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
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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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Sunday, August 27, 2006
Friday, August 18, 2006
All men are equal before fish. - Herbert Hoover
These Characters are the property of the Estate of J. R. R Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This story has been written for pleasure and no profit has or will be made from it.
Let's go down to the water's edge
And we can cast away those doubts
Some things are better left unsaid
But they still turn me inside out -
Why by Annie Lennox:
With very grateful thanks to Raksha for all her hard work in editing this chapter and support for this story.
Aragorn could feel Faramir's pulse increase rapidly as he tightened his hold. The ugly reddened patches extended from the Steward’s shoulders down his right arm. Aragorn was hit by a wave of sharp, unexpectedself-loathing. He had not faced Faramir as King and friend, but as a judge condemning the lowest of miscreants. He had never subjected even enemy warriors to such humiliation! Rather than strike back, Aragorn drew the angry Steward into a fatherly embrace, knowing full well that the contact might enable Faramir to sense all his thoughts and the darkness therein. Better though, that all should be revealed than that they should come to blows, which they would forever regret.
Faramir tried to break free but was restrained by his King's firm yet gentle grip. Aragorn held him tightly, guiding Faramir's head against his uninjured shoulder.
“What have I become?” Faramir whispered, blinking back the tears as he continued to struggle.
“What you always were, you still are,” Aragorn whispered. Despite his reluctance, he was sensing Faramir’s thoughts. The heart of the man he had loved, as a son was unchanged. Faramir's mind held no hint of treachery, only sorrow at his own deeds and intense pain and frustration at Aragorn's coldness.
“I was about to strike you, my King!” Faramir said brokenly. The urge to resist left him as suddenly as it had come, and he went limp in Aragorn’s arms.
“You did not, though,” Aragorn said, releasing him. Much as he realised they needed to lay bare their souls to one another, still he sought to delay what was bound to be a trial for them both.
The Steward turned to stare at the water, its silver clarity seeming to mock his own confusion.
“You do not understand! Why did you come looking for me?” he asked. “Do you expect me to run away?” he asked bitterly.
“You would never run from anything, I know you too well.” Aragorn replied ignoring his tone. “I came to tell you not to dress before your hurts were treated. What is there to understand? You know that I have forgiven you.”
“You forgive me because you loved me once, not because you understand why!” Faramir protested.
“You are talking in riddles! This conversation is foolish!” Aragorn said sharply, remembering Arwen’s words with a pang of guilt.
“I am sorry,” Faramir’s tone was contrite now. How could he expect Aragorn to understand?
“Come then back to the camp site so your hurts can be tended! There is no point in finishing dressing now.” The King said, forcing himself to sound cheerful. Still clutching Faramir’s shirt, he marched ahead leaving Faramir to follow.
Once he reached the clearing, Aragorn sat down heavily upon the ground and buried his face in his hands. He had gone too far. What had he become to treat his Steward so poorly? He had directed his warriors to treat Easterling enemy prisoners more gently, and yet he had humiliated the man who had saved his life...the man he loved as dearly as his own child.
Arwen had been right. He had badly failed Faramir It was vital that they both come to accept what had happened, however painful.
Faramir donned his stockings and boots and picked up his tunic. He desired to wear it to cover himself, but his skin felt far too sore. He made his way back to the campsite, his footfalls heavy and his entire body feeling loathsome and uncomfortable, as if it belonged to a stranger. Faramir could not understand what he had done. Did some evil spirit possess him, or had he always harboured such treacherous rage? Whatever had caused his attack on his lord; he was deeply shamed by his furious outburst.
When he found Aragorn, the lord of the Reunited Kingdom was sitting against a great log, his face dejected and his eyes shadowed.
“I fear I have neglected to cook our breakfast, “ the King said in an expressionless tone.“ Porridge will have to suffice, this morning.” He placed a pan of water on the fire to boil, as he spoke.
“I have no objection to porridge,” Faramir said in a tone that also lacked emotion. It almost hurt to talk, but he had to ask: ”Please may I have my shirt back?”
Aragorn hesitated for a moment. Athelas would be the best remedy for Faramir’s raw skin. Yet how could he spare any of his precious leaves? He had brought a supply sufficient only for his own needs. However, at present, he felt a need to inhale some to calm his agitation. The infusion could be used to treat his Steward at the same time. “Let me see how you might be eased first,” he said, reaching a decision and taking a few leaves from his pouch, “I think this will lighten both our hearts.”
They moved to the log, and sat upon it in silence waiting for the water to heat. Faramir sat with his arms crossed defensively across his chest, while Aragorn stared fixedly at the fire. The silence was uncomfortable; the thundery air seemed to crackle with the tension between them.
Once the water was hot, Aragorn lifted the pot from the fire from the fire and placedit on the ground between them. He crumbled two athelas leaves in his hands and breathed on them. At once, a living freshness filled the air and both their hearts were somewhat lightened.
Aragorn swallowed hard and finally looked at his Steward. “I am truly sorry,” he said suddenly finding the words easy to speak,” I did not mean to insult or humiliate you like that. Can you forgive me?”
“I humiliated myself and bear you no reproach,” Faramir replied, eyes and voice dulled with sorrow. “You did not tell me to cast my towel aside and stand naked before you. I did so of my own will, forgetting myself in my anger.” He remembered how Aragorn had tended his hurts many times before and had always tried to preserve his dignity.
“I do not deny that like all men you look far better clothed!” Aragorn observed wryly.
“Obviously the One reserved beauty for females!” Faramir replied, thinking longingly of how Eowyn looked in the white silk nightgown that outlined her every curve in a most appealing manner. The nightdress was a favourite of his, so soft and light and almost transparent.
“I think the mixtureisready now ” Aragorn remarked, breaking into his Steward’s reverie.
“Very well, “ Faramir uncrossed his arms and reluctantly submitted himself to the King’s gaze.
“You must stop this scouring, it does no good!” Aragorn chided. He knelt beside his Steward and handed him the bowl of steaming water and a cloth with which to bathe the raw patches in the athelas infused water. “I order you as your King to cease hurting yourself from this day forward! Bathe your hurts with this it should ease them. I am no longer a Healer but I will give you my advice.” Although his tone was stern, his eyes showed compassion.
“I will try to obey,” Faramir answered bleakly. He felt desolate that Aragorn would no longer tend him. He knew from Sam that a patient could effectively bathe himself with the athelas infusion if the King had crumbled the leaves and prepared them. But to Faramir; it was Aragorn's own hands that had conveyed the King's healing power, with a special touch of grace that no other hands could ever give.
Aragorn mutely handed Faramir a towel and turned away while the Steward bathed his hurts.
Faramir patted himself dry, then reached for his shirt.
“Wait!” Aragorn commanded, “ Your shirt might irritate your skin unless you apply a salve. The wounds are fortunately not deep enough to require bandaging, but if you keep on scrubbing like this, you could develop a dangerous infection!”
“I understand.” Faramir tensed slightly as he watched the King rummage in his saddlebag and retrieve a jar.
“Give it me back when you have finished” he said abruptly, handing Faramir the jar of marigold ointment.
Faramir rubbed a liberal amount of the soothing cream on his chest and arms, but try as he might could not reach all over his back and shoulders.
“Give me the jar, I will do it,” Aragorn said curtly, steeling himself to suppress his revulsion at again touching his Steward.
Faramir tensed as the salve applied. Aragorn’s hands were quite gentle. However, his touch, although skilful, was completely impersonal. Somehow, that hurt far more than the damage to his skin. How could he expect it to be otherwise, though?
The Steward reached for his shirt and pulled it carefully over his head. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Once he would have embraced him but the gulf between them now made such a gesture impossible.
Aragorn sat down beside him again on the log, shuffling his feet uneasily.
Faramir glanced towards his King, noticing that Aragorn seemed to have aged over the last months. Faramir was suddenly gripped by fear. Aragorn was now ninety-one years of age. The Northern Dunedain were usually very long lived, and the King would still be considered to be in the prime of life. But could his ordeal in the traitors' clutches, including Faramir's own hands that had branded him, have withered the very life within Aragorn? What if the King's torment had shortened his natural span, and allowed the years to mark him? Faramir had seen had seen his own father age before his time. Having lost one father, he was not ready to lose another.
“What troubles you? Are you still in pain?” Aragorn queried.
“I was concerned for you, my lord,” Faramir replied, “You look careworn. And you have borne the pain of your captivity, not I!”
“You shared it with me,” Aragorn admitted rather to his surprise. Perhaps the right moment was approaching to also share his troubled thoughts?
“Shall we have breakfast now?” Faramir asked, anxious to change the subject.
Aragorn sighed Again, themoment had come and gone.
Within the next hour, it became hot even in the forest, as the sun climbed higher in the sky.
Faramir tidied away the breakfast things. ”I am ready to leave now,” he announced.
“I deem it wise to postpone my pilgrimage to the Hallow until the morrow, “ the King replied. He knew his thoughts were too troubled to approach the One this day. As for Faramir, he was in no fit condition to make the strenuous ascent. “Would you like to spend the day fishing?” he asked.
“Yes, I should enjoy that.” Faramir sighed with relief at postponing the climb.
“Where did you learn to fish?” Aragorn enquired some four hours later. They sat on the banks of the stream, a few feet apart.
“Boromir used to take me to the Anduin when I was but a small child,” Faramir replied, “We also fished in the Bay of Belfalas with Uncle Imrahil. Boromir would get a good catch while but I rarely caught anything. It seems I have better luck against you!”He gestured to his two fat trout and the one rather malnourished specimen that Aragorn had caught.
“I would have caught those had I been upstream of you!” Aragorn retorted grumpily, “ I learned to fish at Rivendell during my childhood as well. Elrohir taught me, he had more patience than his brother. The best lesson he gave was to never take more than you need and to kill quickly and humanely. The Elves respect Yavanna's gifts too much to ever take her bounty for granted.”
“A wise precept,” Faramir agreed, drawing in his rod as he felt another fish bite. “I think we have enough for today!”
“So it seems!” Aragorn conceded as he watched Faramir expertly despatch a plump trout.
After a hearty supper of fried fish, apples, and wild raspberries, they bedded down for the night once again. The air had grown almost unbearably humid, as if a storm was imminent.
“We should remain fairly sheltered here under the forest canopy if there is a storm,” Aragorn commented as he drew his blanket around him and settled down for he night. “I hope it will rain and end the drought.”
“The rain usually falls in the City rather than up here,” Faramir told him.
“Given the extent of the greenery on the mountainside, I doubt it!” With that, Aragorn snorted, and turned his back on Faramir as a signal he was ready to sleep.
Faramir was awakened several hours later, not by the expected downpour but by piercing screams. He leapt swiftly to his feet and drew his sword, trying to get his bearings in the darkness. The moon and stars were overcast and only the dying embers of the fire provided a very faint illumination.
To his alarm, he then recognised Aragorn’s voice crying his name. Hastily, he kindled a torch and hastened to the King’s side fearing he was under attack. Only then did he realise that Aragorn was dreaming.
“How could you Faramir? Do not mark me!” Aragorn cried as he thrashed around wildly.
Faramir realized in horror that Aragorn was reliving the moment he had branded him. Remembering the King’s aversion to the dark, he swiftly threw more logs on the fire. Then Faramir knelt at Aragorn’s side. Capturing Aragon's arms in as gentle a grip as possible, Faramir said: “Wake up, my King, it is I, Faramir!”
Wild eyed and still half asleep, Aragorn tried to push him away. ”No, not you, no!” he cried, with a terrorthat tore at the Steward’s heart.
“Peace, dear lord, never did I willingly harm you!” The Steward was now near to tears, seeing his King so distressed. Months had passed since that dreadful night, but time had obviously not lessened Aragorn’s pain.
Aragorn opened his eyes abruptly, blinking in confusion. He quieted, and came fully awake. "Ah, Faramir,” he said softly. "I am sorry. It was a nightmare, nothing more."
Faramir, still gripping the King's arms, could feel him tremble, even through several layers of clothing.
Not sure whether or not it was the right thing to do or whether he would be pushed away, Faramir released his hold, helped Aragorn to a sitting position, and put his arms around his friend. He impulsively desired to comfort the one who had been both father and brother to him these past years Tenderly, he smoothed the sweat stained hair away from Aragorn's pale face.
Without thinking, Aragorn, soothed by the touch, leaned his aching headagainst his Steward's brow. In that brief moment, their thoughts, long sundered, began to join together once more.
TBC
A/N. A very grateful thank you to everyone who has reviewed. Each and every comment is greatly appreciated. I love to know what you think of the story and whether you are enjoying it or not.
As yet, no one has all the answers correct in my quiz, so I am leaving it open until I have a few more entries. You can find it at my LJ (lindahoyland) together with more polls, quizzes and background information.
These Characters are the property of the Estate of J. R. R Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This story has been written for pleasure and no profit has or will be made from it.
Let's go down to the water's edge
And we can cast away those doubts
Some things are better left unsaid
But they still turn me inside out -
Why by Annie Lennox:
With very grateful thanks to Raksha for all her hard work in editing this chapter and support for this story.
Aragorn could feel Faramir's pulse increase rapidly as he tightened his hold. The ugly reddened patches extended from the Steward’s shoulders down his right arm. Aragorn was hit by a wave of sharp, unexpectedself-loathing. He had not faced Faramir as King and friend, but as a judge condemning the lowest of miscreants. He had never subjected even enemy warriors to such humiliation! Rather than strike back, Aragorn drew the angry Steward into a fatherly embrace, knowing full well that the contact might enable Faramir to sense all his thoughts and the darkness therein. Better though, that all should be revealed than that they should come to blows, which they would forever regret.
Faramir tried to break free but was restrained by his King's firm yet gentle grip. Aragorn held him tightly, guiding Faramir's head against his uninjured shoulder.
“What have I become?” Faramir whispered, blinking back the tears as he continued to struggle.
“What you always were, you still are,” Aragorn whispered. Despite his reluctance, he was sensing Faramir’s thoughts. The heart of the man he had loved, as a son was unchanged. Faramir's mind held no hint of treachery, only sorrow at his own deeds and intense pain and frustration at Aragorn's coldness.
“I was about to strike you, my King!” Faramir said brokenly. The urge to resist left him as suddenly as it had come, and he went limp in Aragorn’s arms.
“You did not, though,” Aragorn said, releasing him. Much as he realised they needed to lay bare their souls to one another, still he sought to delay what was bound to be a trial for them both.
The Steward turned to stare at the water, its silver clarity seeming to mock his own confusion.
“You do not understand! Why did you come looking for me?” he asked. “Do you expect me to run away?” he asked bitterly.
“You would never run from anything, I know you too well.” Aragorn replied ignoring his tone. “I came to tell you not to dress before your hurts were treated. What is there to understand? You know that I have forgiven you.”
“You forgive me because you loved me once, not because you understand why!” Faramir protested.
“You are talking in riddles! This conversation is foolish!” Aragorn said sharply, remembering Arwen’s words with a pang of guilt.
“I am sorry,” Faramir’s tone was contrite now. How could he expect Aragorn to understand?
“Come then back to the camp site so your hurts can be tended! There is no point in finishing dressing now.” The King said, forcing himself to sound cheerful. Still clutching Faramir’s shirt, he marched ahead leaving Faramir to follow.
Once he reached the clearing, Aragorn sat down heavily upon the ground and buried his face in his hands. He had gone too far. What had he become to treat his Steward so poorly? He had directed his warriors to treat Easterling enemy prisoners more gently, and yet he had humiliated the man who had saved his life...the man he loved as dearly as his own child.
Arwen had been right. He had badly failed Faramir It was vital that they both come to accept what had happened, however painful.
Faramir donned his stockings and boots and picked up his tunic. He desired to wear it to cover himself, but his skin felt far too sore. He made his way back to the campsite, his footfalls heavy and his entire body feeling loathsome and uncomfortable, as if it belonged to a stranger. Faramir could not understand what he had done. Did some evil spirit possess him, or had he always harboured such treacherous rage? Whatever had caused his attack on his lord; he was deeply shamed by his furious outburst.
When he found Aragorn, the lord of the Reunited Kingdom was sitting against a great log, his face dejected and his eyes shadowed.
“I fear I have neglected to cook our breakfast, “ the King said in an expressionless tone.“ Porridge will have to suffice, this morning.” He placed a pan of water on the fire to boil, as he spoke.
“I have no objection to porridge,” Faramir said in a tone that also lacked emotion. It almost hurt to talk, but he had to ask: ”Please may I have my shirt back?”
Aragorn hesitated for a moment. Athelas would be the best remedy for Faramir’s raw skin. Yet how could he spare any of his precious leaves? He had brought a supply sufficient only for his own needs. However, at present, he felt a need to inhale some to calm his agitation. The infusion could be used to treat his Steward at the same time. “Let me see how you might be eased first,” he said, reaching a decision and taking a few leaves from his pouch, “I think this will lighten both our hearts.”
They moved to the log, and sat upon it in silence waiting for the water to heat. Faramir sat with his arms crossed defensively across his chest, while Aragorn stared fixedly at the fire. The silence was uncomfortable; the thundery air seemed to crackle with the tension between them.
Once the water was hot, Aragorn lifted the pot from the fire from the fire and placedit on the ground between them. He crumbled two athelas leaves in his hands and breathed on them. At once, a living freshness filled the air and both their hearts were somewhat lightened.
Aragorn swallowed hard and finally looked at his Steward. “I am truly sorry,” he said suddenly finding the words easy to speak,” I did not mean to insult or humiliate you like that. Can you forgive me?”
“I humiliated myself and bear you no reproach,” Faramir replied, eyes and voice dulled with sorrow. “You did not tell me to cast my towel aside and stand naked before you. I did so of my own will, forgetting myself in my anger.” He remembered how Aragorn had tended his hurts many times before and had always tried to preserve his dignity.
“I do not deny that like all men you look far better clothed!” Aragorn observed wryly.
“Obviously the One reserved beauty for females!” Faramir replied, thinking longingly of how Eowyn looked in the white silk nightgown that outlined her every curve in a most appealing manner. The nightdress was a favourite of his, so soft and light and almost transparent.
“I think the mixtureisready now ” Aragorn remarked, breaking into his Steward’s reverie.
“Very well, “ Faramir uncrossed his arms and reluctantly submitted himself to the King’s gaze.
“You must stop this scouring, it does no good!” Aragorn chided. He knelt beside his Steward and handed him the bowl of steaming water and a cloth with which to bathe the raw patches in the athelas infused water. “I order you as your King to cease hurting yourself from this day forward! Bathe your hurts with this it should ease them. I am no longer a Healer but I will give you my advice.” Although his tone was stern, his eyes showed compassion.
“I will try to obey,” Faramir answered bleakly. He felt desolate that Aragorn would no longer tend him. He knew from Sam that a patient could effectively bathe himself with the athelas infusion if the King had crumbled the leaves and prepared them. But to Faramir; it was Aragorn's own hands that had conveyed the King's healing power, with a special touch of grace that no other hands could ever give.
Aragorn mutely handed Faramir a towel and turned away while the Steward bathed his hurts.
Faramir patted himself dry, then reached for his shirt.
“Wait!” Aragorn commanded, “ Your shirt might irritate your skin unless you apply a salve. The wounds are fortunately not deep enough to require bandaging, but if you keep on scrubbing like this, you could develop a dangerous infection!”
“I understand.” Faramir tensed slightly as he watched the King rummage in his saddlebag and retrieve a jar.
“Give it me back when you have finished” he said abruptly, handing Faramir the jar of marigold ointment.
Faramir rubbed a liberal amount of the soothing cream on his chest and arms, but try as he might could not reach all over his back and shoulders.
“Give me the jar, I will do it,” Aragorn said curtly, steeling himself to suppress his revulsion at again touching his Steward.
Faramir tensed as the salve applied. Aragorn’s hands were quite gentle. However, his touch, although skilful, was completely impersonal. Somehow, that hurt far more than the damage to his skin. How could he expect it to be otherwise, though?
The Steward reached for his shirt and pulled it carefully over his head. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Once he would have embraced him but the gulf between them now made such a gesture impossible.
Aragorn sat down beside him again on the log, shuffling his feet uneasily.
Faramir glanced towards his King, noticing that Aragorn seemed to have aged over the last months. Faramir was suddenly gripped by fear. Aragorn was now ninety-one years of age. The Northern Dunedain were usually very long lived, and the King would still be considered to be in the prime of life. But could his ordeal in the traitors' clutches, including Faramir's own hands that had branded him, have withered the very life within Aragorn? What if the King's torment had shortened his natural span, and allowed the years to mark him? Faramir had seen had seen his own father age before his time. Having lost one father, he was not ready to lose another.
“What troubles you? Are you still in pain?” Aragorn queried.
“I was concerned for you, my lord,” Faramir replied, “You look careworn. And you have borne the pain of your captivity, not I!”
“You shared it with me,” Aragorn admitted rather to his surprise. Perhaps the right moment was approaching to also share his troubled thoughts?
“Shall we have breakfast now?” Faramir asked, anxious to change the subject.
Aragorn sighed Again, themoment had come and gone.
Within the next hour, it became hot even in the forest, as the sun climbed higher in the sky.
Faramir tidied away the breakfast things. ”I am ready to leave now,” he announced.
“I deem it wise to postpone my pilgrimage to the Hallow until the morrow, “ the King replied. He knew his thoughts were too troubled to approach the One this day. As for Faramir, he was in no fit condition to make the strenuous ascent. “Would you like to spend the day fishing?” he asked.
“Yes, I should enjoy that.” Faramir sighed with relief at postponing the climb.
“Where did you learn to fish?” Aragorn enquired some four hours later. They sat on the banks of the stream, a few feet apart.
“Boromir used to take me to the Anduin when I was but a small child,” Faramir replied, “We also fished in the Bay of Belfalas with Uncle Imrahil. Boromir would get a good catch while but I rarely caught anything. It seems I have better luck against you!”He gestured to his two fat trout and the one rather malnourished specimen that Aragorn had caught.
“I would have caught those had I been upstream of you!” Aragorn retorted grumpily, “ I learned to fish at Rivendell during my childhood as well. Elrohir taught me, he had more patience than his brother. The best lesson he gave was to never take more than you need and to kill quickly and humanely. The Elves respect Yavanna's gifts too much to ever take her bounty for granted.”
“A wise precept,” Faramir agreed, drawing in his rod as he felt another fish bite. “I think we have enough for today!”
“So it seems!” Aragorn conceded as he watched Faramir expertly despatch a plump trout.
After a hearty supper of fried fish, apples, and wild raspberries, they bedded down for the night once again. The air had grown almost unbearably humid, as if a storm was imminent.
“We should remain fairly sheltered here under the forest canopy if there is a storm,” Aragorn commented as he drew his blanket around him and settled down for he night. “I hope it will rain and end the drought.”
“The rain usually falls in the City rather than up here,” Faramir told him.
“Given the extent of the greenery on the mountainside, I doubt it!” With that, Aragorn snorted, and turned his back on Faramir as a signal he was ready to sleep.
Faramir was awakened several hours later, not by the expected downpour but by piercing screams. He leapt swiftly to his feet and drew his sword, trying to get his bearings in the darkness. The moon and stars were overcast and only the dying embers of the fire provided a very faint illumination.
To his alarm, he then recognised Aragorn’s voice crying his name. Hastily, he kindled a torch and hastened to the King’s side fearing he was under attack. Only then did he realise that Aragorn was dreaming.
“How could you Faramir? Do not mark me!” Aragorn cried as he thrashed around wildly.
Faramir realized in horror that Aragorn was reliving the moment he had branded him. Remembering the King’s aversion to the dark, he swiftly threw more logs on the fire. Then Faramir knelt at Aragorn’s side. Capturing Aragon's arms in as gentle a grip as possible, Faramir said: “Wake up, my King, it is I, Faramir!”
Wild eyed and still half asleep, Aragorn tried to push him away. ”No, not you, no!” he cried, with a terrorthat tore at the Steward’s heart.
“Peace, dear lord, never did I willingly harm you!” The Steward was now near to tears, seeing his King so distressed. Months had passed since that dreadful night, but time had obviously not lessened Aragorn’s pain.
Aragorn opened his eyes abruptly, blinking in confusion. He quieted, and came fully awake. "Ah, Faramir,” he said softly. "I am sorry. It was a nightmare, nothing more."
Faramir, still gripping the King's arms, could feel him tremble, even through several layers of clothing.
Not sure whether or not it was the right thing to do or whether he would be pushed away, Faramir released his hold, helped Aragorn to a sitting position, and put his arms around his friend. He impulsively desired to comfort the one who had been both father and brother to him these past years Tenderly, he smoothed the sweat stained hair away from Aragorn's pale face.
Without thinking, Aragorn, soothed by the touch, leaned his aching headagainst his Steward's brow. In that brief moment, their thoughts, long sundered, began to join together once more.
TBC
A/N. A very grateful thank you to everyone who has reviewed. Each and every comment is greatly appreciated. I love to know what you think of the story and whether you are enjoying it or not.
As yet, no one has all the answers correct in my quiz, so I am leaving it open until I have a few more entries. You can find it at my LJ (lindahoyland) together with more polls, quizzes and background information.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
The Naked Truth of it
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
I am ashamed
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus,
That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,
Should make thee worth them.
- William Shakespeare King Lear, act 1, sc. 4, l. 296-9.
:The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go woolward for penance.
William Shakespeare (1564-1616),
With very grateful thanks to Raksha for all her help and support.
Warning – This chapter may distress sensitive readers.
Neither Aragorn nor Faramir felt greatly refreshed when they arose the next morning. To make matters worse, the air now felt more oppressive than ever, as if a storm were imminent. Yet not even a distant rumble of thunder could be heard, while the sky remained cloudless and sullen.
In uneasy silence, brooding over the events of the night before, King and Steward folded their bedrolls. Aragorn’s shoulder throbbed painfully and his heart was heavy. The fire had gone out or he would have prepared an athelas infusion to try to ease his spirits.
“We should bathe before we breakfast. We must prepare to approach the Hallow,” Aragorn announced. He sat down by the stream and started to unlace his boots.
“Is that necessary?” Faramir asked, uneasily kicking at a fir cone in his path.
“I must be cleansed before we approach the presence of the One,” Aragorn said firmly.
“Though I do not intend you to actually set foot in the holy place, you must also bepurified. Surely you have studied the old rituals sufficiently to understand why?”
“I have faced West before eating throughout my life, and have studied the rites of the holy places," the Steward replied, a certain stubbornness in his tone. "I never read that bathing was required, either on the Hill of Awe or even on the very summit of Meneltarma itself in Númenor. I thought rather that prayer and reflection were needed. Surely, if I am not to enter this Hallow, it hardly matters whether I have bathed or not?”
“I would not risk offending the One by bringing an unclean man into even the vicinity of a holy place, “ Aragorn said sternly. “If I say you must bathe, then you will obey!”
Faramir looked at his King for a long moment, wondering what had become of the kindly and gracious liege-lord he had once known. He hesitated, then started to unlace his boots. “Very well, lord, I admit that I should bathe,” he acceded quietly.
Aragorn studied him thoughtfully, wondering why his Steward was resisting his authority. Did Faramir not understand that he, more than most men, needed purification before he even neared the Hallow? What insolence! Why, he was favouring him by bringing him so close to the holy place after what Faramir had done to him, yet Faramir acted as if he thought he was the ruling Steward of Gondor, not Arandur, the King's Servant. Aragorn wondered if he had been right to relent towards the Steward last night. It had probably had been a grave error on his part to allow him to sleep alongside him. It was just too painful, to think of restoring the Thought Bond with the one who had so badly hurt him. In the future, Aragorn would take more care to maintain a distance from Faramir. Whatever the man's true motives had been, his Steward had betrayed and injured him. He had been foolish to think that it all could be forgiven, much less forgotten. But for now, Aragorn was more concerned in retaining his own privacy than wondering how to deal with Faramir.
“I shall bathe here,” he declared, "You can swim further downstream. Please keep your back turned and allow me my privacy.”
“Of course, my lord,” Faramir said sound strangely relieved, “I will fetch the towels and fresh underwear for us to don after we bathe.” He swiftly turned away and walked over to where they had left their packs.
Aragorn strode some distance upstream before unlacing his tunic and pulling it over his head. He then removed his breeches and threw them to one side. He stood there for a moment, clad in shirt and drawers, anxiously looking around him. He wondered if he could bathe in his shirt but reluctantly decided the material was too heavy and cumbersome.
Once he was certain Faramir was nowhere in sight, he hesitantly pulled the garment over his head. Rather to his surprise, it felt blissful to feel fresh air against his bare skin. He had almost forgotten the sensation. Leaving his drawers on, as was his custom when swimming, he waded into the stream and sighed blissfully at its coolness. Even the burning and throbbing in his shoulder felt slightly eased.
When Faramir returned he found the King was immersed further upstream.
“You may bathe now!” Aragorn called,” The water is very refreshing!”
“I will return later,” Faramir replied, placing the towels on the bank. He then disappeared behind the trees. When he did not reappear within a few minutes, Aragorn frowned. It was unlike Faramir to so openly defy his wishes. In the past Faramir had been very shy about undressing in front of anyone, more so than was usual, even for a man of Gondor. Since Aragorn had healed his scars, though, he had been much less ill at ease.
The closeness of the bond they had once shared, and the circumstances of their recent ordeal, when they had stayed together in cramped quarters, had long since banished most of Faramir’s shyness. The Steward should no longer need to conceal anything, unlike the King he had branded.
Aragorn climbed out of the water, patted his wet body hastily with a towel and then dressed. He moved briskly in the direction where he had seen Faramir wander a quarter-hour past.
It did not take him long to find his quarry. His errant Steward sat on a fallen tree trunk at their campsite, fully clothed and quite dry.
“What is this?” Aragorn asked, his ire rising. He was impatient to reach the Hallow, and had not expected Faramir to dawdle. “I thought I told you to bathe.”
“ I decided that it was too cold,” Faramir replied without rising or looking him in the eye. “I will wait here while you offer your prayers at the Hallow.”
“Cold?” Aragorn sounded incredulous. “You were a Ranger for half of your life, bathing to keep yourself clean, and now you are too pampered a prince to immerse your delicate skin on a hot day? It is hard to believe!”
“I did not wish to bathe.” Faramir replied evasively.
“Why not?” Aragorn demanded. “I promised my Queen that you should accompany me to the Hallow and I am a man of my word. So prepare yourself!”
“I cannot, sire. I am sorry.” Faramir said quietly, his eyes downcast.
“I gave you an order and you would disobey me?” Aragorn’s tone was one of cold fury. “What are you hiding? Look at me!”
Faramir finally lifted his eyes and looked at him. ”The Queen told me I should accompany you on this journey, before you asked me to come,” he said at last.
“So you conspired with my wife behind my back?” Aragorn’s eyes blazed with wrath and not a little pain.
Faramir looked away, unable to endure his gaze.
Suddenly unable to contain his fury any longer, Aragorn grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard.
Faramir gave an involuntary yelp of pain.
“Whatever is the matter?” Aragorn asked; his fury now tempered with anxiety.
Faramir remained silent.
Aragorn said firmly, “Something ails you. Remove your shirt and let me see!”
“I would rather not,” Faramir replied with equal firmness.” I have a right to cover myself. Even you cannot deny me that!”
Fighting back the impulse to strike the disobedient Steward, Aragorn instead gripped Faramir’s hands, instinctively noting how the palms were moist with sweat and the man's pulse raced. For a moment, he wondered if Faramir had branded himself in a strange attempt to win back his favour. “Your King orders you to remove your shirt,” he demanded. ”Would you risk the full weight of my wrath by your disobedience?”
Slowly and reluctantly, Faramir unlaced the shirt and drew it over his head.
Aragorn found himself biting back a cry as his Steward’s upper body was bared; Faramir’s chest and arms were covered with raw, reddened patches.
Aragorn walked round the log, dismayed to find that Faramir’s back was almost equally disfigured. He was forced to assume that were his legs uncovered they would look just the same.
“Whatever have you done?” Despite his anger, Aragorn could not but feel pity for the man who had once been his friend.
“I was trying to scrub myself clean.” Faramir said, crossing his arms defensively, before he could demand an explanation.
“But why scour yourself raw like this?”
“It hurts less inside when I do,” Faramir replied simply. “Yet however much I wash myself I still feel tainted by my treason. I knew not what else to do!”
“Why did you not tell me or the Queen?” Aragorn sat down on the log and took Faramir’s hands again. “I would not have brought you here, had I known you were thus mutilated.”
“I desired to come,” Faramir said simply.” It is nothing; the hurts are but slight. Sometimes I have used linen bandaging to shield them from heavier clothing, but Éowyn has grown suspicious of the loss of her supplies.”
Aragorn sighed and inwardly cursed himself.” You should have told your wife!” he said, wishing to evade the deeper implications of Faramir’s strange behaviour.
“There are some things she cannot, nor would I desire her to, understand, “ Faramir answered quietly. “Only your forgiveness has helped me to remain living with this stain upon my soul!”
Abruptly Aragorn released his Steward’s hands. ”You had better bathe then, since you are so obsessed with cleanliness! I will prepare some breakfast for us.”
The King strode off towards the campsite, his heart troubled. He realised now Faramir needed to be reassured of his pardon, and the only way to accomplish such a thing would be to renew their Thought Bond. Yet, how could he take Faramir into his heart once more when he harboured such resentment towards him?
Deeply hurt, Faramir finished undressing and strode into the water, which painfully stung his raw skin. He had not wanted Aragorn to see how he was marked, and yet felt oddly relieved that he had finally revealed the damage. Yet, the King’s reaction had sharply differed from the response he had hoped for in his heart. In the past, Aragorn would have at the very least offered him a healing salve, and words of comfort. Now the man he had grown to love as a father had turned as cold to him as Denethor had been.
Instead of preparing breakfast, Aragorn sat down heavily upon the log, trying to control his inner turmoil. Elrond had taught him long ago that excessive washing was a symptom either of a disturbed mind or a troubled conscience. Faramir was not mad; therefore he must be deeply troubled. Was his estrangement from his Steward somehow to blame? Or did Faramir’s guilt go even deeper that he had admitted?
After a few minutes had passed, he could not bear to sit still any longer. Aragorn rose and went in search of his troubled Steward.
He found Faramir standing on the grass by the side of the stream, shaking the water from his sodden hair. At his feet, lay the discarded drawers he had worn in the stream; he had folded his clothing and clean drawers neatly beside him on the bank. The Steward had wrapped a towel around his waist and was drying his back with another by the time Aragorn appeared at the water’s edge.
“Have you been scrubbing yourself raw anywhere else?” the King enquired, noting that Faramir’s skin looked even more inflamed now. And his ribs were more visible too; clearly the Steward had not been eating well of late.
“No,” said Faramir tersely, rubbing his back hard and wincing at the pain.
“Are you certain?” Aragorn persisted.
“ I do not lie,” Faramir replied; then looked away, realising the significance of his words.
“Are you certain of that? You lied very easily at Dervorin's lodge,” Aragorn replied. “And you have admitted to another deception but a few moments ago! Do you even know what truth is?”
Goaded at last into fury, Faramir flung away his towels and stood proud and defiant; nakedbefore his King. “ There!” he pronounced, “See, there is no other mark upon me! I have nothing to hide! I am sworn to you body and soul and have withheld nothing from you!”
Aragorn slowly circled the angry man, viewing him with the carefully unreadable expression he had learned to observe when Elrond first trained him as a healer. It was better than standing there with his mouth wide open in shock at Faramir's behaviour, which had been his first impulse
Suddenly aware of his nakedness, Faramir fought back the urge to cover himself with his hands. He shook slightly with a mixture of rage and embarrassment.
“You told the truth,” said Aragorn, his voice devoid of emotion. “Get dressed!”
“As is my custom, save when I had to lie and cheat and destroy my very soul to save you!” Faramir retorted, pulling on his drawers and breeches with great speed, ignoring the throbbing in his upper body. His humiliation was complete. “How can you understand? I gave you my all and you cannot trust me in anything? You seek only to humiliate me!” He felt utterly shamed, viewed like a beast at market. Faramir flushed scarlet, for never had he expected that Aragorn would subject him to such indignity.
Faramir could barely stand to meet his King's disdainful eyes. The most shameful moment of his youth burned in his memory. He had been a reed-thin, gawky stripling of fourteen on that day when his father had learned of Faramir's recent conversations with the visiting Mithrandir, their talk of heroes of old and the deeds of the legendary Captain Thorongil. Denethor had stormed into his bathing chamber while Faramir was drying his naked body. The Steward had surveyed his son with contempt, told him he would not see the Grey Pilgrim again until he had proved his loyalty by serving in Boromir's company at Cair Andros. Then Denethor had said he hoped the worthy soldiers would not laugh at him, that Faramir was such a puny little boy no one would believe he shared Boromir's blood. And now, a man who looked enough like Denethor to be his father's close kin gazed upon Faramir with scorn.
"You forget to whom you speak, Faramir. Calm yourself!" Aragorn ordered. Picking up the Steward's shirt from the ground, he lightly prodded Faramir's shoulder, meaning to grasp the furious younger man and forcefully steady him.
Faramir could take no more. He had hazarded both life and honour to save this man; lost his reputation and nearly his life, from the love he had borne him. Now he was treated with callous indifference, like an errant, worthless servant. Better that Aragorn had executed him! Past caring what he did any longer, Faramir blindly lashed out, pushing aside the King's arm in sudden rage.
“You would dare raise your hand against me again?” Aragorn's anger rose like a burning flame. That this wretch could try to attack him made him furious! He had raised Denethor's son to rank and the privilege of his close friendship, and this was how his charity was repaid! Aragorn grabbed Faramir's wrists, fully intending to either shake or strike him.
He could feel Faramir's pulse increase rapidly as he tightened his hold. The ugly reddened patches extended from Faramir's shoulders down his right arm. Unexpectedly, Aragorn was hit by a wave of sharp self-loathing. He had not faced Faramir as King and friend, but as a judge condemning the lowest of miscreants. He had never subjected even enemy warriors to such humiliation! Rather than strike back, Aragorn drew the angry Steward into a fatherly embrace, knowing full well that the contact could enable Faramir to sense all his thoughts and the darkness therein. Better though, that all should be revealed than that they should come to blows.
Faramir tried to break free but was restrained by his King's firm yet gentle grip. Aragorn held him tightly, guiding Faramir's head against his uninjured shoulder.
“What have I become?” Faramir whispered, blinking back the tears as he continued to struggle.
“What you always were, you still are,” Aragorn whispered. Despite his reluctance, he was sensing Faramir’s thoughts. The heart of the man he had loved, as a son was unchanged. Faramir's mind held no hint of treachery, only sorrow at his own deeds and intense pain and frustration at Aragorn's coldness.
“I was about to strike you, my King!” Faramir said brokenly. The urge to resist left him as suddenly as it had come, and he went limp in Aragorn’s arms.
“You did not, though.” Aragorn said, releasing him. Much as he realised they needed to lay bare their souls to one another, still he sought to delay what was bound to be a trialfor them both.
The Steward turned to stare at the water, its silver clarity seeming to mock his own confusion.
“You do not understand! Why did you come looking for me?” he asked. “Do you expect me to run away?” he asked bitterly.
“You would never run from anything, I know you too well.” Aragorn replied ignoring his tone. “I came to tell you not to dress before your hurts were treated. What is there to understand? You know that I have forgiven you.”
“You forgive me because you loved me once, not because you understand why!” Faramir protested.
“You are talking in riddles! This conversation is foolish!” Aragorn said sharply, remembering Arwen’s words.
“I am sorry,” Faramir’s tone was contrite now. How could he expect Aragorn to understand?
“Come then back to the camp site so your hurts can be tended. You need to take your shirt off whether you want my help or not, as you donned it back to front!” The King said, forcing himself to sound cheerful. He marched ahead leaving Faramir to follow.
Once he reached the clearing, Aragorn sat down heavily upon the ground and buried his face in his hands. He had gone too far. What had he become to treat his Steward sopoorly? He had directed his warriors to treat Easterling enemy prisoners more gently, and yet he had humiliated the man who had saved his life...the man he loved as dearly as his own child.
Arwen had been right. He had badly failed Faramir It was vital that they both come to accept what had happened, however painful.
TBC
A/N A big thank you to all my readers for your wonderful level of support. I already have over 100 reviews for this story, which greatly inspire and encourage me. I have replied to everyone who was logged in.
Also, thank you to everyone who has taken part in my polls and quizzes which continue to be available on my LJ. Congratulations to Radbrooks who got all the answers right.
I have posted the answers and a new quiz, which I hope you will try. I will continue to post on my LJ and hope you will visit me there. A link is on my profile page.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
I am ashamed
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus,
That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,
Should make thee worth them.
- William Shakespeare King Lear, act 1, sc. 4, l. 296-9.
:The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go woolward for penance.
William Shakespeare (1564-1616),
With very grateful thanks to Raksha for all her help and support.
Warning – This chapter may distress sensitive readers.
Neither Aragorn nor Faramir felt greatly refreshed when they arose the next morning. To make matters worse, the air now felt more oppressive than ever, as if a storm were imminent. Yet not even a distant rumble of thunder could be heard, while the sky remained cloudless and sullen.
In uneasy silence, brooding over the events of the night before, King and Steward folded their bedrolls. Aragorn’s shoulder throbbed painfully and his heart was heavy. The fire had gone out or he would have prepared an athelas infusion to try to ease his spirits.
“We should bathe before we breakfast. We must prepare to approach the Hallow,” Aragorn announced. He sat down by the stream and started to unlace his boots.
“Is that necessary?” Faramir asked, uneasily kicking at a fir cone in his path.
“I must be cleansed before we approach the presence of the One,” Aragorn said firmly.
“Though I do not intend you to actually set foot in the holy place, you must also bepurified. Surely you have studied the old rituals sufficiently to understand why?”
“I have faced West before eating throughout my life, and have studied the rites of the holy places," the Steward replied, a certain stubbornness in his tone. "I never read that bathing was required, either on the Hill of Awe or even on the very summit of Meneltarma itself in Númenor. I thought rather that prayer and reflection were needed. Surely, if I am not to enter this Hallow, it hardly matters whether I have bathed or not?”
“I would not risk offending the One by bringing an unclean man into even the vicinity of a holy place, “ Aragorn said sternly. “If I say you must bathe, then you will obey!”
Faramir looked at his King for a long moment, wondering what had become of the kindly and gracious liege-lord he had once known. He hesitated, then started to unlace his boots. “Very well, lord, I admit that I should bathe,” he acceded quietly.
Aragorn studied him thoughtfully, wondering why his Steward was resisting his authority. Did Faramir not understand that he, more than most men, needed purification before he even neared the Hallow? What insolence! Why, he was favouring him by bringing him so close to the holy place after what Faramir had done to him, yet Faramir acted as if he thought he was the ruling Steward of Gondor, not Arandur, the King's Servant. Aragorn wondered if he had been right to relent towards the Steward last night. It had probably had been a grave error on his part to allow him to sleep alongside him. It was just too painful, to think of restoring the Thought Bond with the one who had so badly hurt him. In the future, Aragorn would take more care to maintain a distance from Faramir. Whatever the man's true motives had been, his Steward had betrayed and injured him. He had been foolish to think that it all could be forgiven, much less forgotten. But for now, Aragorn was more concerned in retaining his own privacy than wondering how to deal with Faramir.
“I shall bathe here,” he declared, "You can swim further downstream. Please keep your back turned and allow me my privacy.”
“Of course, my lord,” Faramir said sound strangely relieved, “I will fetch the towels and fresh underwear for us to don after we bathe.” He swiftly turned away and walked over to where they had left their packs.
Aragorn strode some distance upstream before unlacing his tunic and pulling it over his head. He then removed his breeches and threw them to one side. He stood there for a moment, clad in shirt and drawers, anxiously looking around him. He wondered if he could bathe in his shirt but reluctantly decided the material was too heavy and cumbersome.
Once he was certain Faramir was nowhere in sight, he hesitantly pulled the garment over his head. Rather to his surprise, it felt blissful to feel fresh air against his bare skin. He had almost forgotten the sensation. Leaving his drawers on, as was his custom when swimming, he waded into the stream and sighed blissfully at its coolness. Even the burning and throbbing in his shoulder felt slightly eased.
When Faramir returned he found the King was immersed further upstream.
“You may bathe now!” Aragorn called,” The water is very refreshing!”
“I will return later,” Faramir replied, placing the towels on the bank. He then disappeared behind the trees. When he did not reappear within a few minutes, Aragorn frowned. It was unlike Faramir to so openly defy his wishes. In the past Faramir had been very shy about undressing in front of anyone, more so than was usual, even for a man of Gondor. Since Aragorn had healed his scars, though, he had been much less ill at ease.
The closeness of the bond they had once shared, and the circumstances of their recent ordeal, when they had stayed together in cramped quarters, had long since banished most of Faramir’s shyness. The Steward should no longer need to conceal anything, unlike the King he had branded.
Aragorn climbed out of the water, patted his wet body hastily with a towel and then dressed. He moved briskly in the direction where he had seen Faramir wander a quarter-hour past.
It did not take him long to find his quarry. His errant Steward sat on a fallen tree trunk at their campsite, fully clothed and quite dry.
“What is this?” Aragorn asked, his ire rising. He was impatient to reach the Hallow, and had not expected Faramir to dawdle. “I thought I told you to bathe.”
“ I decided that it was too cold,” Faramir replied without rising or looking him in the eye. “I will wait here while you offer your prayers at the Hallow.”
“Cold?” Aragorn sounded incredulous. “You were a Ranger for half of your life, bathing to keep yourself clean, and now you are too pampered a prince to immerse your delicate skin on a hot day? It is hard to believe!”
“I did not wish to bathe.” Faramir replied evasively.
“Why not?” Aragorn demanded. “I promised my Queen that you should accompany me to the Hallow and I am a man of my word. So prepare yourself!”
“I cannot, sire. I am sorry.” Faramir said quietly, his eyes downcast.
“I gave you an order and you would disobey me?” Aragorn’s tone was one of cold fury. “What are you hiding? Look at me!”
Faramir finally lifted his eyes and looked at him. ”The Queen told me I should accompany you on this journey, before you asked me to come,” he said at last.
“So you conspired with my wife behind my back?” Aragorn’s eyes blazed with wrath and not a little pain.
Faramir looked away, unable to endure his gaze.
Suddenly unable to contain his fury any longer, Aragorn grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard.
Faramir gave an involuntary yelp of pain.
“Whatever is the matter?” Aragorn asked; his fury now tempered with anxiety.
Faramir remained silent.
Aragorn said firmly, “Something ails you. Remove your shirt and let me see!”
“I would rather not,” Faramir replied with equal firmness.” I have a right to cover myself. Even you cannot deny me that!”
Fighting back the impulse to strike the disobedient Steward, Aragorn instead gripped Faramir’s hands, instinctively noting how the palms were moist with sweat and the man's pulse raced. For a moment, he wondered if Faramir had branded himself in a strange attempt to win back his favour. “Your King orders you to remove your shirt,” he demanded. ”Would you risk the full weight of my wrath by your disobedience?”
Slowly and reluctantly, Faramir unlaced the shirt and drew it over his head.
Aragorn found himself biting back a cry as his Steward’s upper body was bared; Faramir’s chest and arms were covered with raw, reddened patches.
Aragorn walked round the log, dismayed to find that Faramir’s back was almost equally disfigured. He was forced to assume that were his legs uncovered they would look just the same.
“Whatever have you done?” Despite his anger, Aragorn could not but feel pity for the man who had once been his friend.
“I was trying to scrub myself clean.” Faramir said, crossing his arms defensively, before he could demand an explanation.
“But why scour yourself raw like this?”
“It hurts less inside when I do,” Faramir replied simply. “Yet however much I wash myself I still feel tainted by my treason. I knew not what else to do!”
“Why did you not tell me or the Queen?” Aragorn sat down on the log and took Faramir’s hands again. “I would not have brought you here, had I known you were thus mutilated.”
“I desired to come,” Faramir said simply.” It is nothing; the hurts are but slight. Sometimes I have used linen bandaging to shield them from heavier clothing, but Éowyn has grown suspicious of the loss of her supplies.”
Aragorn sighed and inwardly cursed himself.” You should have told your wife!” he said, wishing to evade the deeper implications of Faramir’s strange behaviour.
“There are some things she cannot, nor would I desire her to, understand, “ Faramir answered quietly. “Only your forgiveness has helped me to remain living with this stain upon my soul!”
Abruptly Aragorn released his Steward’s hands. ”You had better bathe then, since you are so obsessed with cleanliness! I will prepare some breakfast for us.”
The King strode off towards the campsite, his heart troubled. He realised now Faramir needed to be reassured of his pardon, and the only way to accomplish such a thing would be to renew their Thought Bond. Yet, how could he take Faramir into his heart once more when he harboured such resentment towards him?
Deeply hurt, Faramir finished undressing and strode into the water, which painfully stung his raw skin. He had not wanted Aragorn to see how he was marked, and yet felt oddly relieved that he had finally revealed the damage. Yet, the King’s reaction had sharply differed from the response he had hoped for in his heart. In the past, Aragorn would have at the very least offered him a healing salve, and words of comfort. Now the man he had grown to love as a father had turned as cold to him as Denethor had been.
Instead of preparing breakfast, Aragorn sat down heavily upon the log, trying to control his inner turmoil. Elrond had taught him long ago that excessive washing was a symptom either of a disturbed mind or a troubled conscience. Faramir was not mad; therefore he must be deeply troubled. Was his estrangement from his Steward somehow to blame? Or did Faramir’s guilt go even deeper that he had admitted?
After a few minutes had passed, he could not bear to sit still any longer. Aragorn rose and went in search of his troubled Steward.
He found Faramir standing on the grass by the side of the stream, shaking the water from his sodden hair. At his feet, lay the discarded drawers he had worn in the stream; he had folded his clothing and clean drawers neatly beside him on the bank. The Steward had wrapped a towel around his waist and was drying his back with another by the time Aragorn appeared at the water’s edge.
“Have you been scrubbing yourself raw anywhere else?” the King enquired, noting that Faramir’s skin looked even more inflamed now. And his ribs were more visible too; clearly the Steward had not been eating well of late.
“No,” said Faramir tersely, rubbing his back hard and wincing at the pain.
“Are you certain?” Aragorn persisted.
“ I do not lie,” Faramir replied; then looked away, realising the significance of his words.
“Are you certain of that? You lied very easily at Dervorin's lodge,” Aragorn replied. “And you have admitted to another deception but a few moments ago! Do you even know what truth is?”
Goaded at last into fury, Faramir flung away his towels and stood proud and defiant; nakedbefore his King. “ There!” he pronounced, “See, there is no other mark upon me! I have nothing to hide! I am sworn to you body and soul and have withheld nothing from you!”
Aragorn slowly circled the angry man, viewing him with the carefully unreadable expression he had learned to observe when Elrond first trained him as a healer. It was better than standing there with his mouth wide open in shock at Faramir's behaviour, which had been his first impulse
Suddenly aware of his nakedness, Faramir fought back the urge to cover himself with his hands. He shook slightly with a mixture of rage and embarrassment.
“You told the truth,” said Aragorn, his voice devoid of emotion. “Get dressed!”
“As is my custom, save when I had to lie and cheat and destroy my very soul to save you!” Faramir retorted, pulling on his drawers and breeches with great speed, ignoring the throbbing in his upper body. His humiliation was complete. “How can you understand? I gave you my all and you cannot trust me in anything? You seek only to humiliate me!” He felt utterly shamed, viewed like a beast at market. Faramir flushed scarlet, for never had he expected that Aragorn would subject him to such indignity.
Faramir could barely stand to meet his King's disdainful eyes. The most shameful moment of his youth burned in his memory. He had been a reed-thin, gawky stripling of fourteen on that day when his father had learned of Faramir's recent conversations with the visiting Mithrandir, their talk of heroes of old and the deeds of the legendary Captain Thorongil. Denethor had stormed into his bathing chamber while Faramir was drying his naked body. The Steward had surveyed his son with contempt, told him he would not see the Grey Pilgrim again until he had proved his loyalty by serving in Boromir's company at Cair Andros. Then Denethor had said he hoped the worthy soldiers would not laugh at him, that Faramir was such a puny little boy no one would believe he shared Boromir's blood. And now, a man who looked enough like Denethor to be his father's close kin gazed upon Faramir with scorn.
"You forget to whom you speak, Faramir. Calm yourself!" Aragorn ordered. Picking up the Steward's shirt from the ground, he lightly prodded Faramir's shoulder, meaning to grasp the furious younger man and forcefully steady him.
Faramir could take no more. He had hazarded both life and honour to save this man; lost his reputation and nearly his life, from the love he had borne him. Now he was treated with callous indifference, like an errant, worthless servant. Better that Aragorn had executed him! Past caring what he did any longer, Faramir blindly lashed out, pushing aside the King's arm in sudden rage.
“You would dare raise your hand against me again?” Aragorn's anger rose like a burning flame. That this wretch could try to attack him made him furious! He had raised Denethor's son to rank and the privilege of his close friendship, and this was how his charity was repaid! Aragorn grabbed Faramir's wrists, fully intending to either shake or strike him.
He could feel Faramir's pulse increase rapidly as he tightened his hold. The ugly reddened patches extended from Faramir's shoulders down his right arm. Unexpectedly, Aragorn was hit by a wave of sharp self-loathing. He had not faced Faramir as King and friend, but as a judge condemning the lowest of miscreants. He had never subjected even enemy warriors to such humiliation! Rather than strike back, Aragorn drew the angry Steward into a fatherly embrace, knowing full well that the contact could enable Faramir to sense all his thoughts and the darkness therein. Better though, that all should be revealed than that they should come to blows.
Faramir tried to break free but was restrained by his King's firm yet gentle grip. Aragorn held him tightly, guiding Faramir's head against his uninjured shoulder.
“What have I become?” Faramir whispered, blinking back the tears as he continued to struggle.
“What you always were, you still are,” Aragorn whispered. Despite his reluctance, he was sensing Faramir’s thoughts. The heart of the man he had loved, as a son was unchanged. Faramir's mind held no hint of treachery, only sorrow at his own deeds and intense pain and frustration at Aragorn's coldness.
“I was about to strike you, my King!” Faramir said brokenly. The urge to resist left him as suddenly as it had come, and he went limp in Aragorn’s arms.
“You did not, though.” Aragorn said, releasing him. Much as he realised they needed to lay bare their souls to one another, still he sought to delay what was bound to be a trialfor them both.
The Steward turned to stare at the water, its silver clarity seeming to mock his own confusion.
“You do not understand! Why did you come looking for me?” he asked. “Do you expect me to run away?” he asked bitterly.
“You would never run from anything, I know you too well.” Aragorn replied ignoring his tone. “I came to tell you not to dress before your hurts were treated. What is there to understand? You know that I have forgiven you.”
“You forgive me because you loved me once, not because you understand why!” Faramir protested.
“You are talking in riddles! This conversation is foolish!” Aragorn said sharply, remembering Arwen’s words.
“I am sorry,” Faramir’s tone was contrite now. How could he expect Aragorn to understand?
“Come then back to the camp site so your hurts can be tended. You need to take your shirt off whether you want my help or not, as you donned it back to front!” The King said, forcing himself to sound cheerful. He marched ahead leaving Faramir to follow.
Once he reached the clearing, Aragorn sat down heavily upon the ground and buried his face in his hands. He had gone too far. What had he become to treat his Steward sopoorly? He had directed his warriors to treat Easterling enemy prisoners more gently, and yet he had humiliated the man who had saved his life...the man he loved as dearly as his own child.
Arwen had been right. He had badly failed Faramir It was vital that they both come to accept what had happened, however painful.
TBC
A/N A big thank you to all my readers for your wonderful level of support. I already have over 100 reviews for this story, which greatly inspire and encourage me. I have replied to everyone who was logged in.
Also, thank you to everyone who has taken part in my polls and quizzes which continue to be available on my LJ. Congratulations to Radbrooks who got all the answers right.
I have posted the answers and a new quiz, which I hope you will try. I will continue to post on my LJ and hope you will visit me there. A link is on my profile page.
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Tuesday, August 01, 2006
I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.” ‘-
Bible: New Testament, Luke 15:17-19.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha for her help with this chapter.
Arwen was delighted at the result of her plan to send Estel and Faramir forth together. To avoid alerting the servants to the King’s imminent departure, she herself helped pack what few processions her husband would need; clean linens, his sword and a hunting knife, a few cooking utensils,and healing supplies. Apart from what seemed an excessive amount of athelas, Aragorn was loth to pack the latter, insisting he was a healer no longer. He relented only when Arwen pointed out he might well need healing herbs and other sundriesfor himself, especially such items as salves. It had been so long since he had ridden more than a short distance, saddle soreness was a distinct possibility.
Aragorn and Faramir decided to leave at sunrise when most people were still abed. They would hopefully slip out of the City unnoticed. Faramir had suggested they use the secret tunnels but Aragorn had curtly refused. He had already endured enough of dank enclosed spaces to last a lifetime when imprisoned in Dervorin's dungeon.
The King had ordered that Lamrung, a Guard he could trust, be postedat the gates at the time they intended to depart.
“I have changed my mind about visiting the Mountain, I would rather abide here with you,” Aragorn announced after another restless night.
“It will do you good to leave the City,” Arwen said calmly. ”You will feel better when you can feel the cool mountain wind in your hair.”
“I shall miss you too much and I like not the thought of being alone in the wilds with Faramir,” Aragorn protested.
“I shall miss you as well, but I still think you should go,” Arwen replied firmly. “Once you would have gladly gone out into the wildwith Faramir. Now go, and do not return until your heart is eased! I love you too much, Estel, to see you suffering thus day after day.”
“Very well,” Aragorn sighed. “I shall return for Eldarion’s birthday.” Thus saying, he tenderly kissed the still sleeping child and did likewise to his wife, clasping her as tightly as one might a tree to avoid being blown away by a storm.
Arwen stood watching at the window while Aragorn made his way across the almost deserted Court of the Fountain. Faramir awaited him beside the White Tree. Like the King, he was plainly dressed in Ranger garb and carrying his pack. The King nodded curtly to his Steward and they disappeared from view, Faramir keeping a respectful few paces behind his lord.
The Queen brushed away a few tears as her husband and his Steward disappeared from view. She could only hope and pray that she had made the right choice in sending them away together like this. A wave of cold fear suddenly assailed her. What if Estel were waylaid again? Or what if he and Faramir ended up gravely wounding or killing each other, how would the realm fare, much less herself and Eldarion?
She firmly pushed such unwholesome thoughts aside. Their mental bond had shown her that Aragorn still loved Faramir. She was also certain that Faramir’s devotion to Aragorn had never wavered. The same bond that allowed her to sense how her husband was faring would alert her immediately should any danger threaten him. Much as she would miss Estel and fret over him, this separation was necessary. She knew all too well that only when, or if, his Bond with Faramir were mended, would he be whole once more.
Arwen decided she would write to Éowyn and invite her to visit while their men folk were away, but first she would sleep. She was so weary for she could not remember when she had last enjoyed a full night of untroubled slumber. It drained her energy, for even of one of her kind could not go without peaceful sleep for months on end without becoming weary.
Much as she adored her husband, it had taken her time to become accustomed to him sleeping at her side. He had been in the habit too, of sometimes sleeping in his own room. Gondorian custom encouraged a wife of high status to sleep alone when troubled by women’s courses or crying babies. A husband would do likewise if he needed to rise early or simply craved solitude.
These past months, however, Estel had been at her side constantly, both day and night. At times he became even more demanding than her child. The sight of her proud, self-reliant husband clinging to her as tightly as a babe had torn at her heart even more than Eldarion's occasional and easily soothed tears.
Surmising that Eldarion would not awaken for at least another hour, the Queen climbed back into bed and fell into a deep slumber.
000
Silently, Aragorn and Faramir made their way down to the stables on the Sixth level. A bleary-eyed groom asked if he could assist them but the King bade him to return to his interrupted rest.
There was still barely enough light in the stables to see clearly, but eventually Roheryn and Zachus were saddled and King and Steward mounted and rode towards the City gates.
The few people up and about in the performance of their early morning business ignored the two plainly dressed horsemen riding down the City circles. They were accustomed to seeing their King and Steward richly clad and accompanied by guards, so they would never have taken these two hooded and cloaked figures for Gondor's lords.
Lamrung assisted by two young recruits opened the Great Gateat their approach and wished them a pleasant journey without betraying he knew who they were. The young man had become a worthy Guard, and Aragorn had never regretted his decision to offer him a better post than that of a prison warder.
Aragorn's spirits rose as they cantered along the Pelennor. They had shed their cloaks and stuffed them into their saddlebags the moment the gates closed behind them. Now Faramir and Aragorn sighed with relief and gave the horses their heads.
“To be free at last!”exclaimed the lord of the Reunited Kingdom, “I felt I would suffocate if I spent another moment caged by those stone walls! The Valar be praised we managed to escape undetected! Arwen has promised to tell the Council and the Guards that we have gone hunting for a time.”
Faramir pondered whether he should speak deferentially or proceed in a less formal fashion now that they had left the Citadel. “Thus speaks the Ranger from the Northern wilds!” he countered, trying the latter choice. “Our walls are a protection, not a prison, built to guard the fairest place in Middle-earth!”
“Thus says a Man of the South, who knows not of what he speaks! It is apparent that you have never seen Rivendell or the fair mountains of the North!” Aragorn retorted sourly. “There is true beauty there, hard-won but free, of a sort you could not imagine.”
“You know I cannot argue, since I have never seen the Northlands!” Faramir replied mildly. “We of Gondor should be thankful that you have so well concealed your aversion for the City that the sons of Elendil founded.”
“It is hard to share your love for Minas Tirith, especially in the summer months.” Aragorn said coldly. “I am too accustomed to the wild beauty of Northern climes.”
“You have seen many lands,” Faramir said simply, for lack of a better reply.
“That is because I have lived long years without a home for a wife and family.” Aragorn replied. “I may not love the confines of stone walls, but it is now my doom to make that home in Minas Tirith.”
Faramir bit back the retort on his lips and concentrated on swatting at the insects that circled Zachus’ head, tormenting the placid gelding. “I cannot say that I love the flies in summer! The cattle must attract them.” He bit his lip, wishing he had not spoken that word to the man he had burned with a cattle brand.
“The heat of the City more likely!” Aragorn glared at him but said no more.
“Where exactly are we going?” Faramir asked, eager to change the subject. It would only make things worse to quarrel now. He and Aragorn tended to be equally stubborn about the climate of Minas Tirith. Once he would have been horrified at the very thought of disagreeing with his King. But their friendship had grown so strong that they had argued as easily as he and Boromir had done, spending hours in sometimes heated but always friendly bantering. Now, such arguments were as fraught with tension as all matters between them had recently become.
“You will see,” Aragorn replied curtly. “Let us remove our tunics and at least be cooler.”
Faramir looked taken aback at the suggestion. “It is discourteous to for a lord of Gondor be less than fully clad in the presence of others." He looked across at the fields surrounding the road, where the peasants toiled. Most of the men were bare to the waist, while some of the women wore only loose linen shifts. It seemed that the country folk had little regard for Court etiquette, especially during a time of such severe heat. Faramir sighed softly, and continued: "But as none here know who were are and the people are too busy working in the fields to notice our apparel, I suppose that we could.”
Aragorn had not waited for Faramir’s verdict and was already in his shirtsleeves. He stuffed the tunic in his saddlebag before Faramir had finished speaking. The Steward hesitated for a moment, thinking how his father would have disapproved of such casual dress. Deciding that he no longer cared, Faramirconsigned his own tunic to rest beside his clean underwear.
“Is that not more comfortable?” the King asked.
Faramir nodded reluctantly. Secretly, he agreed with Aragorn that it was far too hot for comfort, though he was in no mood to openly disparage his beloved White City.
“To reach Mount Mindolluin, we willdouble back along the Rammas Echor and approach it from the South.” Aragorn informed his Steward. ”We are taking a more roundabout path than did Mithrandir and I, so that we can ride in the shade.”
The lower slopes of the Mountain were densely wooded, providing a welcome respite from the heat. The City already seemed far away here under the canopy of trees. The air was heavy with the refreshing scent of larch and juniper intermingled with sweet honeysuckle blossom, which grew in the clearings and attracted industrious bees and colourful butterflies to its scented blossoms. The birds chirruped in the treetops and a thrush sang melodiously from one of the highest branches.
A crystal stream ran down the hillside. Seeing the welcome rivulet, the King and Steward swiftly dismounted to let their horses drink. Then they eagerly refreshed themselves with the cool sweet water, splashing it freely over their hands and faces.
“Is this place not fair?” Aragorn exclaimed, a faint smile lighting up his grim features. He sat down, sprawling lazily across a moss-encrusted boulder.
“Indeed it is, my lord.” Faramir replied, pleased Aragorn seemed to finally appreciate something about Gondor. He settled himself a few feet away and they sat in silence for a time, listening to the birdsong.
“I think it best we makecamp here for the night,” Aragorn said after a while, clambering to his feet. “Take your bow and catch us something for supper!”
Faramir meekly did as he was bidden. Fortunately he managed to shoot a buck rabbit quickly and cleanly. He swiftly prepared it for supper; Aragorn built the fire but otherwise did nothing to help, making it very clear that he expected Faramir to act as his servant.
Steward and King then settled downfor the night, laying out their bedrolls on opposite sides of their campfire. Their weapons lay within easy reach and a fire burned to deter any wild animals that might approach.
They spoke little while they prepared to sleep, each man lost in his own thoughts. It occurred to both that this time should have been happier, since they had long wished to ride out into the countryside together.
Aragorn found it much easier to fall asleep under the night sky than within his own room in the Citadel .He was soothed by the stars overhead, and slept soundly, mercifully free from the nightmares that had tormented his sleep for months now.
Faramir was lessfortunate. When sleep finally claimed him, he was transported back to Dervorin’s Hunting Lodge, again preparing to brand his King. This time, Aragorn remained conscious as Faramir pressed the brand to his shoulder, and cursed Faramir to find no peace until the world’s ending.
He cried out; “No! No! I must do it! Forgive me, lord!”
Faramir's screams woke the King. Aragorn watched the son of Denethor uneasily for a few moments. He finally moved to Faramir's side, fearful that the Steward would writhe too close to the fire and harm himself. The bright moonlight shone clearly on the younger man's anguished features.
“No! I have to do this--” Faramir’s hands lashed out at some unseen horror.
“Peace, all is well now,” Feeling a sudden surge of pity, Aragorn grabbed the thrashing hands, instinctively noting how rapid the pulse was.
Faramir did not awaken, although he seemed to be calmed somewhat by Aragorn's words.
The King remembered that these hands had driven a brand into his own skin and released them with a shudder of revulsion. Still, he could not utterly abandon the other man. Aragorn reluctantly moved his bedroll alongside that of Faramir. It seemed as if it were going to be a long and sleepless night.
To his surprise, Faramir’s restless head found his shoulder and settled there. The Steward sighed contentedly. Then, almost immediately, he relaxed and fell into an apparently dreamless sleep.
Aragorn’s immediate reaction was a desire to push him away. However, if he did so, he would be unlikely to get any further sleep that night and he was already exhausted. Yet, how could he allow the one who had branded him to curl up against him as innocently as a kitten nestled among its littermates?
Faramir moaned in his sleep, almost as if he sensed Aragorn's thoughts. A wave of compassion overwhelmed the King. Maybe Faramir was not a heartless, calculating traitor. Could it be that the Steward’s sleep was troubled by memories of the actions that had, however painfully, saved his King’s life? Maybe Arwen was right, as she so often was. What if he had wronged Faramir? These thoughts were too painful to dwell upon. He resolutely pushed them to the back of his mind
Wearied by the day’s events, Aragorn slipped back into slumber.
When he opened his eyes again, it was already dawn .The pink tinged clouds heralded another fine day. Already feeling too warm, Aragorn threw off his blanket.
The sudden movement disturbed Faramir, who awoke with a start. Shamefaced, he immediately pulled away from Aragorn's shoulder.
“ I am sorry,” he mumbled.
“Someday we will bring Eldarion along, and I can have one of you each side of me,“ Aragorn said with forced cheer. To his dismay, he could sense the pain emanating from Faramir’s thoughts and found given his own troubled state of mind, it was more than he could endure.
“I am no longer worthy to be treated as your son! “ Faramir declared miserably.
Aragorn neither replied nor made any moveto draw Faramir to his side again.
Faramir rolled over on his side and pretended to sleep, hoping Aragorn would not notice the silent tears that trickled down his cheeks.
TBC
A/N
A very big thank you to everyone for your greatly appreciated comments. I am delighted with the wonderful response so far to this story. I have replied to everyone who was logged in.
I have changed the quiz on my LJ to multiple-choice answers and invite you to visit for the quizzes, polls and background information there.
Results of the quiz will be posted when I have a few more entries
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Bible: New Testament, Luke 15:17-19.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha for her help with this chapter.
Arwen was delighted at the result of her plan to send Estel and Faramir forth together. To avoid alerting the servants to the King’s imminent departure, she herself helped pack what few processions her husband would need; clean linens, his sword and a hunting knife, a few cooking utensils,and healing supplies. Apart from what seemed an excessive amount of athelas, Aragorn was loth to pack the latter, insisting he was a healer no longer. He relented only when Arwen pointed out he might well need healing herbs and other sundriesfor himself, especially such items as salves. It had been so long since he had ridden more than a short distance, saddle soreness was a distinct possibility.
Aragorn and Faramir decided to leave at sunrise when most people were still abed. They would hopefully slip out of the City unnoticed. Faramir had suggested they use the secret tunnels but Aragorn had curtly refused. He had already endured enough of dank enclosed spaces to last a lifetime when imprisoned in Dervorin's dungeon.
The King had ordered that Lamrung, a Guard he could trust, be postedat the gates at the time they intended to depart.
“I have changed my mind about visiting the Mountain, I would rather abide here with you,” Aragorn announced after another restless night.
“It will do you good to leave the City,” Arwen said calmly. ”You will feel better when you can feel the cool mountain wind in your hair.”
“I shall miss you too much and I like not the thought of being alone in the wilds with Faramir,” Aragorn protested.
“I shall miss you as well, but I still think you should go,” Arwen replied firmly. “Once you would have gladly gone out into the wildwith Faramir. Now go, and do not return until your heart is eased! I love you too much, Estel, to see you suffering thus day after day.”
“Very well,” Aragorn sighed. “I shall return for Eldarion’s birthday.” Thus saying, he tenderly kissed the still sleeping child and did likewise to his wife, clasping her as tightly as one might a tree to avoid being blown away by a storm.
Arwen stood watching at the window while Aragorn made his way across the almost deserted Court of the Fountain. Faramir awaited him beside the White Tree. Like the King, he was plainly dressed in Ranger garb and carrying his pack. The King nodded curtly to his Steward and they disappeared from view, Faramir keeping a respectful few paces behind his lord.
The Queen brushed away a few tears as her husband and his Steward disappeared from view. She could only hope and pray that she had made the right choice in sending them away together like this. A wave of cold fear suddenly assailed her. What if Estel were waylaid again? Or what if he and Faramir ended up gravely wounding or killing each other, how would the realm fare, much less herself and Eldarion?
She firmly pushed such unwholesome thoughts aside. Their mental bond had shown her that Aragorn still loved Faramir. She was also certain that Faramir’s devotion to Aragorn had never wavered. The same bond that allowed her to sense how her husband was faring would alert her immediately should any danger threaten him. Much as she would miss Estel and fret over him, this separation was necessary. She knew all too well that only when, or if, his Bond with Faramir were mended, would he be whole once more.
Arwen decided she would write to Éowyn and invite her to visit while their men folk were away, but first she would sleep. She was so weary for she could not remember when she had last enjoyed a full night of untroubled slumber. It drained her energy, for even of one of her kind could not go without peaceful sleep for months on end without becoming weary.
Much as she adored her husband, it had taken her time to become accustomed to him sleeping at her side. He had been in the habit too, of sometimes sleeping in his own room. Gondorian custom encouraged a wife of high status to sleep alone when troubled by women’s courses or crying babies. A husband would do likewise if he needed to rise early or simply craved solitude.
These past months, however, Estel had been at her side constantly, both day and night. At times he became even more demanding than her child. The sight of her proud, self-reliant husband clinging to her as tightly as a babe had torn at her heart even more than Eldarion's occasional and easily soothed tears.
Surmising that Eldarion would not awaken for at least another hour, the Queen climbed back into bed and fell into a deep slumber.
000
Silently, Aragorn and Faramir made their way down to the stables on the Sixth level. A bleary-eyed groom asked if he could assist them but the King bade him to return to his interrupted rest.
There was still barely enough light in the stables to see clearly, but eventually Roheryn and Zachus were saddled and King and Steward mounted and rode towards the City gates.
The few people up and about in the performance of their early morning business ignored the two plainly dressed horsemen riding down the City circles. They were accustomed to seeing their King and Steward richly clad and accompanied by guards, so they would never have taken these two hooded and cloaked figures for Gondor's lords.
Lamrung assisted by two young recruits opened the Great Gateat their approach and wished them a pleasant journey without betraying he knew who they were. The young man had become a worthy Guard, and Aragorn had never regretted his decision to offer him a better post than that of a prison warder.
Aragorn's spirits rose as they cantered along the Pelennor. They had shed their cloaks and stuffed them into their saddlebags the moment the gates closed behind them. Now Faramir and Aragorn sighed with relief and gave the horses their heads.
“To be free at last!”exclaimed the lord of the Reunited Kingdom, “I felt I would suffocate if I spent another moment caged by those stone walls! The Valar be praised we managed to escape undetected! Arwen has promised to tell the Council and the Guards that we have gone hunting for a time.”
Faramir pondered whether he should speak deferentially or proceed in a less formal fashion now that they had left the Citadel. “Thus speaks the Ranger from the Northern wilds!” he countered, trying the latter choice. “Our walls are a protection, not a prison, built to guard the fairest place in Middle-earth!”
“Thus says a Man of the South, who knows not of what he speaks! It is apparent that you have never seen Rivendell or the fair mountains of the North!” Aragorn retorted sourly. “There is true beauty there, hard-won but free, of a sort you could not imagine.”
“You know I cannot argue, since I have never seen the Northlands!” Faramir replied mildly. “We of Gondor should be thankful that you have so well concealed your aversion for the City that the sons of Elendil founded.”
“It is hard to share your love for Minas Tirith, especially in the summer months.” Aragorn said coldly. “I am too accustomed to the wild beauty of Northern climes.”
“You have seen many lands,” Faramir said simply, for lack of a better reply.
“That is because I have lived long years without a home for a wife and family.” Aragorn replied. “I may not love the confines of stone walls, but it is now my doom to make that home in Minas Tirith.”
Faramir bit back the retort on his lips and concentrated on swatting at the insects that circled Zachus’ head, tormenting the placid gelding. “I cannot say that I love the flies in summer! The cattle must attract them.” He bit his lip, wishing he had not spoken that word to the man he had burned with a cattle brand.
“The heat of the City more likely!” Aragorn glared at him but said no more.
“Where exactly are we going?” Faramir asked, eager to change the subject. It would only make things worse to quarrel now. He and Aragorn tended to be equally stubborn about the climate of Minas Tirith. Once he would have been horrified at the very thought of disagreeing with his King. But their friendship had grown so strong that they had argued as easily as he and Boromir had done, spending hours in sometimes heated but always friendly bantering. Now, such arguments were as fraught with tension as all matters between them had recently become.
“You will see,” Aragorn replied curtly. “Let us remove our tunics and at least be cooler.”
Faramir looked taken aback at the suggestion. “It is discourteous to for a lord of Gondor be less than fully clad in the presence of others." He looked across at the fields surrounding the road, where the peasants toiled. Most of the men were bare to the waist, while some of the women wore only loose linen shifts. It seemed that the country folk had little regard for Court etiquette, especially during a time of such severe heat. Faramir sighed softly, and continued: "But as none here know who were are and the people are too busy working in the fields to notice our apparel, I suppose that we could.”
Aragorn had not waited for Faramir’s verdict and was already in his shirtsleeves. He stuffed the tunic in his saddlebag before Faramir had finished speaking. The Steward hesitated for a moment, thinking how his father would have disapproved of such casual dress. Deciding that he no longer cared, Faramirconsigned his own tunic to rest beside his clean underwear.
“Is that not more comfortable?” the King asked.
Faramir nodded reluctantly. Secretly, he agreed with Aragorn that it was far too hot for comfort, though he was in no mood to openly disparage his beloved White City.
“To reach Mount Mindolluin, we willdouble back along the Rammas Echor and approach it from the South.” Aragorn informed his Steward. ”We are taking a more roundabout path than did Mithrandir and I, so that we can ride in the shade.”
The lower slopes of the Mountain were densely wooded, providing a welcome respite from the heat. The City already seemed far away here under the canopy of trees. The air was heavy with the refreshing scent of larch and juniper intermingled with sweet honeysuckle blossom, which grew in the clearings and attracted industrious bees and colourful butterflies to its scented blossoms. The birds chirruped in the treetops and a thrush sang melodiously from one of the highest branches.
A crystal stream ran down the hillside. Seeing the welcome rivulet, the King and Steward swiftly dismounted to let their horses drink. Then they eagerly refreshed themselves with the cool sweet water, splashing it freely over their hands and faces.
“Is this place not fair?” Aragorn exclaimed, a faint smile lighting up his grim features. He sat down, sprawling lazily across a moss-encrusted boulder.
“Indeed it is, my lord.” Faramir replied, pleased Aragorn seemed to finally appreciate something about Gondor. He settled himself a few feet away and they sat in silence for a time, listening to the birdsong.
“I think it best we makecamp here for the night,” Aragorn said after a while, clambering to his feet. “Take your bow and catch us something for supper!”
Faramir meekly did as he was bidden. Fortunately he managed to shoot a buck rabbit quickly and cleanly. He swiftly prepared it for supper; Aragorn built the fire but otherwise did nothing to help, making it very clear that he expected Faramir to act as his servant.
Steward and King then settled downfor the night, laying out their bedrolls on opposite sides of their campfire. Their weapons lay within easy reach and a fire burned to deter any wild animals that might approach.
They spoke little while they prepared to sleep, each man lost in his own thoughts. It occurred to both that this time should have been happier, since they had long wished to ride out into the countryside together.
Aragorn found it much easier to fall asleep under the night sky than within his own room in the Citadel .He was soothed by the stars overhead, and slept soundly, mercifully free from the nightmares that had tormented his sleep for months now.
Faramir was lessfortunate. When sleep finally claimed him, he was transported back to Dervorin’s Hunting Lodge, again preparing to brand his King. This time, Aragorn remained conscious as Faramir pressed the brand to his shoulder, and cursed Faramir to find no peace until the world’s ending.
He cried out; “No! No! I must do it! Forgive me, lord!”
Faramir's screams woke the King. Aragorn watched the son of Denethor uneasily for a few moments. He finally moved to Faramir's side, fearful that the Steward would writhe too close to the fire and harm himself. The bright moonlight shone clearly on the younger man's anguished features.
“No! I have to do this--” Faramir’s hands lashed out at some unseen horror.
“Peace, all is well now,” Feeling a sudden surge of pity, Aragorn grabbed the thrashing hands, instinctively noting how rapid the pulse was.
Faramir did not awaken, although he seemed to be calmed somewhat by Aragorn's words.
The King remembered that these hands had driven a brand into his own skin and released them with a shudder of revulsion. Still, he could not utterly abandon the other man. Aragorn reluctantly moved his bedroll alongside that of Faramir. It seemed as if it were going to be a long and sleepless night.
To his surprise, Faramir’s restless head found his shoulder and settled there. The Steward sighed contentedly. Then, almost immediately, he relaxed and fell into an apparently dreamless sleep.
Aragorn’s immediate reaction was a desire to push him away. However, if he did so, he would be unlikely to get any further sleep that night and he was already exhausted. Yet, how could he allow the one who had branded him to curl up against him as innocently as a kitten nestled among its littermates?
Faramir moaned in his sleep, almost as if he sensed Aragorn's thoughts. A wave of compassion overwhelmed the King. Maybe Faramir was not a heartless, calculating traitor. Could it be that the Steward’s sleep was troubled by memories of the actions that had, however painfully, saved his King’s life? Maybe Arwen was right, as she so often was. What if he had wronged Faramir? These thoughts were too painful to dwell upon. He resolutely pushed them to the back of his mind
Wearied by the day’s events, Aragorn slipped back into slumber.
When he opened his eyes again, it was already dawn .The pink tinged clouds heralded another fine day. Already feeling too warm, Aragorn threw off his blanket.
The sudden movement disturbed Faramir, who awoke with a start. Shamefaced, he immediately pulled away from Aragorn's shoulder.
“ I am sorry,” he mumbled.
“Someday we will bring Eldarion along, and I can have one of you each side of me,“ Aragorn said with forced cheer. To his dismay, he could sense the pain emanating from Faramir’s thoughts and found given his own troubled state of mind, it was more than he could endure.
“I am no longer worthy to be treated as your son! “ Faramir declared miserably.
Aragorn neither replied nor made any moveto draw Faramir to his side again.
Faramir rolled over on his side and pretended to sleep, hoping Aragorn would not notice the silent tears that trickled down his cheeks.
TBC
A/N
A very big thank you to everyone for your greatly appreciated comments. I am delighted with the wonderful response so far to this story. I have replied to everyone who was logged in.
I have changed the quiz on my LJ to multiple-choice answers and invite you to visit for the quizzes, polls and background information there.
Results of the quiz will be posted when I have a few more entries
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