I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my
help.

- Bible: Psalm 121.1
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.

The next morning, when Arwen knew her husband was safely occupied meeting the Ambassador from Khand, she summoned Faramir to her sitting room.Within moments of receiving the message, he presented himself tohisQueen.

“My lady,” the Steward bowed low to greet her.

“Do sit down, Faramir. Would you like some iced apple juice?” Arwen gestured to a chair directly opposite hers.

“Thank you, my lady.” Faramir sat down on the edge of the chair, looking ill at ease.

After sending the servants away, Arwen herself poured two goblets of the refreshing liquid from the ewer laid ready on the table. She handed one to the Steward and then sat studying him for a few moments while he drank. “How are you feeling, Faramir?” she asked after a short silence. “Do not tell me you are well, for I can plainly see that you are not!”

Faramir sighed deeply. His sad grey eyes tried to evade her gaze while he sought a suitable reply.

“Maybe, a better question would be to ask about how you feel concerning Estel’s treatment of you?” she asked shrewdly.

“The King has been most gracious and merciful to me,” Faramir replied steadfastly.

“You do not resent your exile these past months?” the Queen demanded more forcefully.

“No, my lady. Had my father ruled here, it would have gone very differently for me.”

“Would it?” Arwen asked sharply, putting down her glass.

“Indeed, my lady. I would have been executed as a traitor, whatever the reasons for my actions.”

“Are you a traitor? Can Estel truly trust you?” Arwen asked relentlesslyrising to her feet and towering over the Steward.

“My lady, I was ever true in my heart!” Faramir protested, momentarily forgetting that etiquette demanded that he rise too. “Forgive, my lady,” he said, jumping up and almost knocking over the glass in his agitation. He stood and met her eyes.” You have the power to read my thoughts, my lady,” he said, “If you doubt my loyalty, I beg of you to sift my heart .You will find no disloyalty there to my lord! Bitterly doI regret causing him pain, but never was I false in my heart! His welfare, and that of Gondor was and is, ever my chief concern.”

Arwen suddenly smiled and took the Steward’s hands between her own. “I believe you, Faramir,” she said gently. “I just needed to be certain before I ask a favour of you. You are a brave man indeed, to be willing to endure my intrusion in your mind despite the pain it caused you before.”

“I would endure any pain to convince you and the King of my faith!” Faramir said fervently. “Ask of me what you will, my lady!”

Arwen refilled their glasses with the now cool, rather than iced juice. She gestured for Faramir to sit as she settled down on her chair again.

“You must have noticed that Estel does not look well,” she confided.

Faramir nodded, fear apparent in his eyes.

“My brothers, the finest Healers now on Arda, cannot aid him, “ she continued, “ But I believe that you can.”

“Alas, I am no Healer, my lady as Aragorn, um the King well knows.” Faramir looked bewildered.

“Estel is healed in body but not in soul,” Arwen explained,” I believe he needs time away from this stone city to restore his spirits. I have been studying the lore of old and believe he needs to seek the guidance of the One by visiting the Hallow on the Mountain, followed by some time of reflection in the wilderness. I would not have him go alone and I believe you are the best person to accompany him. I believe you would guard him with your life.”

“Indeed, I would my lady and most gladly, but he would not wish for my company.” Faramir said sadly.

“ You are the only one who could go with him. Only those of Elendil’s line may visit the Hallow of the Kings.”

“But I am not of royal lineage, “ Faramir protested. “Were the House of Húrin of Elendil’s Line, I believe my longfathers would have claimed the throne of Gondor centuries ago.”

“Maybe those of your Line are not be heirs of Elendil under the law of Gondor, but you would be counted as such in Númenor,” said Arwen. “Anárion had a daughter who was the ancestress of your House. Your lineage may not be as pure as Estel’s but your family was ultimately of Kingly origin. I have been studying the history of the Hurinionath.”

“Even if I do bear the blood of Elendil in my veins, the King can hardly stand to have me in his sight!” said Faramir somewhat bitterly. “ I would follow him to the farthest reaches of Arda but he would bid me stay in Ithilien!”

“I believe he needs you at his side in order to heal his soul,” the Queen said. “You are Thought Bonded and you require each other in order to be whole. Estel knew that full well, when he offered you that Gift. It is not the natural order of things that those thus bonded should not be in harmony and take pleasure in each other’s close companionship. That is the main reason why my brothers have lingered here, so that their Bond with me would remain unbroken while I live.

“The King gave me that precious Gift and yet I could not use it to aid him,” Faramir said sorrowfully. “Maybe it was wasted on me as my father always said it would be!”

Arwen leaned across and again gripped Faramir’s hand. “Indeed no, mellon nin!” she exclaimed, “Quite the contrary! You have already used the Thought Bond. With further use and practise, you will learn how to use it even better. Remember, Estel has had over seventy years to hone his mental skills. It was quite remarkable that he reached you as he did, after so few months of communicating by thought alone.”

Faramir flushed with pleasure at such praise.

“After you have made your pilgrimage, I would like Estel to ride out into the countryside and travel as a Ranger again for a time, far from the strictures of court life. Alone in the wilds, you will have to depend on each other again. When one has to hunt for one’s food and constantly search for water, there is little time to brood! As a former Ranger yourself, you will make the ideal companion for him!”

“I will try to be,” Faramir promised, still looking doubtful. “I still do not think he would wish for such a trip in my company!”

“I will persuade him of its importance,” said the Queen. “He cannot plead his duties as excuse not to go. As you well know, after this afternoon’s meeting, the Council will not be held again for several weeks when the remade Council will meet for the first time. Your uncle and I can deal with the daily responsibilities of running the country; both your staff and Estel's have eased the process along the lines you both requested. So he has no reason to refuse my suggestion. You can leave either tomorrow or the day after. You have a good horse with you have you not?”

“Yes, my lady. Zachus is a fine mount, though not much to look upon.”

Arwen smiled, remembering how invaluable the supposed cart-horse had been in rescuing her husband.

“One final thing, Faramir, as yet, I would rather Estel did not know of this conversation. It would be wise tofeign some reluctance when he asks you to accompany you.”

“Yes, my lady,” Faramir replied, wondering how many more deceptions the Queen would demand of him for Aragorn’s goodBut the shaft had already flown from the bow on that matter. At least, this time, the deception was a mild one and would aid in Aragorn's healing, rather than cause any injury.

The Queen rose to her feet. So too, did Faramir, flinching slightly as he moved.

Arwen wondered if she should insist the Steward see a Healer before departing. She decided it perhapsit would be better to leave Faramir as he was. She had trodden on Faramir's pride enough for one day, and he was strong enough to walk and ride, which was all that would be required of him.

“May the Stars light your way! ” Arwen again grasped Faramir’s hand as she blessed him.

Taking leave of the troubled Steward, the Queen returned to the nursery where she had left Eldarion in his nursemaid's charge. It had been a gamble to first tell Faramir of her plan, but now there could be no turning back Already she wondered however she could persuade her husband to go.

She knew she would miss him greatly and worry about his safety. However, she was wise enough to know that this might be the only way that the vigorous man she married could be restored to her.

How could she sit idly by, watching her Estel fade as his confidence ebbed and his suspicions rose with each long day and restless night? The accursed traitors had not only weakened his bond with Faramir, but had sucked out Estel's ability to trust both himself and his people.

She thought sadly of her mother, now healed and happy in Elvenhome, but forever lost to her. Of late, Arwen's troubled thoughts had focussed more and more on Celebrian's suffering, raising her own unvoiced fears. She knew only too well that a damaged body could be healed far more easily than a tortured mind. To send Aragorn into the wilds with only Faramir to companion him would incur a certain risk. Yet to do nothing would surely expose her beloved husband to even greater peril.

Aragorn paced the living room relentlessly. He then strode over to the window and leaned out for perhaps the twelfth time that day.

He gazed out morosely over towards the mountains, their peaks rising above the haze shrouded City. Having spent most of his life in the North, he found the heat in Minas Tirith well nigh unbearable, but never more so than at present.

Arwen, much better able to endure extremes of temperature, sat calmly fanning her baby son.

“What do you seek?” she enquired.

“To see if there be any sign of rain; but there is none.”

”The rain will surely come soon.”

“I cannot even go and swim in the river, lest any man see me as I am now!” Aragorn complained, and sighed. “These walls are crushing me!”

Arwen realised he was giving her the perfect opportunity to put her plan into action.

The King paced the room again, then, frustrated, pounded the table with his fist, causing a pearl-inlaid silver vase to wobble precariously. Arwen grabbed the vase and steadied it. The vase, now filled with fresh flowers, was a family heirloom, made in Menegroth for the wedding of Celeborn and Galadriel, and later passed lovingly to their daughter and finally to their grand-daughterShe took a deep breath. “I have read that when the Kings of old were troubled, they would go to the Hallows in the mountains and seek the blessing of the One,” said Arwen. “Why do you not take Faramir to the place where our new Tree was born, and seek peace together?”

“I can never find peace! “ Aragorn snapped. “Too much has happened. Faramir has changed and so have I. Why speak of Faramir? Only those of the line of Elendil should visit that sacred place!”

”Gandalf walked there with you, so why not your Steward?” Arwen replied. “He too bears the blood of Westernesse in generous measure. His descent through Anárion’s daughter makes him the scion of Kings and thus permitted to set foot in the Holy Places! Now go and play at being Rangers again with Faramir for awhile before you drive me to distraction!” the Queen said.

Aragorn stopped pacing, surprised at her words. “There is nothing I would like better than walk alone in the wilds. Alas, I no longer have that freedom!” he sighed. "I will breathe some athelas vapour. The herb always lightens my spirits.”

“You have done little else but inhale athelas these past months; yet still your heart is heavy,” Arwen retorted. “You can be spared from the daily responsibilities of kingship while everyone is occupied with the harvest. Faramir's staff and your own have worked together well in the past. And I assure you that after almost five hundred years as the Lady of Rivendell, I am quite capable of hosting the visiting ambassadors and trade delegations. Imrahil has been a diplomat and negotiator for most of his life, and he will stay by my side. It is not as if you would accomplish much work in your present state, for you are too restless! Go and ask Faramir to ascend the mountain with you! You will at least be cooler there!”

“I will go to the Hallow if you think that might aid me,” Aragorn conceded. “However, I would rather make the journey alone; since I was accustomed to solitude for many a long year.”

“You were not King then. You must not go alone lest some further ill befall you, ”Arwen sternly reminded him. "Faramir will guard you well."

“Faramir was working hard when I last looked in on him; he would not wish to stop work to roam in the wilds,” the King declared, trying a different tactic to dissuade Arwen from her purpose.

“Well then, either send Faramir home to Ithilien, which seems unreasonable since he has only just returned to the City, or take him to the Hallow,” Arwen insisted. "It is easy to see that you are trying to avoid him. I have watched you treat Easterlings who once fought against us with more courtesy. And then there are the nightmares."

Aragorn flushed slightly.

“If it troubles you that he is no longer the man he was when you first met, remember that he sacrificed that innocence for you,” Arwen said quietly,” And from what I know of Faramir, he is still wracked with guilt over what he had to do to save you! He deserves your love, not your disapproval!”

“But I do love him,” Aragorn whispered more to himself than to Arwen. “I pardoned him even though he betrayed me. I know I owe him my life!”

“Maybe that is what troubles you?” Arwen observed shrewdly.

“He had to care for meas if I werea babe in arms,” Aragorn said, not looking at his wife. “Then when he found me... “ his voice trailed away. “No one should have had to see me like that! “ He shuddered at the memory.

“Someone had to care for you, Estel, if not Faramir, would you have preferred little Elbeth to attend you?” Arwen replied.” Do not let your pride destroy your friendship; you have cared for Faramir through as bad or worse.”

“But how can I trust him again after what he did?”

“You are making excuses!” Arwen accused, though the sudden touch of her soft hand on his face lessened the harshness of her words. “ You need to be reconciled with Faramir, if not for your own sake, for the good of Gondor. Only then will your soul heal. Go now, find your Steward, and go out with him into the wilds until you can settle what lies between you! Take him to your heart again as a son!

Faramir’s eyes briefly lit up when the King told him they were to leave the next morning before resuming their now habitual haunted expression. “I would be glad to accompany you, my lord!” he replied dutifully before throwing a guilty glanceat the heap of documents on his desk. “However, I really cannot leave the paperwork before tomorrow though. There are the details of the new law concerning trade tariffs to finish, and the treaty with the Easterlings (and the restoration of the gate on the third level and …”

“Your King commands you to forget them all for a while!” Aragorn interrupted harshly.” Imrahil can oversee such routine matters, and you have picked the new clerks on your staff most wisely. I need you to come. The Queen will fret if I go alone.

“I will gladly honour your lady’s wishes,” Faramir replied, not certain if he was glad or sorry that the Queen’s plan had obviously worked. He hardly knew how he should act in the King’s presence any longer.

Faramir turned to glare at the stack of papers, then gatheredthem up and thrust them into an already overstuffed drawer in his desk.

“Who am I to dispute an order from my King?” he said, “I will accompany you, sire, though I do not know how I will ever catch up with thetasks that await me!”

Aragorn clapped him awkwardly on the shoulder and Faramir flinched as if struck.

The King sighed. Thejourney would feel endless in this man’s company. Why would Arwen not let him go alone? Faramir was nearly the last one, dwarf, elf, hobbit or man, on Arda that he would choose to accompany him. “We leave at first light tomorrow, Aragorn said gruffly. “You had better go and prepare.”

TBC

A/N

A very big thank you for your kind and much appreciated comments.

I am aware that Faramir said his family were not of the line of Elendil in LOTR, but in HOME Tolkien suggested they were of royal origin. As Gondor only seems to reckon descent trough the male line, it seemed feasible that Faramir could be descended from a granddaughter of Elendil’s. I have included further details on my LJ.

Also on my LJ is a new quiz, results of the last one and some film stills that seem to fit my current chapter well. You are warmly invited to visit.

From now on, updates will probably be less frequent, but I hope of better quality. Most of the story already exists in draft form.


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Chapter Three
Luft! Luft!
Mir erstickt das Herz!
Öffne! Öffne dort weit!

(Air! Air! My heart is suffocating! Open! Open wide there!) - Wagner – Tristan und Isolde. Act 1,scene 1.

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

Dedicated to Laerien
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
“No, Faramir, no!” Aragorn cried, his hands flailing at empty air.

“Estel, wake up!” In what had becomean all too familiar ritual, Arwen rolled over to his side of the bed and attempted to rouse her husband. First she tried calling his name. Then she shook him, though gently.Only when it was apparent that neither of these methods would work, did she dip her fingersin the glass of water on the bedside table and sprinkle a few drops on her husband’s face.

“Whuh? Arwen? ” He awoke with a start and sat bolt upright, breathing heavily as if he had come straight from battle. The candle, which was now always kept burning throughout the night, starkly illuminated his haggard features.

“You were having a bad dream,” the Queen said quietly, gently stroking his sweat-drenched brow tosoothe him..

“I am stifling, I need air!” Aragorn cried.

Arwen quickly moved off the bed and pattered over to the windows. Sighing, she pulled back the curtains and flung open the shutters. A faint, soft breeze wafted into the stuffy room.

Eldarion, roused by his father’s cries and sensing both parents’ distress, started to scream.

Arwen lifted the sobbing child from his cradle, then returned to the bed. With one arm she held her son against her,and wrapped the other around her husband. She could feel Aragorn’s slender body shaking slightly beneath the thin nightshirt he wore. “Hush now!” she soothed, not quite certain whether her husband or child were most in need of comfort.

“I am sorry, vanimelda,” Aragorn said contritely. He reached for the glass of water and drained it.

“Was it that dream again?” Arwen asked.

Aragorn nodded.” It is always the same; one of the rebel lords is advancing towards me with either a knife or a branding iron and then they turn into Faramir! I lie bound and helpless, powerless to resist. Somehow I break my bonds. I then draw Andúril; but instead of choosing to spare Faramir, I drive it through his heart! Next, I am on the edge of a chasm and you are holding my hand, keeping me from falling, but I stumble. Faramir, still impaled by my sword, crawls towards me and reaches out a ghostly hand. I cannot grasp it and I plunge into the abyss.” He shuddered, the horror of the dream still lying heavily upon him.” I think I will change my nightshirt,” he sighed, sliding from her grasp. “I will send for some hot water to steep athelas.”

“You rely too much on the herb,” Arwen cautioned.

“It helps ease me,” Aragorn replied a trifle petulantly. “Maybe then I will get some sleep.”

“The servants need their sleep too,” the Queen replied, offering the still howling Eldarion her breast. He had ceased to need feeding during the night several months ago, but she hoped the warm milk might soothe him back to sleep.

“Eldarion will have roused half the household by now!” Aragorn retorted, pulling on his robe and calling for hot water to be brought.

Arwen withheld herreply, then began singing a low, sweet lullaby to their son.

Moments later, Aragorn emerged from his bathing chamber, clad in a fresh nightshirt and wiping his face with a towel. He took the steaming water from the sleepy-eyed servant at the door, then placed the bowl on the bedside table and steeped the leaves within it.

The King’s tense features slowly relaxed as the sweet scent of the herb filled the chamber. He climbed back in bed beside his wife and son.

“It will take time for the nightmares to fade,” Arwen soothed, placing her free arm around him again. “Does your shoulder still pain you?”

“A little,” he answered tersely.

“Let me see; maybe I can ease it for you?” Arwen suggested.

“There is no need, it is not that painful tonight!”

“Why do you still dream about it if that is so? Come, I would see it!” Releasing her grip on her husband, while still holding a now drowsyEldarion, Arwen reached to light more candles, flooding the room with light.

Aragorn shook his head.” No, I will not let my son see me thus! I am too ashamed. I would not give an innocent babe nightmares too!”

“Nonsense!” chided Arwen. “Eldarion is far too young to notice the scar and even if he did, it would scarce trouble him.” Nevertheless, she slid from the bed and carefully put thenow sleeping Eldarion back into his cradle.” Your son should grow up familiar with your body; he needs to know whom he will grow up to resemble.”

“He must never see this scar!” Aragorn said adamantly. “It makes me less than a man! When the twins return, I shall ask them to either cut it out or brand something more fitting over the cursed mark, such as the winged crown or the White Tree!”

“Estel!” Arwen exclaimed in horror,” You cannot! You must not! Why undergo such needless pain? Have you not suffered enough already?"

“I cannot go through life like this!” Aragorn retorted grimly. “Yes, I am weary of pain but the brand is a humiliation past all endurance.”

"Then let me see it, Estel, please,” Arwen persisted in a quiet, firm voice he could not contradict.

Hesitantly, Aragorn unlaced his nightshirt, reluctant to allow his beautiful, flawless bride to look again upon such ugliness.

Arwen, determined to wait no longer, slid the garment from his shoulders, revealing the scar that so troubled her husband. It was some time since she had seen him thus. It had always been his custom to disrobe in his dressing room and since his ordeal, he had been more eager than ever to conceal his body from her eyes. She bit back an involuntary cry of dismay at the sight of Aragorn's near naked body. His handsome form was still sadly wasted while the scar appeared angry and inflamed.

“Look! “ he exclaimed bitterly, “This is the man you are now wed to, branded like a bullock ready for market! You were dealt a bad bargain indeed, when you renounced your immortality for such a poor stick of a man! If your brothers cannot heal me, there are none that can. How they must pity their sister, bound eternally to a maimed king!”

“Estel!” she chided, “I care nothing for outward appearances.” She traced slender fingers across his shoulders and down his chest, observing that the scar was cool to the touch despite its appearance. “I see only the shoulders that bravely bear the heaviest burden on Arda and the noblest heart that ever beat!” Sadly, she noted that he remained impassive to her touch, when once he would have quivered with desire. She bent to tenderly kiss the disfigurement.

“No!” Aragorn commanded, hastily pulling his nightshirt up to cover himself once more. “You must not sully your lips by letting them touch this mark of evil!”

“Are you sure it is evil?” Arwen queried. ”Might it not be a mark of love?”

“Love?” Aragorn snorted. “A strange kind of love indeed! More like hatred, betrayal, or cowardice!”

“You should not blame Faramir, “Arwen rebuked gently. “ Had he not done this, you would never have escaped. I would, by far, rather have you scarred than dead. It was I who told him to do anything to save you, whatever the cost!”

“How can I not blame Faramir when every day I have to live with the consequences of his actions?” Aragorn responded bitterly. “I have let him return to the City as you begged. I have even allowed him to eat at my table! He knows by my actions that he has my forgiveness. How much more I am expected to do for the man? Must I invite him to sleep beside me, share my thoughts, or perhaps lavish more Elven treatments upon him?”

“That might do you both good,” Arwen said calmly.

“I think not!” Aragorn snapped.

“Time will bring peace to you both; yet, only when you allow it to, shall this wound be healed,” Arwen pronounced cryptically.

“I do not understand you.” Aragorn sounded bewildered.

“You forgive Faramir with your lips,but not with your heart!” Arwen replied.

Aragorn opened his mouth to protest but his wife silenced him.

“ If your nightmares did not reveal it, it was all too plain to see at dinner tonight and afterwards. If you truly have forgiven him, why do you deny him your kiss?”

“He does not want it!” Aragorn protested, “He shuns my touch.”

“As you shun his. You fear to touch lest you see in each other’s hearts,” she replied, “You are both hurting too much.”

. “There is much that he did he refuses to explain. My memory is clouded still of those dark days. I do not even know all that happened to me at his hands!” Aragorn said vehemently. “I do know though, it was Faramir who branded me and caused me pain!”

“And at what cost to Faramir's own soul? A terrible cost, I fear. I wish I could have spared so bright and pure a soul the darkness to which I doomed him. But there was no other who could have gone willingly into that treasonous web and brought you out alive. But none could have foreseen just how dark Faramir's path would be.” She blew out all but one of the candles, then lay down and lovingly drew Aragorn into her arms.

“Does Gondor even want a king?“ Aragorn mused. “They survived under the rule of the Stewards for almost a thousand years.Faramir's own father thought me unworthy of my ancestors’ throne. Imrahil told me about the celebration the Steward’s heir threw upon Thorongil’s leaving. Denethor had never before appeared so overjoyed, not even at his wedding feast. It was the talk of the Court for weeks on end: the lavish refreshments and beautiful dancing girls. Denethor was laughing and telling his guests to rejoice! ”

“Yet, I heard that everyone save Denethor alone, were grieved by Thorongil’s departure. Faramir eagerly awaited your coming, and he is wiser by far than his father ever was,” Arwen reminded him. “Your people love you, far more than they ever loved Denethor.”

Aragorn nuzzled against her hair. "I used to dream of becoming king. I even dreamed of Faramir handing the White Rod to me. At first, I only wanted the throne to win your hand. As the long years passed, I wanted it for myself, to give my people a better life by reuniting Arnor and Gondor. I expected years of resistance from the South and East. Never did I believe that my own people would strike against me, and not only once, but twice within one year! Was I too harsh a lord or too lenient a one? I have had to disband half my council! If only Gandalf, or your father, were still here to advise me! The crown is indeed a heavy weight to bear!”

“You will find your own way, Estel and become the greatest of kings!” Arwen reassured him, kissing him tenderly.

“I love you, so much, my Evenstar. Whatever would I do without you? “ Aragorn whispered. Relaxing into her tender embrace, his head buried in her silken hair, Aragorn was finally granted a few hours of the restful sleep he desperately needed.

However, he awoke again just before dawn, finding the air in the chamber oppressive. Taking care not to disturb his wife or son, he slid from the bed and putting on his robe, went out on the balcony, where brooding, he paced until the sun rose and he heard Arwen calling him.

While her husband was bathing, Arwen gave Eldarion into the care of his nurse, then made what had become a now familiar trip to the Royal Library to consult her father’s books.

The Queen had frequently consulted the volumes on healing, ever since their return to Minas Tirith, reading the same passages over and over, as she sought some knowledge that might help her husband. They gave her little solace. And some of the old writings stabbed fear into her heart.

‘When two who were Thought Bonded become estranged through sorrowful misunderstanding, the souls can sometimes suffer so much damage that both might fade.’ The passage applied to Elves rather than Men, but looking at both Aragorn and Faramir now, especially after last night, she feared greatly that it indeed applied to both.

Turning the page, she perused the suggested remedies. ’Three nights confined together, sealed in a cave might promote a reconciliation,’ she read. That was certainly not a suitable treatment for anyone as fearful of enclosed spaces as Estel had become. ’Wrestling together, preferably naked, will overcome most rifts, ’ the book continued. Arwen hardly knew whether to laugh or cry, at the unlikelihood of two extremely shy Menever agreeing to such a thing. She turned the page again. ’Elven massage promotes reconciliation and soothes both mind and body,’ the book advised. Foolish advice indeed for two who seemed unable to touch each other!

Arwen had to restrain herself from hurling the fragile old text across the room.

Sighing, she picked up another book, a history of the Kings of the Edain, from Elros Tar-Minyatur of Númenor,her father’s beloved brother, to Eärnur, the last King of Gondor. She flicked through it idly, wondering why she had grasped a history instead of another text about healing. She was about to close it and return it to its place, when a passage caught her eye. ’In days past,’ she read with mounting excitement, ‘it was the tradition for the King to go alone to the Hallow upon the Mountain and offer thanks and praise to the One on behalf of his people and seek renewal of his own strength by so doing. Long has this tradition fallen into abeyance but it is foretold that the lineal priest kings (of whom Lúthien the Fair was a foremother) will be restored and the worship of the One renewed.’

Eyes aglow, Arwen closed the book. At last, she had an idea.

TBC

A/N. The final passage is a quote from one of Tolkien’s letters.

For those of you not on author alerts, I have written a short story about Boromir called “The Slave of the Ring”, also on this site.

I wish to make this story more polished than my previous ones (which I am reworking on another site) so updates might be slightly less frequent.

Further background information, polls and quizzes are on my LJ, which I warmly invite you to visit, try the polls and quizzes and post any comments you might have.

With thanks to Julia for her ideas for Denethor’s party.

The Slave of the Ring

The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.No profit has been,nor will be made from this story.



Jeder giere nach seinem Gut,
doch keiner genieße mit Nutzen sein!
Ohne Wucher hüt' ihn sein Herr;
doch den Würger zieh' er ihm zu!
Dem Tode verfallen, feßle den Feigen die Furcht:
solang er lebt, sterb' er lechzend dahin,
des Ringes Herr als des Ringes Knecht:

All shall lust to possess it, but none shall delight in its use! Without gain, its lord shall guard it; it will draw his executioner to him! Destined to die, let fear fetter the coward; so long as he lives he shall pine for death, the Lord of the Ring as the slave of the Ring ; - Wagner- Das Rheingold. Scene 4
Aragorn was obviously deeply distressed over Mithrandir’s, or the old meddler’s- as my father always called him – death, that he should neglect the needs of the Halflings. He stopped only when Legolas called attention to their plight.

We saw then that Frodo and Sam were obviously injured. Blood was trickling down Sam’s face, while Frodo was breathing with some difficulty. It surprised me the Ringbearer yet lived. Maybe my eyes had deceived me in the darkness of Moria and the spear had but caught in his clothing.

Full of apologies, Aragorn scooped up Frodo in his arms. He demanded then I do likewise with Sam. The son of Arathorn had immediately proclaimed himself leader when Mithrandir fell. I knew someone had to be in charge, but why had they not turned to me, the Captain General of Gondor?

This weatherworn ranger claims to be the heir to the throne of our Realm. He seems to forget that Pelendur rejected Arvedui’s claim in the days of our longfathers. I imagine my father will dismiss Aragorn’s with equal certainty. I can scarce believe that this Northern Chieftain should dare to command me, the Heir to the Stewardship as if I were already one of his underlings!

I let it pass for the time being, for I have little knowledge of this region, whereas Aragorn does.

Still carrying Frodo, Aragorn led the way into a dell surrounded by pine trees, where we finally stopped to rest. It was a pleasant spot, sheltered and secluded, with a stream flowing through it.

I half expected him to order me next to fetch firewood or water; however, he assigned that task to Legolas and the younger Hobbits, while Aragorn himself set about tending Frodo and Sam’s hurts.

I lay back against a tree and closed my eyes for a moment, listening to the peaceful sound of the running stream combined with the young Hobbits’ chatter and Aragorn’s fussing over the small gardener.

I opened my eyes again, surprised when Frodo started to protest that he did not want to remove his shirt for Aragorn to examine his wounds. Strange behavior indeed for a Halfling. Only yesterday, Pippin had been telling me about running naked on the grass with Merry and Sam at the bidding of someone called Tom Bombadil. He had laughed, devoid of embarrassment, whilst telling the story, as had the others. It had been the only light moment in a fearsome tale of wraiths and long dead kings.

Hobbits were not like the men of Gondor with their modesty and inhibitions. Yet, Frodo was acting more like my little brother would, at the prospect of removing his shirt.
Rather to my surprise, given his grief for Mithrandir, Aragorn then laughed aloud. `Look, my friends!' he called. `Here's a pretty hobbit-skin to wrap an elven-princeling in! If it were known that hobbits had such hides, all the hunters of Middle-earth would be riding to the Shire.'

I rose to my feet and walked over for a closer look. My father’s would be successor was holding aloft a shining silver corslet, which shimmered in the late afternoon sunlight. When shaken, it tinkled like the bells we decorate our horses’ bridles with, when we celebrate a victory over the Enemy. Such occasions have grown few of late.

Gimli was enraptured by the sight of the shining garment. “It is a mithril-coat. Mithril! I have never seen or heard tell of one so fair, “ he exclaimed in amazement.

Little wonder, Frodo had been so loth to reveal it, for Dwarfs are renowned for their lust for Mithril. Yet, Gimli’s eyes were full of admiration, with no hint of coveting the precious metal for himself. Frodo, however, still looked uncomfortable

Aragorn then gently removed the soft leather shirt that Frodo was wearing under the mail. We all clustered round him, curious to see how well the Mithril coat had protected him from the Orc spear.

I barely noticed the bruises, which covered his chest and side; for now I could see it plainly - the Ring!

I had wanted so much to look at it again; ever since that one glimpse I had been granted at Rivendell. It was a beautiful thing; yet I could not say why, for it appeared but a plain gold circlet. The rings I wore were finer by far to look upon; but this was unique, this was different. It seemed to me the fairest thing ever wrought upon Arda since the dawning of the sun. And they planned to cast it in the fire!

If Aragorn were to come to Minas Tirith, with such a weapon to use against the Enemy, even my father would welcome him gladly. A sword reforged was not token enough to give Isildur’s heir the winged crown. However, the Ring was a different matter entirely! All of Gondor would welcome him.

I smiled to myself as I thought of Faramir. My brother was forever dreaming of the return of the King, when the White Tree would blossom again. He is such a dreamer, my little brother, for how could a dead tree come back to life? He so badly wanted this errand, but our father appeared relieved when I begged it instead. He feared Elves and old legends might turn Faramir’s head and wisely trusted my steadier judgement instead.

Yet, Aragorn appeared oblivious to the precious heirloom, seemingly focussing his attentions entirely on Frodo’s bruised ribs. The man was a fool, the Ring was within his grasp and he did not take it. Frodo would yield it willingly; for had he not said it belonged to Aragorn before the whole council?

Aragorn reached out his hand. For a moment, I thought the sight of the Ring again, had brought him to his senses. He could use it to save all of us. But no, he merely patted Frodo’s shoulder and moved away from him.

He then called for water and his eyes suddenly met mine. For a moment, I feared he could see into my soul, for suddenly his gaze hardened and became stern and cold. I never could quite fathom the man; he could be warm and gentle one moment, unyielding as granite the next. He looked so like my father, then, with the same disconcerting way of seeing into the hearts of men. I shivered, despite the now merrily blazing fire and my thick cloak.

“Help the others prepare food!” Aragorn said abruptly. “We must leave here before sunset.”

Again he was ordering me, as if I were already one of his subjects! He cast some athelas leaves in the water Legolas brought.

Our would be king then knelt in front of Frodo to bathe his wounds, blocking my view of the Ring by so doing.

The sweet scent of athelas filled the dell and the others were refreshed by it. My heart remained heavy, though, for I could think of nothing save the Ring. From that day forward, it haunted my thoughts.

The End

A/N The idea for this ficlet has been in my head for a long time, but only last night did it come to me how I might write it. I doubt I will return to Boromir as Aragorn and Faramir appeal to me more, though I shall, no doubt further polish and revise this as I do all my stories. The dialogue in italics is taken directly from Tolkien’s book.

I hope to return to “A Time to Reap” within the week, all being well.

This story also appears on my LJ together with the myth that inspired both Tolkien’s book and Wagner’s opera’s.