was in the cupboard where he had seen his father put it the day before. Eldarion hesitated for a moment, then recalled his father's words about it belonging to the family. That meant it was his as well as Ada's. He slipped the cup in the pocket of his robe, then when his nanny helped him dress, transferred it to his tunic pocket. She was distracted this morning and chattering about the Emperor's visit.
When Eldarion was taken to join his parents in the Great Hall, he found them looking troubled.
"It has gone," Aragorn told Arwen in a low voice. "I showed it to the Emperor last night and now it has gone!"
"Who else has been there?" asked Arwen.
"Only trusted servants whose honesty has been proved over the years. The Guards stationed in the corridors saw no intruders. If the Emperor has stolen it, it is a gross insult!"
"You cannot just accuse him. It could lead to war. And what of the treaty we hope for?"
Before Aragorn could answer, the Emperor and his Entourage entered. Eldarion could not but help staring. The Emperor was dressed in a bright red and yellow robe and his face was heavily painted.
While the formal introductions were being made, Eldarion went to where a servant stood at the side with a jug of wine and asked him to fill the goblet. Used to doing what he was told, the man complied.
Eldarion then walked up to the Emperor and offered him the cup. "Welcome to Gondor, my lord. I bring you the May Cup to welcome you."
For an an instant, the King and Queen stared dumbfounded. Aragorn was the first to regain his composure. "May Lady Yavanna grant us her blessings and friendship between our nations forever flourish!"
The Nobles of Gondor echoed his words. The Emperor took the cup and drank from it, then returned it to Eldarion. He was smiling.
000
"Whatever were you thinking of, taking the Goblet of the Dúnedain?" Aragorn demanded when he was alone with Eldarion later that day. The two were in his study with the goblet on his desk. "I thought the Emperor had taken it. You could have caused a serious incident ion nîn, or maybe even a war!"
"I would have asked you but you weren't in your study and you said the cup belonged to our family. I was trying to make the Emperor feel welcome and I heard you say he liked May Cups."
Aragorn stared at his son in bewilderment. "May Cups?"
"Yes, cups to drink out of in May, and you told me that goblet was a May Cup. I didn't think it mattered that it isn't May."
Aragorn suddenly burst out laughing. "I said make up, not a May Cup."
"But they sound just the same!" Eldarion protested.
"I suppose they do," Aragorn conceded. "You will know little of make up since your mother is too fair to have need of it. Make up is face paint like rouge and powder."
"I'm sorry," said Eldarion.
"You are forgiven as long as you don't take family heirlooms without asking again. All has worked out well, as the Emperor thought we were honouring his favourite deity. It seems he too reveres Yavanna, albeit under another name. He has signed a treaty which will ensure peace and prosperity for both our lands." Aragorn picked up the cup and regarded it thoughtfully. "This has languished too long in a cupboard. Next May, whether we are in Gondor or Arnor, we will celebrate Yavanna's feast with dancing and feasting."
"That sounds fun," said Eldarion, jumping with excitement.
"We will go out into the countryside and enjoy the festival," said Aragorn. " It is time this was a May Cup again."
A/n. This story is based on my believing as a young child like make up was a cup to be used in May after overhearing a conversation my parents had. Written for the "Misunderstandings" Teitho challenge where it was placed first.
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Printed from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net) on Sat Nov 14, 2026 8:12 pm