Chapter Two - Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith. – Proverbs 15.17 – The Bible.These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

With grateful thanks to Raksha for all her help with this chapter.

An uncomfortable silence reigned in the King’s private dining room that was almost as oppressive as the heat of the waning day. At the head of the table sat Aragorn with Arwen to his right. Faramir sat beside the Queen, who could not decide whether the Steward or her husband looked the more ill at ease. Despite the excellent food, finely crafted tableware and comfortable furnishings, it seemed that the lowliest peasant would tonight dine with more ease than King or Steward.

“Did you have a pleasant journey from Ithilien this afternoon?” Arwen enquired of Faramir, in a desperate bit to break the silence.

“Yes, my lady, I thank you for enquiring. It was most pleasant,” Faramir replied, crumbling the bread in his hand so hard that it disintegrated before he could dip it in to the bowl of tomato soup set before him.

“How fares Éowyn?” Arwen asked, determined to make further conversation. She looked pointedly at her husband, silently willing him to say something.

“She is well, thank you, my lady,” Faramir said without looking up from his meal.

Arwen nudged her husband with her elbow, almost causing him to drop his spoon.

Aragorn glared at her, then cleared his throat noisily. “And how is your daughter, Lord Faramir?” he queried.

“She is well too, thank you. I trust Eldarion is also in good health.” Faramir replied without meeting Aragorn’s eyes.

“He is very well and growing by the day.” Aragorn replied, briefly regarding his Steward with an unreadable expression, before returning his attention to the soup. “How is Elbeth faring?” he enquired.

“She is well, thank you, sire. She did ask me to convey her greetings to her dear Strider and tell you that she now has a ginger kitten which is growing fast.”

Aragorn managed a faint smile at these tidings. “You must convey my greetings to her on your return,” he said.

Silence ensued.

“Is Elestelle not cutting her teeth yet?” asked Arwen sweetly; hoping another question concerning their beloved children might draw forth more of a dialogue between the two men. ”Eldarion already has eight teeth and I think my poor babe has another coming,for he is fretting a good deal at present.”

“I believe my daughter has four teeth. Éowyn informed me that she had bitten her while she was feeding and that they were very sharp!” Faramir suddenly flushed scarlet at the realisation of having revealed such delicate information.

Arwen winced involuntarily at the memory of a similar incident and smiled reassuringly at the Steward. “I believe all babies try out their teeth on their mothers at least once!” she said.

“Éowyn said that too, my lady,” Faramir replied.

A further and increasingly uncomfortable silence ensued.

“How are your horses?” Arwen enquired desperately, wondering if she would be forced to enquire after the mice in the barn to keep the conversation flowing. “I heard that you rode Zachus today rather than your mare.”

“Éowyn suggested that Iavas should mate with one of the stallions this summer in the hope she will produce a foal,” Faramir replied, again looking uncomfortable.

“It is good to have you back in Minas Tirith, Faramir. We have missed you, have we not, Estel?” Arwen said, after several more minutes of silence and again digging Aragorn with her elbow.

“Many matters needing your attention have arisen while you were away from the City,” the King said, deliberately evading her question.

“I assure you, my lord, that I have been working hard during my time in Emyn Arnen.” Faramir sounded a trifle hurt. ”Have you heard aught of Anborn and my other men, sire? Surely they did not disappear without a trace?”

“Nothing has been heard,” Aragorn said curtly.” A message would have been sent to you, were there any tidings of their whereabouts. You would do best to presume them dead and see that their families are provided for.”

“I already have,” the Steward replied. “I just hoped that their loved ones could at least have their bodies to bury. I wish that…” His voice trailed away.

“Such are the fortunes of war,” Aragorn said curtly.” I enquired of Fontos of Lossarnach ere he left to go into exile, and Dervorin of Ringlo Vale prior to his execution, but they knew nothing. I have done all I can concerning your men.”

“And you accepted those traitors' words?" Faramir protested. “My lord, Anborn and his company were good men!”

“Indeed they were, good men under your command, “ Aragorn retorted. “I shall have their names recorded as having died for Gondor.” He pushed his still half full dish away and lapsed into silence again.

Arwen gave her husband a look, warning him that if he failed to make conversation, he would hear about it from her later.

“We must discuss the new structure for the Council, that you have been working on,” said Aragorn. “ I have studied the documents you have been sending to me. I think we should offer more seats to the merchants, though.”

“Indeed, my lord, “ Faramir replied, sounding a little more animated. “I believe they could share an equal number of seats with the Captains of my Rangers and your Tower Guard but we should not forget the craftsmen either.”

“The healers should be included, “ said Aragorn, “I must also decide whether I may appoint folk who are not born in Gondor or Arnor but now dwell within our borders.”

Usually, Arwen would have frowned at the notion of discussing matters of state over dinner. Today, she heaved a sigh of relief.

As the final course was brought to the table, her husband and Faramir were still discussing whether or not anyone born in born in Rohan could be invited to serve on the Council. At least the men were speaking to each other, though in a way better suited to a meeting than a quiet dinner for supposed friends.

Arwen surreptitiously studied both men as they picked at their food, eating little. She noticed sadly how their handsome carven features, a sign of the shared blood of her uncle's race, seemed far more careworn. They were, nay, are; she corrected herself firmly, deeply attached to each other. But the horrors of the past months, when Aragorn had been imprisoned and tortured while Faramir had pretended to join his tormentors in order to rescue his lord, still lay heavily upon them.

Aragorn had issued a proclamation to clear Faramir of all wrongdoing and retained him as his Steward. Still, there had been a high price to pay. Aragorn no longer trusted Faramir, his friend's seeming betrayal and actual cruelty weighing heavily on his scarred soul.

Faramir fared little better. Rumour abounded that the King had only cleared his Steward's name in order to secure his own position. The Southern Kingdom had been ruled by Faramir’s long fathers for nigh on a thousand years. Faramir was wed to the King of Rohan's sister, a union that strengthened the alliance of Rohan and Gondor originally woven by their ancestors. The execution or exile of Faramir could not help but tear the threads in that alliance, or so the gossips thought. And though they were malicious, they were not wholly wrong. Eomer had sworn to support whatever decision Aragorn made on Faramir's fate, but the young Horse-lord would have surely been at the very least saddened to have his sister and niece shamed, and the proud House of Eorl sullied, by kinship to a named traitor.

The Steward looked wretched and Arwen realised all too clearly that Éowyn’s fear of her husband fading seemed all too real. She knew Faramir loved Aragorn not only as his liege lord, but also as a close friend and the kindly father Denethor had never been to his younger son. She had never met the late Steward, yet Denethor's demeanour could hardly have been colder was Aragorn's mien tonight.

Once the meal ended, Arwen excused herself briefly to feed her son. The men left the dining room when she stood up and withdrew to their private sitting room. She left them and went to the nursery. When she returned some time later, having settled Eldarion to sleep in the care of his nurse, Arwen found Aragorn seated on the couch sipping a goblet of wine. Faramir sat stiffly on the chair opposite, doing likewise. The tension could hardly have been sharper had Thranduil Oropherion and Thorin Oakenshield themselves sat before her discussing the rights to Smaug's treasure.

Both men rose to their feet when she entered. She settled herself on the couch beside Aragorn. The men both sat down again.

“We are having pleasant weather, are we not?” Faramir said turning to his hostess.

“I find the heat wearisome,” said Aragorn. “We badly need rain.”

“I am fortunate as the clime does not trouble me,” said Arwen, “ I can only hope that Eldarion will grow up to be the same.”

”Is he sleeping yet?” Aragorn enquired.

“He was sound asleep when I left the nursery,” she replied.” His tooth does not seem to be troubling him tonight.”

“That gladdens my heart,” said Aragorn, sounding relieved.

Silence again ensued.

Faramir rose to his feet. “I will take my leave now, if you will permit me, my lord, my lady?” he said.

“Of course, Faramir, I expect you are weary from your journey, I bid you a restful night,” Arwen said, smiling at him kindly and rising from the couch. He took her extended hand and bowed.

Aragorn rose a moment after his wife. He took a step towards Faramir and made as if to extend his hand then froze“Goodnight,” he said curtly.

Faramir, his eyes unable to conceal his pain, bowed stiffly to his lord and swiftly took his leave.

Aragorn slumped in his chair and buried his face in his hands once the door shut behind his Steward.

“You were a poor host tonight, Estel! You showed our guest but meagre courtesy,” Arwen chided.

Aragorn sighed; “I am sorry,” he said, “I am so tired, it must be the heat. Bid a servant bring hot water that I may inhale some athelas.”

The Queen sighed but summoned a maid without further comment. By now, the servants were accustomed to this request and the boiling water arrived almost at once. The girl placed it on the table, curtsied and left.

Aragorn feverishly reached inside his tunic and almost threw the leaves in the bowl, then inhaled deeply of the refreshing odour. Arwen could see that he was trembling slightly.

The Queen moved behind him to wrap her arms around her husband and kissed him lovingly. He relaxed slightly at her touch. “What is wrong, beloved?” she asked. “I know that your heart is troubled.”

“I have you and our son. The land is at peace and my throne restored. What more could I need?” Aragorn turned his head to meet her gaze, the deep sorrow in his eyes belying his words.

“You need Faramir’s friendship too,” she said simply.

“He has my goodwill,” Aragorn said curtly. “He should be content that I allowed him to keep both lands and titles.”

“He looks neither well nor happy.” Arwen insisted. “Lands and titles do little to ease an aching heart.”

“He should see a Healer while he is in the City then,” said Aragorn careful to avoid looking at his wife.

”I thought you were his Healer,” Arwen reproached him.

“I am no longer a Healer. That gift brought me nothing but sorrow,” Aragorn retorted. “Am I to spend my days draining my strength and laying my hands upon those that seek to overthrow me?”

“ I do not recall the Lords of Lamedon, Lebennin and Ringlo Vale ever having sought your skills, “ Arwen said dryly. “Yet, there are hundreds in this City alone who owe their lives to you and love you the more as result. Surely youdo not regret all the children you saved from the fever?”

“Of course not, but as I cannot save everyone, it is better that concentrate on being King. I am so weary!”

Arwen looked at him intently, wondering if he feared he lacked the ability to heal, rather than the desire to use it. Healing was so great a partof her husband that he hardly seemed the same man were he not enthusing about herbs or Elven techniques and then rejoicing over those he had cured.

“Come to bed, my love!” she coaxed, “You should rest now it is cooler.

“I will only dream!” Aragorn protested, a haunted look in his eyes.

“I will be beside you, there is nothing to fear!” Arwen reassured him. Taking his hand, she led him from the room.

TBC

A/N A very grateful thank you to everyone who has reviewed. A warm welcome to new readers and welcome back to old ones .It is good to see you again. I have replied to everyone who was logged in.

As well as using my LJ (lindahoyland) to post this story, I have also complied a companion to my stories there, a sort of EE, you might say. There are deleted scenes, background information on topics such as the after effects of torture and healing herbs and polls.

“ Chapter One - Out of Egypt have I called my son.” – Mathew 2.15b – The Bible


These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.


A/N I follow book universe but see the faces some of the film actors as I write, though “my” Faramir has Tolkien’s dark hair, grey eyes and carven features. This story is sequel to my other stories but especially “Web of Treason “ also on this site. I would recommend at least reading the final chapters of that story in order to fully understand this one.

This story is meant as a companion piece to its predecessor. It will contain plenty of angst but also; I hope, more humour and have a lighter feel to it. I have drawn loosely on ideas from the Grail legends for the plot.

I especially chose Midsummer's Day to post, as this is a story for the height of summer.
The main characters are Aragorn and Faramir.

Arwen, Eowyn and the babies will also take part together with brief appearances by other Tolkien characters and some of my own.

With grateful thanks to Raksha, Julia, and Laerien for their unfailing help and support with this story.

With especial thanks to Raksha for all her help with this chapter, parts of which were written by her


“When Israel was a child, then I loved him, and called my son out of Egypt.” Hosea 1.1

Suddenly furious, he shook the limp body and cried; “ Now you truly have betrayed me, Faramir! You, who should have lived a hundred years, not a mere forty! This hurts far worse than any branding ever could!”

August 2FA - Earlier that month


Arwen sat alone in her chamber, a letter clasped in her hand. Damrod had personally handed it to her that morning with the whispered request that she give it her most urgent attention. For at least the fifth time, since it had been delivered to her, she scanned the parchment and read, in Éowyn’s skittering hand:

“Dearest Arwen,
I trust all is well with you, Aragorn and Eldarion. We are preparing for the harvest here in Ithilien. Elestelle seems to grow fairer with each passing day, if that is possible. She now has four teeth, which I only discovered when she bit me while I was suckling her; they came through with so little fuss.

Elbeth is still proving rather high-spirited but she is a good child and I have grown fond of her. She has a kind hand with horses and is a fearless rider. She is also a diligent pupil in reading and writing, and has her uncle's head for languages. She often asks about her ‘Strider’.

I am letting the stallions run with the mares this summer, now that our home is established here. With luck, we will have several fine foals by this time next year. I hope to send you one as a gift for your stables, especially as Eomer sent me a proven broodmare, Snowflower, sired by Snowmane, who should produce swift and beautiful offspring fit for a queen! (Snowflower is Hasufel's half-sister, and carried Erkenbrand to the Pelennor, after which he retired her; you noticed her on your first journey to Meduseld. She has already produced a worthy daughter who inherited her silver-white colour, which I know you would like)

I wanted to tell you what good tidings we had before I come to the main reason for writing to you now. I am very worried about Faramir. I can see all too well that he is pining for Aragorn. Given the strength of the bond between them, I fear he will fade if this rift between them is not healed. He is a most devoted husband and father but without Aragorn, he is like a plant bereft of sunlight. Even the sturdiest of trees cannot survive too long in the shade.

My friend, I implore you to use your influence with the King to soften him towards my husband. Faramir bitterly regrets the hurt his seeming betrayal caused Aragorn, but never was he faithless in his heart. I know you believe in his innocence, from our conversation before we departed Minas Tirith.

Faramir does not, and must not know, that I have asked you to intercede on his behalf. If I question him, he says only that his lord has been magnanimous beyond all measure in letting him keep his lands and titles and he is filled with gratitude. I know, though how his heart aches. He prized Aragorn’s affection and friendship far above all lands and titles.

I, too am heart sore to see my husband thus afflicted. I miss your companionship too, my friend. I hope circumstances will soon permit you to visit us.
Your most loyal subject and loving friend, Éowyn.


The Queen finally cast aside the letter and sighed deeply, reflecting on her own husband’s plight.

Truth to tell, she had been about to pen a near identical missive to Éowyn.
Despite all her loving care and the healing ministrations of her brothers whom she had urgently summoned to Minas Tirith, Aragorn was still a shadow of his former self. Even the company of Legolas and Gimli, who had cut short a sojourn in Eryn Lasgalen to hasten to his side, had failed to raise her Estel's spirits.

The once vigorous man had become morose and withdrawn. It seemed as if his spirit had lost some vital spark. Arwen feared that Aragorn's soul had been even more deeply scarred than his body. He attended to the duties of kingship, but struggled to get though each day. He repeatedly crumbled athelas into a bowl of hot water, claiming the air needed freshening. Arwen knew better: it was an attempt to ease his heavy heart. Yet the herb's effects would last only an hour or too and Aragorn would relapse into sorrow and restlessly pace his chambers.

Elladan and Elrohir were baffled at Aragorn’s failure to recover. Apart from the brand, which disfigured his shoulder, their foster-brother's body appeared sound enough. They were equally bewildered why the repeated mud baths, he was taking, seemed to have no effect whatsoever on the painful and ugly scar.

Aragorn became increasingly impatient at his Elven brethren's unsuccessful efforts to heal him. The twins departed to visit to the Elven colony Legolas had founded in Ithilien, to hear the sounds of Elvish while still staying within a day's summons from their sorrowing brother. Arwen had begged her husband to accompany Elladan and Elrohir, believing that the trip to Legolas' fair woodland could soothe him, but he had refused. Arwen sadly understood that it was not a lack of interest in the Elven haven that caused Aragorn's almost angry refusal. The King could not journey through Ithilien to visit his Elven friends without stopping to see Ithilien's Prince on the way, to do otherwise would be a grave breach of courtesy as well as protocol. The King could still not bear the sight of his Steward.

The twins had left the City a month ago, and yet tarried with the Tawarwaith; writing Arwen frequently to ask how Aragorn fared. She still had no good answer for them.

Taking a deep breath, Arwen folded Eowyn's parchment and thrust it inside her gown. Aragorn tried hard to be gentle in his wife’s company and she knew she would never have cause to fear his temper. However, she was not looking forward to confronting him over Faramir, for whenever she raised the question of the Steward’s unofficial exile, Aragorn would hastily change the subject.

The Queen found her husband in his study, hunched over a pile of paperwork. He rose to his feet to embrace her when she entered, a flicker of joy in his weary eyes.

“How fares the Realm of Gondor this day?” she asked.

“It barely survives. If the rains do not come soon, I fear we shall be faced with the prospect of drought and famine,” he replied morosely, returning to his desk.” I have no head for this paperwork; to estimate what water supplies we have in the City. Imrahil will have to assist me again.”

“You need Faramir to help you.” Arwen came straight to the point.

“His loyalty is still suspect. How could I ever trust him again after what he did to me? I cannot!” Aragorn said curtly, refusing to meet her eyes.

“How can he regain your trust while he stays in exile?” Arwen persisted gently.

“He is better off away from wagging tongues in Ithilien, “ Aragorn countered. “I do allow him to return when he is needed.”

“I think you should recall him or tongues will wag more than ever,” said Arwen. ” While it is the season for harvest, the City is quiet. It would be the perfect time to send for him. After all, he is still your Steward. Remember that he saved your life and throne!”

“I know,” said Aragorn his voice almost a whisper, “For that, I owe him everything. Yet always this gets in the way!” His tone became bitter. Pressing his hand to his shoulder, he grimaced at the stab of pain, which suddenly pierced him.

“Please, my love, let him return for longer than a Council Meeting or official function, if not for yourself for the good of Gondor and to please me! The longer you leave it the harder it will be. I beg of you, Estel!”

Aragorn finally looked into the depths of her beautiful grey eyes and saw only love and concern reflected therein. He could deny her nothing.

“Very well,” he sighed. “The Steward may return.”

Arwen threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Estel, “ she said kissing him tenderly. “I am sure you will feel better when you are reunited.”

“ We shall see, but I very much doubt it,” Aragorn replied without enthusiasm.

0000

“It is late, you should come to bed now, Faramir!” Éowyn pleaded. Clad in her nightgown and clutching a candle in her hand, she stood in the open doorway of her husband’s study. He sat at his desk, surrounded by a mountain of papers.

“I will come soon. I must finish this draft of the treaty with the Easterlings, so I can work solely on my recommendations for the King's new appointments to Council.”

“Surely you can finish the treaty tomorrow before you leave,” Éowyn questioned.

“I dislike going to bed with the kingdom's work unfinished,” Faramir protested. ” Since it is the one duty my lord seems to still trust me to do, I must do it properly. Then, I need to have a bath.”

“I thought you had one this morning?” Éowyn frowned. “Is your back paining you again? How I wish Aragorn were treating you! Shall I try to ease it for you when you come to bed? ”

“No, my love, I am well,” Faramir inwardly cursed himself for revealing his weakness. “ I have only had the occasional twinge these past months. It is the heat, it makes me feel sticky.”

“Well, why do you insist on always wearing that thick heavy nightshirt to bed then?” Éowyn demanded.

“You know it was always my custom, my love,” Faramir replied. ”But you are right. I will have the tailors send for some lighter cloth.”

“You should wear silk instead of linen then,” Éowyn urged.

“You look fair in silk, my lady but I do not!” Faramir said, smiling at the vision his beautiful wife presented in her almost transparent white silk nightgown, her golden hair tumbling around her shoulders, shining in the candle's glow. ”I will join you just as soon as I have read through the provisions on trade once more.”

“You are merely trying to delay coming to bed until you are too exhausted to dream,” Éowyn retorted, “ I can see through you easily, husband! What troubles you so?” She went over to his desk and added her candle to those already burning on the table. She then came to stand behind her lord, resting her hands on his tense shoulders.

“Almost every time I close my eyes, I see the King crying out in pain while I stand there with my hand raised against him. I see Gondor aflame and falling to ruin through my weakness!” Faramir answered, finally turning to face her. "Despite my good intentions, I still betrayed my King and the oath I swore to him. I have forfeited my honour forever in his eyes.”

“Aragorn will forgive you one day.” Éowyn said soothingly. “All will be as it was before, if only you allow it! I am certain that he still loves you as his son.”

“I see the hurt and bewilderment in his eyes still. My uncle believes me devoid of honour and has cut me off from all his house, save the revenues from my mother's dower lands.” Faramir replied, “I was not vigilant enough to secure the realm that I steward. I must see it never happens again. And if I am still dear to the King, why will he not let me come to him?”

“I believe Aragorn thought it would be better for you to stay in your own domain until the rebellion faded from the people's memory,” Éowyn soothed.

“The people will always remember me as the treacherous Steward who was lucky not to hang!” Faramir exclaimed bitterly.” He rubbed his eyes as he spoke.

“You should not fret so,” Éowyn chided. “You saved the King at great risk to yourself. What would have happened if you had not gone to that cursed lodge and pretended to join in those fiends' treachery? They would have tortured Aragorn to death! Eldarion would have been left fatherless, and all of Gondor would have suffered."

“How can you ever understand the full horror of my deeds?” Faramir asked sadly.

“I do understand that you are so weary that you will no doubt draft a law transferring power to your hounds if you work any longer tonight!” Éowyn said firmly, “Come to bed now. I promise I will wake you if you have another nightmare. I am sure you will find Aragorn in a better mood when you see him again.”

“I wish I could stay here with you rather than return to the City tomorrow,” Faramir said gloomily.

Éowyn raised her eyebrows; “You honour me, but I thought your heart lay in the City of your birth. Then what of Aragorn? He has need of you.”

“I see in my people’s eyes that they consider me a traitor!” Faramir said sadly. “I have lost what I held most dear, my reputation and the love of a man who is the greatest of our age!”

Éowyn grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, not noticing how he flinched. “You should not heed idle gossip!” she chided, “They will soon find better occupation for their loose, spiteful tongues! I do not think Aragorn bears a grudge against you, he is too great a man. If he seems remote at times; he is still recovering from his ordeal. Come to bed, my love, you ride out early tomorrow at noon and must rise early.”

“Very well but I must bathe first!” “ He rose to his feet sighing and blew out the candles, then allowed his wife to lead him unresisting to their chambers. “How can Aragorn ever trust me again?" “You are weary and overwrought. Put such dark thoughts aside and rejoice that soon you will see the King again,” said Éowyn. ”Tomorrow you will see him and the City you love once more.”

TBC

Author's Notes:

Eowyn's future broodmare Snowflower is inspired by LC ALWAL YASMEEN, a lovely Arabian mare belonging to Huffman's Arabians, see her at “http://www.theoriginalseries.com/mearas.htm“under the name "Ninquelote".

Tawarwaith is a Sindarin term for the Silvan Elves, the people of Mirkwood ruled by the Sindar house of Oropher