Friday, November 10, 2006
For the beauty of the earth,
for the beauty of the skies,
for the love which from our birth
over and around us lies,
Refrain:
Gracious God, to thee we raise
this our sacrifice of praise.
For the beauty of each hour
of the day and of the night,
hill and vale, and tree and flower,
sun and moon, and stars of light, Refrain
Folliot Sandford Pierpoint, 1864
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha who wrote a considerable portion of this chapter.
“I know very little of your ranger days either,” Aragorn replied.
“You must have far more adventures to relate,” said Faramir. “I spent most of my time at Henneth Annûn chasing Orcs and Southrons. Between the skirmishes, we had naught but endless patrols, with hours of tedium watching and waiting for the next attack.”
Sensing that the younger man yearned to hear a story, Aragorn relented. “I was a Ranger for more years than the span of your life,” he said. “All my stories would take many nights to relate; so tell me what you especially want to know.”
“About the very first time you joined your people,” Faramir requested.
“Our people,” Aragorn gently corrected him. ”I think I was sixteenyears old when my foster brothers asked if I would like to go on patrol with them. I knew I was no Elf and my mother had told me something of our people without revealing my true identity. I was eager to meet them and see how they lived. Sometimes there were Dúnedain women and children sheltered at Rivendell but I saw little of them. My days were filled with lessons in history, art, music, literature, healing, diplomacy and endless practising with the sword and bow.”
“You were lucky to be tutored in so many subjects and for so long,” Faramir said with a touch of envy.
“I realise that now, but at the time I yearned to hunt down the Orcs that harassed our people and drove them to shelter at Rivendell,” Aragorn replied, inwardly vowing to share more of his Elven acquired knowledge with his Steward. “I was so excited when Elrond gave his consent to my going out on patrol. My poor mother was horrified. I think she feared I would fall like my father. We set out and rode until we came to a Dúnedain village. I can still remember how shocked I was at how poor and lowly the village seemed, when we were invited into a home to partake of refreshments. There it was that I first met Halbarad, who was my elder by fifteen years. He looked at me suspiciously, as if he knew who I was. I was introduced only as a stray orphan, Lord Elrond's fosterling. I later learned I was very like Arathorn in appearance; and that Halbarad had known and remembered him. We spent the night there and then rode out on patrol early the next morning, joined by some of the men from the village.”
“How many of you would ride out together?” Faramir asked.
“There were usually twelve men in each patrol and about sixty altogether who patrolled the Northern Borders at that time.”
“And how does the land differ from Gondor?"Faramir enquired.
"The North has a more rugged and untamed beauty, with high rolling hills covered in heather; great forests and vast swathes of wild moor land. I hope to take you there one day.”
“I would like that very much!” Faramir’s eyes were shining as he spoke.
"The country that borders the Shire, though, is quite cultivated, green and lush. That first patrol seemed like a great adventure until I saw an Orc for the first time. I had never before seen such a creature, and the sight of him was worse than all the stories I had been told. And never before had I been so afraid!”
“You, afraid!” Faramir looked at him wide eyed.
“Very much so, I fear,” Aragorn confessed ruefully. “The Orc was hideous, a monster with a man's cunning. You could smell its hideous stench from two leagues away. Elrohir sent me to warn the village we had just left. When I arrived, I found the main troupe of Orcs was already attacking. One was chasing a little girl. I forgot my fear and plunged into battle, thrusting my sword through the ugly brute, then another and another. The Elves had trained me well; though after the battle was over, I was violently sick and my legs felt like jelly.”
Faramir nodded sympathetically. “ I felt much the same after my first battle,” he said. “The first time you thrust your sword into living flesh…I remember it all too well. In time I became accustomed to it, but never could I take pleasure in the act of slaying.”
“If you ever delight in killing, the enemy has stolen your humanity and emerged the victor,” Aragorn said sombrely.
“Did anything else happen on that first patrol?” Faramir enquired, not wanting to dwell on the last time he had taken human life.
Aragorn sensed that his friend was remembering all he had been forced to do to save him from the traitors. Eager to distract Faramir, he said: “There is a much better way to share our stories! Come, lean your head against mine.”
.”We could use Thought Sharing to tell stories?” Faramir sounded surprised.
“It is a much better way of sharing old memories than trying to describe them in words,” the King explained. “Our people can use the Thought Bond for far more than overcoming misunderstandings and reassuring each other. You have barely touched yet, upon the many joys it can give. We should be able to actually relive each other’s adventures! Come, let us try it!”
Faramir leaned his head against Aragorn’s and found he could see the countryside; the village and its people that his King was trying to describe to him and in turn share his own memories. It was much easier to share thoughts of the distant past than of recent events. They could still sense the lingering pain of the past in each other’s hearts and Aragorn sensed Faramir was still too disturbed by some memories to yet be ready to fully open his heart and did not seek to pry. However, their bond of companionship had become far stronger as had their mutual love and loyalty.
The twilight birdsong died away until only the occasional hooting of an owl and chirruping of crickets broke the night stillness.
Still Aragorn and Faramir sat shoulder-to-shoulder sharing their past adventures while they watched the moon rise over the forest.
At last, Aragorn yawned. “Shall we sleep now?” he suggested. “I sense your thoughts are of curling up under your blanket! It looks as if it will be another fine day tomorrow.”
“It is sad a wonderful day like this must end, but I am weary too,” Faramir replied. “Can we continue sharing our memories tomorrow night?”
“Of course!” Aragorn smiled,” And I want to know more about the time Damrod pushed you in the river!”
“He said I needed a bath!” Faramir replied sheepishly,” I was standing in the wrong place when a horse felt an urgent need to…”
“I think words will suffice in this case!” Aragorn chortled, getting to his feet.
They placed their bedrolls so that they could sleep side by side and as it grew chill, huddled together in their sleep. No dark dreams troubled the sleepers, who slumbered soundly throughout the night.
It was dawn when Aragorn was awakened by the sound of falling rain. Little of it touched them under the thick canopy of trees. Faramir remained sound asleep with his head curled against his lord’s shoulder. This time, Aragorn felt no revulsion at their closeness, but rather pleasure that his Steward was again so at ease in his company. He did not have much in the way of family, or even close friends. Halbarad was dead, as were many other Northern Dunedain friends and kinsmen. Elrond had sailed; and the twins made their home far away. Eomer was a worthy comrade and brother-king; but he too lived too far for Aragorn to see him more than once or twice a year. As much as he enjoyed Legolas’ friendship, they could not spend much time together; the demands of their domains usually took them on different paths. But Faramir he loved in a different way than those others. As Faramir had worked alongside him to set Gondor to rights, he had become as much a son to Aragorn as a friend. Aragorn felt blessed that the Valar had seen fit to grant him this companionship. As much as he loved Eldarion, his fair little son was still an infant, far too young to serve as a companion to his doting father. It would be many years yet before they could go camping and hunting and share the other simple pleasures that a father and son should enjoy.
It was Faramir's age, perhaps, that had sparked the paternal affinity Aragorn knew he could never lose for him. Faramir had been born only three years after Aragorn and Arwen had finally plighted their troth; as might their own son have been if they had been allowed to carry out their hope of wedding. And Faramir resembled Aragorn, as had Denethor. The folk of Minas Tirith used to call Thorongil and Denethor 'Ecthelion's twin eagles' when the two rode out together. Aragorn remembered how the bonds of affection could bind as tightly as those of blood. He had been deprived of the chance to sire a son until he was ninety years of age. Faramir had been deprived of a father's love in full measure. Aragorn would gladly give him what Denethor had so sadly withheld.
He realised that he had been in danger of making Denethor's mistake in his treatment of Faramir. He shuddered at the thought, but in truth, he had nearly followed Denethor's example of casting this jewel aside. Aragorn sighed, and went back to sleep, his arm curled protectively around the younger man’s shoulders.
Faramir awoke early. The rain had passed and dawn was painting the sky in beautiful shades of pink and purple, promising another fine day.
He was just uncurling his head from theKing’s shoulder when he realised that Aragorn was awake and watching the sunrise. “I am sorry!” he said self-consciously.
“You will have the stiff neck not I, ion nîn!” Aragorn replied smiling.
Faramir’s response was to playfully head-butt him, another proof that their old comfortable friendship was restored.
“You obviously envy my fine Numenorean nose, as you have tried to knock it off since the day of my coronation!” Aragorn teased.
Faramir flushed slightly at the memory and then joined in the older man’s laughter.
“Amazing, that after all our misadventures, our noses have still remained intact!” Aragorn mused as he threw off his blanket and rose to his feet. He stretched like a cat and then brushed the grass and twigs off his hair and garments.
“There is a spider on your tunic!” Faramir warned.
Aragorn calmly brushed it off, shedding more leaves from his clothing.
Faramir laughed.
“What is so funny?” Aragorn demanded.
“I was just wondering what our wives would say if they could see us now!” Faramir replied.
“That we were old enough to know better!” the King replied. “Are you planning to lie abed all day?” He made a grab for Faramir’s blanket but the Steward was too quick for him and clung on grimly.
“You promised to make breakfast!” he reminded his friend.
“I will once you get up!” Aragorn retorted.
Faramir slowly sat up and stretched. To his delight, his pain and stiffness had disappeared and he felt better than he had done in months.
Aragorn hovered in case Faramir needed a helping hand as he got to his feet. “You look much better today,” he commented.
“I feel well and strongthanks to you,” Faramir replied, “I shall be ready to ride once we have eaten.”
“Allow me to examine your back first,” Aragorn asked. "It is just a precaution, to ensure that the pain will not return.”
Faramir nodded his agreement before striding off into the trees.
They splashed cold water from the stream on their hands and faces prior to eating. After breakfast Aragorn examined Faramir’s hurts and was delighted and surprised how well they were healing. He pronounced his Steward fit to ride.
Aragorn and Faramir broke camp, leaving the heights of Mount Mindolluin as they had found them, careful that little trace of their visit remained to sully its wild beauty. It seemed likely to be another hot day and they were eager to set off ere the sun rose too high in the sky.
Despite the early hour, Anor blazed down upon them once they left the shelter of the woods. They were relieved when they found a shady lane heading towards Lossarnach.
After riding for about two hours through increasingly more settled countryside, Faramir and Aragorn saw the lands brighten into lush meadows and cornfields emblazoned with a riot of scarlet, blue and gold. Impudent poppies, cornflowers and buttercups reared their brilliant heads amidst the furrows of ripening corn.
Faramir drew Zachus to a halt and sat drinking in the beauty of thefields before him. Butterflies and bees fluttered across the meadows and a scent of blossom hung on the summer air.
“Never did I dream, when I last passed this way that I would live to see these lands in the days of peace and plenty!” he exclaimed. “I had no time to stand and stare at the beauty around me which makes it all the lovelier now! When Elestelle is older, I must bring her and Éowyn to show her just how fair and blessed our land is!”
“The rain will have brought all the flowers out, we are fortunate to see them at their best,” Aragorn smiled at the younger man’s enthusiasm. He appreciated the loveliness himself, but having lived mostly in the North, which had been less touched by Sauron’s evil, he had seen many scenes of similar beauty.
They rode slowly, to better appreciate the view, by following a series of meandering pathways until the cornfields gave way to untilled land and the water meadows, which had been left fallow for hayfields in case of unseasonable flooding, the farmers not wanting to risk the precious wheat.
The path petered out before they reached the river. Aragorn and Faramir dismounted and tied their horses to a tree. By now, despite their best efforts to remain in the shade, they felt hot and sticky. By unspoken agreement made their way down to the water’s edge to swim together.
Aragorn looked around cautiously; “This seems a good place to bathe,” he said. “I think we are certain not to be disturbed. There are no buildings for miles around and the grass is quite short which means the hay has been harvested.” He pulled off his shirt as he spoke.
Faramir looked around cautiously too and satisfied they were unobserved, added his own shirt to Aragorn’s on the grass.
Quickly, they undressed down to their drawers. They dived thankfully into the blissfully cool water and swam around contentedly, playfully splashing and ducking each other, more akin to schoolboys than the King of Gondor and Arnor and his Steward, the Prince of Ithilien.
Once they were sufficiently cooled, they reluctantly left the water before they began to tire.
“We forgot the towels!” Faramir lamented,” I will have to walk back to the horses and get them.”
“Why bother?” asked Aragorn, throwing himself down on the springy turf, made all the more lush by the recent storm. “We will dry soon enough in the sun.”
“But we cannot sit around wearing only our drawers!” Faramir protested, looking shocked.
“Why ever not?” Aragorn replied, “Who is there to see besides ourselves? We could wash our shirts now and hang them on a tree to dry at the same time.” He picked up the sweat soaked garment from where he had left it. Kneeling on the bank, he ducked it in the river, rubbing it vigorously.
Somewhat less enthusiastically, Faramir made to follow suit. He had become accustomed to removing his shirt for the King's treatments, but was used to donning it again immediately upon the completion of the healing.It broke every rule of etiquette for a member of the Gondorian nobility to appear in public less than fully clothed. His father would have been outraged at such behaviour.
Seeing Faramir's hesitation, Aragorn snatched the garment from his hand and proceeded to wash it together with his own.
”When I was a child growing up in Rivendell,” Aragorn told him, “I was taught to enjoy the feel of nature’s gifts like the Eldar do. The sun, the wind, and the grass against my skin instead of only the feel of cloth.”
He wrung out the shirts and hung them on a tree to dry. Then he sprawledon the bank, luxuriating in the feel of the soft grass against his back and legs and the sun, cooled here by the river with a soft breeze, caressing the exposed skin on his chest and belly.
Faramir sat beside him, carefully positioned to be on the other side of the scar left by the brand, bolt upright with his arms crossed defensively. “This is the first time I have seen you do so,” Faramir replied, “I remember the occasionwhen the goats ate our clothes but we never intended to wander round wearing only our drawers. “
“When I left childhood, I lost my pleasure in the feel of the elements against my skin,” the King explained, “I developed the body of a man, imperfect and very different from an Elf's fair form, a body which I wished to conceal. Thus, I spent the next seventy years and more. Yet, when I lay in Dervorin’s dark cellar, there was nothing I desired more than to touch sweet grass beneath me, see the clear sky overhead and feel the sun and wind against my skin instead of stones against my back, coarse cloth and the blade of a knife! They had stripped me, so that I wore only my drawers, when they dragged me across the stone floor after they first captured me…” His voice faltered slightly as he recalled the dreadful memories. “Since you are hardly likely to tease me for being less perfect than an Elf, I thought I would indulge that wish today!” he concluded, smiling at Faramir.
“I am sorry, I did not think, …” Faramir flushed scarlet. “Would you rather I left to sunbathe in private?”
“How could you know? I only told you that you might understand,” Aragorn replied gently,” I would much rather that you stayed to keep me company. We are comfortable together again now, I hope? Now, I know that you are no Elf, but could you not try to relax and experience the sun and the breeze like Elrond taught me to, while our linens dry? I will massage your back again later before you get dressed.”
Tentatively, Faramir uncrossed his arms and gingerly lay back on the grass as if he expected it to bite him.
TBC
A/N
In Britain, corn is wheat, not maize or sweet corn.
I have posted some photos on my LJ http://lindahoyland.livejournal.com/ of what I imagine the scenery on Aragorn and Faramir’s travels to look like, the link is on my bio page.You can also see the drawers they are wearing there !
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Wednesday, October 25, 2006
We have left undone those things which we ought to have done; and we have done those things which we ought not to have done.
Book Of Common Prayer, “General Confession,” (1662).
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha for all her help
“You can hardly walk,” Aragorn retorted matter of factly. He gripped Faramir’s hands and helped him move from the log onto the spread out blanket. The King then moved to sit beside his Steward. “Now where are you hurting?” he enquired.
“Um, several places, mostly here, and here” Faramir replied pulling up his tunic and shirt a few inches and indicating a spot on his side and another on his back. ”And my arm and shoulder ache too.”
Aragorn tentatively prodded the spot, noting the amount of tension in his Steward’s muscles. He then checked Faramir’s pulse, which was far too rapid for his liking. “I think I should examine you properly,” he said after a brief pause.
Faramir sighed before nodding his reluctant agreement.
Whether Healer or patient were more unwilling neither would have been able to say.
Faramir loosened his belt, then unlaced his tunic and shirt only to find he was so stiff that he could hardly lift his arms over his head.
Realising the problem, Aragorn helped him remove the garments, all the while wondering just how he should proceed. He decided that it were best if he treated his Steward in the simplest way possible and did not try to use the Elvish techniques which took so much out of him. Aragorn was unsure if he could even make the attempt anymore. Even if he could still do it, the Elven healing skills brought back far too many memories of the time when Aragorn had been whole and his friendship with Faramir still unmarred.
Despite the warmth of the day, Faramir shivered.
“Do you want a blanket round you?” Aragorn enquired. Thoughhe could not treat Faramir like old times, he could at least try to make him comfortable.
“Thank you, but there is no need. We should be comfortable with each other by now, you and I,” Faramir replied, feeling unable to voice the true reasons for his unease. He determinedly tried to relax.
He stiffened when Aragorn began to prod his sore muscles in a very businesslike fashion. The King's every touch, however gentle, pained him.
“It is a simple strain, not a tear, a salve should ease it for you,” the King announced, expertly feeling along Faramir’s side, arm and shoulder. “You have a weakness from both your war wound and when Eomer attacked you, which never fully healed as your treatments were interrupted.”
Faramir's discomfort increased as he now realised that Aragorn was deliberately withholding the Elven techniques he had used in the past. The Steward had almost been sorry in the past when his various hurts had been pronounced cured, so pleasant and relaxing were the treatments that Aragorn had given him. However, that was before he had raised his hand against his liege lord.
Well aware of the younger man’s reaction, Aragorn still could not bring himself to touch Faramir other than in his most detached fashion. After all, this same arm had wielded the brand that scarred him for life! It had been easy enough to embrace him yesterday over layers of clothing. But he was not ready to use the healing technique reserved for trusted friends and kin on Faramir.
“You need to relax; I am not going to hurt you,” Aragorn said as much to reassure himself as Faramir.
Faramir nodded mutely. He could hardly say that this studied detachment hurt as much as a blow. As Healers went, Aragorn was both gentle and skilled, but this kindly detachment stung Faramir’s heart like a whip. He bowed his head, trying to hide his inner pain.
Aragorn turned his attention to Faramir’s back and to his dismay detected considerable weakness and damage, not only to the muscles but also to the discs along his spine. It was small wonder that Faramir had been so loth to climb the mountain, as he must have been in considerable discomfort.
“Do your legs hurt you?” he asked, fearing some injury to the nerves.
“No, my lord,” Faramir said promptly.
Although relieved that his Steward’s injuries might not be as grave as he had feared, the formality of the reply unsettled the King.
“Turn sideways! Does that motion pain you?” Aragorn instructed; determined to discover just how severe the damage was.
Faramir nodded reluctantly, grimacing with pain at the movement.
Aragorn rose to his feet and stepped back a few paces to better see the alignment of his Steward’s spine.
Remembering the humiliating inspection of two days ago, Faramir tensed even more.
“Easy now,” Aragorn said in a tone more appropriate for calming an edgy horse. He faced Faramir again and patted him on the shoulder in an awkward gesture of reassurance.
The King suddenly found himself focussing on the red marks, which still disfigured his Steward’s skin. They were almost healed, apart from several patches, which he now realised with a start, were located at the exact sites where his own wounds had been inflicted.
“Why did you rub so hard where I was wounded?” Aragorn asked in bewilderment. “At least your skin seems to be healing nicely now.”
“I could feel your hurts but I could not help you,” Faramir replied miserably. “When I first slandered you before the Council I hoped it would make my deeds easier to bear if I tried to wash the guilt away,” Faramir explained. “Not that it ever did!”
Aragorn sank to his knees, utterly shocked by this revelation. ”You felt my pain then?” he asked unable to conceal his shock.
“I thought the Queen had told you,” Faramir replied. He moved away and crossed his arms defensively, trying to cover the red patches and theterrible memories they evoked.
“She said you had endured bad dreams and felt pain, but I had no idea that you felt the pain in the very same places where they inflicted it on my body.”
“I suppose that the Queen would not have known everything. I had only felt those pains twice when I spoke to her; and we never mentioned it again,” Faramir explained. “It does not matter, though. It was nothing compared to your suffering.”
“I never meant that to happen!” Aragorn exclaimed contritely, momentarily burying his face in his hands. He was overwhelmed by the image of his Steward forced to live a lie, alone in the Citadel, vainly trying to wash himself clean and tormented by the pain of the torture inflicted on his lord.
“I could hear you calling to me when I felt the pain. I wanted so badly to answer you, to at least let you know that I heard you, that you were not alone, but I did not know how,” Faramir said sadly.
“You have had little experience of using a Thought Bond.” Even as he said the words aloud, Aragorn realised that the answer to a question that had plagued him for months was simple. Bitterly he now rued his coldness and suspicion.
He looked at Faramir then, really looked at him and saw not only the skin scrubbed raw, the scar left by the arrow he had taken for his lord, but also the painful hunched posture and the noticeably thin body with each rib plainly visible through the skin, suggesting that long months of worry and heartache had been eating him away.
Lifting his lord when he was too weak and helpless to walk had caused Faramir’s constant pain. His Steward had even carried him outside to look at the sky, making no complaint. Faramir had suffered all these months for the sake of one who had cared nothing for his well being in return.
Aragorn found himself blinking back the tears, overwhelmed at the realisation of all Faramir’s suffering on his behalf and his own shameful lack of gratitude ever since he had awakened in the cave.
“Do you have some salve? If not, may I put my shirt on again?” Faramir asked, feeling dejected and uncomfortable.
“I have not even started to do what I should have done months ago. I am sorry, mellon nin, so very sorry! I have neglected you shamefully for too long.” Aragorn took a deep breath. Then he held his hands over Faramir’s damaged muscles and poured his healing energies into the younger man. It was so long since Aragorn had used his healing powers that he was surprised at just how strong they were today, and how strong he felt today! It was as if his ordeal had never happened. He had feared his full strength would never return and had felt less of a King or even a man as result.
Faramir gave an audible sigh as the ease and warmth flowed intohis aching body. Suddenly he laughed with pure joy.
“What amuses you so?” Aragorn enquired.
“It is wondrous to feel your strength has returned!” Faramir exclaimed. “I am so happy. You had some warmth in your hands the day you tended my wound when you regained your crown. That gladdened my heart indeed, but your power is far stronger now.”
Aragorn’s feelings of guilt intensified. How could he have misjudged his Steward so badly? Impulsively, he shed his outer tunic and reached out and drew Faramir to lean against him. “Come here that I may ease you further,” his said, his tone both gentle and commanding.
A traditional Elven massage technique used for both healing and bonding was to draw the patient to lean against the Healer. In that wise, the Healer was constantly aware of the patient’s heartbeat and how much they were relaxing as the massage progressed.
Faramir’s heartbeat was still far too rapid. Aragorn felt a stab of fear. Had his Steward not properly recovered from the appalling beating he had suffered not even a full year ago? Or was Faramir so ill at ease with his lord and friend that his heart sped faster than it should? He could think of only one remedy.
Tentatively, Aragorn reached out and began to massage the back of Faramir’s neck. At first, he still found himself remaining aloof. The King’s memories came flooding back of the first time he had used the Elven massage on his friend. How uneasy he had been that first time! It had taken all his coaxing combined with Éowyn’s to persuade Faramir to accept his help.
This was the same man he was tending. He had repeatedly had proved his loyalty. The King had initially wondered if a child of his might look like Faramir. Eventually, he had come to love him, as the grown son most men would have by this stage of their lives, but he had been denied until now. It was time to forgive with more than words. He had told Faramir so often to put the past behind him. Yet, when he most needed it, he had failed to follow his own advice! He had denied theyoungerman the help he so badly needed. His Steward had been almost fading before his eyes and he had chosen not to see! He was deeply ashamed now of allowing hurt pride and suspicion to almost destroy this honourable man.
Aragorn’s sensitive fingertips then sought out the damaged muscles and gradually and almost without realising, he found he was again using the same Elven technique he had used in the past.
Faramir could feel that something was different now and that again he was experiencing the touch he had feared was denied him for ever. Silent tears trickled down his cheeks.
It was easy now for Aragorn to treat his Steward’s hurts, Faramir was reaching out with his spirit to accept the healing and soaking it up like a sponge, which made it easy for the King to offer.
Aragorn realised he was happy. He had never wanted to heal again. Only now did he realise just how much he had missed using the gift of his forefathers. It gave him a satisfaction like no other; to see a pain-rackedbody become limp, relaxed and contented as the hurts vanished beneath his healing touch.
Faramir was now limp and comfortable as a contented cat on the verge of falling asleep.
“Perhaps we should return to the City?” fretted Aragorn. ”You should be in bed to rest your back. It amazes me you can even walk!”
“Please no, “ Faramir protested. “I am enjoying this trip and the pain is now easier that it has been in months.”
Aragorn hesitated; again torn between his head and his heart. Common sense and his Healer’s training dictated that Faramir should not be riding around in his frail state of health. Yet, would he be any better hunched over paperwork in Minas Tirith? He could at least here give him his full attention. Truth to tell, although he missed Arwen, he was loth to return just yet to the confinement of the stone walls. He was only now beginning to feel at peace with himself again. Faramir did indeed seem to be responding well to his healing and his heartbeat was now slow and steady. “Very well,” the King conceded.” But you must tell me at once if you are in pain and let me keep treating your hurts.”
Faramir smiled and contentedly nodded his agreement.
“I think then we should stay here another day,” Aragorn announced. “Give your body time to heal together with your soul, Lossarnach will still be there tomorrow.”
“I feel much better already, I can ride, “ Faramir protested. “If anyone should be resting, it is you! I know how healing drains you!”
“Sometimes healing can heal the Healer,” Aragorn replied enigmatically, “There, I think I have done all I can for today. You can put your shirt back on.” He reached for the garment and handed it to his Steward.
Faramir slid his shirt over his head then impulsively kissed his friend on the brow. “Thank you, Aragorn; I feel better than I have done in months!” he exclaimed.
“So do I!” Aragorn replied, delighted again to hear Faramir use his given name so easily. He returned the gesture and sensed a new peace in the one he had come to love as his son.
Faramir yawned. He was finding he could hardly keep his eyes open.
“Let us find a comfortable place to sit awhile until we need to catch something for our lunch,” said Aragorn.
They stretched out on the grass beside the stream in companionable silence, drowsing in the sun, both lulled by the sound of the water tricking over the stones.
Eventually Aragorn reluctantly stirred. “I will see if I can catch a rabbit for our lunch,” he said.
“I will do it,” Faramir replied preparing to get up as he spoke.
“Rest. My treatment has made you drowsy today, “ Aragorn informed him, tucking the blanket round him. “You have done more than your fair share of catching our food.”
The Steward almost immediately fell asleep and Aragorn sat watching him for a few minutes. He slept soundly, his carven features relaxed in repose. The past could not be undone, but there was a new tranquillity about him now.
000
About an hour later, Faramir awoke feeling thoroughly refreshed. There was no sign either of the King or of the dinner. He was just about to go in search of his friend when Aragorn appeared with his kill.
Faramir could not repress a chuckle that it had taken the King so long to find them something to eat. It seemed that he was somewhat out of practise, but the Steward had to admit that it was an especially plump rabbit and tasted delicious when cooked.
That afternoon they fished in the stream and again Faramir’s catch exceeded the King’s. This time Aragorn made no complaint and complimented him on his fishing skills.
The baked trout they had for their supper that night was the best they had ever tasted.
“Tell me of your days as a Ranger!” Faramir begged impulsively, once the dishes were cleaned and stowed away. “I know so little of that time in your life!”
TBC
A very big thank you to everyone who has commented. I have replied to everyone who was logged in.
I am sorry this update has taken so long. Both Raksha and I have been busy. I assure my readers that most of the story already exists in draft form and will not be abandoned.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Book Of Common Prayer, “General Confession,” (1662).
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha for all her help
“You can hardly walk,” Aragorn retorted matter of factly. He gripped Faramir’s hands and helped him move from the log onto the spread out blanket. The King then moved to sit beside his Steward. “Now where are you hurting?” he enquired.
“Um, several places, mostly here, and here” Faramir replied pulling up his tunic and shirt a few inches and indicating a spot on his side and another on his back. ”And my arm and shoulder ache too.”
Aragorn tentatively prodded the spot, noting the amount of tension in his Steward’s muscles. He then checked Faramir’s pulse, which was far too rapid for his liking. “I think I should examine you properly,” he said after a brief pause.
Faramir sighed before nodding his reluctant agreement.
Whether Healer or patient were more unwilling neither would have been able to say.
Faramir loosened his belt, then unlaced his tunic and shirt only to find he was so stiff that he could hardly lift his arms over his head.
Realising the problem, Aragorn helped him remove the garments, all the while wondering just how he should proceed. He decided that it were best if he treated his Steward in the simplest way possible and did not try to use the Elvish techniques which took so much out of him. Aragorn was unsure if he could even make the attempt anymore. Even if he could still do it, the Elven healing skills brought back far too many memories of the time when Aragorn had been whole and his friendship with Faramir still unmarred.
Despite the warmth of the day, Faramir shivered.
“Do you want a blanket round you?” Aragorn enquired. Thoughhe could not treat Faramir like old times, he could at least try to make him comfortable.
“Thank you, but there is no need. We should be comfortable with each other by now, you and I,” Faramir replied, feeling unable to voice the true reasons for his unease. He determinedly tried to relax.
He stiffened when Aragorn began to prod his sore muscles in a very businesslike fashion. The King's every touch, however gentle, pained him.
“It is a simple strain, not a tear, a salve should ease it for you,” the King announced, expertly feeling along Faramir’s side, arm and shoulder. “You have a weakness from both your war wound and when Eomer attacked you, which never fully healed as your treatments were interrupted.”
Faramir's discomfort increased as he now realised that Aragorn was deliberately withholding the Elven techniques he had used in the past. The Steward had almost been sorry in the past when his various hurts had been pronounced cured, so pleasant and relaxing were the treatments that Aragorn had given him. However, that was before he had raised his hand against his liege lord.
Well aware of the younger man’s reaction, Aragorn still could not bring himself to touch Faramir other than in his most detached fashion. After all, this same arm had wielded the brand that scarred him for life! It had been easy enough to embrace him yesterday over layers of clothing. But he was not ready to use the healing technique reserved for trusted friends and kin on Faramir.
“You need to relax; I am not going to hurt you,” Aragorn said as much to reassure himself as Faramir.
Faramir nodded mutely. He could hardly say that this studied detachment hurt as much as a blow. As Healers went, Aragorn was both gentle and skilled, but this kindly detachment stung Faramir’s heart like a whip. He bowed his head, trying to hide his inner pain.
Aragorn turned his attention to Faramir’s back and to his dismay detected considerable weakness and damage, not only to the muscles but also to the discs along his spine. It was small wonder that Faramir had been so loth to climb the mountain, as he must have been in considerable discomfort.
“Do your legs hurt you?” he asked, fearing some injury to the nerves.
“No, my lord,” Faramir said promptly.
Although relieved that his Steward’s injuries might not be as grave as he had feared, the formality of the reply unsettled the King.
“Turn sideways! Does that motion pain you?” Aragorn instructed; determined to discover just how severe the damage was.
Faramir nodded reluctantly, grimacing with pain at the movement.
Aragorn rose to his feet and stepped back a few paces to better see the alignment of his Steward’s spine.
Remembering the humiliating inspection of two days ago, Faramir tensed even more.
“Easy now,” Aragorn said in a tone more appropriate for calming an edgy horse. He faced Faramir again and patted him on the shoulder in an awkward gesture of reassurance.
The King suddenly found himself focussing on the red marks, which still disfigured his Steward’s skin. They were almost healed, apart from several patches, which he now realised with a start, were located at the exact sites where his own wounds had been inflicted.
“Why did you rub so hard where I was wounded?” Aragorn asked in bewilderment. “At least your skin seems to be healing nicely now.”
“I could feel your hurts but I could not help you,” Faramir replied miserably. “When I first slandered you before the Council I hoped it would make my deeds easier to bear if I tried to wash the guilt away,” Faramir explained. “Not that it ever did!”
Aragorn sank to his knees, utterly shocked by this revelation. ”You felt my pain then?” he asked unable to conceal his shock.
“I thought the Queen had told you,” Faramir replied. He moved away and crossed his arms defensively, trying to cover the red patches and theterrible memories they evoked.
“She said you had endured bad dreams and felt pain, but I had no idea that you felt the pain in the very same places where they inflicted it on my body.”
“I suppose that the Queen would not have known everything. I had only felt those pains twice when I spoke to her; and we never mentioned it again,” Faramir explained. “It does not matter, though. It was nothing compared to your suffering.”
“I never meant that to happen!” Aragorn exclaimed contritely, momentarily burying his face in his hands. He was overwhelmed by the image of his Steward forced to live a lie, alone in the Citadel, vainly trying to wash himself clean and tormented by the pain of the torture inflicted on his lord.
“I could hear you calling to me when I felt the pain. I wanted so badly to answer you, to at least let you know that I heard you, that you were not alone, but I did not know how,” Faramir said sadly.
“You have had little experience of using a Thought Bond.” Even as he said the words aloud, Aragorn realised that the answer to a question that had plagued him for months was simple. Bitterly he now rued his coldness and suspicion.
He looked at Faramir then, really looked at him and saw not only the skin scrubbed raw, the scar left by the arrow he had taken for his lord, but also the painful hunched posture and the noticeably thin body with each rib plainly visible through the skin, suggesting that long months of worry and heartache had been eating him away.
Lifting his lord when he was too weak and helpless to walk had caused Faramir’s constant pain. His Steward had even carried him outside to look at the sky, making no complaint. Faramir had suffered all these months for the sake of one who had cared nothing for his well being in return.
Aragorn found himself blinking back the tears, overwhelmed at the realisation of all Faramir’s suffering on his behalf and his own shameful lack of gratitude ever since he had awakened in the cave.
“Do you have some salve? If not, may I put my shirt on again?” Faramir asked, feeling dejected and uncomfortable.
“I have not even started to do what I should have done months ago. I am sorry, mellon nin, so very sorry! I have neglected you shamefully for too long.” Aragorn took a deep breath. Then he held his hands over Faramir’s damaged muscles and poured his healing energies into the younger man. It was so long since Aragorn had used his healing powers that he was surprised at just how strong they were today, and how strong he felt today! It was as if his ordeal had never happened. He had feared his full strength would never return and had felt less of a King or even a man as result.
Faramir gave an audible sigh as the ease and warmth flowed intohis aching body. Suddenly he laughed with pure joy.
“What amuses you so?” Aragorn enquired.
“It is wondrous to feel your strength has returned!” Faramir exclaimed. “I am so happy. You had some warmth in your hands the day you tended my wound when you regained your crown. That gladdened my heart indeed, but your power is far stronger now.”
Aragorn’s feelings of guilt intensified. How could he have misjudged his Steward so badly? Impulsively, he shed his outer tunic and reached out and drew Faramir to lean against him. “Come here that I may ease you further,” his said, his tone both gentle and commanding.
A traditional Elven massage technique used for both healing and bonding was to draw the patient to lean against the Healer. In that wise, the Healer was constantly aware of the patient’s heartbeat and how much they were relaxing as the massage progressed.
Faramir’s heartbeat was still far too rapid. Aragorn felt a stab of fear. Had his Steward not properly recovered from the appalling beating he had suffered not even a full year ago? Or was Faramir so ill at ease with his lord and friend that his heart sped faster than it should? He could think of only one remedy.
Tentatively, Aragorn reached out and began to massage the back of Faramir’s neck. At first, he still found himself remaining aloof. The King’s memories came flooding back of the first time he had used the Elven massage on his friend. How uneasy he had been that first time! It had taken all his coaxing combined with Éowyn’s to persuade Faramir to accept his help.
This was the same man he was tending. He had repeatedly had proved his loyalty. The King had initially wondered if a child of his might look like Faramir. Eventually, he had come to love him, as the grown son most men would have by this stage of their lives, but he had been denied until now. It was time to forgive with more than words. He had told Faramir so often to put the past behind him. Yet, when he most needed it, he had failed to follow his own advice! He had denied theyoungerman the help he so badly needed. His Steward had been almost fading before his eyes and he had chosen not to see! He was deeply ashamed now of allowing hurt pride and suspicion to almost destroy this honourable man.
Aragorn’s sensitive fingertips then sought out the damaged muscles and gradually and almost without realising, he found he was again using the same Elven technique he had used in the past.
Faramir could feel that something was different now and that again he was experiencing the touch he had feared was denied him for ever. Silent tears trickled down his cheeks.
It was easy now for Aragorn to treat his Steward’s hurts, Faramir was reaching out with his spirit to accept the healing and soaking it up like a sponge, which made it easy for the King to offer.
Aragorn realised he was happy. He had never wanted to heal again. Only now did he realise just how much he had missed using the gift of his forefathers. It gave him a satisfaction like no other; to see a pain-rackedbody become limp, relaxed and contented as the hurts vanished beneath his healing touch.
Faramir was now limp and comfortable as a contented cat on the verge of falling asleep.
“Perhaps we should return to the City?” fretted Aragorn. ”You should be in bed to rest your back. It amazes me you can even walk!”
“Please no, “ Faramir protested. “I am enjoying this trip and the pain is now easier that it has been in months.”
Aragorn hesitated; again torn between his head and his heart. Common sense and his Healer’s training dictated that Faramir should not be riding around in his frail state of health. Yet, would he be any better hunched over paperwork in Minas Tirith? He could at least here give him his full attention. Truth to tell, although he missed Arwen, he was loth to return just yet to the confinement of the stone walls. He was only now beginning to feel at peace with himself again. Faramir did indeed seem to be responding well to his healing and his heartbeat was now slow and steady. “Very well,” the King conceded.” But you must tell me at once if you are in pain and let me keep treating your hurts.”
Faramir smiled and contentedly nodded his agreement.
“I think then we should stay here another day,” Aragorn announced. “Give your body time to heal together with your soul, Lossarnach will still be there tomorrow.”
“I feel much better already, I can ride, “ Faramir protested. “If anyone should be resting, it is you! I know how healing drains you!”
“Sometimes healing can heal the Healer,” Aragorn replied enigmatically, “There, I think I have done all I can for today. You can put your shirt back on.” He reached for the garment and handed it to his Steward.
Faramir slid his shirt over his head then impulsively kissed his friend on the brow. “Thank you, Aragorn; I feel better than I have done in months!” he exclaimed.
“So do I!” Aragorn replied, delighted again to hear Faramir use his given name so easily. He returned the gesture and sensed a new peace in the one he had come to love as his son.
Faramir yawned. He was finding he could hardly keep his eyes open.
“Let us find a comfortable place to sit awhile until we need to catch something for our lunch,” said Aragorn.
They stretched out on the grass beside the stream in companionable silence, drowsing in the sun, both lulled by the sound of the water tricking over the stones.
Eventually Aragorn reluctantly stirred. “I will see if I can catch a rabbit for our lunch,” he said.
“I will do it,” Faramir replied preparing to get up as he spoke.
“Rest. My treatment has made you drowsy today, “ Aragorn informed him, tucking the blanket round him. “You have done more than your fair share of catching our food.”
The Steward almost immediately fell asleep and Aragorn sat watching him for a few minutes. He slept soundly, his carven features relaxed in repose. The past could not be undone, but there was a new tranquillity about him now.
000
About an hour later, Faramir awoke feeling thoroughly refreshed. There was no sign either of the King or of the dinner. He was just about to go in search of his friend when Aragorn appeared with his kill.
Faramir could not repress a chuckle that it had taken the King so long to find them something to eat. It seemed that he was somewhat out of practise, but the Steward had to admit that it was an especially plump rabbit and tasted delicious when cooked.
That afternoon they fished in the stream and again Faramir’s catch exceeded the King’s. This time Aragorn made no complaint and complimented him on his fishing skills.
The baked trout they had for their supper that night was the best they had ever tasted.
“Tell me of your days as a Ranger!” Faramir begged impulsively, once the dishes were cleaned and stowed away. “I know so little of that time in your life!”
TBC
A very big thank you to everyone who has commented. I have replied to everyone who was logged in.
I am sorry this update has taken so long. Both Raksha and I have been busy. I assure my readers that most of the story already exists in draft form and will not be abandoned.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness—
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
Omar Khayyám (d. 1123), Persian poet. The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám of Naishápúr (l. 45–48). . .
With grateful thanks to Raksha for all her help with this chapter.
The wind had grown stronger and whipped through the men’s damp hair, blowing it across their faces. “It grows chill. I think we should return to our camp site.” Aragorn said, noticing the cooler air as hefinally released Faramir.
“I thought you liked the cold,” Faramir teased. “You must be getting old!” He felt somewhat unsure exactly how to proceed after the recent exchange of strong emotion. Yet the habit of banter with his liege lord felt easy and natural once more, like stepping into a comfortable pair of boots after wearing stiff, tight new ones.
“I do not feel the cold like you do!” Aragorn retorted with welcome good humour. “A brisk walk down the mountain will soon warm you up!”
King and Steward started down the mountainside at a brisk pace, helping each other over the most difficult terrain.
They paused to catch their breath at the Hallow where they had admired the view earlier, sprawling beside each other on the grass.
“Thank you for bringing me to this sacred place, after all that has happened,” Faramir said quietly. ”I admit that I did not want to come, but now I will always remember this day with joy. I cannot wait to tell Éowyn about it!” His eyes searched the horizon until they rested upon Ithilien. He shut his eyes trying to picture Éowyn sitting in her herb garden with their daughter and niece.
Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry!” he murmured. “I should never have blamed you; you gave everything for me; far more than I could ever have demanded or expected of you.”
“I would do it again,” said Faramir with total sincerity, leaning his head against Aragorn’s hand. “There will always be dark hours of the night when I will be troubled by my actions. Yet, in my heart I know I would hazard all again to save you; even my very soul or what remains of it!”
Aragorn turned to look at him directly. “Your soul is as intact as it was on the day I first knew you, mellon nin,” he said firmly. “You lost your innocence mixing with traitors, but never your soul! I have met many on my travels who did indeed lose their souls to the Dark Lord. The loss of light is easy to see in their eyes, where there is nothing save emptiness. You can only lose yourself when you seek to gain, not when you risk all for another.”
“I perceive it all differently now,” Faramir mused.” I wonder what really happened to us at the lake?”
“The One blessed us allowing you to find it. That is all we need to know,” Aragorn replied. ” Arwen would probably understand better. I know only, that never before had I felt so at peace. It was like being born anew.”
“I felt I could somehow understand clearly,” Faramir said. He gestured into the distance. “I knew that you and the land are one. Yet, I cannot find the right words to explain how I knew.”
Aragorn laughed. “ Maybe, we should not try to. I felt as one with all creation and yet I am just one man! Come on; let us get something to eat. I am suddenly very hungry!”
“Then let your friend provide you with supper!” Faramir promised. He then swallowed hard as this was the first time in months that he had called himself his lord's friend. Since Aragorn did not contradict him Faramir did not correct himself.
000
Faramir was as good as his word and shot two conies with his bow. He set about preparing them for supper on his own, but tonight Aragorn insisted on helping him.
They ate in companionable silence, then washed the dishes and prepared to lay out their bedrolls as the shadows lengthened.
Aragorn started to hum softly to himself.
“What is that tune?” Faramir asked,” It is vaguely familiar and yet I cannot place it.”
”You know the words I am certain. It is ‘The Lay of Lúthien’” Aragorn told him, smiling.
“Will you sing it to me please?” Faramir entreated with an almost childlike eagerness.
“ I thought you were a little old for bedtime stories!” Aragorn teased.
“I know, but this is the first I have been on a camping trip like this,” Faramir told him.” When I was a child, I yearned for my father to take me with my brother when they went camping together. I was never allowed to go with them. My brother was after all, the heir. The years passed until I joined the army and all thoughts of camping out for pleasure were banished from my mind. Yet, always I dreamed of sitting around the campfire, singing the old songs.”
His friend’s calm recitationwrung Aragorn’s heart. He had spent many happy hours in his youth camping out in Rivendell with his foster brothers. Together with Lord Elrond, they had tried very hard to make up to him that he was fatherless. More than ever, he wanted to make it up to Faramir for all the bleak years his Steward had known. It might have been better for Faramir to be fatherless than to have had a living but unloving father.
Aragorn moved closer to Faramir, patted him on the shoulder, and then began to sing the familiar words in a deep resonant voice.
The Steward listened rapt at the power of his King's voice. He had heard the Lay of Lúthien before, at his uncle's court in Dol Amroth, and, very rarely, in Minas Tirith. Sometimes it seemed to him that he had also heard the Lay sung by a woman, in a voice distant yet familiar. But he had never heard it sung so movingly. “That was wondrous!” he exclaimed.
“ I sang it to the Hobbits when I took them to Rivendell, but only Frodo understood the words,” Aragorn told him. “This song is very special to me. I have only to sing it to be reminded of my fair Arwen. I was a mere lad of twenty, and had just learned of my true name and lineage, when I first beheld her, as I walked through the birches in Imladris, singing the Lay of Lúthien. I thought she was Lúthien herself, reborn even more beautiful than her legend!” The King stared dreamily in front of him for a few moments, lost in memories.
“I can believe the Queen is as beautiful as Lúthien the Fair,” said Faramir.
Aragorn chuckled. “I certainly think so, but do not let Éowyn hear you praise another lady thus!”
“Éowyn is the fairest of all mortal women,” Faramir said firmly. “Your lady is of the Eldar. Éowyn would be the first to admire her beauty.“
“Lúthien was unique as a child of Eldar and Maiar,” said Aragorn.” Yet, somehow I cannot imagine Arwen as being any less fair than her foremother. Strange to think we are both children of Lúthien, though Arwen is far closer in kinship than I.”
Faramir wondered if his ancestry was why Aragorn could appear in such glory and majesty as he had done earlier that day, or whether it was simply a quality of the man himself. To look at him now, there appeared nothing very remarkable about him. He was privileged to know that the glory and majesty was always there however veiled. “You have restored the glory of the line of kings!” he exclaimed.
Aragorn chuckled again. “Only history will relate whether or not that is so!” he said.” I can only try my best. You know the words of the Lay of Lúthien. Shall we sing it together? The tune is a northern one but I would think it well within your range.”
“My voice would not do justice to the song!” Faramir protested.
““What does it matter if you sing like a frog? Singing should be for the pleasure of it and what better place than here in the wilds.” The King replied.
“But surely not ‘The Lay of Lúthien’?” Faramir said uneasily.
Aragorn said naught, merely threw him a gentle question in his grey gaze. Faramir spoke again, quietly: "My father told me not to sing it before him; that the Lay was too important to our people to be sung by anyone less than a trained bard."
"Ah." Aragorn looked sad. "Faramir, would it surprise you to know that I heard your father sing the Lay of Lúthien to your mother, and once heard her sing it to Boromir when he was but a babe? He had a fair voice, your father, and I could see the love in his eyes as he sang the verses and looked upon your mother. Perhaps when Denethor heard you sing the Lay, your voice reminded him of her, and he could not endure such a reminder of her loss."
"Perhaps..." The woman's voice in the deep places of his own memory; was it that of his mother, wondered Faramir. He would have to ask Imrahil. How strange to think of his father singing!
Aragorn began to sing again and this time Faramir joined in; at first tentatively and then with increasing confidence.
The Steward was gifted with an expressive baritone voice, which blended well with Aragorn’s rich bass. The two voices were well matched as they mingled in the clear evening air, singing the greatest story of love and courage in all the Ages of the Sun.
As their voices died away, Anar sank low over the horizon, her dying rays shooting glorious shades of pink and crimson into the western sky.
Faramir and Aragorn savoured the Sun's beauty as shefaded in the West, sinking over the horizon, even as Númenor had disappeared from sight.
Aragorn thought of his lady. Did the Evenstar's thoughts travel with the setting sun to her kin in Valinor and the immortality she had relinquished? Often he wondered what it must be like to watch the sun set for so many hundreds of years? Surely the swiftness of mortal life made each magnificent sunset like the one they had seen this eve seem all the more fair, all the more wonderful.
They banked up the fire and prepared for sleep.
“The air is growing chill, let us place our bedrolls alongside each other,” said Aragorn. ”I would have you beside me. We should both sleep more soundly thus.”
Joyfully Faramir complied.
Despite their weariness, the two men lay awake side by side awhilelooking up at the stars and pondering the day’s events. It felt as if a great weight was slowly lifting from their hearts and being replaced with an inner peace.
000
During the night by the rain pattering down on their faces roused them from slumber. Luckily, the fire was sheltered and had not gone out.
Aragorn blinked in surprise. After such a clear and brilliant sunset, rain was unusual. Unlike the storm of the previous night, this was a gentle refreshing rain, which was soaking and reviving the earth. Aragorn licked the drops from his lips. It tasted sweet and refreshing.
They quickly moved their bedrolls under thicker cover to provide more shelter, then promptly fell asleep again.
000
The sun was already high in the sky when Zachus’ neigh rudely awakened them.
“He wants a fresh place to graze,” Faramir groaned, “He truly has the appetite of a carthorse!”
“Well, he does look rather like one. A worthy steed though!” Aragorn conceded, as he sat up and threw off his now sun dried blanket.
Faramir tried to do likewise but to his dismay found he could hardly move. He grimaced in pain, then quickly tried to disguise his discomfort.
“What is wrong?” Aragorn enquired anxiously.
“It hurts to move a little, I must be stiff,” Faramir replied trying to ignore the spasms in his side, back and shoulders.
“You probably pulled a muscle when you prevented me from stumbling yesterday, “ Aragorn replied. He hesitated for a moment wondering what he should do. Healing had brought great sorrow upon him and he had inwardly vowed never again to try to heal anyone. Yet, here was Faramir, the man who had saved his life, the friend he loved, in obvious pain. How could he just ignore it? He could use his abilities again, just this once then suggest that Faramir see Tarostar or Aedred once they returned to Minas Tirith. He took a deep breath.” I will see if I can aid you, if you well permit me after we have had breakfast.” He rose to his feet and held out his hand to help Faramir to his feet. His own shoulder was burning and itching again. He determined to look at it as soon as he was alone.
“Thank you,” Faramir replied somewhat doubtfully, both dreading and desiring the King’s ministrations.
Aragorn built up the fire, put some porridge on to cook, and then wandered off amongst the trees to answer nature’s call. Before he returned, he pulled aside his shirt and inspected the brand. It looked rather angry and inflamed and in need of a surreptitious application of salve when Faramir was not looking or he would be distressed by it. Would he ever be free of this constant pain?
He went to the stream and splashed water on his hands and face before joining Faramir at the campfire. The Steward was rather awkwardly stirring the cooking pot, trying valiantly to hide his discomfort.
While he was distracted, Aragorn hastily applied some calendula salve to his shoulder, which eased it.
“What shall we do today?” Aragorn enquired while they sat side by side on the upturned log eating their porridge. “I am sure you know of more places to visit than I do.”
“I am loth to leave this mountain,” said Faramir, “ But I know it will be lovely in Lossarnach at this time of year. We could make our way there by following the river if you wish. The fields will be ablaze with poppies and cornflowers at this time of year.”
“That sounds a pleasant destination,” Aragorn replied, “A pity I have no drawing materials or I could sketch the flowers for Arwen.”
“You can draw as well? Is there no limit to your talents? Faramir exclaimed.
“Being raised by Elves, I was expected to learn drawing, poetry and music as well as the arts of warfare, government and diplomacy,” the King replied.
“I cannot help but envy you,” Faramir said with a sigh. "My father was furious when I wanted to study music and lore beyond the minimal standards of a lord's son,” Faramir sighed. “I learned to understand, when I was older; that the Steward of Gondor could not allow his son to lose himself in the gentler arts while other men's sons trained for war under the threat of Shadow. I intend Elestelle to have a more divers education but I will try to allow her to focus on what most pleases her to learn.”
“She might most enjoy swordplay!” Aragorn laughed,” I am sure Éowyn would like that!”
“And she shall teach her if she so wishes, though I hope she prefers poetry!” Faramir replied. “Naturally, I hope she will prove a good horsewoman or Éowyn will be heartbroken, especially as she has Snowdrop waiting for her!”
“A Mearh will be a horse fit for a Queen! Eldarion will envyher!”
“I shall ask Eowyn to persuade her brother to save the next Mearh foal for your son. It would only be fitting.” Faramir looked troubled.
“Peace, I was only teasing you, mellon nin!” Aragorn replied, placing a placating hand on Faramir’s shoulder and noting how he responded to the touch. ”Eldarion is not a childof the House of Éorl, whereas your daughter is, which entitles her to such a horse. Eomer has already promised me the pick of his herds for Eldarion when he is old enough.” He rose to his feet and picked up the empty dishes. “I will wash these then see what I can do about your aches and pains.”
Faramir also rose, though very awkwardly. “No, sire, the King of Gondor should not wash dishes! I will wash them!”
“I have washed dishes in streams since before you were even a twinkle in your father’s eye!” the King answered, grinning. "You can hardly move this morning and at the moment I do not think you will get up again if you bend! Besides, the kingship does not render me quite helpless neither does my age!”
Faramir was left sitting on the log musing over the unfairness of the fact that a man more than twice his age seemed far more capable of climbing a mountain without pulling a muscle than he was. Perhaps the purer lineageof the Northern Dúnedain was responsible for Aragorn’s stamina.
Aragorn returned a few moments later, stowed the clean dishes in his saddlebag. He took out a blanket and spread it on the grass.
“Come!” he said, “we will sit here, while I tend you. The grass is still damp which will worsen the stiffness.”
“I am sure I will stop hurting once I move around more,” Faramir protested. It had been so good; to bask in the flow of Aragorn's renewed warmth. He feared the possibility his King might still treat him with the cold touch he had used since the dreadful day Faramir had branded him.
TBC
A very grateful thank you to everyone who has reviewed each and every comment is gratefully appreciated. I am thrilled to have passed the 200 reviews mark.
I have put further information about what I imagine Aragorn and Faramir’s singing voices to sound like on my LJ.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness—
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
Omar Khayyám (d. 1123), Persian poet. The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám of Naishápúr (l. 45–48). . .
With grateful thanks to Raksha for all her help with this chapter.
The wind had grown stronger and whipped through the men’s damp hair, blowing it across their faces. “It grows chill. I think we should return to our camp site.” Aragorn said, noticing the cooler air as hefinally released Faramir.
“I thought you liked the cold,” Faramir teased. “You must be getting old!” He felt somewhat unsure exactly how to proceed after the recent exchange of strong emotion. Yet the habit of banter with his liege lord felt easy and natural once more, like stepping into a comfortable pair of boots after wearing stiff, tight new ones.
“I do not feel the cold like you do!” Aragorn retorted with welcome good humour. “A brisk walk down the mountain will soon warm you up!”
King and Steward started down the mountainside at a brisk pace, helping each other over the most difficult terrain.
They paused to catch their breath at the Hallow where they had admired the view earlier, sprawling beside each other on the grass.
“Thank you for bringing me to this sacred place, after all that has happened,” Faramir said quietly. ”I admit that I did not want to come, but now I will always remember this day with joy. I cannot wait to tell Éowyn about it!” His eyes searched the horizon until they rested upon Ithilien. He shut his eyes trying to picture Éowyn sitting in her herb garden with their daughter and niece.
Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry!” he murmured. “I should never have blamed you; you gave everything for me; far more than I could ever have demanded or expected of you.”
“I would do it again,” said Faramir with total sincerity, leaning his head against Aragorn’s hand. “There will always be dark hours of the night when I will be troubled by my actions. Yet, in my heart I know I would hazard all again to save you; even my very soul or what remains of it!”
Aragorn turned to look at him directly. “Your soul is as intact as it was on the day I first knew you, mellon nin,” he said firmly. “You lost your innocence mixing with traitors, but never your soul! I have met many on my travels who did indeed lose their souls to the Dark Lord. The loss of light is easy to see in their eyes, where there is nothing save emptiness. You can only lose yourself when you seek to gain, not when you risk all for another.”
“I perceive it all differently now,” Faramir mused.” I wonder what really happened to us at the lake?”
“The One blessed us allowing you to find it. That is all we need to know,” Aragorn replied. ” Arwen would probably understand better. I know only, that never before had I felt so at peace. It was like being born anew.”
“I felt I could somehow understand clearly,” Faramir said. He gestured into the distance. “I knew that you and the land are one. Yet, I cannot find the right words to explain how I knew.”
Aragorn laughed. “ Maybe, we should not try to. I felt as one with all creation and yet I am just one man! Come on; let us get something to eat. I am suddenly very hungry!”
“Then let your friend provide you with supper!” Faramir promised. He then swallowed hard as this was the first time in months that he had called himself his lord's friend. Since Aragorn did not contradict him Faramir did not correct himself.
000
Faramir was as good as his word and shot two conies with his bow. He set about preparing them for supper on his own, but tonight Aragorn insisted on helping him.
They ate in companionable silence, then washed the dishes and prepared to lay out their bedrolls as the shadows lengthened.
Aragorn started to hum softly to himself.
“What is that tune?” Faramir asked,” It is vaguely familiar and yet I cannot place it.”
”You know the words I am certain. It is ‘The Lay of Lúthien’” Aragorn told him, smiling.
“Will you sing it to me please?” Faramir entreated with an almost childlike eagerness.
“ I thought you were a little old for bedtime stories!” Aragorn teased.
“I know, but this is the first I have been on a camping trip like this,” Faramir told him.” When I was a child, I yearned for my father to take me with my brother when they went camping together. I was never allowed to go with them. My brother was after all, the heir. The years passed until I joined the army and all thoughts of camping out for pleasure were banished from my mind. Yet, always I dreamed of sitting around the campfire, singing the old songs.”
His friend’s calm recitationwrung Aragorn’s heart. He had spent many happy hours in his youth camping out in Rivendell with his foster brothers. Together with Lord Elrond, they had tried very hard to make up to him that he was fatherless. More than ever, he wanted to make it up to Faramir for all the bleak years his Steward had known. It might have been better for Faramir to be fatherless than to have had a living but unloving father.
Aragorn moved closer to Faramir, patted him on the shoulder, and then began to sing the familiar words in a deep resonant voice.
The Steward listened rapt at the power of his King's voice. He had heard the Lay of Lúthien before, at his uncle's court in Dol Amroth, and, very rarely, in Minas Tirith. Sometimes it seemed to him that he had also heard the Lay sung by a woman, in a voice distant yet familiar. But he had never heard it sung so movingly. “That was wondrous!” he exclaimed.
“ I sang it to the Hobbits when I took them to Rivendell, but only Frodo understood the words,” Aragorn told him. “This song is very special to me. I have only to sing it to be reminded of my fair Arwen. I was a mere lad of twenty, and had just learned of my true name and lineage, when I first beheld her, as I walked through the birches in Imladris, singing the Lay of Lúthien. I thought she was Lúthien herself, reborn even more beautiful than her legend!” The King stared dreamily in front of him for a few moments, lost in memories.
“I can believe the Queen is as beautiful as Lúthien the Fair,” said Faramir.
Aragorn chuckled. “I certainly think so, but do not let Éowyn hear you praise another lady thus!”
“Éowyn is the fairest of all mortal women,” Faramir said firmly. “Your lady is of the Eldar. Éowyn would be the first to admire her beauty.“
“Lúthien was unique as a child of Eldar and Maiar,” said Aragorn.” Yet, somehow I cannot imagine Arwen as being any less fair than her foremother. Strange to think we are both children of Lúthien, though Arwen is far closer in kinship than I.”
Faramir wondered if his ancestry was why Aragorn could appear in such glory and majesty as he had done earlier that day, or whether it was simply a quality of the man himself. To look at him now, there appeared nothing very remarkable about him. He was privileged to know that the glory and majesty was always there however veiled. “You have restored the glory of the line of kings!” he exclaimed.
Aragorn chuckled again. “Only history will relate whether or not that is so!” he said.” I can only try my best. You know the words of the Lay of Lúthien. Shall we sing it together? The tune is a northern one but I would think it well within your range.”
“My voice would not do justice to the song!” Faramir protested.
““What does it matter if you sing like a frog? Singing should be for the pleasure of it and what better place than here in the wilds.” The King replied.
“But surely not ‘The Lay of Lúthien’?” Faramir said uneasily.
Aragorn said naught, merely threw him a gentle question in his grey gaze. Faramir spoke again, quietly: "My father told me not to sing it before him; that the Lay was too important to our people to be sung by anyone less than a trained bard."
"Ah." Aragorn looked sad. "Faramir, would it surprise you to know that I heard your father sing the Lay of Lúthien to your mother, and once heard her sing it to Boromir when he was but a babe? He had a fair voice, your father, and I could see the love in his eyes as he sang the verses and looked upon your mother. Perhaps when Denethor heard you sing the Lay, your voice reminded him of her, and he could not endure such a reminder of her loss."
"Perhaps..." The woman's voice in the deep places of his own memory; was it that of his mother, wondered Faramir. He would have to ask Imrahil. How strange to think of his father singing!
Aragorn began to sing again and this time Faramir joined in; at first tentatively and then with increasing confidence.
The Steward was gifted with an expressive baritone voice, which blended well with Aragorn’s rich bass. The two voices were well matched as they mingled in the clear evening air, singing the greatest story of love and courage in all the Ages of the Sun.
As their voices died away, Anar sank low over the horizon, her dying rays shooting glorious shades of pink and crimson into the western sky.
Faramir and Aragorn savoured the Sun's beauty as shefaded in the West, sinking over the horizon, even as Númenor had disappeared from sight.
Aragorn thought of his lady. Did the Evenstar's thoughts travel with the setting sun to her kin in Valinor and the immortality she had relinquished? Often he wondered what it must be like to watch the sun set for so many hundreds of years? Surely the swiftness of mortal life made each magnificent sunset like the one they had seen this eve seem all the more fair, all the more wonderful.
They banked up the fire and prepared for sleep.
“The air is growing chill, let us place our bedrolls alongside each other,” said Aragorn. ”I would have you beside me. We should both sleep more soundly thus.”
Joyfully Faramir complied.
Despite their weariness, the two men lay awake side by side awhilelooking up at the stars and pondering the day’s events. It felt as if a great weight was slowly lifting from their hearts and being replaced with an inner peace.
000
During the night by the rain pattering down on their faces roused them from slumber. Luckily, the fire was sheltered and had not gone out.
Aragorn blinked in surprise. After such a clear and brilliant sunset, rain was unusual. Unlike the storm of the previous night, this was a gentle refreshing rain, which was soaking and reviving the earth. Aragorn licked the drops from his lips. It tasted sweet and refreshing.
They quickly moved their bedrolls under thicker cover to provide more shelter, then promptly fell asleep again.
000
The sun was already high in the sky when Zachus’ neigh rudely awakened them.
“He wants a fresh place to graze,” Faramir groaned, “He truly has the appetite of a carthorse!”
“Well, he does look rather like one. A worthy steed though!” Aragorn conceded, as he sat up and threw off his now sun dried blanket.
Faramir tried to do likewise but to his dismay found he could hardly move. He grimaced in pain, then quickly tried to disguise his discomfort.
“What is wrong?” Aragorn enquired anxiously.
“It hurts to move a little, I must be stiff,” Faramir replied trying to ignore the spasms in his side, back and shoulders.
“You probably pulled a muscle when you prevented me from stumbling yesterday, “ Aragorn replied. He hesitated for a moment wondering what he should do. Healing had brought great sorrow upon him and he had inwardly vowed never again to try to heal anyone. Yet, here was Faramir, the man who had saved his life, the friend he loved, in obvious pain. How could he just ignore it? He could use his abilities again, just this once then suggest that Faramir see Tarostar or Aedred once they returned to Minas Tirith. He took a deep breath.” I will see if I can aid you, if you well permit me after we have had breakfast.” He rose to his feet and held out his hand to help Faramir to his feet. His own shoulder was burning and itching again. He determined to look at it as soon as he was alone.
“Thank you,” Faramir replied somewhat doubtfully, both dreading and desiring the King’s ministrations.
Aragorn built up the fire, put some porridge on to cook, and then wandered off amongst the trees to answer nature’s call. Before he returned, he pulled aside his shirt and inspected the brand. It looked rather angry and inflamed and in need of a surreptitious application of salve when Faramir was not looking or he would be distressed by it. Would he ever be free of this constant pain?
He went to the stream and splashed water on his hands and face before joining Faramir at the campfire. The Steward was rather awkwardly stirring the cooking pot, trying valiantly to hide his discomfort.
While he was distracted, Aragorn hastily applied some calendula salve to his shoulder, which eased it.
“What shall we do today?” Aragorn enquired while they sat side by side on the upturned log eating their porridge. “I am sure you know of more places to visit than I do.”
“I am loth to leave this mountain,” said Faramir, “ But I know it will be lovely in Lossarnach at this time of year. We could make our way there by following the river if you wish. The fields will be ablaze with poppies and cornflowers at this time of year.”
“That sounds a pleasant destination,” Aragorn replied, “A pity I have no drawing materials or I could sketch the flowers for Arwen.”
“You can draw as well? Is there no limit to your talents? Faramir exclaimed.
“Being raised by Elves, I was expected to learn drawing, poetry and music as well as the arts of warfare, government and diplomacy,” the King replied.
“I cannot help but envy you,” Faramir said with a sigh. "My father was furious when I wanted to study music and lore beyond the minimal standards of a lord's son,” Faramir sighed. “I learned to understand, when I was older; that the Steward of Gondor could not allow his son to lose himself in the gentler arts while other men's sons trained for war under the threat of Shadow. I intend Elestelle to have a more divers education but I will try to allow her to focus on what most pleases her to learn.”
“She might most enjoy swordplay!” Aragorn laughed,” I am sure Éowyn would like that!”
“And she shall teach her if she so wishes, though I hope she prefers poetry!” Faramir replied. “Naturally, I hope she will prove a good horsewoman or Éowyn will be heartbroken, especially as she has Snowdrop waiting for her!”
“A Mearh will be a horse fit for a Queen! Eldarion will envyher!”
“I shall ask Eowyn to persuade her brother to save the next Mearh foal for your son. It would only be fitting.” Faramir looked troubled.
“Peace, I was only teasing you, mellon nin!” Aragorn replied, placing a placating hand on Faramir’s shoulder and noting how he responded to the touch. ”Eldarion is not a childof the House of Éorl, whereas your daughter is, which entitles her to such a horse. Eomer has already promised me the pick of his herds for Eldarion when he is old enough.” He rose to his feet and picked up the empty dishes. “I will wash these then see what I can do about your aches and pains.”
Faramir also rose, though very awkwardly. “No, sire, the King of Gondor should not wash dishes! I will wash them!”
“I have washed dishes in streams since before you were even a twinkle in your father’s eye!” the King answered, grinning. "You can hardly move this morning and at the moment I do not think you will get up again if you bend! Besides, the kingship does not render me quite helpless neither does my age!”
Faramir was left sitting on the log musing over the unfairness of the fact that a man more than twice his age seemed far more capable of climbing a mountain without pulling a muscle than he was. Perhaps the purer lineageof the Northern Dúnedain was responsible for Aragorn’s stamina.
Aragorn returned a few moments later, stowed the clean dishes in his saddlebag. He took out a blanket and spread it on the grass.
“Come!” he said, “we will sit here, while I tend you. The grass is still damp which will worsen the stiffness.”
“I am sure I will stop hurting once I move around more,” Faramir protested. It had been so good; to bask in the flow of Aragorn's renewed warmth. He feared the possibility his King might still treat him with the cold touch he had used since the dreadful day Faramir had branded him.
TBC
A very grateful thank you to everyone who has reviewed each and every comment is gratefully appreciated. I am thrilled to have passed the 200 reviews mark.
I have put further information about what I imagine Aragorn and Faramir’s singing voices to sound like on my LJ.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither. : Bible: Hebrew Job, 1:21.
As the air is everywhere,
Flowing around a pot
And filling it,
So God is everywhere,
Filling all things
And flowing through them forever.
Ashtavakra Gita 1: 18-20
'Tat-twam-asi' (Thou art that). It implies that the essence of the individual and the universal is One.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha for all her much appreciated help with this chapter
Aragorn stole a sideways glance towards Faramir who was retreating some way back towards the path. It seemed the Steward was determined to keep his distance. There was more to Faramir's recalcitrance than his Steward's insistence on modesty. He knew what troubled the younger man.
“Faramir, look upon me!”
“You are undressing, my lord," Faramir protested, “You need your privacy."
“I have been foolish. I think it is high time that you looked at my shoulder. Come to me.”
Faramir walked back up the bank towards the King then partially turned his head and fixed his eyes on a point somewhere on Aragorn’s brow.
The King grabbed Faramir’s hand and placed it against his shoulder, forcing him to feel the oblong of raised and puckered flesh where the brand had disfigured the once smooth skin. “Now look at me!” he said with an unmistakeable tone of command. “We must face what was done to both of us!”
Faramir studied the King’s shoulder for a moment then looked away, as if stung. Aragorn touched Faramir's face, then gently but inexorably turned his Steward's head back so that he had no choice but to see where his own hand rested.
“I know you carry the scar as much in your heart as I carry the brand above mine.” Aragorn stated. He moved his hand and rested it over Faramir's heart, which beat wildly, like the wings of a terrified bird. " The grief and guilt of the deed has festered within your loyal soul,” the King continued, releasing him. ”Do not let this brand be burned into your heart forever!”
“I will try,” Faramir replied doubtfully, amazed that the King should again speak of loyalty and love in connection with him. ”Whatever has happened to you, my lord?”
“The One told me to follow my heart,” Aragorn replied. “ I see now that I was blinded by my pain and my pride.”
“ I beg you to have a care about bathing here, “ Faramir pleaded, more unsure than ever about the mysterious One. “It is not so long since you were close to death; you could take a chill. There could be hidden currents or other dangers lurking for the unwary! You do not even have a towel with you!”
“Fear not, I have swum in lakes and rivers and dried only by the sun's rays many times in my travels." Aragorn laughingly brushed aside Faramir's objections. It seemed almost a sacrilege to disturb the lake's still blue surface, yet he felt compelled to bathe here. The Creator had told him to let go of his burdens and then guided him to this place. Maybe if he surrendered himself wholly, he might wash away the cares that lay heavy on his soul. A sudden breeze stirred up ripples, almost as if inviting Aragorn to come and immerse himself in the waters.
“As your Steward, it is my duty to protect you, you cannot swim in there alone!” Faramir protested. "There could be hidden currents or jagged stones poised to harm the unwary!"
“Then come with me!”
”If this lake is indeed sacred to the ancient kings, I am not worthy to set foot within it,” Faramir replied. ”I beg of you, do not take the chance of endangering yourself.”
“I have no authority to order you to join me, but I invite you to do so, Faramir. If you come, you must come freely and offer yourself completely!” Aragorn entreated him.
“No, thank you,” Faramir said firmly. Despite his longing to take his place once more at his King's side, he feared to offer himself to the unknown. Had his father not tried to offer them both up in fire, as if in some heathen rite?
Aragorn paused while unfastening his belt, and knelt on the ground. He gestured towards the delicate white flowers, which grew profusely along the banks. “Do you know what these are?” he asked Faramir.
“No, I have never seen flowers quite like them before,” Faramir frowned. “I know that the blue ones are sage yet I have never before seen these fair white blooms. I am surprised, since thought I knew all the flowers of Gondor.
“They are niphredil!” Aragorn’s tone was filled with awe, “No evil can lurk here. This is the flower of the Elven kingdoms, which bloomed to greet my foremother Lúthien at her birth. It also blooms in Lothlorien. When I plighted my troth to Arwen, niphredil blossomed beneath our feet at Cerin Amroth. I never thought to see it in bloom elsewhere! I must try to preserve one to show to my lady. There is athelas here too, so my ancestors have visited this place before.”
Awestruck, Faramir reached out to gently caress the delicate white niphredil petals. He had read the old stories. He knew and loved the legends, especially that of Lúthien the Fair. It seemed today that the Quenta Silmarillion had come to life before his very eyes. He knew now that no harm would could to his King if Aragorn entered the lake. The very presence of anything connected to the Eldar conveyed a blessing.
Aragorn’s breeches were added to the scattered pile of clothing. Then, somewhat to Faramir’s surprise, Aragorn started to unlace his drawers. This lack of decorum was unusual, for he always retained his undergarments when bathing anywhere save in his private chambers.
Aragorn noted his Steward's shocked expression and said; “I must offer myself as I came from my mother’s womb, devoid of outward trappings” He removed the leather ties he used to keep the hair out of his eyes and then took off his rings. He stowed them carefully within his clothing.
Shaking his head, Faramir retreated behind the ridge, pleading a call of nature and desiring to leave Aragorn alone if he were so determined to take off all his clothes. The previous day's events still were painfully fresh in his memory and he had no desire to repeat them by joining his lord.
Aragorn felt almost in a trance as he undressed. The cool breeze, instead of biting at his exposed flesh, seemed rather to be caressing his vulnerable skin. He felt no chill, even when the sun ducked behind a cloud. There was only ease in this hallowed place, and a sense of belonging, of welcome. Here he was more than a lord; he was a son of Arda, part of the trees and the wind and water and open skies. Gone was all trace of his usual shyness at being unclothed in front of others. Faramir’s presence did not perturb him. Nor did he feel troubled by the mark he bore upon his shoulder.
He waded confidently into the lake, his feet stepping on cool sand. The water met him, warm and inviting; drawing Aragorn into what seemed like a close embrace. When he launched himself outward in a steady stroke, the water burned like fire when it touched his shoulder, as if he were being branded anew. Yet, he cared not, as he swam towards the centre of the lake.
Aragorn laughed in mid-stroke, raising his head, but not stopping. He had always enjoyed a good swim, for in the water, he was almost as graceful as most Elves. But this, this was even better. He had rarely felt such utter joy in simply being alive. And for the first time since his ordeal in captivity, Aragorn knew peace of mind. The burden lifted from his heart. The pain, humiliation and fear were leaving him, washing away, falling far into the deep or wafting up into the clouds, shot up by his kicking feet, he really did not care where. This place had magic, like the Elven realms before Beleriand's fall, or Rivendell under the protection of Vilya and Elrond.
He yearned to share this unfettered bliss and use it to ease Faramir’s tortured soul. Aragorn reversed courseand started back to the shore.
When Faramir returned, he saw that the King had waded into the lake and now stood in the shallows, immersed up to his waist. Aragorn turned and beckoned to him.
Just then, the sun emerged from behind a cloud to bathe Aragorn’s body in its bright golden rays. Never had he looked so kingly, not even on the day of his coronation. His eyes shone like stars, and the sun crowned him with glory.
A great eagle flew from a nearby peak and circled above his head. Aragorn stretched out his arms and stood rapt as it s mighty form hovered, dark against the sun. Tall and kingly Aragorn stood, a lord of the waters like his forefather Elendil, carrying his majesty in his own unadorned form.
Faramir fell on his knees, seeing Aragorn Elessar for truly what he was, as much a living legend as the White Tree, the wind lord, and the niphredil surrounding him. He sensed the presence of the Valar, perhaps even the mysterious One, conferring blessings upon his lord.
Although Faramir could still see the brand upon Aragorn’s shoulder, the flesh scarred by his hand no longer seemed capable of disfiguring so great a man. He knew then that whatever the cost to his own soul, he would hazard it again for Aragorn.
“Come!” the King called, his voice kindly and compelling. He beckoned towards his Steward, as he stepped backwards, deeper and deeper, until he was treading water some fifty feet from the shore.
Faramir could no more resist his call than he could have in that fateful hour in the Houses of Healing when they first met.
As if in a dream, he started to remove first his tunic, followed by his shirt, then the rings from his fingers. He placed the rings in his pocketand neatly folded his clothing into a tidy pile.
The icy wind seemed to bite the Steward’s exposed and still tender flesh. His boots and breeches consigned to the bank, he stood shivering in his drawers, wondering what madness was this for the Steward of Gondor to contemplate stripping to his skin on Mindolluin's heights. Yet this place must be hidden completely from the City, since not even a rumour about it had ever reached his ears.
“Come,” Aragorn called again, lifting one arm to wave. “Join me, Faramir!”
Faramir stared for a moment at the lake, and realised, as Aragorn had; that he need not conceal anything here. Before so pure and beauteous a lake, the idea of wearing drawers, indeed any clothes, to bathe in therein, felt like a trivial affectation. He shed his final garment and tentatively stepped into the lake.
His mind made up, Faramir waded out swiftly. He felt the skin of his upper body smart for a few moments. His incessant scrubbing nowseemed very foolish. It was not his body that needed cleansing, but his soul; and that was for the grace of the Valar alone to achieve when they chose.
The pain subsided and the water seemed to rise up to caress him, as natural as a soft breeze on his face, as he swam out towards his King.
Suddenly the guilt and misery that had plagued Faramir for months retreated, replaced by a wellspring of happiness that surged strongly within him, invigorating his weary soul. He laughed out loud, caring not that he took in mouthfuls of water and then sputtered it back out like a fountain. Aragorn swam forward to meet him and clasped Faramir's hand in greeting, a genuine grin lightening his thin face.
They swam for what could either have been minutes or hours. Time seemed to have no meaning in this enchanted place.
They splashed and dived like the dolphins of Belfalas, their bodies as light as their hearts. The sunlight that sparkled seemed to reflect their joy. Their arguments, even their rank, seemed petty now. All that mattered was this moment and the great good fortune that they were both alive to share it. They were part of it all now, their own limbs flowing into the water that enfolded them and the skies that embraced land and lake: One world, one great source of water, and one exultant heart beating in two bodies. They were at one with each other,at one with air and water,sea and sky , at one with all of creation and its Creator.
Both men knew when it was time at last to return to shore, though no word was spoken between them.
Faramir and Aragorn clambered together from the water, their earlier unease forgotten. They shook their hair like wet dogs to help dry it, then hastened into their sun-warmed garments.
Aragorn found himself silentlyweeping, though whether from joy or sorrow, he could not say.
He turned to look at Faramir, who was just finishing lacing his shirt, and saw that he was weeping too.
Then they were embracing each other, clinging together as easily and naturally as close kindred, the bitterness of the past months washed away with their tears.
“We are blessed indeed, ion nin!” exclaimed Aragorn. Then he kissed Faramir on the brow for the first time in many long months.He gazed out once more across the lake. It had been so long since he was truly glad to be alive, but now he could have sung for the joy he had found this day. “I think you were meant to discover this place!” he murmured, his arm still around Faramir's shoulders.
Aragorn and Faramir lingered on the shore, damp heads touching and sensing each other’s thoughts. This time, they sought no explanations but only reached out to sense the depth of love they felt for one another; a love, which like grass had been trampled and bruised, yet grew back all the stronger. They knew their full recovery would take time. They had, however taken the crucial first step towards healing.
TBC
A/N
A few grateful thank you to everyone for you’re your much appreciated reviews. This is a crucial chapter and I very much hope you will tell me what you think. The story is far from over yet as further adventures await our heroes.
Further background information about the quotes and importance of the lake are available on my LJ
I was thrilled to win the MC Awards for “Best Aragorn Angst” and “Best Overall Comedy”. You can see them on my LJ. Thank you so much for voting for me and an especial thank you to whoever it was who nominated “Web of Treason.”
As the air is everywhere,
Flowing around a pot
And filling it,
So God is everywhere,
Filling all things
And flowing through them forever.
Ashtavakra Gita 1: 18-20
'Tat-twam-asi' (Thou art that). It implies that the essence of the individual and the universal is One.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha for all her much appreciated help with this chapter
Aragorn stole a sideways glance towards Faramir who was retreating some way back towards the path. It seemed the Steward was determined to keep his distance. There was more to Faramir's recalcitrance than his Steward's insistence on modesty. He knew what troubled the younger man.
“Faramir, look upon me!”
“You are undressing, my lord," Faramir protested, “You need your privacy."
“I have been foolish. I think it is high time that you looked at my shoulder. Come to me.”
Faramir walked back up the bank towards the King then partially turned his head and fixed his eyes on a point somewhere on Aragorn’s brow.
The King grabbed Faramir’s hand and placed it against his shoulder, forcing him to feel the oblong of raised and puckered flesh where the brand had disfigured the once smooth skin. “Now look at me!” he said with an unmistakeable tone of command. “We must face what was done to both of us!”
Faramir studied the King’s shoulder for a moment then looked away, as if stung. Aragorn touched Faramir's face, then gently but inexorably turned his Steward's head back so that he had no choice but to see where his own hand rested.
“I know you carry the scar as much in your heart as I carry the brand above mine.” Aragorn stated. He moved his hand and rested it over Faramir's heart, which beat wildly, like the wings of a terrified bird. " The grief and guilt of the deed has festered within your loyal soul,” the King continued, releasing him. ”Do not let this brand be burned into your heart forever!”
“I will try,” Faramir replied doubtfully, amazed that the King should again speak of loyalty and love in connection with him. ”Whatever has happened to you, my lord?”
“The One told me to follow my heart,” Aragorn replied. “ I see now that I was blinded by my pain and my pride.”
“ I beg you to have a care about bathing here, “ Faramir pleaded, more unsure than ever about the mysterious One. “It is not so long since you were close to death; you could take a chill. There could be hidden currents or other dangers lurking for the unwary! You do not even have a towel with you!”
“Fear not, I have swum in lakes and rivers and dried only by the sun's rays many times in my travels." Aragorn laughingly brushed aside Faramir's objections. It seemed almost a sacrilege to disturb the lake's still blue surface, yet he felt compelled to bathe here. The Creator had told him to let go of his burdens and then guided him to this place. Maybe if he surrendered himself wholly, he might wash away the cares that lay heavy on his soul. A sudden breeze stirred up ripples, almost as if inviting Aragorn to come and immerse himself in the waters.
“As your Steward, it is my duty to protect you, you cannot swim in there alone!” Faramir protested. "There could be hidden currents or jagged stones poised to harm the unwary!"
“Then come with me!”
”If this lake is indeed sacred to the ancient kings, I am not worthy to set foot within it,” Faramir replied. ”I beg of you, do not take the chance of endangering yourself.”
“I have no authority to order you to join me, but I invite you to do so, Faramir. If you come, you must come freely and offer yourself completely!” Aragorn entreated him.
“No, thank you,” Faramir said firmly. Despite his longing to take his place once more at his King's side, he feared to offer himself to the unknown. Had his father not tried to offer them both up in fire, as if in some heathen rite?
Aragorn paused while unfastening his belt, and knelt on the ground. He gestured towards the delicate white flowers, which grew profusely along the banks. “Do you know what these are?” he asked Faramir.
“No, I have never seen flowers quite like them before,” Faramir frowned. “I know that the blue ones are sage yet I have never before seen these fair white blooms. I am surprised, since thought I knew all the flowers of Gondor.
“They are niphredil!” Aragorn’s tone was filled with awe, “No evil can lurk here. This is the flower of the Elven kingdoms, which bloomed to greet my foremother Lúthien at her birth. It also blooms in Lothlorien. When I plighted my troth to Arwen, niphredil blossomed beneath our feet at Cerin Amroth. I never thought to see it in bloom elsewhere! I must try to preserve one to show to my lady. There is athelas here too, so my ancestors have visited this place before.”
Awestruck, Faramir reached out to gently caress the delicate white niphredil petals. He had read the old stories. He knew and loved the legends, especially that of Lúthien the Fair. It seemed today that the Quenta Silmarillion had come to life before his very eyes. He knew now that no harm would could to his King if Aragorn entered the lake. The very presence of anything connected to the Eldar conveyed a blessing.
Aragorn’s breeches were added to the scattered pile of clothing. Then, somewhat to Faramir’s surprise, Aragorn started to unlace his drawers. This lack of decorum was unusual, for he always retained his undergarments when bathing anywhere save in his private chambers.
Aragorn noted his Steward's shocked expression and said; “I must offer myself as I came from my mother’s womb, devoid of outward trappings” He removed the leather ties he used to keep the hair out of his eyes and then took off his rings. He stowed them carefully within his clothing.
Shaking his head, Faramir retreated behind the ridge, pleading a call of nature and desiring to leave Aragorn alone if he were so determined to take off all his clothes. The previous day's events still were painfully fresh in his memory and he had no desire to repeat them by joining his lord.
Aragorn felt almost in a trance as he undressed. The cool breeze, instead of biting at his exposed flesh, seemed rather to be caressing his vulnerable skin. He felt no chill, even when the sun ducked behind a cloud. There was only ease in this hallowed place, and a sense of belonging, of welcome. Here he was more than a lord; he was a son of Arda, part of the trees and the wind and water and open skies. Gone was all trace of his usual shyness at being unclothed in front of others. Faramir’s presence did not perturb him. Nor did he feel troubled by the mark he bore upon his shoulder.
He waded confidently into the lake, his feet stepping on cool sand. The water met him, warm and inviting; drawing Aragorn into what seemed like a close embrace. When he launched himself outward in a steady stroke, the water burned like fire when it touched his shoulder, as if he were being branded anew. Yet, he cared not, as he swam towards the centre of the lake.
Aragorn laughed in mid-stroke, raising his head, but not stopping. He had always enjoyed a good swim, for in the water, he was almost as graceful as most Elves. But this, this was even better. He had rarely felt such utter joy in simply being alive. And for the first time since his ordeal in captivity, Aragorn knew peace of mind. The burden lifted from his heart. The pain, humiliation and fear were leaving him, washing away, falling far into the deep or wafting up into the clouds, shot up by his kicking feet, he really did not care where. This place had magic, like the Elven realms before Beleriand's fall, or Rivendell under the protection of Vilya and Elrond.
He yearned to share this unfettered bliss and use it to ease Faramir’s tortured soul. Aragorn reversed courseand started back to the shore.
When Faramir returned, he saw that the King had waded into the lake and now stood in the shallows, immersed up to his waist. Aragorn turned and beckoned to him.
Just then, the sun emerged from behind a cloud to bathe Aragorn’s body in its bright golden rays. Never had he looked so kingly, not even on the day of his coronation. His eyes shone like stars, and the sun crowned him with glory.
A great eagle flew from a nearby peak and circled above his head. Aragorn stretched out his arms and stood rapt as it s mighty form hovered, dark against the sun. Tall and kingly Aragorn stood, a lord of the waters like his forefather Elendil, carrying his majesty in his own unadorned form.
Faramir fell on his knees, seeing Aragorn Elessar for truly what he was, as much a living legend as the White Tree, the wind lord, and the niphredil surrounding him. He sensed the presence of the Valar, perhaps even the mysterious One, conferring blessings upon his lord.
Although Faramir could still see the brand upon Aragorn’s shoulder, the flesh scarred by his hand no longer seemed capable of disfiguring so great a man. He knew then that whatever the cost to his own soul, he would hazard it again for Aragorn.
“Come!” the King called, his voice kindly and compelling. He beckoned towards his Steward, as he stepped backwards, deeper and deeper, until he was treading water some fifty feet from the shore.
Faramir could no more resist his call than he could have in that fateful hour in the Houses of Healing when they first met.
As if in a dream, he started to remove first his tunic, followed by his shirt, then the rings from his fingers. He placed the rings in his pocketand neatly folded his clothing into a tidy pile.
The icy wind seemed to bite the Steward’s exposed and still tender flesh. His boots and breeches consigned to the bank, he stood shivering in his drawers, wondering what madness was this for the Steward of Gondor to contemplate stripping to his skin on Mindolluin's heights. Yet this place must be hidden completely from the City, since not even a rumour about it had ever reached his ears.
“Come,” Aragorn called again, lifting one arm to wave. “Join me, Faramir!”
Faramir stared for a moment at the lake, and realised, as Aragorn had; that he need not conceal anything here. Before so pure and beauteous a lake, the idea of wearing drawers, indeed any clothes, to bathe in therein, felt like a trivial affectation. He shed his final garment and tentatively stepped into the lake.
His mind made up, Faramir waded out swiftly. He felt the skin of his upper body smart for a few moments. His incessant scrubbing nowseemed very foolish. It was not his body that needed cleansing, but his soul; and that was for the grace of the Valar alone to achieve when they chose.
The pain subsided and the water seemed to rise up to caress him, as natural as a soft breeze on his face, as he swam out towards his King.
Suddenly the guilt and misery that had plagued Faramir for months retreated, replaced by a wellspring of happiness that surged strongly within him, invigorating his weary soul. He laughed out loud, caring not that he took in mouthfuls of water and then sputtered it back out like a fountain. Aragorn swam forward to meet him and clasped Faramir's hand in greeting, a genuine grin lightening his thin face.
They swam for what could either have been minutes or hours. Time seemed to have no meaning in this enchanted place.
They splashed and dived like the dolphins of Belfalas, their bodies as light as their hearts. The sunlight that sparkled seemed to reflect their joy. Their arguments, even their rank, seemed petty now. All that mattered was this moment and the great good fortune that they were both alive to share it. They were part of it all now, their own limbs flowing into the water that enfolded them and the skies that embraced land and lake: One world, one great source of water, and one exultant heart beating in two bodies. They were at one with each other,at one with air and water,sea and sky , at one with all of creation and its Creator.
Both men knew when it was time at last to return to shore, though no word was spoken between them.
Faramir and Aragorn clambered together from the water, their earlier unease forgotten. They shook their hair like wet dogs to help dry it, then hastened into their sun-warmed garments.
Aragorn found himself silentlyweeping, though whether from joy or sorrow, he could not say.
He turned to look at Faramir, who was just finishing lacing his shirt, and saw that he was weeping too.
Then they were embracing each other, clinging together as easily and naturally as close kindred, the bitterness of the past months washed away with their tears.
“We are blessed indeed, ion nin!” exclaimed Aragorn. Then he kissed Faramir on the brow for the first time in many long months.He gazed out once more across the lake. It had been so long since he was truly glad to be alive, but now he could have sung for the joy he had found this day. “I think you were meant to discover this place!” he murmured, his arm still around Faramir's shoulders.
Aragorn and Faramir lingered on the shore, damp heads touching and sensing each other’s thoughts. This time, they sought no explanations but only reached out to sense the depth of love they felt for one another; a love, which like grass had been trampled and bruised, yet grew back all the stronger. They knew their full recovery would take time. They had, however taken the crucial first step towards healing.
TBC
A/N
A few grateful thank you to everyone for you’re your much appreciated reviews. This is a crucial chapter and I very much hope you will tell me what you think. The story is far from over yet as further adventures await our heroes.
Further background information about the quotes and importance of the lake are available on my LJ
I was thrilled to win the MC Awards for “Best Aragorn Angst” and “Best Overall Comedy”. You can see them on my LJ. Thank you so much for voting for me and an especial thank you to whoever it was who nominated “Web of Treason.”
Friday, September 08, 2006
Where streams of living water flow
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
The King of love my shepherd is,
whose goodness faileth never;
I nothing lack if I am his,
and he is mine for ever.
Where streams of living water flow,
my ransomed soul he leadeth,
and where the verdant pastures grow,
with food celestial feedeth.
Perverse and foolish oft I strayed,
but yet in love He sought me,
and on his shoulder gently laid,
and home, rejoicing, brought me.
- Henry Williams Baker (1821-1877),
Raksha is on holiday, so this chapter lacks her valuable editing and insights. Any errors are mine entirely!
With special thanks to Laerien you suggested Faramir’s discovery and to Julia and Laerien for their support.
Faramir stumbled slightly but managed to keep his eyes closed. ”Where are you leading me?” he asked, his voice sounding unusually lost and vulnerable.
“ I have you, we are almost there,” Aragorn reassured him, gripping his wrist more tightly. “I want to show you the City,”
“If we wanted to look at the City, we could have stayed there!” Faramir replied, now feeling more bemused than ever. “How can we see it from up here?”
“All will be clear in a moment. You can look now!” Aragorn told his Steward.
Faramir opened his eyes and gasped. Spread out beneath him was the most wonderful view of his native city that he had ever seen. Gleaming white in the August sunshine its splendour made Faramir’s heart leap in wonder. For a moment he was dumbstruck with awe.
“I thought the view was from near Duilin of Morthond’s Hunting Lodge was spectacular, but this is better by far!” Faramir exclaimed, squeezing Aragorn’s fingers in gratitude before releasing the guiding hand.
“If you look to the east you can see Mordor, no longer veiled in darkness. Towards the west is the Vale of Anduin and beyond that the sea,” Aragorn told him, pointing out the places as he spoke. “I thought tomorrow we might follow the river for a while and perhaps go swimming again if the weather remains warm.”
“Whatever you wish.” Faramir said absently. He was still gazing awestruck at the view of his beloved home. “However did you know of this place? I thought Boromir had shown me all the best places to view our home from; yet he never brought me up here!
” I thought one as loyal to Gondor as you would enjoy it!” Aragorn said quietly.
Faramir tensed slightly at the words and then felt a sudden thrill that Aragorn would speak of him as ‘loyal’ again. The Steward contemplated his beloved City in silence for a few moments and blinked away a tear.” Shall we go now?” he asked somewhat abruptly. He was baffled by Aragorn’s change of mood and wanted to leave before the King’s mood changed again.
“I hoped we could stay a while and talk,” Aragorn replied. He had moved away from the edge and now was now sitting sprawled on the grass a few feet away. “Come, sit here beside me!”
Faramir rather reluctantly sat down. “We shared our thoughts last night. It seems we only cause each other pain. I do not understand why you have brought here. I thought you wanted to be alone.”
“I felt you would like to see the view,” Aragorn said simply. “What do you fear? I would not harm you.”
Faramir stared at the ground. “You have never harmed me,” he replied somewhat evasively. “I believe I fear myself. Sometimes, I feel I that I have indeed lost my soul, just as you warned me,” he continued almost inaudibly.
“If your soul was lost indeed, your heart would not be so troubled,” the King replied.
“I committed deeds that I did not believe that I was capable of contemplating! I tortured you, killed in cold blood and even contemplated murdering an innocent child! It embarrasses me now, when you say that I am loyal to Gondor. I hardly know, even, why I acted as I did. Sometimes, I fear it was neither for you, nor even my country. I know only that I had lost one father in dreadful circumstances. I could not bear to lose another one who had become dearer to me by far.”
Aragorn reached out and fleetingly placed a hand on the troubled younger man’s shoulder.” I hope we can use this time to seek healing,” he said gently.” We saw the pain in each other’s hearts last night. Our bodies have healed but our souls have not. Arwen saw it all too clearly.”
“Your lady has great wisdom,” Faramir replied .He turned his attention back to the view. Did you discover this place when you served my grandfather as Captain Thorongil?” he asked.
Aragorn shook his head. “No, the first I knew of it was when Mithrandir showed it to me just over three years ago.”
“When you discovered the White Tree?” Faramir’s eyes were wide with wonder.
“That very day! You remember it too?”
“How could I ever forget? I made such a fool of myself barging into your rooms and accusing you of destroying Gondor’s heritage!”
Aragorn laughed. ”I was delighted to see you show some spirit! It showed just how much you loved your country .I think that was the first day I felt truly happy since I became King. The tree was a sign that my beloved Arwen was coming, also that was the first day our minds touched. I would not lose what I gained then.” His tone became wistful as he stared at the gleaming towers and the sunlit Anduin Vale.
“ Nor would I. “ Faramir’s tone was equally wistful. “Can I really see the sea over there?” he asked, changing the subject. The Steward craned his neck for a better look before getting to his feet and moving nearer to the edge.
“It is. Then, to the North, you can see Rauros. Then if you look to the South, you see the river making its way to Pelagir.”
“If only my mother could have come up here, maybe she would have not pined so much for the sea!” Faramir said wistfully.
“Your father could not have known of this place. We are standing in a Hallow known only to the Kings of Old,” Aragorn said quietly.
“The Kings? You mean this where you actually found the White Tree?” Faramir asked in awe.“ We are in the Hallow? I have no right to be here then! You said I was not allowed to enter this place!” By now, he was utterly bewildered at Aragorn’s abrupt change of mind.
“Cannot the King decide who may or may not come here?” Aragorn replied in a tone both incalculable and remote. Reaching a decision, he then relaxed and smiled at his Steward.” While I was praying, I had the feeling that you were meant to see this place,” he confided.
“You do me great honour, my lord” Faramir almost unconsciously dipped his head as a mark of respect.
Aragorn suddenly grasped Faramir’s arm and slowly turned him to face the stony slope behind them.
“The sapling was up there just below where the snowline is,” he said. “Would you like to climb up to see the exact spot?”
“Please!” With his deep love of his heritage, Faramir was determined to seize this unique opportunity to actually stand where the seedling of Nimloth had been found.
“We might have to help each other up the slope,” Aragorn warned, “It is very steep!”
Despite his words, he started the incline with the agility of a deer, dislodging stones in his wake. Faramir followed more cautiously, needing a helping hand from his lord where the footing was at its most precarious.
“It was just there; you can still see the disturbed earth where I uprooted it,” the King said once they had finally reached the spot. “I have returned to give thanks, as once did my forefathers in this hallowed place.” He solemnly knelt on the ground and bowed his head before saying; “I give thanks to the One and to the Valar for delivering me from my captivity and restoring me to my family and to my throne.” He hesitated for a moment and then added, “I give thanks too, for the one who delivered me.” He turned and abruptly placed a hand on Faramir’s head, murmuring, “Be thou blessed!”
Faramir fell to his knees, overwhelmed. He reverently touched the soil and then looked upward to where the snow lay unmelted, sparkling in the sunlight.
“It seems fitting somehow that it should be found here,” he said at last. “The White Tree, white as the snow. I will remember this day to tell Elestelle about. It will make a good bedtime story.”
“Maybe we will bring our children when they are old enough to understand,” Aragorn replied.
The Steward had spotted something out of the corner of his eye and started to climb up towards it.
“Faramir whatever are you doing?” Aragorn cried, “You are not a mountain goat!”
“I can hear water,” Faramir called, “Listen!” He climbed higher, disappearing behind a rocky crag.
“I can hear it now!” the King exclaimed and started to climb after him, his curiosity kindled.
“I have found it!” Faramir called joyously, “Look, a mountain stream, it must have nourished the seedling of Nimloth!”
For a moment, Aragorn was taken aback. Surely, he should have made this discovery, not his Steward? Then the voice came to him again in his head. ‘ Beware of pride! This was meant to be, remember to follow your heart!’ it counselled him
“You must be the first person to discover its source! How strange that it is not frozen!” Aragorn exclaimed, allowing himself to be caught up in his Steward’s excitement. He patted Faramir’s shoulder, somewhat surprised at just how pleased he now felt on the younger man’s behalf. The King knelt beside the stream and cupped his hands. He scooped up the pure sparkling water, and drank deeply of it. “It tastes fresh and sweet,” he told Faramir. ”Drink, it will refresh you!”
“I am not worthy,” Faramir said doubtfully.” I am no king, nor would I be! My line has become tainted!”
“All the more reason you should drink deeply then,” Aragorn replied.
Faramir hesitated for a moment and then drank. “ How pure and clean it feels!” he exclaimed. ”It reminds me of the water in the Fountain! See how it sparkles in the sunlight!”
“The tree must feel at home in the City then,” Aragorn smiled.
“Like the tree, the spring lay hidden here; even as your people lay hidden in the North!” Faramir exclaimed.
“Shall we follow it to find its source?” Aragorn suggested, now as excited as his Steward.” I think we can climb higher if we help each other again.”
Faramir eagerly concurred.
Footholds became ever more precarious as King and Steward painstakingly followed the stream uphill, certain its source could not be far off.
The way became almost impassable. In places they were forced to climb over boulders and maintain a precarious foothold on near vertical slopes made slippery by the snow.
Aragorn placed his foot on seemingly solid ground only for the ice to crumble beneath him. He started to slide forward and would have fallen had not Faramir caught him just in time.
“ I thought I was about to fall over the edge there!” he exclaimed, gasping for breath. He had been mere inches from tumbling to almost certain death on the rocks below.
“I have you now. I would not let you go!” Faramir reassured him. The Steward’s face was white with fear. “Maybe we should go back?”
“No, not after we have come this far. You may think me fanciful, but I feel I am meant to find the source now,” Aragorn replied, gradually regaining his breath.
Fearful that Aragorn might stumble again, Faramir kept a tight grip on the older man’s arm. When they rounded they next bend, they both stopped in their tracks, astounded at the sight before them. They had reached a small but incredibly beautiful lake concealed between two high rocky ridges.
Blue and white mountain blooms were scattered over the lush velvety grass carpeting the banks. The sun sparkled on the clear blue water, reflected from the overhead blue of the near cloudless sky.
Awestruck, Aragorn sank to his knees on the verdant shores. Faramir sank down beside him. For a moment, they concentrated on regaining their breath. Then they gazed transfixed at the beauty before them.
Feeling oddly compelled, Aragorn then cupped his hands and drank from the water. It tasted fresh and sweet, but unlike the stream, was not icy cold. The King swallowed deeply, feeling some revitalising force was renewing him. He realised the One had directed him to this place. “You should drink too,”” he told Faramir.
“Maybe this lake is sacred to your line?” Faramir said doubtfully. “I have never seen anything quite like it before! Perhaps I should not touch it?”
Aragorn smiled at him. “If indeed it is sacred to Isildur’s line, then I may bid you drink!” Playfully, he splashed his Steward with the water. “There you have touched it, so you may drink!”
Faramir drank. “It tastes sweet,” he pronounced, “but the flavour is no different to the water from the stream.”
“Do you not feel revitalised?”
Faramir shook his head and laughed. “I told you it was meant only for kings! Whatever are you doing?”
Aragorn suddenly pulled off his boots and was starting to unlace his tunic. “I feel I must bathe here! I feel the One calling to me!”
“But why? I thought you said I was washing too much! It is too cold up here!”
“I have bathed in far colder when I was in the North,” Aragorn said calmly throwing his tunic to one side and starting to unlace his shirt.
“You know nothing about this lake, it could conceal hidden dangers!” Faramir protested.
”This lake is hallowed, nothing here could harm me! Eru has directed my footsteps to this place” Aragorn replied adding his shirt to the discarded tunic.
“You do not even have a towel to dry yourself with!” Faramir pointed out, alarmed at the goose flesh that was already appearing on Aragorn’s bare back and arms. He was baffled that after yesterday’s insistence that he grant the King privacy to bathe, Aragorn now seemed untroubled by his presence. Feeling embarrassed, he started to back away.
TBC
A/N
A big thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I have replied to everyone who was logged in. Did readers have difficulty accessing the last chapter or simply not like it as I had far few hits and comments than usual?
This chapter refers to my story “The White Tree” and also to Tolkien’s chapter “The steward and the King” in ROTK.
I have updated my LJ with background information about the underwear our heroes wear and their changing relationship. I am also continuing to polish “Shadow and Thought” and “Web of Treason” on SOA. Links are on my LJ. I hope my American readers enjoyed their holiday.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
The King of love my shepherd is,
whose goodness faileth never;
I nothing lack if I am his,
and he is mine for ever.
Where streams of living water flow,
my ransomed soul he leadeth,
and where the verdant pastures grow,
with food celestial feedeth.
Perverse and foolish oft I strayed,
but yet in love He sought me,
and on his shoulder gently laid,
and home, rejoicing, brought me.
- Henry Williams Baker (1821-1877),
Raksha is on holiday, so this chapter lacks her valuable editing and insights. Any errors are mine entirely!
With special thanks to Laerien you suggested Faramir’s discovery and to Julia and Laerien for their support.
Faramir stumbled slightly but managed to keep his eyes closed. ”Where are you leading me?” he asked, his voice sounding unusually lost and vulnerable.
“ I have you, we are almost there,” Aragorn reassured him, gripping his wrist more tightly. “I want to show you the City,”
“If we wanted to look at the City, we could have stayed there!” Faramir replied, now feeling more bemused than ever. “How can we see it from up here?”
“All will be clear in a moment. You can look now!” Aragorn told his Steward.
Faramir opened his eyes and gasped. Spread out beneath him was the most wonderful view of his native city that he had ever seen. Gleaming white in the August sunshine its splendour made Faramir’s heart leap in wonder. For a moment he was dumbstruck with awe.
“I thought the view was from near Duilin of Morthond’s Hunting Lodge was spectacular, but this is better by far!” Faramir exclaimed, squeezing Aragorn’s fingers in gratitude before releasing the guiding hand.
“If you look to the east you can see Mordor, no longer veiled in darkness. Towards the west is the Vale of Anduin and beyond that the sea,” Aragorn told him, pointing out the places as he spoke. “I thought tomorrow we might follow the river for a while and perhaps go swimming again if the weather remains warm.”
“Whatever you wish.” Faramir said absently. He was still gazing awestruck at the view of his beloved home. “However did you know of this place? I thought Boromir had shown me all the best places to view our home from; yet he never brought me up here!
” I thought one as loyal to Gondor as you would enjoy it!” Aragorn said quietly.
Faramir tensed slightly at the words and then felt a sudden thrill that Aragorn would speak of him as ‘loyal’ again. The Steward contemplated his beloved City in silence for a few moments and blinked away a tear.” Shall we go now?” he asked somewhat abruptly. He was baffled by Aragorn’s change of mood and wanted to leave before the King’s mood changed again.
“I hoped we could stay a while and talk,” Aragorn replied. He had moved away from the edge and now was now sitting sprawled on the grass a few feet away. “Come, sit here beside me!”
Faramir rather reluctantly sat down. “We shared our thoughts last night. It seems we only cause each other pain. I do not understand why you have brought here. I thought you wanted to be alone.”
“I felt you would like to see the view,” Aragorn said simply. “What do you fear? I would not harm you.”
Faramir stared at the ground. “You have never harmed me,” he replied somewhat evasively. “I believe I fear myself. Sometimes, I feel I that I have indeed lost my soul, just as you warned me,” he continued almost inaudibly.
“If your soul was lost indeed, your heart would not be so troubled,” the King replied.
“I committed deeds that I did not believe that I was capable of contemplating! I tortured you, killed in cold blood and even contemplated murdering an innocent child! It embarrasses me now, when you say that I am loyal to Gondor. I hardly know, even, why I acted as I did. Sometimes, I fear it was neither for you, nor even my country. I know only that I had lost one father in dreadful circumstances. I could not bear to lose another one who had become dearer to me by far.”
Aragorn reached out and fleetingly placed a hand on the troubled younger man’s shoulder.” I hope we can use this time to seek healing,” he said gently.” We saw the pain in each other’s hearts last night. Our bodies have healed but our souls have not. Arwen saw it all too clearly.”
“Your lady has great wisdom,” Faramir replied .He turned his attention back to the view. Did you discover this place when you served my grandfather as Captain Thorongil?” he asked.
Aragorn shook his head. “No, the first I knew of it was when Mithrandir showed it to me just over three years ago.”
“When you discovered the White Tree?” Faramir’s eyes were wide with wonder.
“That very day! You remember it too?”
“How could I ever forget? I made such a fool of myself barging into your rooms and accusing you of destroying Gondor’s heritage!”
Aragorn laughed. ”I was delighted to see you show some spirit! It showed just how much you loved your country .I think that was the first day I felt truly happy since I became King. The tree was a sign that my beloved Arwen was coming, also that was the first day our minds touched. I would not lose what I gained then.” His tone became wistful as he stared at the gleaming towers and the sunlit Anduin Vale.
“ Nor would I. “ Faramir’s tone was equally wistful. “Can I really see the sea over there?” he asked, changing the subject. The Steward craned his neck for a better look before getting to his feet and moving nearer to the edge.
“It is. Then, to the North, you can see Rauros. Then if you look to the South, you see the river making its way to Pelagir.”
“If only my mother could have come up here, maybe she would have not pined so much for the sea!” Faramir said wistfully.
“Your father could not have known of this place. We are standing in a Hallow known only to the Kings of Old,” Aragorn said quietly.
“The Kings? You mean this where you actually found the White Tree?” Faramir asked in awe.“ We are in the Hallow? I have no right to be here then! You said I was not allowed to enter this place!” By now, he was utterly bewildered at Aragorn’s abrupt change of mind.
“Cannot the King decide who may or may not come here?” Aragorn replied in a tone both incalculable and remote. Reaching a decision, he then relaxed and smiled at his Steward.” While I was praying, I had the feeling that you were meant to see this place,” he confided.
“You do me great honour, my lord” Faramir almost unconsciously dipped his head as a mark of respect.
Aragorn suddenly grasped Faramir’s arm and slowly turned him to face the stony slope behind them.
“The sapling was up there just below where the snowline is,” he said. “Would you like to climb up to see the exact spot?”
“Please!” With his deep love of his heritage, Faramir was determined to seize this unique opportunity to actually stand where the seedling of Nimloth had been found.
“We might have to help each other up the slope,” Aragorn warned, “It is very steep!”
Despite his words, he started the incline with the agility of a deer, dislodging stones in his wake. Faramir followed more cautiously, needing a helping hand from his lord where the footing was at its most precarious.
“It was just there; you can still see the disturbed earth where I uprooted it,” the King said once they had finally reached the spot. “I have returned to give thanks, as once did my forefathers in this hallowed place.” He solemnly knelt on the ground and bowed his head before saying; “I give thanks to the One and to the Valar for delivering me from my captivity and restoring me to my family and to my throne.” He hesitated for a moment and then added, “I give thanks too, for the one who delivered me.” He turned and abruptly placed a hand on Faramir’s head, murmuring, “Be thou blessed!”
Faramir fell to his knees, overwhelmed. He reverently touched the soil and then looked upward to where the snow lay unmelted, sparkling in the sunlight.
“It seems fitting somehow that it should be found here,” he said at last. “The White Tree, white as the snow. I will remember this day to tell Elestelle about. It will make a good bedtime story.”
“Maybe we will bring our children when they are old enough to understand,” Aragorn replied.
The Steward had spotted something out of the corner of his eye and started to climb up towards it.
“Faramir whatever are you doing?” Aragorn cried, “You are not a mountain goat!”
“I can hear water,” Faramir called, “Listen!” He climbed higher, disappearing behind a rocky crag.
“I can hear it now!” the King exclaimed and started to climb after him, his curiosity kindled.
“I have found it!” Faramir called joyously, “Look, a mountain stream, it must have nourished the seedling of Nimloth!”
For a moment, Aragorn was taken aback. Surely, he should have made this discovery, not his Steward? Then the voice came to him again in his head. ‘ Beware of pride! This was meant to be, remember to follow your heart!’ it counselled him
“You must be the first person to discover its source! How strange that it is not frozen!” Aragorn exclaimed, allowing himself to be caught up in his Steward’s excitement. He patted Faramir’s shoulder, somewhat surprised at just how pleased he now felt on the younger man’s behalf. The King knelt beside the stream and cupped his hands. He scooped up the pure sparkling water, and drank deeply of it. “It tastes fresh and sweet,” he told Faramir. ”Drink, it will refresh you!”
“I am not worthy,” Faramir said doubtfully.” I am no king, nor would I be! My line has become tainted!”
“All the more reason you should drink deeply then,” Aragorn replied.
Faramir hesitated for a moment and then drank. “ How pure and clean it feels!” he exclaimed. ”It reminds me of the water in the Fountain! See how it sparkles in the sunlight!”
“The tree must feel at home in the City then,” Aragorn smiled.
“Like the tree, the spring lay hidden here; even as your people lay hidden in the North!” Faramir exclaimed.
“Shall we follow it to find its source?” Aragorn suggested, now as excited as his Steward.” I think we can climb higher if we help each other again.”
Faramir eagerly concurred.
Footholds became ever more precarious as King and Steward painstakingly followed the stream uphill, certain its source could not be far off.
The way became almost impassable. In places they were forced to climb over boulders and maintain a precarious foothold on near vertical slopes made slippery by the snow.
Aragorn placed his foot on seemingly solid ground only for the ice to crumble beneath him. He started to slide forward and would have fallen had not Faramir caught him just in time.
“ I thought I was about to fall over the edge there!” he exclaimed, gasping for breath. He had been mere inches from tumbling to almost certain death on the rocks below.
“I have you now. I would not let you go!” Faramir reassured him. The Steward’s face was white with fear. “Maybe we should go back?”
“No, not after we have come this far. You may think me fanciful, but I feel I am meant to find the source now,” Aragorn replied, gradually regaining his breath.
Fearful that Aragorn might stumble again, Faramir kept a tight grip on the older man’s arm. When they rounded they next bend, they both stopped in their tracks, astounded at the sight before them. They had reached a small but incredibly beautiful lake concealed between two high rocky ridges.
Blue and white mountain blooms were scattered over the lush velvety grass carpeting the banks. The sun sparkled on the clear blue water, reflected from the overhead blue of the near cloudless sky.
Awestruck, Aragorn sank to his knees on the verdant shores. Faramir sank down beside him. For a moment, they concentrated on regaining their breath. Then they gazed transfixed at the beauty before them.
Feeling oddly compelled, Aragorn then cupped his hands and drank from the water. It tasted fresh and sweet, but unlike the stream, was not icy cold. The King swallowed deeply, feeling some revitalising force was renewing him. He realised the One had directed him to this place. “You should drink too,”” he told Faramir.
“Maybe this lake is sacred to your line?” Faramir said doubtfully. “I have never seen anything quite like it before! Perhaps I should not touch it?”
Aragorn smiled at him. “If indeed it is sacred to Isildur’s line, then I may bid you drink!” Playfully, he splashed his Steward with the water. “There you have touched it, so you may drink!”
Faramir drank. “It tastes sweet,” he pronounced, “but the flavour is no different to the water from the stream.”
“Do you not feel revitalised?”
Faramir shook his head and laughed. “I told you it was meant only for kings! Whatever are you doing?”
Aragorn suddenly pulled off his boots and was starting to unlace his tunic. “I feel I must bathe here! I feel the One calling to me!”
“But why? I thought you said I was washing too much! It is too cold up here!”
“I have bathed in far colder when I was in the North,” Aragorn said calmly throwing his tunic to one side and starting to unlace his shirt.
“You know nothing about this lake, it could conceal hidden dangers!” Faramir protested.
”This lake is hallowed, nothing here could harm me! Eru has directed my footsteps to this place” Aragorn replied adding his shirt to the discarded tunic.
“You do not even have a towel to dry yourself with!” Faramir pointed out, alarmed at the goose flesh that was already appearing on Aragorn’s bare back and arms. He was baffled that after yesterday’s insistence that he grant the King privacy to bathe, Aragorn now seemed untroubled by his presence. Feeling embarrassed, he started to back away.
TBC
A/N
A big thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I have replied to everyone who was logged in. Did readers have difficulty accessing the last chapter or simply not like it as I had far few hits and comments than usual?
This chapter refers to my story “The White Tree” and also to Tolkien’s chapter “The steward and the King” in ROTK.
I have updated my LJ with background information about the underwear our heroes wear and their changing relationship. I am also continuing to polish “Shadow and Thought” and “Web of Treason” on SOA. Links are on my LJ. I hope my American readers enjoyed their holiday.
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Sunday, August 27, 2006
Climb every mountain, search high and low
Follow every byway, every path you know.
Climb every mountain, ford every stream,
Follow every rainbow, 'til you find your dream! - The Sound of Music by Rodgers and Hammerstein
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise. Psalm 51:17
And Isaac spake unto Abraham his father, and said, My father: and he said, Here am I, my son. And he said, Behold the fire and the wood: but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?
And Abraham said, My son, God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt offering: so they went both of them together. Genesis 22. 7-8
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha for all her help with this chapter
Aragorn made a half-hearted move as if to break away.
“Can we no longer share thoughts?” Faramir asked sadly. “Will we never again be in sufficient accord?”
“I believe we still have the ability, but fear it would wound our souls too deeply!” Aragorn replied.
“Can we cause each other any more pain than we have already?” Faramir replied, trying to control his emotions. Already he sensed Aragorn’s feelings of pain and betrayal.
“Let it be then!” Aragorn conceded. ”I would have more light first, though.”
Faramir threw several more logs on the waning fire, coaxing the waning flames to flare up brightly with new hunger.
He then settled again beside his King, sitting close enough for their heads to touch .A flood of powerful emotions assailed both men as their troubled souls opened to each other.
Each man found the other's pain nigh unbearable to experience. Aragorn became aware how Faramir felt befouled for all time by his deeds. At times, his Steward had even questioned whether it was worth it to sacrifice his honour and beliefs all that had made him the man he had been, to save his King? Cursed as a traitor he was, sullied by word and deed! This idea filled Faramir with revulsion, that he should even think such a thing. Yet it was not remorse for his actions that caused Faramir's deepest anguish, but rather the loss of his bond with Aragorn, which had meant everything to him. It made him feel as if he had once more lost father and brother.
Aragorn himself still seethed with anger at Faramir’s seeming betrayal. Whatever the reason, he had been scarred for life by Faramir’s hand, in that terrible moment that continued to haunt him. When he could think calmly about the matter, Aragorn knew his anger was both ungrateful and unreasoning. Had Faramir not come to the lodge and found him under the pretence of joining his tormentors, the conspirators would have undoubtedly subjected Aragorn to further, even worse torture, and then a humiliating death. They would have eventually slain Arwen to lay blood-stained hands on Eldarion, and most likely killed the child too, or raised him to be as perfidious as they were. Thoughts of the pain of that time, his fears for his lady and their beloved son, scored his heart, throbbing like an infected wound. And Faramir had saved them all. Yet Aragorn could not cease from blaming Faramir, believing that his Steward could have found another, better way, a clear and good path to the rescue of his King. Could not Faramir have summoned hundreds of Rangers to hide in the hills beyond the lodge, and then have signalled them to storm the rebels' den to free him? Could Faramir not have located him more quickly by using the palantír to observe the suspected rebels comings and goings, instead of playing the traitor for all those weeks while he lay in the dungeon under torment?
“I am sorry!” Aragorn and Faramir criedthe words at the same time.
They broke the bond quickly, unable to further endure each other’s mingled grief, pain and anger.
In his heart, Aragorn wanted to comfort Faramir with a fatherly embrace. Yet, his mind recoiled; for it seemed that Faramir regretted the loss of his love rather than his actions.
At the same time, Faramir wanted to comfort his King but the hurtful knowledge that Aragorn could not wholly forgive him, made him fear to try. Faramir knew from the sad experience of Denethor's last years that it was better to keep a respectful distance than to be pushed away.
Just then, the storm broke overhead, blasting the sky with flashes and forks of lightening. The thunder crashed overhead, so the very mountain seemed to be shaking.
Unable to think of any suitable words, Aragorn and Faramir could only watch nature vent its fury. The rain poured down at last, but only for a short time. The droplets splashed the ground for mere moments, until the storm ended and left a clear moonlit sky in its wake.
“At least we have finally had some rain,” said Faramir, trying to sound cheerful.
“Thunder rain does little good,” Aragorn said glumly. “It does not last long enough to nourish the thirsty earth. The air does feel fresher, though. We should try to rest now.”
He settled on his bedroll and rolled on his side, away from the Steward.
Emotionally exhausted, they slept, untroubled by further nightmares.
000
Aragorn and Faramir woke early the next morning and breakfasted on the remainder of the fish they had caught the day before.
Although the two men were still somewhat subdued and. ill at ease with each other, they both realized that they felt better in each other's company. The Sharing of Thoughts had eased the tension between them, at least to a certain extent. It had felt like bathing a raw wound with salted water, causing much pain but thereby cleansing it and giving it a chance of healing without festering.
The air felt fresh and clean but already the sun was high and it promised to be another very hot day.
“Are you well enough to climb the mountain today?” Aragorn enquired of his Steward while they scoured the cooking pots in the stream. Already, the sun was hot and they had discarded their tunics.
Faramir nodded, silently hoping that Aragorn would neither suggest that they went swimming first, nor suggest another humiliating inspection of his skin.
“Good, we will begin our ascent as soon as we have finished tidying up here.” He shook the water out of the pan and put it on a boulder to dry in the sun. “We bathed yesterday, so there is no need to do so again.”
Faramir heaved a deep sigh of relief. Much as he yearned to scrub himself clean, even the thought of baring his body horrified him, after the experience suffered yesterday. He contented himself by scouring his plate clean, then placed it beside the other dishes and leaned back against a tree. ” Should I not remain at our campsite?” Faramir asked. “Since I am not worthy to enter the Hallow, I can await you here.”
“You are coming with me,” Aragorn sternly replied.” We had this argument yesterday and I am not prepared to repeat it! The path there is steep and I promised my wife I would not attempt it alone.”
“Very well, my lord,” Faramir said without enthusiasm. ”What do you intend to do when you reach the Hallow, sire?”
“I shall give thanks to the One and offer the first fruits as a sacrifice, as did my sires in Númenor,” Aragorn explained.
“ I cannot see anything to offer as a sacrifice,” Faramir looked puzzled. “We brought only the bare necessities with us.”
“An offering will be provided,” Aragorn said without offering to explain further. “Come! You had better bring your tunic with you. The higher we go, the cooler the air will become; and there is a fresh, strong wind at the peak.” He was already rummaging for his own as he spoke.” We must leave the horses here as it will be too steep for them to climb the slope.”
Faramir did as he was bidden, shaking his head slightly. Much as he admired Aragorn, he found him highly unconventional at times. Sighing, he followed his lord as the King started to ascend the southern flank of Mount Mindolluin.
“Are you certain this is the right path?” Faramir groaned when the trail became noticeably steeper and he had to struggle to keep his foothold. He almost tripped and dislodged a shower of pebbles, which sent a startled mountain goat fleeing in panic.
“Yes, I have taken this way before with Gandalf,” Aragorn replied. “I remember it well, although we made far swifter progress!”
Faramir bit back a retort, as he grazed his palm on a particularly sharp rock.
Ignoring his Steward’s complaints, Aragorn continued to climb, looking for the point where the path turned aside.
Faramir could only follow, cursing under his breath at the King's sudden fondness for pilgrimages in such inhospitable places. He had to admit that Aragorn was right though about the weather. It had turned noticeably cooler and he was glad of his woollen tunic. Eventually even his hardy northern companion started to shiver in his shirtsleeves and conceded defeat.
They climbed higher and higher until they had to stop to catch their breath.
“Come on!” Aragorn urged his Steward.
Faramir had by now developed a stitch in his side and had bent almost in half as he strove to breathe and climb while it seemed as if a dagger were stabbing him.
Aragorn doubled back and went to his aid.
“Breathe slowly and deeply!” he told him as the Steward tried to massage the right side of his ribcage. “Is that better?” he asked.
“’It would be if we were not climbing up this steep slope!” Faramir grumbled, still unable to straighten up.
Aragorn’s only reply was to sharply prod him in the ribs.
Faramir yelped but straightened up immediately. “Another of your Elven remedies?” he asked, still gingerly rubbing his side, though the pain had now gone.
“One that Elrond himself taught me,” Aragorn replied, “It has proved very useful on many occasions!”
“So you often climbed mountains for pleasure then?” Faramir asked incredulously, hoping for a little time to regain his breath.
“Not for pleasure, no, but I have climbed a great many mountains in my time, which you most obviously have not. Anyone would think you had lived twice my years rather than not yet half of them! Let us go just a little farther, and thenwe shall rest.”
His mood sinking even further now, Faramir followed his King as Aragorn beckoned across a high field. His thoughts wandered to a tale that his father had been fond of telling his sons; how the Kings of old would lead political rivals up Mindolluin by dark and secret paths, never to be seen again Faramir had always thought the story an old wives’ tale meant to scare children from trying to climb the mountain, or perhaps a distant memory of Castamir's tyranny. Today the old tale made him shudder. Surely Aragorn would never consider such a thing!
And yet… Faramir knew little of the worship of the One. Even the Creator's true name, was rarely used by the descendants of the land that Eru had destroyed. And what was the planned sacrifice? The rite was practised by the King alone and shrouded in mystery; its lore long lost in the mists of time. Eru Ilúvatar was the maker of all, whose will was law to the Valar themselves. Yet Ilúvatar had created Morgoth and Sauron, allowed them to wreak terrible evil for years beyond count. The One had required the sacrifice of all who remained in the Land of Gift after the Faithful had fled, even the children, to atone for the pride of Ar-Pharazôn, the last King. And Ar-Pharazôn had made sacrifices to Morgoth at Sauron's urging, sacrifices not of fruits but of the Faithful, his own ancestors. Kings making sacrifices. Sacrifices to pride: as Denethor had chosen him to be. Sacrifices made to punish pride and rebellion against the Creator's law: the dead of fallen Númenor. Could the One now require his life in sacrifice? Faramir sighed. If the King that he had wronged took his life, would his treason be expiated?
He resolutely trudged onwards.
When they had neared the snowline, Aragorn stopped. “You may come no further, ” he commanded.” I must go on alone from here to offer the first fruits that Arwen chose for me.” He took a somewhat battered apple and pear from his pockets as he spoke.” Wait for me until I return!”
“Yes, my lord,” Faramir answered meekly, chiding himself for his dire fancies. He settled upon a fairly flat rock, glad for a chance to rest. Aragorn’s coldness had left him weary and heartsore.
Aragorn entered the Hallow and stood for a moment looking at the view across his kingdom. Last time he had stood in this place, its beauty had immensely moved him. Today, he felt only sorrow and weariness.
He placed the fruit on the ground and hesitated, unsure just exactly how to approach the One who had commanded the Valar to make music and bring Arda into being. The Wise had taught him that he too was a child of the One, but he knew even less of him than he did of Arathorn.
Aragorn stood, lifted his eyes heavenwards and solemnly intoned; “Almighty One, I, Elessar Telcontar, Lord of the Reunited Kingdom, come here this day to offer you these first fruits, with my thanks and praise.
The King did not know what to expect but found himself feeling slightly disappointed when nothing happened. It was so quiet up here away from the noise and bustle of the City. A skylark soared overhead, filling the air with its rapturous song. Then all was silent once more. Aragorn suddenly felt very alone. Solitude had long been his custom; but here on this peak, it seemed as if nothing existed in the world save him and this mysterious One who created it.
He sank to his knees in awe. Suddenly, Aragorn was weeping and pouring out his heart to his Creator. “Help me!” he pleaded. “I have lost my way. Help me!”
He had no idea how long he remained there sobbing painfully. At last, he had no more tears left and he sank back exhausted on the ground. A feeling of peace filled him and sudden unbidden thoughts flooded his mind. It was as if some unseen presence was telling him,’ Lay down your burdens. Let go, simply follow your heart’!
With sudden resolve, Aragorn wiped his eyes and rose to his feet. He made his way back down the path to where he had left Faramir.
The Steward sat hunched and detected. The reddened eyes he raised suggested that he might have been weeping too.
“Close your eyes and come with me!” Aragorn ordered.
“But why?” Faramir asked, his apprehension returning at this new turn of events.
“As far as I know, none of my sires ever threw anyone off this mountain and I do not intend to be the first!” Aragorn said dryly, reading Faramir’s mind.
“My lord I did not mean to imply…”Faramir protested.
“I too have heard that old wives’ tale,” Aragorn replied. “You have your fears and yet still you follow me without protest!”
”It is my duty to follow where you lead, sire. I know you to be a man of honour.”
“I am glad to hear that you still think so. Come! It will be worth it, it, you will see,” Aragorn assured him, seizing Faramir by the wrist and leading him across the grass. Mercifully, it was much flatter here and anxious as he was, Faramir still trusted his lord in his heart.
TBC
A/N
A big thank you for your much appreciated reviews. I have replied to everyone who was logged in
Congratulations to Julia and Radbrooks, joint winners on the quiz on my LJ. I hope to hold another one in the future.
My LJ is regularly updated and contains background information to all my stories, polls and quizzes. Do please drop by, the link is on my profile page.
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Follow every byway, every path you know.
Climb every mountain, ford every stream,
Follow every rainbow, 'til you find your dream! - The Sound of Music by Rodgers and Hammerstein
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise. Psalm 51:17
And Isaac spake unto Abraham his father, and said, My father: and he said, Here am I, my son. And he said, Behold the fire and the wood: but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?
And Abraham said, My son, God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt offering: so they went both of them together. Genesis 22. 7-8
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha for all her help with this chapter
Aragorn made a half-hearted move as if to break away.
“Can we no longer share thoughts?” Faramir asked sadly. “Will we never again be in sufficient accord?”
“I believe we still have the ability, but fear it would wound our souls too deeply!” Aragorn replied.
“Can we cause each other any more pain than we have already?” Faramir replied, trying to control his emotions. Already he sensed Aragorn’s feelings of pain and betrayal.
“Let it be then!” Aragorn conceded. ”I would have more light first, though.”
Faramir threw several more logs on the waning fire, coaxing the waning flames to flare up brightly with new hunger.
He then settled again beside his King, sitting close enough for their heads to touch .A flood of powerful emotions assailed both men as their troubled souls opened to each other.
Each man found the other's pain nigh unbearable to experience. Aragorn became aware how Faramir felt befouled for all time by his deeds. At times, his Steward had even questioned whether it was worth it to sacrifice his honour and beliefs all that had made him the man he had been, to save his King? Cursed as a traitor he was, sullied by word and deed! This idea filled Faramir with revulsion, that he should even think such a thing. Yet it was not remorse for his actions that caused Faramir's deepest anguish, but rather the loss of his bond with Aragorn, which had meant everything to him. It made him feel as if he had once more lost father and brother.
Aragorn himself still seethed with anger at Faramir’s seeming betrayal. Whatever the reason, he had been scarred for life by Faramir’s hand, in that terrible moment that continued to haunt him. When he could think calmly about the matter, Aragorn knew his anger was both ungrateful and unreasoning. Had Faramir not come to the lodge and found him under the pretence of joining his tormentors, the conspirators would have undoubtedly subjected Aragorn to further, even worse torture, and then a humiliating death. They would have eventually slain Arwen to lay blood-stained hands on Eldarion, and most likely killed the child too, or raised him to be as perfidious as they were. Thoughts of the pain of that time, his fears for his lady and their beloved son, scored his heart, throbbing like an infected wound. And Faramir had saved them all. Yet Aragorn could not cease from blaming Faramir, believing that his Steward could have found another, better way, a clear and good path to the rescue of his King. Could not Faramir have summoned hundreds of Rangers to hide in the hills beyond the lodge, and then have signalled them to storm the rebels' den to free him? Could Faramir not have located him more quickly by using the palantír to observe the suspected rebels comings and goings, instead of playing the traitor for all those weeks while he lay in the dungeon under torment?
“I am sorry!” Aragorn and Faramir criedthe words at the same time.
They broke the bond quickly, unable to further endure each other’s mingled grief, pain and anger.
In his heart, Aragorn wanted to comfort Faramir with a fatherly embrace. Yet, his mind recoiled; for it seemed that Faramir regretted the loss of his love rather than his actions.
At the same time, Faramir wanted to comfort his King but the hurtful knowledge that Aragorn could not wholly forgive him, made him fear to try. Faramir knew from the sad experience of Denethor's last years that it was better to keep a respectful distance than to be pushed away.
Just then, the storm broke overhead, blasting the sky with flashes and forks of lightening. The thunder crashed overhead, so the very mountain seemed to be shaking.
Unable to think of any suitable words, Aragorn and Faramir could only watch nature vent its fury. The rain poured down at last, but only for a short time. The droplets splashed the ground for mere moments, until the storm ended and left a clear moonlit sky in its wake.
“At least we have finally had some rain,” said Faramir, trying to sound cheerful.
“Thunder rain does little good,” Aragorn said glumly. “It does not last long enough to nourish the thirsty earth. The air does feel fresher, though. We should try to rest now.”
He settled on his bedroll and rolled on his side, away from the Steward.
Emotionally exhausted, they slept, untroubled by further nightmares.
000
Aragorn and Faramir woke early the next morning and breakfasted on the remainder of the fish they had caught the day before.
Although the two men were still somewhat subdued and. ill at ease with each other, they both realized that they felt better in each other's company. The Sharing of Thoughts had eased the tension between them, at least to a certain extent. It had felt like bathing a raw wound with salted water, causing much pain but thereby cleansing it and giving it a chance of healing without festering.
The air felt fresh and clean but already the sun was high and it promised to be another very hot day.
“Are you well enough to climb the mountain today?” Aragorn enquired of his Steward while they scoured the cooking pots in the stream. Already, the sun was hot and they had discarded their tunics.
Faramir nodded, silently hoping that Aragorn would neither suggest that they went swimming first, nor suggest another humiliating inspection of his skin.
“Good, we will begin our ascent as soon as we have finished tidying up here.” He shook the water out of the pan and put it on a boulder to dry in the sun. “We bathed yesterday, so there is no need to do so again.”
Faramir heaved a deep sigh of relief. Much as he yearned to scrub himself clean, even the thought of baring his body horrified him, after the experience suffered yesterday. He contented himself by scouring his plate clean, then placed it beside the other dishes and leaned back against a tree. ” Should I not remain at our campsite?” Faramir asked. “Since I am not worthy to enter the Hallow, I can await you here.”
“You are coming with me,” Aragorn sternly replied.” We had this argument yesterday and I am not prepared to repeat it! The path there is steep and I promised my wife I would not attempt it alone.”
“Very well, my lord,” Faramir said without enthusiasm. ”What do you intend to do when you reach the Hallow, sire?”
“I shall give thanks to the One and offer the first fruits as a sacrifice, as did my sires in Númenor,” Aragorn explained.
“ I cannot see anything to offer as a sacrifice,” Faramir looked puzzled. “We brought only the bare necessities with us.”
“An offering will be provided,” Aragorn said without offering to explain further. “Come! You had better bring your tunic with you. The higher we go, the cooler the air will become; and there is a fresh, strong wind at the peak.” He was already rummaging for his own as he spoke.” We must leave the horses here as it will be too steep for them to climb the slope.”
Faramir did as he was bidden, shaking his head slightly. Much as he admired Aragorn, he found him highly unconventional at times. Sighing, he followed his lord as the King started to ascend the southern flank of Mount Mindolluin.
“Are you certain this is the right path?” Faramir groaned when the trail became noticeably steeper and he had to struggle to keep his foothold. He almost tripped and dislodged a shower of pebbles, which sent a startled mountain goat fleeing in panic.
“Yes, I have taken this way before with Gandalf,” Aragorn replied. “I remember it well, although we made far swifter progress!”
Faramir bit back a retort, as he grazed his palm on a particularly sharp rock.
Ignoring his Steward’s complaints, Aragorn continued to climb, looking for the point where the path turned aside.
Faramir could only follow, cursing under his breath at the King's sudden fondness for pilgrimages in such inhospitable places. He had to admit that Aragorn was right though about the weather. It had turned noticeably cooler and he was glad of his woollen tunic. Eventually even his hardy northern companion started to shiver in his shirtsleeves and conceded defeat.
They climbed higher and higher until they had to stop to catch their breath.
“Come on!” Aragorn urged his Steward.
Faramir had by now developed a stitch in his side and had bent almost in half as he strove to breathe and climb while it seemed as if a dagger were stabbing him.
Aragorn doubled back and went to his aid.
“Breathe slowly and deeply!” he told him as the Steward tried to massage the right side of his ribcage. “Is that better?” he asked.
“’It would be if we were not climbing up this steep slope!” Faramir grumbled, still unable to straighten up.
Aragorn’s only reply was to sharply prod him in the ribs.
Faramir yelped but straightened up immediately. “Another of your Elven remedies?” he asked, still gingerly rubbing his side, though the pain had now gone.
“One that Elrond himself taught me,” Aragorn replied, “It has proved very useful on many occasions!”
“So you often climbed mountains for pleasure then?” Faramir asked incredulously, hoping for a little time to regain his breath.
“Not for pleasure, no, but I have climbed a great many mountains in my time, which you most obviously have not. Anyone would think you had lived twice my years rather than not yet half of them! Let us go just a little farther, and thenwe shall rest.”
His mood sinking even further now, Faramir followed his King as Aragorn beckoned across a high field. His thoughts wandered to a tale that his father had been fond of telling his sons; how the Kings of old would lead political rivals up Mindolluin by dark and secret paths, never to be seen again Faramir had always thought the story an old wives’ tale meant to scare children from trying to climb the mountain, or perhaps a distant memory of Castamir's tyranny. Today the old tale made him shudder. Surely Aragorn would never consider such a thing!
And yet… Faramir knew little of the worship of the One. Even the Creator's true name, was rarely used by the descendants of the land that Eru had destroyed. And what was the planned sacrifice? The rite was practised by the King alone and shrouded in mystery; its lore long lost in the mists of time. Eru Ilúvatar was the maker of all, whose will was law to the Valar themselves. Yet Ilúvatar had created Morgoth and Sauron, allowed them to wreak terrible evil for years beyond count. The One had required the sacrifice of all who remained in the Land of Gift after the Faithful had fled, even the children, to atone for the pride of Ar-Pharazôn, the last King. And Ar-Pharazôn had made sacrifices to Morgoth at Sauron's urging, sacrifices not of fruits but of the Faithful, his own ancestors. Kings making sacrifices. Sacrifices to pride: as Denethor had chosen him to be. Sacrifices made to punish pride and rebellion against the Creator's law: the dead of fallen Númenor. Could the One now require his life in sacrifice? Faramir sighed. If the King that he had wronged took his life, would his treason be expiated?
He resolutely trudged onwards.
When they had neared the snowline, Aragorn stopped. “You may come no further, ” he commanded.” I must go on alone from here to offer the first fruits that Arwen chose for me.” He took a somewhat battered apple and pear from his pockets as he spoke.” Wait for me until I return!”
“Yes, my lord,” Faramir answered meekly, chiding himself for his dire fancies. He settled upon a fairly flat rock, glad for a chance to rest. Aragorn’s coldness had left him weary and heartsore.
Aragorn entered the Hallow and stood for a moment looking at the view across his kingdom. Last time he had stood in this place, its beauty had immensely moved him. Today, he felt only sorrow and weariness.
He placed the fruit on the ground and hesitated, unsure just exactly how to approach the One who had commanded the Valar to make music and bring Arda into being. The Wise had taught him that he too was a child of the One, but he knew even less of him than he did of Arathorn.
Aragorn stood, lifted his eyes heavenwards and solemnly intoned; “Almighty One, I, Elessar Telcontar, Lord of the Reunited Kingdom, come here this day to offer you these first fruits, with my thanks and praise.
The King did not know what to expect but found himself feeling slightly disappointed when nothing happened. It was so quiet up here away from the noise and bustle of the City. A skylark soared overhead, filling the air with its rapturous song. Then all was silent once more. Aragorn suddenly felt very alone. Solitude had long been his custom; but here on this peak, it seemed as if nothing existed in the world save him and this mysterious One who created it.
He sank to his knees in awe. Suddenly, Aragorn was weeping and pouring out his heart to his Creator. “Help me!” he pleaded. “I have lost my way. Help me!”
He had no idea how long he remained there sobbing painfully. At last, he had no more tears left and he sank back exhausted on the ground. A feeling of peace filled him and sudden unbidden thoughts flooded his mind. It was as if some unseen presence was telling him,’ Lay down your burdens. Let go, simply follow your heart’!
With sudden resolve, Aragorn wiped his eyes and rose to his feet. He made his way back down the path to where he had left Faramir.
The Steward sat hunched and detected. The reddened eyes he raised suggested that he might have been weeping too.
“Close your eyes and come with me!” Aragorn ordered.
“But why?” Faramir asked, his apprehension returning at this new turn of events.
“As far as I know, none of my sires ever threw anyone off this mountain and I do not intend to be the first!” Aragorn said dryly, reading Faramir’s mind.
“My lord I did not mean to imply…”Faramir protested.
“I too have heard that old wives’ tale,” Aragorn replied. “You have your fears and yet still you follow me without protest!”
”It is my duty to follow where you lead, sire. I know you to be a man of honour.”
“I am glad to hear that you still think so. Come! It will be worth it, it, you will see,” Aragorn assured him, seizing Faramir by the wrist and leading him across the grass. Mercifully, it was much flatter here and anxious as he was, Faramir still trusted his lord in his heart.
TBC
A/N
A big thank you for your much appreciated reviews. I have replied to everyone who was logged in
Congratulations to Julia and Radbrooks, joint winners on the quiz on my LJ. I hope to hold another one in the future.
My LJ is regularly updated and contains background information to all my stories, polls and quizzes. Do please drop by, the link is on my profile page.
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