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6
Chapter 1
It is an odd sensation, to find myself in this great city in the aftermath
of war. I am not accustomed to being confined within a city of men.
In all the long years of my life I have been a creature of the outdoors,
a being in tune with the natural rhythm of weather, tree and beast and
even stone; the halls of my father’s realm delve deep into the
earth, though they have been wrought to be light and airy. But the great
city of Minas Tirith is like no other place I have encountered and though
the people have welcomed us unto themselves I cannot warm to its cold
and cloistered confines.
I can sense the anguish that remains. The fear and grief of these good
people, so long beleaguered by the shadow of Mordor, has seeped into
the very fabric of the buildings. The wounds that scar the once proud
and noble facades are too fresh and too extensive to be healed without
much toil and there are few able hands to tend to those wounds.
And wounds in stone must needs take second place when there are so
many wounded in heart and body and spirit who need the salve of compassion
and understanding to heal their hurts.
And what of the people!
They endure.
They endure because there is no alternative. They cheer for the King
and for his beautiful Elven bride. They pick up the pieces of their
shattered pasts; hopeful that the new regime holds a promise for the
future; a future that they must face despite the losses that they have
weathered. They pull together; the grieved, the bereft, the crippled,
the widows, the orphans. All casualties in need of succour.
So many emotions tangle and boil amidst the chaos and destruction,
perhaps the most obvious being relief; relief at the ending of the hostilities
and fear, relief as loved ones are reunited and homes and businesses
reclaimed, even the tainted relief for the bereaved of knowing finally
that they can allow themselves the balm of freely expressed grief, that
they can grieve for those who never came home. And yet for every citizen,
from the highest to the lowest, the aftermath is a unique and personal
experience and, while they may find empathy and support from their fellows,
in the lonely, silent hours of the night the enormity of their loss
must be born alone. Acceptance and the will to face a future never anticipated
is a battle to be faced and conquered.
What can one Elf do in the midst of such need?
I share in the grief as I share in the jubilation. I watch as my beloved
friend and companion takes on the mantle of his inheritance and assumes
his destiny. But I don’t yet see my place, my role. As my father’s
representative I am honoured; as one of the nine walkers I am celebrated,
but what of me, what of Legolas?
Estel has promised that I may set up my own settlement and begin to
heal the fair forests and lands of Ithilien and I relish the prospect,
but that is a task for the future. For I must first seek my Father’s
blessing and ascertain if there are other Elves who would wish to delay
their departure to the West and assist me in the task. I wish also to
keep my promise to my dear friend Gimli and travel with him so that
we may share with each other our heritage of tree and stone.
I cannot offer my help to the whole city and so I must look closer
to home and assist those within our own circle who still shoulder the
greatest burdens in these first tentative weeks of peace.
There are two within the King’s entourage whose anguish, though
courageously buried, calls out to me. My heart weeps when I catch a
glimpse of their pain; when their rigid control slips and their eyes
reveal the depth of their torment; a torment they hide to protect us,
their friends and loved ones, from the guilt of our impotence.
For we could not protect them, we could not shield them from their
pain and sorrow; we could not carry their burdens or share their fates.
And so these two gentle and fragile souls still seek to protect us from
the burden of our own guilt.
Of the two, Frodo carries the greater physical consequences of his
trials. Despite the combined ministrations of the King, Lord Elrond,
Gandalf and the master healers of the city he is slow to recover from
his ordeal. The burns and lacerations from the last dreadful days in
Mordor are now little more than reddened scars and the stump of his
missing finger has healed. But his light is dimmed and no amount of
healing potions and nourishing food will rekindle that light. Frodo
is broken and there is no power on Middle-earth that can rekindle the
bright spark of his unique spirit. But Frodo knows that he is loved;
he is surrounded by those who would gladly give their lives for his
ease and while love cannot heal him, he draws strength from the devotion
of his friends.
And the other wounded soul? Faramir, the King’s newly appointed
Steward; beloved brother of our dear friend Boromir and son of Denethor.
His battles were not fought within the supportive bonds of the fellowship,
he fought his battles alone; his brother taken from him, his father
disdainful and dismissive, his beloved Rangers slaughtered around him
as he battled to keep them and his city safe from the enemy.
If he has ever known joy in his life it has left little mark upon him.
He carries his grief and his pain buried deep within himself; it adds
a tragic and beautiful stillness to his aura for those who have the
eyes to see, for those who can see through the mask of impenetrable
calm he has cultivated, of necessity, to protect himself. I am not even
sure that he considers himself one of our number. He hovers on the periphery
of our company, a still and silent shadow who has yet to realise that
we would all welcome him to ourselves if he would only accept the hands
that reach out to offer him friendship.
And yet I would not want to give the impression that he is dismissive
or disdainful of our company. He is unfailingly polite, painfully shy
and almost pathologically deferential, particularly when in the company
of the King and his closest companions. I have watched him and seen
his almost bewildered awe when in the company of the noble Elves, as
if he cannot believe this to be a waking reality; that these beings
out of myth and legend are actually gracing the walls of his city with
their presence.
To see him going about the endless tasks of restoring the city is to
see a different man entirely. He spends many hours each day down in
the lower circles of the city where the damage and destruction were
greatest. He sees and endeavours to relieve the suffering of those left
homeless, bereft and destitute. He coaxes and encourages the exhausted
workers with his compassion and force of personality. He addresses the
men by name and they work all the harder under the benevolence of his
approval. Though he is not yet fully recovered from his own injuries
and has yet to be passed as fit for return to active service he continues
to oversee the reordering of the military. It is clear that whilst the
King commands the respect and duty of the men of Gondor, Faramir has
their hearts; he leads by example and they would, and did, follow him
to death for the honour of being by his side.
He dispenses compassion and understanding and yet he neither seeks
nor accepts it for himself. Before her departure for Rohan, I took to
observing him when in the company of Éowyn and whilst it is clear
that during their time together they had formed a close bond, their
courtship, if that is what it is, was chaste and almost formal, only
the brightening of his smile giving hint of his pleasure in her company.
He treated her with the utmost gentleness and decorum and would appear
almost startled if she took his hand or laced her arm through his as
they walked, almost as if any tender, physical contact were unknown
to him. This thought is born out by his reaction to the Hobbits. He
is clearly drawn by their charm and gentle good humour and yet he is
discomforted by their easy and unconscious physicality, by their tactile
and rambunctious nature, especially that of Merry and Pippin; Frodo
and Sam, I think, he finds easier company because they are by nature
and by adversity more subdued than their Shire comrades.
He is an enigma. And I find myself drawn to him in a way I find hard
to explain. I have known few mortals in the long years of my life and
yet in this kind, gentle, troubled young man I feel a kindred spirit.
He reminds me of another, of my dear friend Estel in his younger days,
when he was confused and haunted by a destiny he neither sought nor
wanted.
Perhaps this then is my role, to help guide this troubled soul back
from the darkness of his isolation and to embrace a future that he never
believed he would live to see, to show him that he is worthy of the
love and friendship of his companions. I needs must resist the temptation
of my heart to rush in and scoop him up into the protection of my embrace
for I know that he could not yet accept that care. I must let my head
rule my heart, for this battle requires a long term strategy, there
will be no quick solutions, no easy answers and I will need the support
and guidance of those who also care for Faramir to help me achieve victory.
If I am honest, I never gave much thought to the practicalities of
ruling a Kingdom. For too long, from the moment I learned of my birthright,
I fought against my heritage. I neither wanted nor expected this eventuality
to come to pass and yet it seems the fates would have none of my feeble
denials and I now find myself, against all odds, anointed and crowned,
High King of Gondor. It is, at times, overwhelming but I am fortunate
to be surrounded by a host of learned and supportive friends and kinsmen
all eager to offer me their guidance and experience; Gandalf, Lord Elrond,
The Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood, Legolas and Gimli, my beautiful
Arwen plus the Nobles and Councillors of Gondor; Prince Imrahil, Lord
Hurin and, not least, my newly appointed Steward, Faramir. With their
support these first few weeks have seen great steps taken towards ordering
the city and helping the people, my people, on the path towards recovery.
Lord Faramir has achieved great things since he discharged himself
from the healers care in the immediate aftermath of the fall of the
Dark Lord. In the weeks before our arrival in the city he set about
the task of preparing for the Coronation, organising the shelter of
the homeless, the distribution of aid and food to the needy and organising
accommodation for the expected host; all the while overseeing the defence
and security of the city and its immediate surroundings and all this
without the expectation of further office, for he assumed that the title
and office of Steward would become obsolete upon my taking the throne.
I’m not sure that he entirely welcomed the prospect when I handed
him back the Steward’s Rod of Office; if he had given any thought
to the future I am sure it did not include tying himself to administrative
duties within the White City. But duty has ever ruled his life and he
took back the Rod with dignity and honour.
He has already proved to be an invaluable asset to me. He has a keen,
scholarly mind; quick, incisive and intuitive. He can see through the
convoluted intricacies of protocol and accepted practice, seeking practical
solutions to problems that the councillors would argue about for hours;
a trait that often fails to endear him to the staid and hidebound statesmen
of the old Steward’s Council and they are not slow to show their
antagonism.
I have spent a good deal of time in his company on official business
and yet I have so far failed to break through his reserve to glimpse
the man beneath. He is as much a stranger to me now as he was the day
I first laid eyes on him in the House’s of Healing. I have heard
much of him from others; from Boromir on our travels, from his uncle
Prince Imrahil and from the campfire recollections of the men who considered
it an honour to have served with him over many years. All speak highly
of his courage and integrity, of his compassion, of his skills as a
commander, of his gentle and self effacing nature, of his love for Gondor
and for his beloved brother and of his tireless, if fruitless efforts
to please his uncompromising and intransigent Father.
I worry about him and I note that others share my concern. When Éowyn
was with us he was drawn into our company, though he was always at pains
not to draw attention to himself, almost as if he felt he was trespassing
uninvited. When the party from Rohan returned to their own lands he
again withdrew, seeking his own council and company, losing himself
in an endless round of duties that ‘demanded’ his attention.
He was so clearly uncomfortable at being included in our informal social
gatherings that I hadn’t the heart to insist that he attend, not
wanting to add to his discomfiture. Only Arwen’s gentle persuasion
occasionally drew him into our circle.
Only once have I caught a glimpse of him in a truly unguarded moment.
Arwen had arranged a picnic in one of the larger courtyard gardens near
to the Royal Apartments where Sam and Legolas had been working together
to restore some order to the neglected borders. It was a lively party
and I noticed that Gandalf and Faramir had drawn aside to a secluded
bench to converse quietly. They were too far away for me to hear any
of their conversation but at some point Lord Elrond had drifted over
to them and had joined in what was becoming a quite animated discussion.
I noted that Legolas had also noticed the exchange and was observing
with a look of quiet relief. Faramir’s outburst of musical laughter
was so unexpected and so delightful that it caused everyone else to
quiet and still, all turning their attention to see what had affected
him so.
In the space between one heartbeat and the next Faramir became aware
of the scrutiny and he froze, closing in upon himself tighter than a
clamshell, from carefree banter one minute to the closed, neutral façade
that we all recognised so well, the next. It was heartbreaking to witness.
He mumbled an apology, though he had committed no error, and no amount
of urging from Gandalf or my Ada would keep him there. He fled.
For several days I saw him only on official business, his manner formal
and awkward; he had obviously decided to keep a low profile, managing
to evade the benign but persistent attentions of at least one Elf and
several Hobbits. I sought council with both Gandalf and Lord Elrond,
for I was feeling out of my depth with the situation and, though they
shared my increasing concerns, they could offer no easy solution; Faramir’s
difficulties had been a lifetime in the making; circumstances plus his
inherent personality conspiring to force him to seek sanctuary deep
within himself as a means of self preservation. As a strategy it had
been successful but the emotion toll had been high, eating away at his
self-esteem, leaving him in a bleak emotional wilderness.
As Faramir was obviously still not comfortable in my company I decided
to utilise the ‘services’ of others in our company to draw
him out. My first secret weapon was Frodo. I knew that not even Faramir
could fail to fall to the Ringbearer’s gentle charms. I suggested
to Frodo that Faramir was the ideal person to introduce him to the delights
of the archives. Frodo jumped at the suggestion and was quick to request
Faramir’s help and company and thereafter they spent many afternoons
in quiet and relaxed companionship, sometimes talking and discussing
various texts, sometimes quietly enjoying the peace, sometimes dozing
and always with Sam as a silent but watchful guardian, fussing over
them both and ensuring their ease. They both seemed to gain comfort
from each other’s company, perhaps recognising in each other a
kindred spirit.
My other plan of attack was to enlist the aid of Legolas. I was already
aware that my fair Elf had taken a special interest in helping Faramir,
though so far he had made little progress. From discussions with the
Warden of the Houses of Healing I knew that Faramir was not yet fully
recovered from the effects of his injuries, the wound from the Southron’s
Dart had healed well but he was left with residual stiffness and loss
of power in his shoulder and he had yet to regain his previous level
of fitness. I suggested to Legolas that he offer to assist Faramir on
the training field; to spar with him, to ride and to utilise their mutual
skills and love of archery on the practice ranges in helping Faramir
to regain his strength and hone his skills. It was a start; few can
resist Legolas when he is on a mission.
Only time will tell if my strategies will bear fruit and draw Faramir
out of his isolation and into the circle of friendship and care that
are his due.
Chapter 2
Problems, when they occur, often seem to come out of the blue and this
one was no exception. And yet, as I stand in the shadows and watch this
confrontation unfold before me, I wonder if I had missed the warning
signs, if I could have intervened at an earlier stage and prevented
this turn of events.
Perhaps I should have seen this coming. I think perhaps we underestimated
Faramir; underestimated his fierce determination to prove himself and
to reassert his independence. I’m not sure, even now, that he
considers his actions to have been ill-considered or maybe it just never
occurred to him that others would take enough interest in his actions
to call him to account.
If that is the case then his well known talent for reading the hearts
of others has sadly let him down. For now he stands before his Liege
Lord and must answer for his actions.
It was at the morning meal that the first hint of trouble occurred.
Estel had instituted these working breakfasts, informal gatherings of
his closest friends and advisors during which plans for the day could
be discussed and outstanding business attended to. Attendance wasn’t
compulsory but it was clearly understood that absences were not encouraged.
Faramir was, of course, included in those expected and it was his habit
to take a report from the duty Guard Commander at first light so that
he could then make an up to date report to the King.
This morning, the morning of a full council meeting, Faramir failed
to appear and the Guard Commander came in person to give the duty report.
The King heard the man out in silence, concern clouding his features.
“Thank you, Captain. Is Lord Faramir indisposed?”
“I know not, Sire. My instructions were to report to you directly.”
“Did Lord Faramir issue you those instructions himself?”
“No Sire, I believe he left them with the garrison Commander
before he rode out to Osgiliath.”
“And when was that?”
“I believe it was yesterday, Sire, though I was not on duty then.”
“Thank you, Captain. Notify the guards on the gate that Lord
Faramir is to report to me directly upon his return.”
The Captain saluted and made a hasty retreat. Estel sent a page to
summon the Steward’s secretary. It is not often that Estel displays
his anger and yet now he was clearly beyond exasperation, pacing up
and down restlessly and growling to himself under his breath.
“Sire, you wished to see me?” Faramir’s secretary,
a career administrator inherited from the Old Steward’s retinue,
was a man well used to dealing with temperamental rulers and he stood
alert and watchful, his expression neutral. The King’s pacing
brought him to a standstill in front of the man.
“I take it Lord Faramir was aware of today’s council meeting?”
“Yes, Sire. All the necessary documentation was prepared and
collated before My Lord was called away.
“And where and what was so important that Lord Faramir had to
rush off without my knowledge or leave!” he all but shouted. The
man was not in the least bit intimidated.
“I know not the particulars, Sire. Lord Faramir received a message
from Captain Beregond in Osgiliath and decided it required his personal
attention. He did say that he should be back by nightfall but if he
was delayed he would be back in time for the meeting…I’m
sure he did not mean to cause any inconvenience, Sire.”
The man was dismissed and I was dispatched to the garrison to find
out more details of Faramir’s actions and to arrange for a signal
to be sent to Osgiliath ordering his immediate return.
“Estel, calm yourself.” I reassured him upon my return.
“There was no general alarm, Osgiliath is not under threat. Faramir
left yesterday before noon with an escort and arrived safely. He left
Osgiliath at first light and should be here presently.”
“I cannot delay the start of the council, we will start without
him and I will deal with this other business later.” Seeing his
continued state of agitation I turned him towards me with my hands upon
his shoulders, waiting until he met my gaze.
“Peace, my friend, all will be well…hear him out…I’m
sure there will be a perfectly reasonable explanation,” I said,
rocking him slightly until he returned my smile. I hoped there was an
explanation, Estel is very protective of those under his charge, a fact
that Faramir has, I fear, yet to learn.
The morning session was drawing to a close by the time we heard the
trumpets heralding the Steward’s return. The morning had been
reasonably productive with several edicts regarding civic administration
being agreed with very little argument; a pleasant change from the normal
course of events. I had a sneaking suspicion that the ease with which
business was being dealt with had much to do with the fact that in Faramir’s
absence much of the procrastination and tedious argument of the councillors
was absent…the target of their obfuscations not being present
to endure it.
Estel adjourned the meeting, inviting the councillors to take refreshment
in the ante-room. Faramir was announced. He saluted smartly and went
down on one knee before the King in obeisance, remaining in place with
his head bowed until the King raised him up. Under Estel’s intense
scrutiny he stood tall, his gaze fixed on the collar of the King’s
tunic, his expression impassive. He was clearly exhausted from his exertions
and the silence was making him squirm, though his discomfort was internal,
his rigid stance not betraying his discomfiture.
“Sire, Please forg…..!” Estel silenced him with a
raise of his hand, clasping the younger man on the shoulder in a gesture
of reassurance; a kindly gesture, sadly misinterpreted by its recipient
who recoiled from the contact and the threat that the raised hand implied.
Estel backed a step allowing the increase in distance to reassure his
Steward.
“Lord Faramir, we will discuss your apologies and your actions
after the council proceedings are completed. Is there anything urgent
I need to be aware of in Osgiliath?” Faramir shook his head “Good,
then you will go now and refresh yourself and join the rest of the councillors
for lunch.”
Estel joined me at the window, a look of sorrow clouding his face.
He gazed out at the sun-drenched city. “He thought I was going
to strike him!” he said sadly. “He fears me!”
“No Estel,” I said moving behind him and using my thumbs
to massage the tension from his shoulders. “It is not you he fears;
your position, maybe, your authority. Remember what you know of his
history, of the scars he bears. This is the first time he has found
himself called to account by his King…he is reacting on instinct…expecting
to be treated as he was by Denethor…old habits are hard to break!”
I said with a wry smile, hoping to bring reassurance.
“Thank you my friend, you are ever a source of good council.
Would you go to him and make sure that he takes some refreshment before
we resume.”
My hopes that the meeting would be drawn to a speedy conclusion were
granted, though not under the circumstances I had anticipated. There
were only a few items left on the agenda: Faramir’s report on
the progress of reordering of the military, Gimli’s report on
the rebuilding of the gates and the lower circles and a report from
the councillor responsible for the Houses of Healing with regards to
funding and staffing of health provision in the city. Before we moved
on to these last items the King asked the scribe to briefly run through
the main discussions and conclusions of the morning session for Faramir’s
benefit.
The scribe had almost completed his recitation and was on the last
item when Faramir shot to his feet.
“WHAT!” his bellow echoed around the chamber, waking the
older councillors from their post-prandial dozing. “Sire, that
must be a mistake…you cannot allow this!”
“Lord Faramir, sit down, Sir!” The King ordered.
“But, Sire, this is monstrous…what were you thinking!”
I tried to settle him down, recognising, as he did not, that he had
gone too far.
“Faramir, sit and calm yourself,” I whispered urgently,
pulling him down into his seat and restraining him with a hand on his
shoulder.
“Now, My Lord Steward, if you can conduct yourself with a modicum
of decorum would you kindly explain your objection to these proposals.”
Estel was fighting to rein in his exasperation. The whole room was
deathly quiet but I did not miss the looks of sly triumph that passed
between some of the more vociferous of Faramir’s detractors.
Having taken a few moments to compose himself Faramir took a deep breath
and began speaking.
“Sire, when I took up my duties at the end of the War, the city
was in chaos; civic administration had all but broken down, the city
was rudderless with no effective means of relieving the plight of the
people; the Captains were fighting to restore order and security and
it fell to me to look after the people.” He was on his feet again
but he was clearly now in control of himself and he paced to help him
maintain his composure.
“Go on Faramir,” The King urged.
“Many people were destitute, without the means even feed themselves
and so I decided to take control of all the food stocks within the city
and pool the resources to allow for an equitable distribution based
on need. This strategy was not without its critics; the few remaining
merchants objected to having their livelihoods disrupted,” Faramir
growled. At least two of the councillors squirmed uncomfortably in their
seats. “This new Edict if it is passed would cause untold suffering.
There are many people within the city who still rely on the distribution
of food for their survival. If we move back to a free-market it is the
most vulnerable of your citizens who will suffer, Sire.”
“I see. Lord Harmil, you tabled this motion, what have you to
say to Lord Faramir’s predictions!”
“Sire, with the greatest respect, Lord Faramir is a soldier not
an economist,” the Lord smarmed, “and, while I do not doubt
that his intentions are honourable, he is not an expert in this matter.
I have had many years experience dealing with the economic matters and
I had Steward Denethor’s complete confidence. We must allow the
merchants to trade freely to ensure the prosperity of the city.”
The man sat down, oozing arrogance, sure that he had effectively killed
any further discussion.
I could feel the anger vibrating within Faramir’s slender frame
as he took his seat and I flashed a warning glance to Estel. Before
the King could intercede Faramir was again on the offensive.
“Please Lord Harmil,” he said in a voice of deceptive calm,
“just remind the council what business underpins your families
fortune…Ah, yes…you are a grain merchant are you not!”
“Why, you impudent young pup, just what are you insinuating,”
the irate man roared.
“Nothing, My Lord, I am merely pointing out that you are not
without personal interest in this affair…I may only be an ignorant
soldier but I know that in times of shortage and hardship the price
of essential commodities goes up and the only people to benefit are
those who fill their coffers while those around them go hungry!”
At this point I feared for the arms of the chair in which Faramir was
seated; his white-knuckled grip on the sturdy oak threatening to splinter
it to firewood.
I do not think that the noble Lord gave due thought to the consequences
of his next ill-considered remark. “You, Sir” he sneered
at the Steward, “should not meddle in things you do not understand…go
back to playing soldiers with your Ranger friends…Your father
was right, target practice for the enemy is all you are good for!”
he spat.
They say that Elves can move swiftly but Faramir was swifter than an
arrow and the stunned man had hardly finished speaking before his face
hit the table, one hand forced high behind his back, Faramir pinning
him in place with an arm across his neck. It is fortunate that protocol
dictates that no weapons be brought into the chamber for I fear that
if Faramir had a blade to hand he would have skewered the man.
The door guards, immediately alert, drew their swords and made to approach
the scene of the altercation but the King had them stand down and keep
watch.
“FARAMIR! Release Him At Once!” The King ordered.
Not many would dare to ignore a direct order from the King but Faramir
was beyond reason. I struggled to release his grip on the man, but could
do little without risk of injuring him, so strong was his fury.
“My ‘Ranger friends’ are all dead!…hacked and
slaughtered, their blood spilled to ensure your safety, their heads
used as ammunition by the enemy… They are dead, only a dozen remain
out of a garrison of 150…!” he choked. “But you wouldn’t
know that would you? You were too busy cowering in you cellar counting
your coppers and hoarding your precious supplies.” He was punctuating
his words by striking the man’s head against the table.
I had a firm grip now of his shoulders. “Enough now, Faramir!
Enough! He is not worth this. Let it go now,” I whispered as I
felt him go limp under my hands.
I guided him to his feet and at a brief nod from Estel I led him away
to the ante-chamber. Reaction was setting in, he began to shake uncontrollably.
He slumped down into a chair near the fire and buried his face in his
hands. I wrapped a cloak around his shoulders and poured him a small
glass of brandy. I wanted desperately to comfort him in his distress
and yet he shrugged away from my touch.
Through the open door I could hear Estel adjourning the meeting.
“Gentlemen! It is clear that we did not give this matter due
consideration, that we were not presented with all the relevant information
before we made our, seemingly, hasty decisions. I do not take well to
being manipulated or to having my Council used to enhance the personal
interests of my Councillors!” He stalked down the table to the
injured lord and cast a healer’s eye over the damage, dismissing
his injuries as minor.
“Lord Harmil, you will prepare and present a full census report
of all the citizens of the city and its immediate environs. I want full
details of every household and business; income, dependants, professional
and practical skills. You will present it to this council a week from
today, at the same time as you hand in your resignation. It will be
in your interest to ensure that the report is detailed and accurate...
I will not hesitate to bring you before this council to face charges
of contempt if the results prove to be less than reliable. In the light
of today’s events all decisions taken by this council today will
be held in abeyance and reconsidered at our next meeting, when I expect
to be given the full facts, not just those convenient to your particular
concerns. Good day, Gentlemen, this council is adjourned,” he
said.
From the doorway I watched as the councillors shuffled out, muttering
amongst themselves and throwing disgruntled glances in the direction
the Steward had taken. When the room had cleared I saw Estel moved across
to speak to the duty guard, they saluted and proceeded to take post
beyond the council chamber doors. As Estel dropped heavily into his
chair at the table I poured him a drink from the decanter and took it
to him.
He nodded his thanks and knocked back the fiery liquid in one swallow.
“How is Faramir?”
“Better. He’s calmed…and he has stopped shaking!”
I said with an attempt at humour.
“That was quite a performance! I should have realised that he
was unlikely to have escaped the Hurin temperament…Boromir had
a short temper and Denethor’s rages were legendary.”
“He was sorely provoked, Estel. The Lord’s words were unforgivable.
Lord Harmil has been aggravating him for weeks but I’m not sure
even the noble Lord expected quite such a reaction.
“He’ll be reminded every time he looks in the mirror!”
Estel sniggered finally cracking a smile. The humour was short lived
as he contemplated the events of the day.
“What am I to do with him?” it was a rhetorical question,
for I could give him no answers.
“I will leave Faramir in your care, Estel,” I said. “I
would not wish to increase his discomfiture by staying to witness your
‘discussions’!” He flashed me a wry grin. “Be
gentle with him,” I continued. “His need for your care and
understanding is great and I can leave him in no safer hands!”
Chapter 3
After Legolas took his leave I sat for some time in the deserted council
chamber, seeking to calm and order my thoughts. Faramir’s outburst
had been shocking because it had been so very unexpected and out of
character. Now I had to deal with both his actions in the council and
with his decision to ride out to Osgiliath without my knowledge or consent.
Aye, here was another of the burdens of Rule! Who does a King turn
to when he cannot see the way forward?
My head tells me that I should treat him as I would my dear Elf had
he committed such outrageous and foolhardy actions; to blister his backside
until all hint of rebellion and guilt have been blasted away and then
to comfort him and reassure him of my continued and everlasting love
and support.
But my heart tells me I cannot treat Faramir in that manner. He already
fears me! And though he would submit should I order him to, it would
not reach the heart of him, the heart that needs my loving attention.
Because the two must go together, the correction and the comfort; if
he cannot or will not allow himself the balm of comfort then I cannot
subject him to the chastisement. I must somehow gain his trust! And
soon, before he draws back so far that I cannot reach him.
“Sire!” A tremulous voice draws my attention to the doorway.
“Come, Faramir, we have much to discuss,” I say as I beckon
him forward. I observe that he appears outwardly calm and collected,
all evidence of his earlier agitation, and shakes, now gone.
He takes me by surprise by falling to his knees and clasping my hand,
pressing my ring to his forehead in a gesture of abject humiliation.
“Please forgive me, Sire. I beg you… forgive me!”
Knowing how he withdraws from physical contact I am surprised by his
gesture and by the fact that he remains in place. This must be acutely
uncomfortable for him but he made this first tentative move and I must
tread carefully so as not to overwhelm him. I raise him up and invite
him to sit with me that we may work through the events of the day. But
he refuses to sit, needing the outward trappings of formality to weather
this necessary confrontation. I cannot remain seated while he stands
before me like an errant schoolboy and so I pace, not angrily or from
agitation but simply because it helps me to think.
“Faramir, you have asked for my forgiveness and I give it wholeheartedly.”
He was standing to attention, only his eyes following my progress and
at my words some of the rigid tension seemed to seep from his shoulders.
“But you must understand that I cannot allow such transgressions
to go unanswered!”
“I’m so sorry, Sire. My actions were unforgivable…I
let you down and disgraced my Office. What would you have me do…I
will take myself from your service, resign the Stewardship, and retire
from the city….” He looked stricken, as though he had the
weight of the world on his shoulders.
It was distressing to see the depth of his self-condemnation and I
knew I had to step in quickly before he again retreated within himself
“Peace, Faramir. That will not be necessary. I would not lose
your company or your expertise because of these matters…they were
serious, yes, but not so serious that I would banish you from my side
or my service.”
“I-I-d-don’t understand, Sire!”
“Faramir, you made mistakes, errors of judgement…and that
is allowed, we all make mistakes. We are both of us human, with all
the frailties and weaknesses of our race; none of us are infallible!”
I almost laughed then at his outraged expression and with a flash
of insight something that Legolas had said came to mind… ‘It
is not you he fears; your position, maybe, your authority.’ Ah,
wise, wise Elf! Faramir looks on me and he sees…not a man…not
a fallible human but a ‘King’! Little wonder that he is
so uncomfortable, so overwhelmed in my presence. If only he knew!
“Your first misjudgement was to leave the city without my knowledge
or consent and your actions in the council compounded that first error,
indeed I believe that your loss of control was as a direct result of
the first misdemeanour. But we both know that all of our actions carry
consequences and I would have us now discuss you actions so that I may
judge how best to help you atone and seek absolution.” He nodded
dejectedly.
“Tell me about the summons from Osgiliath?”
“It wasn’t a summons, as such, Sire,” he said warily.
“And yet it had you chasing off across the Pelennor without a
second thought!” I challenged.
“Beregond sent a request for advice. He is new to command, Sire,
and he is struggling with too little manpower and inadequate resources.
He is a good man, a good Captain and I knew that if he felt it necessary
to seek council then there would be good reason.”
“There are other experienced Commanders you could have sent to
assess the situation. Why did you feel it necessary to deal with this
in person?”
“Sire, I am your Captain General. I am responsible for all aspects
of the military. It is my Duty to know what is going on…I have
been remise in those duties….”
“And what of your duty to me, to your Office?”
“I left everything up to date, Sire. My staff and the Garrison
Commander were aware of my plans…”
“But your King was not!”
“No, Sire.”
“Tell me? Why did you not inform me of your plans?”
“I didn’t think it was necessary, Sire! I am in charge
of the military and this was a military matter.”
“Really!” I was trying hard to quash a growing sense of
exasperation. Did he really not see his error in this?
“So tell me, Captain, did you take an escort?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“A full escort?”
“An adequate escort, Sire” Another very ‘careful’
answer.
Adequate by whose reckoning?”
“Mine, Sire.”
“Yet apparently not to the duty officer…you overruled his
recommendation that you take an escort of at least six troopers and
instead insisted on taking just two…who just happened to be the
youngest and most inexperienced in the platoon!”
“I thought it would be a good experience for them; showing my
confidence in their abilities!”
My pacing was definitely no longer relaxed; I was uptight, cross and
ready to throttle him.
“So you had confidence that should you encounter one of the rogue
bands that still roam the countryside your two troopers would be able
to protect you?”
“I don’t need protecting; I am perfectly capable of defending
myself!” He was angry now and trying desperately not to show it.
“Are you?” The question hung in the air and I let him squirm.
“I was under the impression that the Warden had not yet passed
you as fit for active service. Am I mistaken?”
“No, Sire…but it is just a technicality…he is being
overly cautious… on your orders no doubt!”
This last aside was whispered, not really intended for my ears. I held
his gaze until he looked away, an impressive blush painting his face.
I walked over and opened the chamber door and spoke to one of the guards.
I returned carrying Faramir’s sword. I carried it across my palms
and indicated that he should take it. When he had it in a firm grip
I took hold of his wrist and raised his arm until it was extended level
with his shoulder; arm and sword parallel to the floor.
“Sire?”
“Indulge me, Faramir,” I said, letting go of his wrist
and letting him bear the weight of the sword with his outstretched arm.
Within moments he was struggling, his teeth gritted in an attempt to
ride out the pain and the weakness in his shoulder. Sweat beaded his
face as his arm shook and despite his best efforts the weight of the
sword pulled it down. I could not let this go on.
“Enough!” I said gently, taking the sword from his hand.
“Do you still insist that you are, at present, capable of defending
yourself?” I asked.
He had no answer. He swiped the sweat from his face with his hand,
humiliated at having his weakness so clearly demonstrated.
“I do not do this to shame or belittle you, Faramir,” I
said gently, “merely to point out that you are not yet fully recovered
and that to ride out as you did without adequate escort or protection
was an act of self-indulgent folly. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, Sire!”
“So tell me again why you did not seek my permission to ride
to Osgiliath?”
“Because…because I knew…I knew that you would not
allow it, Sire.”
“So instead of risking my refusal, you sidestepped the issue
of permission entirely! Yes?”
“Yes, Sire…I’m sorry!”
“HMMm! Sorry for what you did or sorry that you were caught out?”
“Both, Sire.” He whispered.
I couldn’t help but smile at his pout. “Thank you for your
honesty.” He looked up and saw my smile before dropping his head
down to continue his examination of the tiles at his feet.
“So now we come to today’s debacle?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Why did you miss the beginning of the meeting?”
“It was my intention to get back in good time, Sire. We left
at first light with fresh horses and were making good progress…and
then my horse pulled up lame. I couldn’t take one of the other
horses and leave one of the troopers to make their way back alone, nor
would they allow me to travel ahead on my own. We stayed together and
began walking until we met up with a patrol; we split up and I came
back with half of the patrol and my escort made their way back with
the others.”
“I see. Well at least in that you showed good judgement!”
“Thank you, Sire!” I looked up sharply at the sarcasm in
his tone.
“Forgive me Sire, that was…forgive me!”
“Certainly! So to continue…You returned tired, hungry and
no doubt worried about your reception.” He nodded. “And
so with barely time to wash and change and grab a bite to eat you found
yourself in Council.” He nodded again and I could see from his
posture and the way his breathing had changed to rapid, shallow gasps
that the full memory of the events had crashed into him with all the
awful, gut-wrenching mortification of the earlier altercation.
“Easy, Faramir, we will discuss this calmly.” I fetched
us each a small glass of wine, giving him time to compose himself.
“Sire, he has been manoeuvring behind the scenes for weeks to
get me to open up trade. I told him that I would not bring it before
the council until the situation in the city was more settled. I know
that he resented my actions but I never thought he would stoop to such
underhand tactics, Sire.”
“I do understand, Faramir. Lord Harmil used your absence to his
own advantage and I hadn’t a good enough grasp on the situation
to ask the right questions. I do not fault you for bringing the affair
to my attention, Faramir. I am pleased that you had the knowledge and
the confidence to fight for what you believed to be right…However
I do have a problem with the manner of your intervention!”
“As my Steward I expect you to uphold the honour and dignity
of your Office, to lead by example and to maintain the highest standards.
I will not tolerate being spoken to in that manner! Nor will I tolerate
my Council meetings being turned into a brawl, violence has no place
within my Council…Is that CLEAR!” He was back to attention
now, his expression neutral and his hooded eyes fixed on a point beyond
my shoulder.
“Is that Clear, Captain?” I repeated.
“Yes, Sire.”
“What Lord Harmil said was cruel and unforgivable but you should
have allowed me to deal with it. You let your emotions get in the way
of good judgement. I will expect you to apologise to the whole Council
when next we meet.”
“Yes, Sire, as you command.”
“Thank you. Another time if something comes up in Council that
you think requires my attention and that you wish to discuss in private
you have only to tell me. I will always adjourn the meeting to hear
your thoughts. I value your council.”
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Now we just need to decide how to deal with consequences of
your recent misdemeanours, Faramir. I know that you are sorry for what
happened and I accept your apologies but I cannot in all conscience
just allow these matters to stand. And yet I am at a loss as to how
to proceed. I fear that I must think on this for a while…I do
not like asking you to wait but…”
“You wish me to go and await your judgement, Sire!” he
offered, his expression almost alarmingly blank.
“Yes…yes I think that would be best.”
“As you command, Sire.” He snapped the smartest salute
and then turned on his heel. He walked away from me with his back straight
and his shoulders proud and yet…and yet he carried an air of haunting
vulnerability. I felt a pall of guilt at leaving him with matters unresolved
between us but I had no clear idea yet of how to proceed.
I needed to consult wiser council.
Chapter 4
I left Estel and Faramir in the Council with a troubled heart, my
worries about Faramir’s earlier actions compounded by his outburst
in the meeting. I have to hope that Lord Harmil has the sense to keep
out of my reach or I fear Estel will be calling me to account for my
actions; his manner to Faramir was intolerable and his words unspeakably
cruel. It is fortunate that at the time my attentions were focussed
on Faramir or I might have been tempted to deal with the Lord myself
and he would have discovered just how protective Elves can be of those
who are dear to their heart. Estel’s reaction to my ‘dealing’
with the errant Lord would no doubt have been a blistered backside!
I would consider it a small price to pay.
I found Lord Elrond in the garden, relaxing in the company of his children,
and it was not long before our conversation turned to the Steward and
his actions. It was good to share my concerns and when Estel later joined
us the conversation continued along the same lines. I could see that
Estel was conflicted, his desire to draw Faramir into our circle frustrated
by the youngster’s reticence and isolation. We discussed amongst
ourselves how best to approach this problem, though we failed to come
up with any solutions.
Lord Elrond offered to intercede on Estel’s behalf, and, though
I could tell the offer was tempting, Estel with regret declined the
offer. I could not fault his reasoning; if Lord Elrond did manage to
break through and forge a supportive relationship with Faramir only
to then to disappear from his life, the results for Faramir would be
catastrophic; another ‘abandonment’ to add to the many he
had suffered in his life. And Estel would then be left in the same situation
as he finds himself in now.
As the afternoon melted towards evening Estel took his leave, his step
heavy. We had barely got to our feet to go and prepare for Dinner when
cries of alarm heralded the arrival of a breathless and distraught servant
who crashed through the door into the garden.
“Lord Elrond…you are needed…the King…help…it’s
urgent!” the boys desperate cries were almost incoherent.
“Quietly child, slowly… Take a breath and tell us slowly.”
Lord Elrond, always a cool head in a crisis, grasped the boy by the
shoulder and crouched down, his calm gaze steadying the boy.
“The King needs you; Sir…in the Old Library…Lord
Faramir needs help…Please you must hurry.
Dispatching Arwen to collect his bag of supplies, the rest of us followed
the boy along twisting corridors towards the Old Steward’s apartments.
Dim lamplight issued from the doorway of an otherwise darkened chamber.
I could hear Estel’s voice; it was low and soothing, urgent and
almost desperate in its intensity.
I had only seconds to take in the scene that confronted us. We entered
a small, high-ceilinged, octagonal chamber of maybe ten paces across,
closed shutters were set high in the wall above dark wood bookshelves
that lined six of the angled walls. The door occupied one wall and the
final wall housed a large, empty fireplace. The bookshelves were all
empty and the room was dank and bleak. From the dim light of a single
lantern I could see Estel kneeling on the floor, his arms supporting
Faramir’s weight against his chest. Faramir was naked apart from
his breeches; I could see his undershirt and tunic folded neatly and
set upon the back of only chair in the room, his boots standing to attention
by the side. On the seat of the chair lay a vicious looking whip, its
long sinuous flail curled neatly around the well-worn handle.
Faramir’s arms were both caught at the wrists within two loose
loops of leather, fixed above shoulder height into a metal ring set
into the angle of the wall. When standing the loops would have offered
support, but in his already exhausted state he must have fainted or
his legs given way and now his whole weight was suspended on his arms,
the leather bindings cutting deep welts into his wrists.
Without needing instruction the twin sons of Lord Elrond moved forward
to assist their human brother, one helping Estel to bear the Steward’s
weight, the other gently releasing the hands from their cruel bonds.
I thought Faramir to be insensible but when his rescuers moved him his
scream echoed around the chamber and then he did pass into blessed unconsciousness,
for the pain in his abused muscled must have been excruciating.
After a quick assessment Lord Elrond motioned to his sons; Faramir
was wrapped in a cloak and carried to the Houses of Healing, cradled
between the two Elves. Estel made to follow the procession, clearly
distressed; I took his arm and ushered him towards his chambers, for
he was in no condition to be of use at the moment. I seated him in an
easy chair near the fire and knelt at his feet, chafing his hands.
“How could he think I would do that to him!” he choked.
“Never in a thousand lifetimes would I subject him to that!”
He wept silently into his hands and I could only comfort him with my
arms and my words. Presently Arwen joined us and, leaving Estel to her
loving ministrations, I went to seek some answers.
I sought out the Steward’s Chamberlain, an elderly man who had
served the Steward’s family since before Boromir was born.
“Tell me about Lord Denethor and Lord Faramir and that…that
torture chamber!” I demanded. My question clearly distressed the
man and I realised that I needed to proceed more gently to get the information
I required. “Forgive me! Please tell me so that we may understand
what has occurred here today.”
“Lord Denethor was …he was a good man once…but his
duties and his grief’s weighed heavily upon him and he became
hard and relentless…and Lord Faramir suffered the brunt of his
anger. He was always a stern father but in his later years he became…he
became more unforgiving.
“How often did he resort to beating his son?”
“It was never frequent, Lord Boromir made sure that his brother
was stationed away from the city as much as possible….he knew
that relations between his father and brother were strained but I don’t
believe he ever knew about the physical abuse. Faramir would have done
anything to protect him from that knowledge. After Lord Boromir left
on his quest Captain Faramir had to report to his father at least once
a month.
“And these beatings happened every month?” I asked, appalled.
“No, I don’t believe so…but several times my Lord
required the attentions of the healers before he returned to duty.
“And did nobody intervene on Lord Faramir’s behalf?”
I demanded.
“No, Sir. It would have only made things worse. Lord Faramir
saw it as his duty to submit to his father’s correction”
“And today, you knew he had gone to that chamber?”
“Yes, I heard that his Lordship was in trouble and that he had
been sent to the old Library to await the King’s justice”
“And when the King didn’t go there, did it not occur to
you that this was all a misunderstanding!”
“No Sir. Lord Faramir was often made to wait hours for his father
to administer his punishments.”
“Have you learned nothing about your King? How can you judge
him by the standards of that poor demented old man?” I felt sickened
by the thought that Denethor’s malevolent influence still carried
sway even after his death. I dismissed the man and went back to Estel.
On my return Estel was alone but calm.
“Arwen has gone to see how Faramir fares,” he explained.
He motioned for me to join him. I sat on the floor beside his chair,
my back resting against his legs. He unconsciously reached out and began
to play with my hair, twirling the strands through his fingers.
“Will you tell me now what happened, my friend?” I asked.
His fingers stilled for a moment before resuming their soothing ritual.
“I should have realised something was amiss when he left the
chamber. There was something about his manner….he seemed…he
seemed sadly resigned. Our discussions had not been easy for him…so
difficult for such a proud and honourable man to be called to account
for his misjudgements…but he faced up to them bravely and with
such dignity. More than once I wanted to take him and hold him and soothe
away his sadness and yet that was impossible for he would not have understood
or accepted such ministrations!”
“We must hope that in time he will come to see that he deserves
such care,” I said, resting my head back on his knee and looking
up into his troubled grey eyes, silently inviting him to continue his
gentle, soothing caresses; knowing that he receives as much comfort
from bestowing these gestures of care as I get in receiving them. For
the first time since finding him with Faramir a soft smile lights up
his features and I regret that I must take him back to that scene of
such fearful anguish, but to speak of it aloud will help to banish the
distress of what happened.
“Tell me what happened when you left us in the garden?”
“I went to look for him. I tried first his chambers and his offices
but his secretary said he had not seen him since his return from Osgiliath.
As I was leaving I met up with the under-chamberlain…his reaction
to me was strange…he seemed…angry! I have always had good
and equitable relations with the staff and his reaction was so uncomfortable
and unexpected that I was for a moment at a loss.
“Do you know where I can find Lord Faramir?” I asked him.
“Of course, Sire. He is awaiting your attendance.” The
man’s tone was bordering on insolence and I was about to reprimand
him when his meaning triggered a feeling of alarm.
“Explain yourself! Why and where is he awaiting me?” The
man’s expression went from antagonism to confusion.
“Why, the Old Library, Sire. That has always been the place of
punishment, Sire!”
“Punishment!”
“Aye, Sire.”
“Take me there! I demanded, following through darkened corridors
at a run.”
The fingers in my hair tightened sufficiently to make me wince and
I put my hands up to cover his, releasing their hold.
“You saw that room!” he continued, “he must have
gone there immediately after leaving the council chamber; prepared the
room and himself for the expected punishment and then waited…
waited for me to come and thrash him…waited until his strength
gave out!”
“I know!” I said, trying to soothe him. “I have spoken
to the Chamberlain. It was ever the way with the Old Steward and his
dealings with his younger son.”
“I never wanted to punish him in that way. I wouldn’t punish
anyone in such a cruel and vicious manner. Do you know what he said
when I got to him?…He apologised…He said ‘I’m
sorry, Sire…I tried to wait for you…’”
“I know, Estel. This is not your fault! No, it is not!”
I reiterated when he shook his head. “Faramir was reacting in
the only manner he has ever experienced. That was Denethor’s way
of dealing with what he perceived as Faramir’s transgressions,
real or imagined.”
“But I never sent him to that room….I never even passed
judgement on his actions…wait…that’s what he said
before he left….he said…he said ‘you wish me to go
and await your judgement!’ and I replied…I replied ‘yes,
that would be best’” He dropped his head into his hands.
“Estel, this was a misunderstanding…It. Was. Not. Your.
Fault!”
“My fault or not, he is back in the Healer’s care and whatever
fears he had about me before will have been magnified a hundred-fold!”
“We will make him understand, Estel!”
For two days Faramir lay insensible in the Houses of Healing; kept
in merciful oblivion by the potions of Lord Elrond and the Warden. It
took powerful analgesics and sedatives to counteract the pain of torn
muscles and overstrained joints. By careful management the Healers were
able to monitor when the effects of their medications were beginning
to wear off and they would utilise the lightening of his level of consciousness
to enable them to get sufficient fluids into him, without him becoming
aware enough for the pain to cause him distress.
Only when he was deeply sedated would they treat his injuries with
massage and manipulation; exercising the joints and muscles and helping
to repair the damage and begin to restore function and strength.
He was never left unattended and I took it upon myself to sit with
him through the dark hours of the night. While all about us the city
settled into sleep I would sit and talk to him, tell him stories, sing
softly in the hope that even in his stupor the essence of my presence
would register deep within him; that my constant physical contact would
speak to his heart.
Lord Elrod was his chief healer, coming to attend him several times
a day, bestowing his unique and special talents, using touch to project
his healing strength into this stricken and broken youngster who has
wormed his way so deeply into all our hearts. Estel would visit, desperate
to be of use, locked within a haze of guilt that none of us could ease.
He blamed himself for the misunderstanding that had led to this situation
and for his failure to establish a channel of communication with Faramir.
On the third day I was sitting in the window seat watching as Lord
Elrond began another round of treatment. Faramir was still under the
effects of the medicines but his level of awareness was rising.
On this occasion Estel was assisting the Elven Lord. The room was warm
and calm, the scent of athelas lightening our senses. Having removed
Faramir’s nightshirt, the two healers positioned their patient
on his front, a blanket drawn up to his waist. The bed-head was removed
and the Elf Lord took a seat at the top end of the bed and cupped his
hands around Faramir’s head and neck, closing his own eyes as
he concentrated his healing powers and senses on his patient. Only when
he received a nod of acknowledgement did Estel begin, coating his hands
with warmed aromatic oils and proceeding to massage each arm in turn,
moving from fingertips to shoulder, across the neck and upper back before
moving on to the other arm. When the muscles and tendons had been thoroughly
warmed and massaged he begin to manipulate the joints, moving each through
a full range of movement, noting with a healer’s touch where the
stiffness and strain were most pronounced. When he had completed his
ministrations, Estel with Lord Elrond’s help, rolled Faramir over
onto his back, adjusting his covering. The whole process of massage
and exercise was then started over.
Faramir was showing increasing signs of restlessness, squirming weakly
away from the hands that cared for him. Lord Elrond moved closer until
his lips were almost touching Faramir’s ear, whispering reassurance
and Elvish endearments to soothe the fractious patient. A tear squeezed
itself from beneath long, dark lashes and tracked a silver path to where
elven fingers rested against his temples.
A moment later Faramir opened his eyes, his confused gaze darting restlessly
until he focussed on Lord Elrond’s peaceful and reassuring smile
above him.
“Welcome back, my young friend,” the Elven Lord greeted.
“Do not be alarmed, you have been ill, but you are quite safe.
Be at peace.”
Faramir kept his gaze fixed on the face above him, anchoring him against
his confusion and disorientation. I could almost see his thought processes
as he tried to piece together fragments of broken memory. I recognised
the instant that memory clarified and he remembered the circumstances
of his predicament. He became instantly frantic, his head thrashing
from side to side in a desperate attempt to free himself from Lord Elrond’s
touch.
“Peace Faramir…it’s alright…you are quite safe…do
not fret!” Elrond soothed but his words were in vain for at that
moment Faramir caught sight of Estel and realised that the King was
also ministering to him; Royal hands massaging his shoulder.
In a movement so sudden and unexpected that it took us all by surprise,
Faramir flipped over onto his side, curled in upon himself, his back
towards The King.
“Noooo, do not…do not touch me!” his cry was haunting,
desperate.
His arms, not yet under his control, he could not get to move up to
hide his face and so he tucked his head as far as he could under his
shoulder. His violent movement had taken him perilously close to the
edge of the bed and two pairs of arms reached out to hold him. Again
he struggled away from the contact.
“Faramir, Enough!” Lord Elrond’s command was enough
to still further struggle and the Elven Lord moved around the bed and
crouched down until he was at eye level with the distraught Steward.
“Calm yourself, young one, there is no need for this fuss. Take
a deep breath and tell me what distresses you so.”
“He mustn’t…it isn’t right…not seemly…I
do not want him to-to see…to see me like this!” he choked.
“Is it not enough that I have shamed and humiliated myself beyond
all hope of redemption…must I be totally humbled before my King!”
Estel had moved around the bed, his words were soft and gentle but
they failed to soothe Faramir’s anguish. “Faramir, it was
not my intention to distress you; I wanted only to help and to comfort
you. Can you not accept me as a healer as you did before?”
“No Sire, you are first and always my King! This is not right…I
beg you, please leave me some dignity!” Estel bowed his head in
defeat, not willing to be the cause of further upset.
“Very well, Faramir, I will leave you now. Be at peace and let
Lord Elrond tend you. You are in safe hands…I will come and see
you later when you are more rested,” Estel said sadly, his shoulders
slumped in defeat.
I moved from my window seat to the bedside as Lord Elrond followed
Estel from the room. I could hear a muffled conversation from beyond
the door and I can guess that Lord Elrond was reassuring Estel as I
would have done if I had been in his place.
When Lord Elrond returned I assisted him in making Faramir more comfortable,
sponging his face and hands with scented water and combing through his
tangled locks. Replacing his nightshirt was awkward and we had to feed
his tender and lifeless arms through the sleeves of the fine linen shirt.
Faramir remained silent throughout our ministrations, his eyes closed,
though we both knew that he wasn’t sleeping.
Following Lord Elrond’s instructions I supported Faramir in a
sitting position, my arms around his chest bracing him against my body
as Lord Elrond replaced the headboard and arranged a pile of pillows
against it. Faramir was like a rag doll in my embrace, his useless arms
hanging limply in his lap. I shifted slightly and his brow came to rest
upon my shoulder. I was in no hurry to end this embrace and it appeared
that Lord Elrond was quite happy for me to continue, indicating that
he would go and arrange for refreshments to be readied for the patient.
A spreading dampness at my shoulder was the first indication of Faramir’s
distress; lonely, silent tears shed as he finally gave vent to his emotions.
I hugged him more tightly against me, one hand moving up to cup his
head.
I didn’t try to shush him or halt his tears. I just held him
against me, comforting him with my presence and whispering words of
encouragement and reassurance as he wept, rubbing my cheek against his
red-gold hair, a warm glow filling my spirit that I now had this precious
mortal sheltered within my arms
After a long time his tears slowed and his hitched breathing settled
and still he rested against my shoulder making no attempt to pull away.
“Alright now, young one. Don’t fret, all will be well…I
have you…you are safe now.” I whispered.
“No!” he sobbed, “how can things ever be right? I
have made such a mess of things…I wanted so much to please him…to
show him I was worthy of his trust…and…and now it is all
gone…all for naught.” He was weeping again, his anguish
profound.
“Oh, my poor, sad little friend,” I said rocking us both,
tightening my embrace. “You have nothing to fear and nothing to
prove, not to Estel and not to anyone. We know and celebrate your worth.
Do not judge yourself so harshly. There is only one thing that we wish
from you and that is the gift of your confidence, of your friendship.
Can you do that, little one? Can you bless us with the gift of your
friendship?”
I got no reply but that did not matter; it was enough to have him in
my arms. This was a first tentative step on what would be a long road
but I would celebrate it for the victory that it represented. I held
him until his tears dried and his hitched breathing settled into the
calm even sighs of sleep and still I was reluctant to let him go.
A soft cough announced that I had company. In the doorway stood Lord
Elrond, his hand on Estel’s shoulder. I’m not sure how long
they had been observing us but I could see the evidence of tears upon
Estel’s cheek. I reluctantly lowered my precious, sleeping, burden
to rest back against the pillows and settled the coverlet around his
shoulders. Estel beckoned me to his side.
“Thank you, my dear friend,” Estel said, drawing me to
him and dropping a kiss onto my brow.
“You did well, Legolas!” Lord Elrond whispered, drawing
me into his sheltering embrace.
Only then did I allow my own tears to flow.
Chapter 5
Warriors do not make good patients!
I have been in the position of patient enough times in the past to
know that to have a man of action under ones care is enough to drive
a healer to distraction. And just as I chafed under the restrictions
of the sick room, Faramir is now faced with enduring the frustration
of enforced idleness. I try to hide my mirth at his predicament, for
it is really so endearing to see him pout and fume against the restrictions
laid upon him by Lord Elrond but I have made it clear to him that I
will brook no argument about it, Lord Elrond’s orders are to be
obeyed.
It has been four days now since Faramir emerged from the haze of drug-induced
oblivion and awoke to the distress of finding me attending to his care.
It was never my intention to cause him such distress, though I believe
that the extremity of his reaction was due in part to the disorientating
effects of the drugs.
It was a relief to me that he finally gave vent to his emotions and
allowed himself the comfort of Legolas’ arms; my dear Elf has
such a large and open heart and I know that Faramir has lodged for himself
a clear place in the Prince of Mirkwood’s affections. I am saddened
that I have failed to engage his confidence but I will not allow myself
to be discouraged; I have had to cultivate patience in my life and I
will put those skills to use now.
It was at my Ada’s suggestion that I continued to tend to Faramir,
offering him my attentions in a healer’s capacity. My first instinct
had been to back away and not risk causing Faramir further upset but
my Ada is wise and he saw what I did not, that Faramir needed to see
that I thought him worthy of my care and attentions and that by holding
back I would be reinforcing his feelings of insecurity and lack of self-worth.
He is healing well, he is regaining strength and function in his arms,
though he is still in a degree of pain, a fact that he is reluctant
to admit; stubborn, stubborn man! For that reason Lord Elrond has refused
until now to allow him to move back into his own chambers, afraid that
once away from the beady eyes of the healers and attendants he will
begin overtaxing his limitations and undoing the progress thus far.
Now that he is on the way to recovery, we have developed a plan to
help ease him back into the comradeship of our company. Since his waking
four days ago he has declined all company except Legolas and that only
because my determined Elf would not allow himself to be turned away.
I suspect that his refusal to see visitors had more to do with his feelings
of embarrassment at his perceived weakness than his claims of tiredness.
All is set and we now wait for Legolas to set the scheme in motion
.The rest of our company are still in the main dining hall finishing
supper, Legolas has gone to the Houses of Healing to see Faramir and
I am waiting in Arwen’s reception room. The room is large with
glazed doors overlooking a large patio; there is a fireplace at each
end of the room giving a warm welcoming ambiance. Easy chairs and sofas
are grouped together around small tables.
I observe Legolas entering, carrying Faramir. Faramir is dressed in
his nightshirt and an ankle-length woollen robe and Legolas has a blanket
draped over his shoulder. I watch as he settles Faramir onto a smallish
sofa near one of the fireplaces, swinging the Steward’s legs along
the seat, plumping the cushions at his back and finally tucking the
blanket around Faramir’s legs.
“Would you please stop fussing? You are worse than the nurses!”
Ah, Faramir is still on fine form, his irritation taking the form of
belligerence.
“Temper, temper. I thought you wanted to escape from that ‘blasted
place’, as you so delicately put it!”
“You said you were taking me to my room!”
“I am….later! I thought you could do with some company,”
Legolas teased.
“Blasted, infuriating Elf!”
“Is there a problem, My Lord?” I couldn’t hold back
a chuckle as Faramir realised that they were not alone in the room.
“No…no problem, Sire….except that I fear I am being
manipulated…you wouldn’t have anything to do with that,
would you, Sire!”
“Who me! I hope you are not suggesting I would stoop to underhand
practices!” I couldn’t quite catch his reply and from the
blush that bloomed across his cheeks I suspect that ignorance is bliss.
“Are you comfortable, Faramir?” I asked, the healer in
me coming forth as I felt his pulse and touched the back of my fingers
to his brow.
“I’m fine, Sire. Though I feel woefully underdressed…I
would be more ‘comfortable’ in my own chambers!” he
fumed. I smiled and left him to pout and mutter to himself.
One by one the rest of our company drifted into the room, their arrival
carefully and discretely orchestrated by Arwen so as not to overwhelm
the invalid.
Frodo was the first to arrive.“Oh, Faramir, it is lovely to see
you. I have missed your company!” the Ring-bearer said, bestowing
his most winning smile on Faramir. “You don’t mind if I
join you, do you?”
Without waiting for a reply, Frodo scrambled up onto the far end of
Faramir’s sofa and settled himself against the arm, wriggling
until he had the cushions organised to his satisfaction. Faramir had
drawn up his feet to make room for Frodo and was about to swing his
legs round when, without warning, Frodo picked up one foot and then
the other and settled them in his lap. When it seemed that Faramir would
protest, Frodo merely wagged his finger and shushed him, pulling the
blanket and tucking it around Faramir’s ‘poor, bare toes’.
The look on Faramir’s face was a picture and both Legolas and
I had to turn away to hide our smiles.
Each new arrival made a point of greeting Faramir before moving away
and making themselves comfortable. Last to arrive, Arwen welcomed Faramir
with a kiss on the cheek before going to join her brothers outside on
the patio. I took an easy chair by the fireside where I could observe
Faramir without my scrutiny being too obvious.
He was watchful; he could see most of the room and its occupants from
his position. He often closed his eyes as though focussing his attention
or maybe just distancing himself from his surroundings. I noticed that
Frodo’s hands were almost unconsciously running over Faramir’s
feet, massaging them in a manner that mimicked Sam’s frequent
attention to Frodo’s feet at the end of a long day’s march
on the quest; a tender expression of care.
“Frodo, is Pippin alright?” Faramir had been observing
the younger Hobbit for some time, a puzzled expression on his face.
Pippin was standing near the other fireplace watching Merry and Gimli
battle each other over a game of strategy. Pippin was moving restlessly,
shifting his weight from foot to foot as though uncomfortable.
“Ay, I believe so, why do you ask?”
“He seems a little agitated, not quite his usual self,”
Faramir said. “Has he been on duty today? Perhaps he is over tired!”
“Perhaps you should ask him, Faramir!” Frodo looked over
to me and gave a wicked grin.
“Pippin!” Frodo called his younger cousin over. “Pippin,
Faramir wants to know if you are all right! He is worried that you seem
a little subdued!” Pippin blushed spectacularly and cast his elder
cousin a ferocious frown of disgust.
“Is everything alright, Pippin?” Faramir reached out and
beckoned Pippin to his side. Everyone else in the room was studiously
ignoring the conversation though several faces sported knowing grins.
Pippin leaned in and whispered something to Faramir.
“He Did What!”
“Shush, it’s not like I need everyone to know, Faramir!”
“But I don’t understand! Why did he do that?” Faramir
cast a furious frown in my direction. I merely raised an eyebrow in
return.
“He had his reasons…though I felt it was totally unnecessary,
a total overreaction on his part!” the little Took sniffed.
“Pippin, a moment!” I said calling him over to me. “A
total overreaction?” I questioned sternly. He blushed prettily
and had the grace to look chastened.
“No, Sire. I deserved it.” He whispered.
“I should say you did, Little Sir. Now I forgave you…have
you forgiven me?” I asked him. My answer was to be seized in a
mighty Tookish hug.
“Of course, Strider” he whispered, planting a soggy kiss
on my cheek. I batted him away with a swat on his behind for his cheek
and winked at Faramir who sat watching me with a look of stunned disbelief
on his face.
For some time Faramir rested with his eyes closed, though with a look
of puzzled concentration as though trying to figure out a complicated
conundrum. I left him to his silent contemplation, knowing that his
famed insight and keen intellect would work at this puzzle until he
formulated an answer.
It was such a simple answer and yet, given his background, I was unsure
if he would recognise it in its simplicity.
I had been trying to work out how to broach this subject and now Pippin
had innocently raised the matter in his own inimitable fashion. Pippin
had been called to account earlier for an ill-considered action, an
action that had earned him a session of my ‘loving attention’;
a meaningful and painful spanking. And yet clearly Pippin was not afraid
of me, had not forfeited my affection or respect nor had he lost his
respect or affection for me. He had atoned for his actions, been forgiven
and the matter was now behind us.
Such a simple truth. I wondered how long it would take for Faramir
to realise that I wanted that truth for him!
“Is everything alright, Faramir?” Legolas was at Faramir’s
side and was watching his friend with a look of quiet contemplation.
“I would like to retire now.” Faramir whispered, struggling
to release his legs from the folds of the blanket and swing them to
the floor. Legolas looked to me for confirmation and I nodded; it would
not do to allow Faramir to become over tired.
“NO! I will not be carried!” Faramir hissed; he was on
his feet and doing his best to push Legolas away. Seeing that this could
progress to a scene, Legolas backed away slightly but kept a hand under
Faramir’s elbow.
“You may walk as far as the door, My Lord…and no, you do
not want to argue with me!” Legolas was clearly in no mood to
tolerate any more petulant behaviour from his charge.
Faramir’s pout was impressive but he hadn’t the energy
or the strength to fight a determined Elf. He bowed and made his unsteady
progress to the door, leaning heavily on Legolas for support. Lord Elrond
watched them leave and rose to follow them.
“Legolas I insist you put me down this instant!” Faramir’s
complaint could be heard from the corridor. “Now, Sir….
I insist you Put. Me. Down!”
“Insist away…but bear in mind that if you aggravate me
further I will return you to the Houses of Healing and not your own
chambers!”
“You would not dare countermand Lord Elrond’s instructions!”
Faramir’s whine could be heard as they proceeded along the corridor.
“Lord Elrond can and will change his instructions if he thinks
it necessary!” I heard said Elf Lord insist as he followed them
I had to smile to myself, all in all the evening had gone better than
I could have expected.
There has been no repeat of Faramir’s outburst of emotion following
his waking in the Houses of Healing; indeed the episode has never been
referred to between us. I am not sure how much of that time he even
remembers and I will not risk embarrassing him by reminding him of it.
I do, however, hold the memory close to my heart and with each remembrance
a small glow warms within me, a promise for the future.
He remains quiet and watchful. Since his return to his own chambers
his recovery has progressed to the point that he is now able to resume
most of his former duties, though, to his unvoiced disgust, he has not
yet been passed fit to return to active duties, nor is he allowed to
ride out beyond the limit of the Pelennor without an Elven escort.
I have been assisting him in his recovery; Lord Elrond instructed me
in how to assist Faramir to exercise his shoulder and arm muscles to
help him regain strength and full mobility and each afternoon we spend
an hour or two exercising and sparing together.
We have achieved a level of understanding that allows us to spend time
in easy companionship. He is now comfortable with my presence, though
he never actually seeks me out. I would not yet say that he sees me
as a friend. He never opens up to me on personal matters nor will he
ever talk about his past though I try to give him as many openings as
possible.
There are still so many grief’s and tragic remembrances locked
up inside his heart and keeping them hidden takes constant vigilance
on his part but he has perfected the art of concealment so well that
it is only in his most unguarded moments that a hint of his true pain
is evidenced. He is locked in an emotional wilderness, unable to share
his pain and bewildered by his inability to join in the relief and the
joy that the victory over darkness has brought to others.
Because of his incapacity, Faramir missed the next council meeting
and so was not there to witness Lord Harmil’s final appearance
as a servant of the Crown. The Lord presented his Census report as instructed
and it did indeed appear to be most thorough, though it was not enough
for Estel to rescind his instruction and the Lord was ‘allowed’
to tender his resignation. The episode did have one positive consequence,
Estel was so impressed with how much more efficient it was to have all
matters presented in writing that he has made it a standing instruction
that in future all routine business be dealt with in this manner; a
welcome change that has halved the pointless discussion and bickering
that so marred earlier Council meetings. Meetings that in the past dragged
on all day are now completed within a few hours.
I could tell that Faramir was dreading his first appearance before
the Council. He only picked at his breakfast and was even more quiet
than usual. There was little that I could do to ease his apprehension
except offer him the support of my company. Estel gave him the opportunity
to say his piece at the commencement of the meeting before we started
on other business.
He did so well, his apology was dignified and heartfelt. Sitting next
to him I could feel the tension thrumming through him though to all
outward appearances he appeared calm and collected. Estel gave him a
small smile of acknowledgement as he retook his seat and Faramir slumped
down, finally allowing the apprehension to drain away. At the end of
the morning when Estel drew the meeting to a close, Faramir made to
leave with the rest of the councillors.
“My Lord Steward, a moment please!” Faramir’s reaction
to Estel’s request was to come to attention, his eyes fixed on
the floor at his feet. Estel flashed me a sad sigh for it was clear
that Faramir was expecting to be chastised.
“Faramir?” Estel waited until Faramir finally met his gaze.
“Yes, Sire!”
“You did well today. I’m proud of you. You handled that
very well.” Estel praised.
Faramir’s face was a picture. A fierce blush spread across his
cheeks and I could see his eyes filling at the unexpected praise.
“Thank-thank you, Sire….please-please excuse me!”
He snapped a smart salute and turned on his heel, retreating quickly
before those traitorous tears had time to fall. I would have followed
him but Estel stopped me.
“Give him a moment, my friend…some lessons are better absorbed
in private.”
Over the next few days I watched Faramir carefully, conscious of an
increasing degree of tension about him. There was no obvious cause for
his increasingly subdued manner; the council meeting had gone well,
his changes of the military were proceeding as planned and his strength
was improving daily. Even the Warden’s pronouncement that he could
resume active service seemed to do little to improve his mood. At Estel’s
insistence, Faramir continued to join in the social gatherings of our
company though he was always the first to excuse himself, often proclaiming
tiredness. And he had reason to be tired, for I know that his sleep
is often disturbed.
I find it difficult to rest within the chamber allocated to me and
so on warm nights I often spend the quiet hours in the Queen’s
garden or in the shelter of one of the tall trees, finding peace and
rest amongst their sheltering branches. On several occasions my reverie
has been disturbed by distressed cries coming from Faramir’s chambers.
When I have gone to investigate I have found Faramir trapped within
the grip of some fearful nightmare, gripped by terrors that have his
writhing and calling out for his lost family. Boromir’s name is
most often on his lips but he also calls pitifully for his father and
mother. He seems to calm and relax at my soothing and falls back into
peaceful slumber without ever being aware of my presence, for I make
sure to slip away at dawn before he awakes.
Common sense warns me that I should perhaps bring this to Estel’s
or Lord Elrond’s attention but I fear to invade his privacy any
more than I have already done. I am reluctant to strain the tentative
trust that has developed between us.
I will continue to watch and wait and hope that I can defuse the crisis
that I fear is looming.
Chapter 6
Estel has declared tomorrow a rest day and, in honour of the fact,
we have gathered in the Queen’s garden to plan how we will spend
our hours of freedom. Estel and Faramir are due to join us shortly;
they have been down to the barracks to observe the new recruits under
training. It was Faramir’s idea to invite the King, a way of helping
the Sovereign to become more familiar with the officers and the men
under his command. Estel had jumped at the chance, always eager to get
away from the mountain of paperwork and tedious whining of his more
odious councillors.
We had both hoped that his spending time with Faramir in a more relaxed
and informal atmosphere might help to ease the formality with which
the Steward interacted with him but I fear our plan has not proved fruitful.
When they return to the garden Estel catches my eye and with a slight
shake of the head informs me that nothing has changed; indeed I can
see from the way that Faramir is pacing restlessly along one of the
outer paths that he is anything but relaxed.
“What happened, Estel?” I asked, as we both watched the
clearly agitated Steward stomping a rhythmic trail to and fro; ten steps
one way, ten steps back.
“I know not! I thought the visit had gone well. The training
session was satisfactory and the troops well prepared for the Graduation
Ceremony in a few weeks. The men obviously hold Faramir in great respect
and affection; he was constantly greeted by old comrades asking after
him.”
“And yet something has clearly upset him!” I remarked.
“I know. He seemed composed while we were at the barracks; it
was as we were making our way back up through the city that I became
aware of his discomfiture.”
As we spoke I observed Frodo approach Faramir and address him, stalling
his pacing with a hand on his arm. Faramir pulled away with a curt reply
and Frodo’s face fell, a look of puzzled bewilderment at his friend’s
reaction. Faramir was immediately contrite and set about making amends
to the little Ring-bearer and after a few moments conversation Frodo
made his way back to Sam, a sad thoughtful expression on his face.
“Please, I beg you…do not say it!” Faramir hissed
without looking at me.
I wasn’t even aware that he had registered my presence. He was
standing at the balustrade, his white-knuckled grip grinding his fingers
into the rough white stone as he gazed out into the distance.
“Don’t say what, my friend?”
He sighed and allowed his fists to fall to his side, still keeping
his face turned away from me. “Are you well, Faramir? Are you
alright, Faramir? Can I get you anything, Faramir? Are you too warm?
Too Cold? In pain? Should you be riding today? Have you exercised today?
Have you changed your socks, FARAMIR!” he all but yelled. “If
one more person asks me if I am alright I will personally hang them
by their ankles over the edge of this balcony and see how long it takes
them to hit the plain below! …I am not a child, I do not need
a keeper and I just wish to be-be left alone!”
He turned to me and I was staggered by the raw anger in his eyes. I
did not rise to the bait, I kept my words and tone gentle. I reached
for his hands and unfurled his clenched fists, rubbing at the crescent
shaped indentations where his nails had gouged into his palms.
“Actually, I was going to ask you what Frodo had said to incite
your ire but given your little ‘outburst’ I suspect he just
enquired after your wellbeing….as friends do!” I chided
him gently. It was as if my words had deflated all of his anger, leaving
only shame.
“Aye, I’m sorry. I have apologised to him…it was
nothing personal…it was just the last straw! It was unforgivable…I
should not have been so hard on him.”
“I’m sure Frodo, more than any other would understand your
predicament, Faramir. He has had to endure more than his fair share
of well-meaning, if not altogether welcome, attention.” I said
dropping his hands but not moving from his side. “What has brought
on this sudden fit of aggravation, Faramir? Has something particular
upset you?” He shook his head as if not trusting his voice. He
pressed his thumb and forefinger against his closed lids, seeking strength
from within.
“I thank you for your concern, Legolas…it is not that I
don’t appreciate it but-but you can’t help me with this…I
must work through this in my own way…on my own…Forgive me!”
“Faramir, Wait!” I called after him but he was already
walking away, head lowered to avoid eye contact with others as he passed,
“Well?” Estel’s question was posed before Faramir
had even disappeared from view.
“I Don’t Know!” I ground out, frustration quickly
turning to impotent anger. “Stubborn… infuriating…maddening…young…fool!”
I glared at Estel when he had the nerve to chuckle at my outburst.
“I take it your famed Elven charm failed to make an impression
on him?” I cuffed the impudent human even as my own smile forced
an appearance.
“I think he is feeling beleaguered by the constant attention
of everyone who crosses his path,” I explained. “…or
at least that is the focus of his anger! I suspect the real reason lies
hidden deeper…deeper than even he can see.”
“Come on, out with it, Legolas. What are you keeping to yourself?”
Estel had his hands on my shoulders and there was no escaping his piercing
and all-seeing scrutiny. I never could keep anything hidden from him
for long.
“Come now. Legolas, tell me?” he demanded.
“What is this troublesome youngster keeping to himself now, my
son?” Oh, now I had no chance of keeping my thoughts to myself,
not against Estel and Lord Elrond’s perceptive and persistent
attention.
“I was just about to find out, Ada!”
I shook my head in defeat. “Faramir’s sleep is troubled.
He wakes with nightmares!” I explained.
“How do you know this? Has he told you? How often does it happen?”
“Two or three times last week, most nights this week…sometimes
more than once a night.” I explained, dropping my eyes to the
floor not wanting to see worry and disappointment that my revelation
elicited.
“And how do you know this?” Lord Elrond demanded. I had
no choice now but to explain what I had seen and to admit to my own
actions.
“Does he know of your nightly visits?”
“No. He has enough to deal with without my adding to his embarrassment.
I only go if he calls out in his distress and I always leave before
he wakes!”
“You should have confided in us, my friend. Your attempts to
safeguard his privacy are all well and good but this constantly disturbed
sleep will weaken him and will not help him to deal with whatever is
troubling him!”
“Not to mention that you are putting your own wellbeing at risk
by missing out on your own rest!” Lord Elrond chided.
“I can deal with it…he cannot!”
“And if you had come to us we could have dealt with the problem
and perhaps prevented you both wearing yourselves to exhaustion.”
Lord Elrond chided, bestowing upon me a frown guaranteed to make me
feel like an irresponsible Elfling.
I was surprised that Faramir joined us to partake of the evening meal;
I was sure that given the events of the afternoon he would make his
excuses and seek to find a measure of tranquillity in his own company.
But attend he did. He made a point of claiming the seat next to Frodo
at the table and from the Ring-bearer’s gentle expression I judged
that Faramir had indeed made good his promise to make amends for his
earlier actions.
I was not the only one present observing Faramir; I noted that Lord
Elrond and Estel both had him in their sights. I did consider making
myself scarce, not sure if I wanted to be around when Faramir found
out my part in Estel and Lord Elrond’s knowledge of his sleeping
difficulties. I think sometimes Estel can read my mind or maybe he is
just adept at reading my body language but no sooner had the thought
crossed my mind than I felt his hand on my arm, a quelling glance all
but ordering me to stay put!
When the meal ended we moved into Arwen’s sitting room to relax.
Faramir was rounded up by Lord Elrond and ‘guided’ to a
quiet corner to be joined by Estel. There followed an edgy and somewhat
heated discussion, Faramir making it clear that this further intrusion
into his personal matters was not welcome. He should have realised by
now that there is no gainsaying the two noble healers when they think
that one of their own is in need of their particular skills. At the
end of the discussion Lord Elrond produced a small medicine vial and
‘insisted’ that Faramir take it when he retired for the
night.
When finally released by his carers Faramir stalked over to me, his
face like thunder.
“The next time you feel the need to interfere in my concerns,
Prince,” he spat, poking his finger towards my chest, “perhaps
you would have the courtesy to come and discuss them with me first!
I do not like having my privacy invaded nor do I wish to have loose-lipped
busybodies blabbing my private business to others…Is. That. Clear!”
I nodded but he didn’t wait around long enough to hear my apologies,
he stomped out onto the terrace and flounced down onto one of the benches,
pulling a small book from his tunic. Merry and Pippin, who were out
on the terrace play-fighting with wooden swords, ceased their game when
they noticed Faramir’s arrival and after a heated, whispered,
conversation they moved back into the main chamber, much to Pippin’s
obvious disgust.
I watched Faramir for a while and though his gaze was directed at the
page of his book, not once did he turn the page. I was just about to
go out to him and try to make amends when a commotion within the room
drew my attention. Frodo was dozing in a chair but Merry, Pippin and
Sam had moved away and it was clear that Merry and Sam were trying to
pacify and calm an increasingly irate Pippin. The little Took was fair
bristling with indignation, his eyes bright and his little hands clenched
tight.
“Pippin, keep your voice down!” I heard Merry say, trying
to pull Pippin down beside him on the sofa.
“Mr Merry’s right, Mr Pippin, you don’t want to be
making a fuss.” Sam soothed, unsuccessfully.
“Don’t you dare tell me what I don’t want to be doing,
Samwise Gamgee!...the question needs asking …and if none of you
are going to do it then I will...he was my friend too!” Pippin
threw down his wooden sword and stormed back out onto the terrace.
“Pippin. Don’t!”
“No, Mr Pippin!”
“PIPPIN!”
Pippin ignored his companion’s entreaties and the rest of the
assembled company and marched right up to Faramir, not stopping until
he was pressed right up against the Steward’s legs.
“Pippin?” Faramir was startled from his lonely, angry introspection
by the sudden appearance of Pippin at his side. “Can I help you,
little one?”
Every other conversation in the room stopped as we all focussed on
this unexpected development. I felt the stirrings of alarm and I noticed
that Estel was poised ready to move in and take action; he glanced my
way passing a message of restraint, of careful watchfulness.
“Have you disowned your brother, Sir?! The little Took demanded
“Pippin, what do you mean?”
“T’is a simple question, Sir! Have you disowned your brother?
Are you ashamed of Boromir?”
“No, Pippin. Why would you ask such a horrible question? What
have I done that would lead you to accuse me of such a thing?”
Faramir gasped. “When have you ever heard me utter a bad word
against my brother….against Boromir?” Faramir was distressed
by this sudden and unexpected attack and I wanted desperately to go
to him but Estel and Lord Elrond both stayed me.
“True I’ve never heard a bad word…and not a good
word either, in fact not a single word at all!...not one word! and I-I
don’t understand! I-I don’t understand why you’re
allowing him to be-be forgotten…he deserves better than that!”
Pippin cried, his little hands beating a tattoo against Faramir’s
knees.
“Pippin you don’t understand! It’s not like that.”
“Then make me understand, My Lord! Make me understand why my-my
big brave warrior isn’t being celebrated for the hero that he
was! Make me understand why I’m shushed whenever I want to talk
about him and remember him? Why whenever you’re near I have to
pretend that I never knew him?” Pippin was weeping now, huge silent
tears that ran down his face and dripped from his chin onto Faramir’s
knees. Faramir leant forward and pulled the little Hobbit up onto his
lap so that they were at eye level.
“Pippin, have I ever stopped you remembering Boromir? If so,
it was never my intention to be so cruel!”
“No-no, Sir bu-but everyone else does They shush me and tell
me to be more considerate! Not to bother you with my silly prattling
or silly games!”
“Oh, Pippin! You tell me little one. Tell me about your big brave
hero!” Faramir whispered to his littlest warrior.
Pippin sniffed, angrily dashing the tears from his cheeks; waiting
for a nod of encouragement from Faramir.
“He was big and brave,” Pippin began, eyes bright with
unshed tears and fond remembrance. “He taught us to fight, how
to protect ourselves. He was patient and stern and he kept us to our
task…and-and he carried us when we were too weary to walk any
more and he huddled us under his big warm cloak when we were cold and
he saved us from being buried and frozen in the snow…he swatted
us when we were silly or reckless and he cheered us up with stories
when we were low. He told us about his big White City and about his
brave and loveable brother…an-and when the Orcs came he fought
like a demon to keep us safe…even when those awful arrows knocked
him to the ground he got right back up again and again until they overpowered
him and they carried us way. He was a hero…a big golden hero and
he was my fr-friend!” Pippin sobbed, held tight against Faramir’s
chest.
“I know, Pippin..I know. He was my hero too. He taught me to
fight and to ride and to swim and how to be brave and honest and honourable.
All my life I’ve tried so hard to be like him…even when
I knew that I would never be a strong or as skilled as he was…still
I tried to make him proud of me…and he was! He was my big, shining
Golden Brother, Pippin…and if I don’t talk about him, it’s
not because I don’t care or because I’ve forgotten…it’s
because it hurts too much!” Faramir whispered his voice laced
with the agony of loss.
Pippin pulled back and looked up into Faramir’s face. What he
saw reflected in Faramir’s grey pain-filled eyes touched his dear
little Hobbit heart and he cupped his hands around Faramir’s cheeks
and pulled him into his embrace, resting the Steward’s brow against
the symbol of the White-tree embroidered on his surcoat.
“Oh, Faramir, I never meant to hurt you…I just didn’t
understand. Can you forgive me?” They were both weeping now, Pippin
noisy and unashamed in his sorrow and Faramir silent, as if his heart
would shatter if he gave free rein to his grief.
And those of us who looked on? Not one was dry-eyed.
We left them to their privacy, locked together as they murmured their
remembrances and their pain into the warm velvet night time. Within
the chamber we sought comfort amongst our companions.
When Pippin finally returned to his fellow Hobbits, red-eyed and dishevelled,
he was quickly absorbed into their circle. A few moments later Faramir
passed through the chamber, he bowed to Estel and Arwen, picked up the
vial of medicine from the mantle and, without a word, left for the sanctuary
of his own rooms.
If I didn’t know him better I would have said he seemed calm,
dignified even but I have learned a thing or two about our noble Steward
in the last few weeks and I was not fooled. He was wound as tight as
a spring, his calm façade a skilful mask intended to protect
his emotions from the scrutiny of others. He had wept for Boromir and
yet there was no relief for him in those tears. I have heard how ruthless
Denethor was to his younger son but I fear his bitter attentions were
as nothing to the savagery that Faramir heaps upon himself.
I did not follow him from the chamber. He has been battered by too
many emotions this day and I did not wish to add to his distress. I
left him to his privacy, vowing to make my peace with him on the morrow.
Instead I stayed long enough to see the Hobbits bid their goodnights.
Estel returned their blessing and as Pippin turned to leave Estel scooped
him up and hugged him tight to his chest.
“Put me down, yer big softy!...what’s this all about, Strider?”
“You, Peregrin Took! You jump in with your oversized woolly feet,
without thought or caution and yet you have achieved more in one evening
than we have done in weeks!”
“You mean Faramir? I didn’t mean to upset him…I just
needed to understand…I didn’t mean to upset him!”
“I know you didn’t, Pippin. I’m not vexed with you
and neither is Faramir. Sometimes tears are a good thing and I think
it helped Faramir to talk about Boromir and to remember him.”
Estel reassured his littlest Guard
“Oh! Well that’s alright then…perhaps I’m not
such a fool of a Took after all,” he chuckled, as Estel set him
back on his feet.
Whether it was the attentions of the little Took or whether it was
Lord Elrond’s potion I know not but for the first time in many
nights there was no disturbance from Faramir’s chamber, no distressed
cries of a sleep disturbed by nightmares; my reverie was tranquil and
I woke at dawn in the comforting embrace of my green bower.
TBC
