Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness—
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
Omar Khayyám (d. 1123), Persian poet. The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám of Naishápúr (l. 45–48). . .
With grateful thanks to Raksha for all her help with this chapter.
The wind had grown stronger and whipped through the men’s damp hair, blowing it across their faces. “It grows chill. I think we should return to our camp site.” Aragorn said, noticing the cooler air as hefinally released Faramir.
“I thought you liked the cold,” Faramir teased. “You must be getting old!” He felt somewhat unsure exactly how to proceed after the recent exchange of strong emotion. Yet the habit of banter with his liege lord felt easy and natural once more, like stepping into a comfortable pair of boots after wearing stiff, tight new ones.
“I do not feel the cold like you do!” Aragorn retorted with welcome good humour. “A brisk walk down the mountain will soon warm you up!”
King and Steward started down the mountainside at a brisk pace, helping each other over the most difficult terrain.
They paused to catch their breath at the Hallow where they had admired the view earlier, sprawling beside each other on the grass.
“Thank you for bringing me to this sacred place, after all that has happened,” Faramir said quietly. ”I admit that I did not want to come, but now I will always remember this day with joy. I cannot wait to tell Éowyn about it!” His eyes searched the horizon until they rested upon Ithilien. He shut his eyes trying to picture Éowyn sitting in her herb garden with their daughter and niece.
Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry!” he murmured. “I should never have blamed you; you gave everything for me; far more than I could ever have demanded or expected of you.”
“I would do it again,” said Faramir with total sincerity, leaning his head against Aragorn’s hand. “There will always be dark hours of the night when I will be troubled by my actions. Yet, in my heart I know I would hazard all again to save you; even my very soul or what remains of it!”
Aragorn turned to look at him directly. “Your soul is as intact as it was on the day I first knew you, mellon nin,” he said firmly. “You lost your innocence mixing with traitors, but never your soul! I have met many on my travels who did indeed lose their souls to the Dark Lord. The loss of light is easy to see in their eyes, where there is nothing save emptiness. You can only lose yourself when you seek to gain, not when you risk all for another.”
“I perceive it all differently now,” Faramir mused.” I wonder what really happened to us at the lake?”
“The One blessed us allowing you to find it. That is all we need to know,” Aragorn replied. ” Arwen would probably understand better. I know only, that never before had I felt so at peace. It was like being born anew.”
“I felt I could somehow understand clearly,” Faramir said. He gestured into the distance. “I knew that you and the land are one. Yet, I cannot find the right words to explain how I knew.”
Aragorn laughed. “ Maybe, we should not try to. I felt as one with all creation and yet I am just one man! Come on; let us get something to eat. I am suddenly very hungry!”
“Then let your friend provide you with supper!” Faramir promised. He then swallowed hard as this was the first time in months that he had called himself his lord's friend. Since Aragorn did not contradict him Faramir did not correct himself.
000
Faramir was as good as his word and shot two conies with his bow. He set about preparing them for supper on his own, but tonight Aragorn insisted on helping him.
They ate in companionable silence, then washed the dishes and prepared to lay out their bedrolls as the shadows lengthened.
Aragorn started to hum softly to himself.
“What is that tune?” Faramir asked,” It is vaguely familiar and yet I cannot place it.”
”You know the words I am certain. It is ‘The Lay of Lúthien’” Aragorn told him, smiling.
“Will you sing it to me please?” Faramir entreated with an almost childlike eagerness.
“ I thought you were a little old for bedtime stories!” Aragorn teased.
“I know, but this is the first I have been on a camping trip like this,” Faramir told him.” When I was a child, I yearned for my father to take me with my brother when they went camping together. I was never allowed to go with them. My brother was after all, the heir. The years passed until I joined the army and all thoughts of camping out for pleasure were banished from my mind. Yet, always I dreamed of sitting around the campfire, singing the old songs.”
His friend’s calm recitationwrung Aragorn’s heart. He had spent many happy hours in his youth camping out in Rivendell with his foster brothers. Together with Lord Elrond, they had tried very hard to make up to him that he was fatherless. More than ever, he wanted to make it up to Faramir for all the bleak years his Steward had known. It might have been better for Faramir to be fatherless than to have had a living but unloving father.
Aragorn moved closer to Faramir, patted him on the shoulder, and then began to sing the familiar words in a deep resonant voice.
The Steward listened rapt at the power of his King's voice. He had heard the Lay of Lúthien before, at his uncle's court in Dol Amroth, and, very rarely, in Minas Tirith. Sometimes it seemed to him that he had also heard the Lay sung by a woman, in a voice distant yet familiar. But he had never heard it sung so movingly. “That was wondrous!” he exclaimed.
“ I sang it to the Hobbits when I took them to Rivendell, but only Frodo understood the words,” Aragorn told him. “This song is very special to me. I have only to sing it to be reminded of my fair Arwen. I was a mere lad of twenty, and had just learned of my true name and lineage, when I first beheld her, as I walked through the birches in Imladris, singing the Lay of Lúthien. I thought she was Lúthien herself, reborn even more beautiful than her legend!” The King stared dreamily in front of him for a few moments, lost in memories.
“I can believe the Queen is as beautiful as Lúthien the Fair,” said Faramir.
Aragorn chuckled. “I certainly think so, but do not let Éowyn hear you praise another lady thus!”
“Éowyn is the fairest of all mortal women,” Faramir said firmly. “Your lady is of the Eldar. Éowyn would be the first to admire her beauty.“
“Lúthien was unique as a child of Eldar and Maiar,” said Aragorn.” Yet, somehow I cannot imagine Arwen as being any less fair than her foremother. Strange to think we are both children of Lúthien, though Arwen is far closer in kinship than I.”
Faramir wondered if his ancestry was why Aragorn could appear in such glory and majesty as he had done earlier that day, or whether it was simply a quality of the man himself. To look at him now, there appeared nothing very remarkable about him. He was privileged to know that the glory and majesty was always there however veiled. “You have restored the glory of the line of kings!” he exclaimed.
Aragorn chuckled again. “Only history will relate whether or not that is so!” he said.” I can only try my best. You know the words of the Lay of Lúthien. Shall we sing it together? The tune is a northern one but I would think it well within your range.”
“My voice would not do justice to the song!” Faramir protested.
““What does it matter if you sing like a frog? Singing should be for the pleasure of it and what better place than here in the wilds.” The King replied.
“But surely not ‘The Lay of Lúthien’?” Faramir said uneasily.
Aragorn said naught, merely threw him a gentle question in his grey gaze. Faramir spoke again, quietly: "My father told me not to sing it before him; that the Lay was too important to our people to be sung by anyone less than a trained bard."
"Ah." Aragorn looked sad. "Faramir, would it surprise you to know that I heard your father sing the Lay of Lúthien to your mother, and once heard her sing it to Boromir when he was but a babe? He had a fair voice, your father, and I could see the love in his eyes as he sang the verses and looked upon your mother. Perhaps when Denethor heard you sing the Lay, your voice reminded him of her, and he could not endure such a reminder of her loss."
"Perhaps..." The woman's voice in the deep places of his own memory; was it that of his mother, wondered Faramir. He would have to ask Imrahil. How strange to think of his father singing!
Aragorn began to sing again and this time Faramir joined in; at first tentatively and then with increasing confidence.
The Steward was gifted with an expressive baritone voice, which blended well with Aragorn’s rich bass. The two voices were well matched as they mingled in the clear evening air, singing the greatest story of love and courage in all the Ages of the Sun.
As their voices died away, Anar sank low over the horizon, her dying rays shooting glorious shades of pink and crimson into the western sky.
Faramir and Aragorn savoured the Sun's beauty as shefaded in the West, sinking over the horizon, even as Númenor had disappeared from sight.
Aragorn thought of his lady. Did the Evenstar's thoughts travel with the setting sun to her kin in Valinor and the immortality she had relinquished? Often he wondered what it must be like to watch the sun set for so many hundreds of years? Surely the swiftness of mortal life made each magnificent sunset like the one they had seen this eve seem all the more fair, all the more wonderful.
They banked up the fire and prepared for sleep.
“The air is growing chill, let us place our bedrolls alongside each other,” said Aragorn. ”I would have you beside me. We should both sleep more soundly thus.”
Joyfully Faramir complied.
Despite their weariness, the two men lay awake side by side awhilelooking up at the stars and pondering the day’s events. It felt as if a great weight was slowly lifting from their hearts and being replaced with an inner peace.
000
During the night by the rain pattering down on their faces roused them from slumber. Luckily, the fire was sheltered and had not gone out.
Aragorn blinked in surprise. After such a clear and brilliant sunset, rain was unusual. Unlike the storm of the previous night, this was a gentle refreshing rain, which was soaking and reviving the earth. Aragorn licked the drops from his lips. It tasted sweet and refreshing.
They quickly moved their bedrolls under thicker cover to provide more shelter, then promptly fell asleep again.
000
The sun was already high in the sky when Zachus’ neigh rudely awakened them.
“He wants a fresh place to graze,” Faramir groaned, “He truly has the appetite of a carthorse!”
“Well, he does look rather like one. A worthy steed though!” Aragorn conceded, as he sat up and threw off his now sun dried blanket.
Faramir tried to do likewise but to his dismay found he could hardly move. He grimaced in pain, then quickly tried to disguise his discomfort.
“What is wrong?” Aragorn enquired anxiously.
“It hurts to move a little, I must be stiff,” Faramir replied trying to ignore the spasms in his side, back and shoulders.
“You probably pulled a muscle when you prevented me from stumbling yesterday, “ Aragorn replied. He hesitated for a moment wondering what he should do. Healing had brought great sorrow upon him and he had inwardly vowed never again to try to heal anyone. Yet, here was Faramir, the man who had saved his life, the friend he loved, in obvious pain. How could he just ignore it? He could use his abilities again, just this once then suggest that Faramir see Tarostar or Aedred once they returned to Minas Tirith. He took a deep breath.” I will see if I can aid you, if you well permit me after we have had breakfast.” He rose to his feet and held out his hand to help Faramir to his feet. His own shoulder was burning and itching again. He determined to look at it as soon as he was alone.
“Thank you,” Faramir replied somewhat doubtfully, both dreading and desiring the King’s ministrations.
Aragorn built up the fire, put some porridge on to cook, and then wandered off amongst the trees to answer nature’s call. Before he returned, he pulled aside his shirt and inspected the brand. It looked rather angry and inflamed and in need of a surreptitious application of salve when Faramir was not looking or he would be distressed by it. Would he ever be free of this constant pain?
He went to the stream and splashed water on his hands and face before joining Faramir at the campfire. The Steward was rather awkwardly stirring the cooking pot, trying valiantly to hide his discomfort.
While he was distracted, Aragorn hastily applied some calendula salve to his shoulder, which eased it.
“What shall we do today?” Aragorn enquired while they sat side by side on the upturned log eating their porridge. “I am sure you know of more places to visit than I do.”
“I am loth to leave this mountain,” said Faramir, “ But I know it will be lovely in Lossarnach at this time of year. We could make our way there by following the river if you wish. The fields will be ablaze with poppies and cornflowers at this time of year.”
“That sounds a pleasant destination,” Aragorn replied, “A pity I have no drawing materials or I could sketch the flowers for Arwen.”
“You can draw as well? Is there no limit to your talents? Faramir exclaimed.
“Being raised by Elves, I was expected to learn drawing, poetry and music as well as the arts of warfare, government and diplomacy,” the King replied.
“I cannot help but envy you,” Faramir said with a sigh. "My father was furious when I wanted to study music and lore beyond the minimal standards of a lord's son,” Faramir sighed. “I learned to understand, when I was older; that the Steward of Gondor could not allow his son to lose himself in the gentler arts while other men's sons trained for war under the threat of Shadow. I intend Elestelle to have a more divers education but I will try to allow her to focus on what most pleases her to learn.”
“She might most enjoy swordplay!” Aragorn laughed,” I am sure Éowyn would like that!”
“And she shall teach her if she so wishes, though I hope she prefers poetry!” Faramir replied. “Naturally, I hope she will prove a good horsewoman or Éowyn will be heartbroken, especially as she has Snowdrop waiting for her!”
“A Mearh will be a horse fit for a Queen! Eldarion will envyher!”
“I shall ask Eowyn to persuade her brother to save the next Mearh foal for your son. It would only be fitting.” Faramir looked troubled.
“Peace, I was only teasing you, mellon nin!” Aragorn replied, placing a placating hand on Faramir’s shoulder and noting how he responded to the touch. ”Eldarion is not a childof the House of Éorl, whereas your daughter is, which entitles her to such a horse. Eomer has already promised me the pick of his herds for Eldarion when he is old enough.” He rose to his feet and picked up the empty dishes. “I will wash these then see what I can do about your aches and pains.”
Faramir also rose, though very awkwardly. “No, sire, the King of Gondor should not wash dishes! I will wash them!”
“I have washed dishes in streams since before you were even a twinkle in your father’s eye!” the King answered, grinning. "You can hardly move this morning and at the moment I do not think you will get up again if you bend! Besides, the kingship does not render me quite helpless neither does my age!”
Faramir was left sitting on the log musing over the unfairness of the fact that a man more than twice his age seemed far more capable of climbing a mountain without pulling a muscle than he was. Perhaps the purer lineageof the Northern Dúnedain was responsible for Aragorn’s stamina.
Aragorn returned a few moments later, stowed the clean dishes in his saddlebag. He took out a blanket and spread it on the grass.
“Come!” he said, “we will sit here, while I tend you. The grass is still damp which will worsen the stiffness.”
“I am sure I will stop hurting once I move around more,” Faramir protested. It had been so good; to bask in the flow of Aragorn's renewed warmth. He feared the possibility his King might still treat him with the cold touch he had used since the dreadful day Faramir had branded him.
TBC
A very grateful thank you to everyone who has reviewed each and every comment is gratefully appreciated. I am thrilled to have passed the 200 reviews mark.
I have put further information about what I imagine Aragorn and Faramir’s singing voices to sound like on my LJ.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Monday, September 18, 2006
Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither. : Bible: Hebrew Job, 1:21.
As the air is everywhere,
Flowing around a pot
And filling it,
So God is everywhere,
Filling all things
And flowing through them forever.
Ashtavakra Gita 1: 18-20
'Tat-twam-asi' (Thou art that). It implies that the essence of the individual and the universal is One.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha for all her much appreciated help with this chapter
Aragorn stole a sideways glance towards Faramir who was retreating some way back towards the path. It seemed the Steward was determined to keep his distance. There was more to Faramir's recalcitrance than his Steward's insistence on modesty. He knew what troubled the younger man.
“Faramir, look upon me!”
“You are undressing, my lord," Faramir protested, “You need your privacy."
“I have been foolish. I think it is high time that you looked at my shoulder. Come to me.”
Faramir walked back up the bank towards the King then partially turned his head and fixed his eyes on a point somewhere on Aragorn’s brow.
The King grabbed Faramir’s hand and placed it against his shoulder, forcing him to feel the oblong of raised and puckered flesh where the brand had disfigured the once smooth skin. “Now look at me!” he said with an unmistakeable tone of command. “We must face what was done to both of us!”
Faramir studied the King’s shoulder for a moment then looked away, as if stung. Aragorn touched Faramir's face, then gently but inexorably turned his Steward's head back so that he had no choice but to see where his own hand rested.
“I know you carry the scar as much in your heart as I carry the brand above mine.” Aragorn stated. He moved his hand and rested it over Faramir's heart, which beat wildly, like the wings of a terrified bird. " The grief and guilt of the deed has festered within your loyal soul,” the King continued, releasing him. ”Do not let this brand be burned into your heart forever!”
“I will try,” Faramir replied doubtfully, amazed that the King should again speak of loyalty and love in connection with him. ”Whatever has happened to you, my lord?”
“The One told me to follow my heart,” Aragorn replied. “ I see now that I was blinded by my pain and my pride.”
“ I beg you to have a care about bathing here, “ Faramir pleaded, more unsure than ever about the mysterious One. “It is not so long since you were close to death; you could take a chill. There could be hidden currents or other dangers lurking for the unwary! You do not even have a towel with you!”
“Fear not, I have swum in lakes and rivers and dried only by the sun's rays many times in my travels." Aragorn laughingly brushed aside Faramir's objections. It seemed almost a sacrilege to disturb the lake's still blue surface, yet he felt compelled to bathe here. The Creator had told him to let go of his burdens and then guided him to this place. Maybe if he surrendered himself wholly, he might wash away the cares that lay heavy on his soul. A sudden breeze stirred up ripples, almost as if inviting Aragorn to come and immerse himself in the waters.
“As your Steward, it is my duty to protect you, you cannot swim in there alone!” Faramir protested. "There could be hidden currents or jagged stones poised to harm the unwary!"
“Then come with me!”
”If this lake is indeed sacred to the ancient kings, I am not worthy to set foot within it,” Faramir replied. ”I beg of you, do not take the chance of endangering yourself.”
“I have no authority to order you to join me, but I invite you to do so, Faramir. If you come, you must come freely and offer yourself completely!” Aragorn entreated him.
“No, thank you,” Faramir said firmly. Despite his longing to take his place once more at his King's side, he feared to offer himself to the unknown. Had his father not tried to offer them both up in fire, as if in some heathen rite?
Aragorn paused while unfastening his belt, and knelt on the ground. He gestured towards the delicate white flowers, which grew profusely along the banks. “Do you know what these are?” he asked Faramir.
“No, I have never seen flowers quite like them before,” Faramir frowned. “I know that the blue ones are sage yet I have never before seen these fair white blooms. I am surprised, since thought I knew all the flowers of Gondor.
“They are niphredil!” Aragorn’s tone was filled with awe, “No evil can lurk here. This is the flower of the Elven kingdoms, which bloomed to greet my foremother Lúthien at her birth. It also blooms in Lothlorien. When I plighted my troth to Arwen, niphredil blossomed beneath our feet at Cerin Amroth. I never thought to see it in bloom elsewhere! I must try to preserve one to show to my lady. There is athelas here too, so my ancestors have visited this place before.”
Awestruck, Faramir reached out to gently caress the delicate white niphredil petals. He had read the old stories. He knew and loved the legends, especially that of Lúthien the Fair. It seemed today that the Quenta Silmarillion had come to life before his very eyes. He knew now that no harm would could to his King if Aragorn entered the lake. The very presence of anything connected to the Eldar conveyed a blessing.
Aragorn’s breeches were added to the scattered pile of clothing. Then, somewhat to Faramir’s surprise, Aragorn started to unlace his drawers. This lack of decorum was unusual, for he always retained his undergarments when bathing anywhere save in his private chambers.
Aragorn noted his Steward's shocked expression and said; “I must offer myself as I came from my mother’s womb, devoid of outward trappings” He removed the leather ties he used to keep the hair out of his eyes and then took off his rings. He stowed them carefully within his clothing.
Shaking his head, Faramir retreated behind the ridge, pleading a call of nature and desiring to leave Aragorn alone if he were so determined to take off all his clothes. The previous day's events still were painfully fresh in his memory and he had no desire to repeat them by joining his lord.
Aragorn felt almost in a trance as he undressed. The cool breeze, instead of biting at his exposed flesh, seemed rather to be caressing his vulnerable skin. He felt no chill, even when the sun ducked behind a cloud. There was only ease in this hallowed place, and a sense of belonging, of welcome. Here he was more than a lord; he was a son of Arda, part of the trees and the wind and water and open skies. Gone was all trace of his usual shyness at being unclothed in front of others. Faramir’s presence did not perturb him. Nor did he feel troubled by the mark he bore upon his shoulder.
He waded confidently into the lake, his feet stepping on cool sand. The water met him, warm and inviting; drawing Aragorn into what seemed like a close embrace. When he launched himself outward in a steady stroke, the water burned like fire when it touched his shoulder, as if he were being branded anew. Yet, he cared not, as he swam towards the centre of the lake.
Aragorn laughed in mid-stroke, raising his head, but not stopping. He had always enjoyed a good swim, for in the water, he was almost as graceful as most Elves. But this, this was even better. He had rarely felt such utter joy in simply being alive. And for the first time since his ordeal in captivity, Aragorn knew peace of mind. The burden lifted from his heart. The pain, humiliation and fear were leaving him, washing away, falling far into the deep or wafting up into the clouds, shot up by his kicking feet, he really did not care where. This place had magic, like the Elven realms before Beleriand's fall, or Rivendell under the protection of Vilya and Elrond.
He yearned to share this unfettered bliss and use it to ease Faramir’s tortured soul. Aragorn reversed courseand started back to the shore.
When Faramir returned, he saw that the King had waded into the lake and now stood in the shallows, immersed up to his waist. Aragorn turned and beckoned to him.
Just then, the sun emerged from behind a cloud to bathe Aragorn’s body in its bright golden rays. Never had he looked so kingly, not even on the day of his coronation. His eyes shone like stars, and the sun crowned him with glory.
A great eagle flew from a nearby peak and circled above his head. Aragorn stretched out his arms and stood rapt as it s mighty form hovered, dark against the sun. Tall and kingly Aragorn stood, a lord of the waters like his forefather Elendil, carrying his majesty in his own unadorned form.
Faramir fell on his knees, seeing Aragorn Elessar for truly what he was, as much a living legend as the White Tree, the wind lord, and the niphredil surrounding him. He sensed the presence of the Valar, perhaps even the mysterious One, conferring blessings upon his lord.
Although Faramir could still see the brand upon Aragorn’s shoulder, the flesh scarred by his hand no longer seemed capable of disfiguring so great a man. He knew then that whatever the cost to his own soul, he would hazard it again for Aragorn.
“Come!” the King called, his voice kindly and compelling. He beckoned towards his Steward, as he stepped backwards, deeper and deeper, until he was treading water some fifty feet from the shore.
Faramir could no more resist his call than he could have in that fateful hour in the Houses of Healing when they first met.
As if in a dream, he started to remove first his tunic, followed by his shirt, then the rings from his fingers. He placed the rings in his pocketand neatly folded his clothing into a tidy pile.
The icy wind seemed to bite the Steward’s exposed and still tender flesh. His boots and breeches consigned to the bank, he stood shivering in his drawers, wondering what madness was this for the Steward of Gondor to contemplate stripping to his skin on Mindolluin's heights. Yet this place must be hidden completely from the City, since not even a rumour about it had ever reached his ears.
“Come,” Aragorn called again, lifting one arm to wave. “Join me, Faramir!”
Faramir stared for a moment at the lake, and realised, as Aragorn had; that he need not conceal anything here. Before so pure and beauteous a lake, the idea of wearing drawers, indeed any clothes, to bathe in therein, felt like a trivial affectation. He shed his final garment and tentatively stepped into the lake.
His mind made up, Faramir waded out swiftly. He felt the skin of his upper body smart for a few moments. His incessant scrubbing nowseemed very foolish. It was not his body that needed cleansing, but his soul; and that was for the grace of the Valar alone to achieve when they chose.
The pain subsided and the water seemed to rise up to caress him, as natural as a soft breeze on his face, as he swam out towards his King.
Suddenly the guilt and misery that had plagued Faramir for months retreated, replaced by a wellspring of happiness that surged strongly within him, invigorating his weary soul. He laughed out loud, caring not that he took in mouthfuls of water and then sputtered it back out like a fountain. Aragorn swam forward to meet him and clasped Faramir's hand in greeting, a genuine grin lightening his thin face.
They swam for what could either have been minutes or hours. Time seemed to have no meaning in this enchanted place.
They splashed and dived like the dolphins of Belfalas, their bodies as light as their hearts. The sunlight that sparkled seemed to reflect their joy. Their arguments, even their rank, seemed petty now. All that mattered was this moment and the great good fortune that they were both alive to share it. They were part of it all now, their own limbs flowing into the water that enfolded them and the skies that embraced land and lake: One world, one great source of water, and one exultant heart beating in two bodies. They were at one with each other,at one with air and water,sea and sky , at one with all of creation and its Creator.
Both men knew when it was time at last to return to shore, though no word was spoken between them.
Faramir and Aragorn clambered together from the water, their earlier unease forgotten. They shook their hair like wet dogs to help dry it, then hastened into their sun-warmed garments.
Aragorn found himself silentlyweeping, though whether from joy or sorrow, he could not say.
He turned to look at Faramir, who was just finishing lacing his shirt, and saw that he was weeping too.
Then they were embracing each other, clinging together as easily and naturally as close kindred, the bitterness of the past months washed away with their tears.
“We are blessed indeed, ion nin!” exclaimed Aragorn. Then he kissed Faramir on the brow for the first time in many long months.He gazed out once more across the lake. It had been so long since he was truly glad to be alive, but now he could have sung for the joy he had found this day. “I think you were meant to discover this place!” he murmured, his arm still around Faramir's shoulders.
Aragorn and Faramir lingered on the shore, damp heads touching and sensing each other’s thoughts. This time, they sought no explanations but only reached out to sense the depth of love they felt for one another; a love, which like grass had been trampled and bruised, yet grew back all the stronger. They knew their full recovery would take time. They had, however taken the crucial first step towards healing.
TBC
A/N
A few grateful thank you to everyone for you’re your much appreciated reviews. This is a crucial chapter and I very much hope you will tell me what you think. The story is far from over yet as further adventures await our heroes.
Further background information about the quotes and importance of the lake are available on my LJ
I was thrilled to win the MC Awards for “Best Aragorn Angst” and “Best Overall Comedy”. You can see them on my LJ. Thank you so much for voting for me and an especial thank you to whoever it was who nominated “Web of Treason.”
As the air is everywhere,
Flowing around a pot
And filling it,
So God is everywhere,
Filling all things
And flowing through them forever.
Ashtavakra Gita 1: 18-20
'Tat-twam-asi' (Thou art that). It implies that the essence of the individual and the universal is One.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha for all her much appreciated help with this chapter
Aragorn stole a sideways glance towards Faramir who was retreating some way back towards the path. It seemed the Steward was determined to keep his distance. There was more to Faramir's recalcitrance than his Steward's insistence on modesty. He knew what troubled the younger man.
“Faramir, look upon me!”
“You are undressing, my lord," Faramir protested, “You need your privacy."
“I have been foolish. I think it is high time that you looked at my shoulder. Come to me.”
Faramir walked back up the bank towards the King then partially turned his head and fixed his eyes on a point somewhere on Aragorn’s brow.
The King grabbed Faramir’s hand and placed it against his shoulder, forcing him to feel the oblong of raised and puckered flesh where the brand had disfigured the once smooth skin. “Now look at me!” he said with an unmistakeable tone of command. “We must face what was done to both of us!”
Faramir studied the King’s shoulder for a moment then looked away, as if stung. Aragorn touched Faramir's face, then gently but inexorably turned his Steward's head back so that he had no choice but to see where his own hand rested.
“I know you carry the scar as much in your heart as I carry the brand above mine.” Aragorn stated. He moved his hand and rested it over Faramir's heart, which beat wildly, like the wings of a terrified bird. " The grief and guilt of the deed has festered within your loyal soul,” the King continued, releasing him. ”Do not let this brand be burned into your heart forever!”
“I will try,” Faramir replied doubtfully, amazed that the King should again speak of loyalty and love in connection with him. ”Whatever has happened to you, my lord?”
“The One told me to follow my heart,” Aragorn replied. “ I see now that I was blinded by my pain and my pride.”
“ I beg you to have a care about bathing here, “ Faramir pleaded, more unsure than ever about the mysterious One. “It is not so long since you were close to death; you could take a chill. There could be hidden currents or other dangers lurking for the unwary! You do not even have a towel with you!”
“Fear not, I have swum in lakes and rivers and dried only by the sun's rays many times in my travels." Aragorn laughingly brushed aside Faramir's objections. It seemed almost a sacrilege to disturb the lake's still blue surface, yet he felt compelled to bathe here. The Creator had told him to let go of his burdens and then guided him to this place. Maybe if he surrendered himself wholly, he might wash away the cares that lay heavy on his soul. A sudden breeze stirred up ripples, almost as if inviting Aragorn to come and immerse himself in the waters.
“As your Steward, it is my duty to protect you, you cannot swim in there alone!” Faramir protested. "There could be hidden currents or jagged stones poised to harm the unwary!"
“Then come with me!”
”If this lake is indeed sacred to the ancient kings, I am not worthy to set foot within it,” Faramir replied. ”I beg of you, do not take the chance of endangering yourself.”
“I have no authority to order you to join me, but I invite you to do so, Faramir. If you come, you must come freely and offer yourself completely!” Aragorn entreated him.
“No, thank you,” Faramir said firmly. Despite his longing to take his place once more at his King's side, he feared to offer himself to the unknown. Had his father not tried to offer them both up in fire, as if in some heathen rite?
Aragorn paused while unfastening his belt, and knelt on the ground. He gestured towards the delicate white flowers, which grew profusely along the banks. “Do you know what these are?” he asked Faramir.
“No, I have never seen flowers quite like them before,” Faramir frowned. “I know that the blue ones are sage yet I have never before seen these fair white blooms. I am surprised, since thought I knew all the flowers of Gondor.
“They are niphredil!” Aragorn’s tone was filled with awe, “No evil can lurk here. This is the flower of the Elven kingdoms, which bloomed to greet my foremother Lúthien at her birth. It also blooms in Lothlorien. When I plighted my troth to Arwen, niphredil blossomed beneath our feet at Cerin Amroth. I never thought to see it in bloom elsewhere! I must try to preserve one to show to my lady. There is athelas here too, so my ancestors have visited this place before.”
Awestruck, Faramir reached out to gently caress the delicate white niphredil petals. He had read the old stories. He knew and loved the legends, especially that of Lúthien the Fair. It seemed today that the Quenta Silmarillion had come to life before his very eyes. He knew now that no harm would could to his King if Aragorn entered the lake. The very presence of anything connected to the Eldar conveyed a blessing.
Aragorn’s breeches were added to the scattered pile of clothing. Then, somewhat to Faramir’s surprise, Aragorn started to unlace his drawers. This lack of decorum was unusual, for he always retained his undergarments when bathing anywhere save in his private chambers.
Aragorn noted his Steward's shocked expression and said; “I must offer myself as I came from my mother’s womb, devoid of outward trappings” He removed the leather ties he used to keep the hair out of his eyes and then took off his rings. He stowed them carefully within his clothing.
Shaking his head, Faramir retreated behind the ridge, pleading a call of nature and desiring to leave Aragorn alone if he were so determined to take off all his clothes. The previous day's events still were painfully fresh in his memory and he had no desire to repeat them by joining his lord.
Aragorn felt almost in a trance as he undressed. The cool breeze, instead of biting at his exposed flesh, seemed rather to be caressing his vulnerable skin. He felt no chill, even when the sun ducked behind a cloud. There was only ease in this hallowed place, and a sense of belonging, of welcome. Here he was more than a lord; he was a son of Arda, part of the trees and the wind and water and open skies. Gone was all trace of his usual shyness at being unclothed in front of others. Faramir’s presence did not perturb him. Nor did he feel troubled by the mark he bore upon his shoulder.
He waded confidently into the lake, his feet stepping on cool sand. The water met him, warm and inviting; drawing Aragorn into what seemed like a close embrace. When he launched himself outward in a steady stroke, the water burned like fire when it touched his shoulder, as if he were being branded anew. Yet, he cared not, as he swam towards the centre of the lake.
Aragorn laughed in mid-stroke, raising his head, but not stopping. He had always enjoyed a good swim, for in the water, he was almost as graceful as most Elves. But this, this was even better. He had rarely felt such utter joy in simply being alive. And for the first time since his ordeal in captivity, Aragorn knew peace of mind. The burden lifted from his heart. The pain, humiliation and fear were leaving him, washing away, falling far into the deep or wafting up into the clouds, shot up by his kicking feet, he really did not care where. This place had magic, like the Elven realms before Beleriand's fall, or Rivendell under the protection of Vilya and Elrond.
He yearned to share this unfettered bliss and use it to ease Faramir’s tortured soul. Aragorn reversed courseand started back to the shore.
When Faramir returned, he saw that the King had waded into the lake and now stood in the shallows, immersed up to his waist. Aragorn turned and beckoned to him.
Just then, the sun emerged from behind a cloud to bathe Aragorn’s body in its bright golden rays. Never had he looked so kingly, not even on the day of his coronation. His eyes shone like stars, and the sun crowned him with glory.
A great eagle flew from a nearby peak and circled above his head. Aragorn stretched out his arms and stood rapt as it s mighty form hovered, dark against the sun. Tall and kingly Aragorn stood, a lord of the waters like his forefather Elendil, carrying his majesty in his own unadorned form.
Faramir fell on his knees, seeing Aragorn Elessar for truly what he was, as much a living legend as the White Tree, the wind lord, and the niphredil surrounding him. He sensed the presence of the Valar, perhaps even the mysterious One, conferring blessings upon his lord.
Although Faramir could still see the brand upon Aragorn’s shoulder, the flesh scarred by his hand no longer seemed capable of disfiguring so great a man. He knew then that whatever the cost to his own soul, he would hazard it again for Aragorn.
“Come!” the King called, his voice kindly and compelling. He beckoned towards his Steward, as he stepped backwards, deeper and deeper, until he was treading water some fifty feet from the shore.
Faramir could no more resist his call than he could have in that fateful hour in the Houses of Healing when they first met.
As if in a dream, he started to remove first his tunic, followed by his shirt, then the rings from his fingers. He placed the rings in his pocketand neatly folded his clothing into a tidy pile.
The icy wind seemed to bite the Steward’s exposed and still tender flesh. His boots and breeches consigned to the bank, he stood shivering in his drawers, wondering what madness was this for the Steward of Gondor to contemplate stripping to his skin on Mindolluin's heights. Yet this place must be hidden completely from the City, since not even a rumour about it had ever reached his ears.
“Come,” Aragorn called again, lifting one arm to wave. “Join me, Faramir!”
Faramir stared for a moment at the lake, and realised, as Aragorn had; that he need not conceal anything here. Before so pure and beauteous a lake, the idea of wearing drawers, indeed any clothes, to bathe in therein, felt like a trivial affectation. He shed his final garment and tentatively stepped into the lake.
His mind made up, Faramir waded out swiftly. He felt the skin of his upper body smart for a few moments. His incessant scrubbing nowseemed very foolish. It was not his body that needed cleansing, but his soul; and that was for the grace of the Valar alone to achieve when they chose.
The pain subsided and the water seemed to rise up to caress him, as natural as a soft breeze on his face, as he swam out towards his King.
Suddenly the guilt and misery that had plagued Faramir for months retreated, replaced by a wellspring of happiness that surged strongly within him, invigorating his weary soul. He laughed out loud, caring not that he took in mouthfuls of water and then sputtered it back out like a fountain. Aragorn swam forward to meet him and clasped Faramir's hand in greeting, a genuine grin lightening his thin face.
They swam for what could either have been minutes or hours. Time seemed to have no meaning in this enchanted place.
They splashed and dived like the dolphins of Belfalas, their bodies as light as their hearts. The sunlight that sparkled seemed to reflect their joy. Their arguments, even their rank, seemed petty now. All that mattered was this moment and the great good fortune that they were both alive to share it. They were part of it all now, their own limbs flowing into the water that enfolded them and the skies that embraced land and lake: One world, one great source of water, and one exultant heart beating in two bodies. They were at one with each other,at one with air and water,sea and sky , at one with all of creation and its Creator.
Both men knew when it was time at last to return to shore, though no word was spoken between them.
Faramir and Aragorn clambered together from the water, their earlier unease forgotten. They shook their hair like wet dogs to help dry it, then hastened into their sun-warmed garments.
Aragorn found himself silentlyweeping, though whether from joy or sorrow, he could not say.
He turned to look at Faramir, who was just finishing lacing his shirt, and saw that he was weeping too.
Then they were embracing each other, clinging together as easily and naturally as close kindred, the bitterness of the past months washed away with their tears.
“We are blessed indeed, ion nin!” exclaimed Aragorn. Then he kissed Faramir on the brow for the first time in many long months.He gazed out once more across the lake. It had been so long since he was truly glad to be alive, but now he could have sung for the joy he had found this day. “I think you were meant to discover this place!” he murmured, his arm still around Faramir's shoulders.
Aragorn and Faramir lingered on the shore, damp heads touching and sensing each other’s thoughts. This time, they sought no explanations but only reached out to sense the depth of love they felt for one another; a love, which like grass had been trampled and bruised, yet grew back all the stronger. They knew their full recovery would take time. They had, however taken the crucial first step towards healing.
TBC
A/N
A few grateful thank you to everyone for you’re your much appreciated reviews. This is a crucial chapter and I very much hope you will tell me what you think. The story is far from over yet as further adventures await our heroes.
Further background information about the quotes and importance of the lake are available on my LJ
I was thrilled to win the MC Awards for “Best Aragorn Angst” and “Best Overall Comedy”. You can see them on my LJ. Thank you so much for voting for me and an especial thank you to whoever it was who nominated “Web of Treason.”
Friday, September 08, 2006
Where streams of living water flow
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
The King of love my shepherd is,
whose goodness faileth never;
I nothing lack if I am his,
and he is mine for ever.
Where streams of living water flow,
my ransomed soul he leadeth,
and where the verdant pastures grow,
with food celestial feedeth.
Perverse and foolish oft I strayed,
but yet in love He sought me,
and on his shoulder gently laid,
and home, rejoicing, brought me.
- Henry Williams Baker (1821-1877),
Raksha is on holiday, so this chapter lacks her valuable editing and insights. Any errors are mine entirely!
With special thanks to Laerien you suggested Faramir’s discovery and to Julia and Laerien for their support.
Faramir stumbled slightly but managed to keep his eyes closed. ”Where are you leading me?” he asked, his voice sounding unusually lost and vulnerable.
“ I have you, we are almost there,” Aragorn reassured him, gripping his wrist more tightly. “I want to show you the City,”
“If we wanted to look at the City, we could have stayed there!” Faramir replied, now feeling more bemused than ever. “How can we see it from up here?”
“All will be clear in a moment. You can look now!” Aragorn told his Steward.
Faramir opened his eyes and gasped. Spread out beneath him was the most wonderful view of his native city that he had ever seen. Gleaming white in the August sunshine its splendour made Faramir’s heart leap in wonder. For a moment he was dumbstruck with awe.
“I thought the view was from near Duilin of Morthond’s Hunting Lodge was spectacular, but this is better by far!” Faramir exclaimed, squeezing Aragorn’s fingers in gratitude before releasing the guiding hand.
“If you look to the east you can see Mordor, no longer veiled in darkness. Towards the west is the Vale of Anduin and beyond that the sea,” Aragorn told him, pointing out the places as he spoke. “I thought tomorrow we might follow the river for a while and perhaps go swimming again if the weather remains warm.”
“Whatever you wish.” Faramir said absently. He was still gazing awestruck at the view of his beloved home. “However did you know of this place? I thought Boromir had shown me all the best places to view our home from; yet he never brought me up here!
” I thought one as loyal to Gondor as you would enjoy it!” Aragorn said quietly.
Faramir tensed slightly at the words and then felt a sudden thrill that Aragorn would speak of him as ‘loyal’ again. The Steward contemplated his beloved City in silence for a few moments and blinked away a tear.” Shall we go now?” he asked somewhat abruptly. He was baffled by Aragorn’s change of mood and wanted to leave before the King’s mood changed again.
“I hoped we could stay a while and talk,” Aragorn replied. He had moved away from the edge and now was now sitting sprawled on the grass a few feet away. “Come, sit here beside me!”
Faramir rather reluctantly sat down. “We shared our thoughts last night. It seems we only cause each other pain. I do not understand why you have brought here. I thought you wanted to be alone.”
“I felt you would like to see the view,” Aragorn said simply. “What do you fear? I would not harm you.”
Faramir stared at the ground. “You have never harmed me,” he replied somewhat evasively. “I believe I fear myself. Sometimes, I feel I that I have indeed lost my soul, just as you warned me,” he continued almost inaudibly.
“If your soul was lost indeed, your heart would not be so troubled,” the King replied.
“I committed deeds that I did not believe that I was capable of contemplating! I tortured you, killed in cold blood and even contemplated murdering an innocent child! It embarrasses me now, when you say that I am loyal to Gondor. I hardly know, even, why I acted as I did. Sometimes, I fear it was neither for you, nor even my country. I know only that I had lost one father in dreadful circumstances. I could not bear to lose another one who had become dearer to me by far.”
Aragorn reached out and fleetingly placed a hand on the troubled younger man’s shoulder.” I hope we can use this time to seek healing,” he said gently.” We saw the pain in each other’s hearts last night. Our bodies have healed but our souls have not. Arwen saw it all too clearly.”
“Your lady has great wisdom,” Faramir replied .He turned his attention back to the view. Did you discover this place when you served my grandfather as Captain Thorongil?” he asked.
Aragorn shook his head. “No, the first I knew of it was when Mithrandir showed it to me just over three years ago.”
“When you discovered the White Tree?” Faramir’s eyes were wide with wonder.
“That very day! You remember it too?”
“How could I ever forget? I made such a fool of myself barging into your rooms and accusing you of destroying Gondor’s heritage!”
Aragorn laughed. ”I was delighted to see you show some spirit! It showed just how much you loved your country .I think that was the first day I felt truly happy since I became King. The tree was a sign that my beloved Arwen was coming, also that was the first day our minds touched. I would not lose what I gained then.” His tone became wistful as he stared at the gleaming towers and the sunlit Anduin Vale.
“ Nor would I. “ Faramir’s tone was equally wistful. “Can I really see the sea over there?” he asked, changing the subject. The Steward craned his neck for a better look before getting to his feet and moving nearer to the edge.
“It is. Then, to the North, you can see Rauros. Then if you look to the South, you see the river making its way to Pelagir.”
“If only my mother could have come up here, maybe she would have not pined so much for the sea!” Faramir said wistfully.
“Your father could not have known of this place. We are standing in a Hallow known only to the Kings of Old,” Aragorn said quietly.
“The Kings? You mean this where you actually found the White Tree?” Faramir asked in awe.“ We are in the Hallow? I have no right to be here then! You said I was not allowed to enter this place!” By now, he was utterly bewildered at Aragorn’s abrupt change of mind.
“Cannot the King decide who may or may not come here?” Aragorn replied in a tone both incalculable and remote. Reaching a decision, he then relaxed and smiled at his Steward.” While I was praying, I had the feeling that you were meant to see this place,” he confided.
“You do me great honour, my lord” Faramir almost unconsciously dipped his head as a mark of respect.
Aragorn suddenly grasped Faramir’s arm and slowly turned him to face the stony slope behind them.
“The sapling was up there just below where the snowline is,” he said. “Would you like to climb up to see the exact spot?”
“Please!” With his deep love of his heritage, Faramir was determined to seize this unique opportunity to actually stand where the seedling of Nimloth had been found.
“We might have to help each other up the slope,” Aragorn warned, “It is very steep!”
Despite his words, he started the incline with the agility of a deer, dislodging stones in his wake. Faramir followed more cautiously, needing a helping hand from his lord where the footing was at its most precarious.
“It was just there; you can still see the disturbed earth where I uprooted it,” the King said once they had finally reached the spot. “I have returned to give thanks, as once did my forefathers in this hallowed place.” He solemnly knelt on the ground and bowed his head before saying; “I give thanks to the One and to the Valar for delivering me from my captivity and restoring me to my family and to my throne.” He hesitated for a moment and then added, “I give thanks too, for the one who delivered me.” He turned and abruptly placed a hand on Faramir’s head, murmuring, “Be thou blessed!”
Faramir fell to his knees, overwhelmed. He reverently touched the soil and then looked upward to where the snow lay unmelted, sparkling in the sunlight.
“It seems fitting somehow that it should be found here,” he said at last. “The White Tree, white as the snow. I will remember this day to tell Elestelle about. It will make a good bedtime story.”
“Maybe we will bring our children when they are old enough to understand,” Aragorn replied.
The Steward had spotted something out of the corner of his eye and started to climb up towards it.
“Faramir whatever are you doing?” Aragorn cried, “You are not a mountain goat!”
“I can hear water,” Faramir called, “Listen!” He climbed higher, disappearing behind a rocky crag.
“I can hear it now!” the King exclaimed and started to climb after him, his curiosity kindled.
“I have found it!” Faramir called joyously, “Look, a mountain stream, it must have nourished the seedling of Nimloth!”
For a moment, Aragorn was taken aback. Surely, he should have made this discovery, not his Steward? Then the voice came to him again in his head. ‘ Beware of pride! This was meant to be, remember to follow your heart!’ it counselled him
“You must be the first person to discover its source! How strange that it is not frozen!” Aragorn exclaimed, allowing himself to be caught up in his Steward’s excitement. He patted Faramir’s shoulder, somewhat surprised at just how pleased he now felt on the younger man’s behalf. The King knelt beside the stream and cupped his hands. He scooped up the pure sparkling water, and drank deeply of it. “It tastes fresh and sweet,” he told Faramir. ”Drink, it will refresh you!”
“I am not worthy,” Faramir said doubtfully.” I am no king, nor would I be! My line has become tainted!”
“All the more reason you should drink deeply then,” Aragorn replied.
Faramir hesitated for a moment and then drank. “ How pure and clean it feels!” he exclaimed. ”It reminds me of the water in the Fountain! See how it sparkles in the sunlight!”
“The tree must feel at home in the City then,” Aragorn smiled.
“Like the tree, the spring lay hidden here; even as your people lay hidden in the North!” Faramir exclaimed.
“Shall we follow it to find its source?” Aragorn suggested, now as excited as his Steward.” I think we can climb higher if we help each other again.”
Faramir eagerly concurred.
Footholds became ever more precarious as King and Steward painstakingly followed the stream uphill, certain its source could not be far off.
The way became almost impassable. In places they were forced to climb over boulders and maintain a precarious foothold on near vertical slopes made slippery by the snow.
Aragorn placed his foot on seemingly solid ground only for the ice to crumble beneath him. He started to slide forward and would have fallen had not Faramir caught him just in time.
“ I thought I was about to fall over the edge there!” he exclaimed, gasping for breath. He had been mere inches from tumbling to almost certain death on the rocks below.
“I have you now. I would not let you go!” Faramir reassured him. The Steward’s face was white with fear. “Maybe we should go back?”
“No, not after we have come this far. You may think me fanciful, but I feel I am meant to find the source now,” Aragorn replied, gradually regaining his breath.
Fearful that Aragorn might stumble again, Faramir kept a tight grip on the older man’s arm. When they rounded they next bend, they both stopped in their tracks, astounded at the sight before them. They had reached a small but incredibly beautiful lake concealed between two high rocky ridges.
Blue and white mountain blooms were scattered over the lush velvety grass carpeting the banks. The sun sparkled on the clear blue water, reflected from the overhead blue of the near cloudless sky.
Awestruck, Aragorn sank to his knees on the verdant shores. Faramir sank down beside him. For a moment, they concentrated on regaining their breath. Then they gazed transfixed at the beauty before them.
Feeling oddly compelled, Aragorn then cupped his hands and drank from the water. It tasted fresh and sweet, but unlike the stream, was not icy cold. The King swallowed deeply, feeling some revitalising force was renewing him. He realised the One had directed him to this place. “You should drink too,”” he told Faramir.
“Maybe this lake is sacred to your line?” Faramir said doubtfully. “I have never seen anything quite like it before! Perhaps I should not touch it?”
Aragorn smiled at him. “If indeed it is sacred to Isildur’s line, then I may bid you drink!” Playfully, he splashed his Steward with the water. “There you have touched it, so you may drink!”
Faramir drank. “It tastes sweet,” he pronounced, “but the flavour is no different to the water from the stream.”
“Do you not feel revitalised?”
Faramir shook his head and laughed. “I told you it was meant only for kings! Whatever are you doing?”
Aragorn suddenly pulled off his boots and was starting to unlace his tunic. “I feel I must bathe here! I feel the One calling to me!”
“But why? I thought you said I was washing too much! It is too cold up here!”
“I have bathed in far colder when I was in the North,” Aragorn said calmly throwing his tunic to one side and starting to unlace his shirt.
“You know nothing about this lake, it could conceal hidden dangers!” Faramir protested.
”This lake is hallowed, nothing here could harm me! Eru has directed my footsteps to this place” Aragorn replied adding his shirt to the discarded tunic.
“You do not even have a towel to dry yourself with!” Faramir pointed out, alarmed at the goose flesh that was already appearing on Aragorn’s bare back and arms. He was baffled that after yesterday’s insistence that he grant the King privacy to bathe, Aragorn now seemed untroubled by his presence. Feeling embarrassed, he started to back away.
TBC
A/N
A big thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I have replied to everyone who was logged in. Did readers have difficulty accessing the last chapter or simply not like it as I had far few hits and comments than usual?
This chapter refers to my story “The White Tree” and also to Tolkien’s chapter “The steward and the King” in ROTK.
I have updated my LJ with background information about the underwear our heroes wear and their changing relationship. I am also continuing to polish “Shadow and Thought” and “Web of Treason” on SOA. Links are on my LJ. I hope my American readers enjoyed their holiday.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
The King of love my shepherd is,
whose goodness faileth never;
I nothing lack if I am his,
and he is mine for ever.
Where streams of living water flow,
my ransomed soul he leadeth,
and where the verdant pastures grow,
with food celestial feedeth.
Perverse and foolish oft I strayed,
but yet in love He sought me,
and on his shoulder gently laid,
and home, rejoicing, brought me.
- Henry Williams Baker (1821-1877),
Raksha is on holiday, so this chapter lacks her valuable editing and insights. Any errors are mine entirely!
With special thanks to Laerien you suggested Faramir’s discovery and to Julia and Laerien for their support.
Faramir stumbled slightly but managed to keep his eyes closed. ”Where are you leading me?” he asked, his voice sounding unusually lost and vulnerable.
“ I have you, we are almost there,” Aragorn reassured him, gripping his wrist more tightly. “I want to show you the City,”
“If we wanted to look at the City, we could have stayed there!” Faramir replied, now feeling more bemused than ever. “How can we see it from up here?”
“All will be clear in a moment. You can look now!” Aragorn told his Steward.
Faramir opened his eyes and gasped. Spread out beneath him was the most wonderful view of his native city that he had ever seen. Gleaming white in the August sunshine its splendour made Faramir’s heart leap in wonder. For a moment he was dumbstruck with awe.
“I thought the view was from near Duilin of Morthond’s Hunting Lodge was spectacular, but this is better by far!” Faramir exclaimed, squeezing Aragorn’s fingers in gratitude before releasing the guiding hand.
“If you look to the east you can see Mordor, no longer veiled in darkness. Towards the west is the Vale of Anduin and beyond that the sea,” Aragorn told him, pointing out the places as he spoke. “I thought tomorrow we might follow the river for a while and perhaps go swimming again if the weather remains warm.”
“Whatever you wish.” Faramir said absently. He was still gazing awestruck at the view of his beloved home. “However did you know of this place? I thought Boromir had shown me all the best places to view our home from; yet he never brought me up here!
” I thought one as loyal to Gondor as you would enjoy it!” Aragorn said quietly.
Faramir tensed slightly at the words and then felt a sudden thrill that Aragorn would speak of him as ‘loyal’ again. The Steward contemplated his beloved City in silence for a few moments and blinked away a tear.” Shall we go now?” he asked somewhat abruptly. He was baffled by Aragorn’s change of mood and wanted to leave before the King’s mood changed again.
“I hoped we could stay a while and talk,” Aragorn replied. He had moved away from the edge and now was now sitting sprawled on the grass a few feet away. “Come, sit here beside me!”
Faramir rather reluctantly sat down. “We shared our thoughts last night. It seems we only cause each other pain. I do not understand why you have brought here. I thought you wanted to be alone.”
“I felt you would like to see the view,” Aragorn said simply. “What do you fear? I would not harm you.”
Faramir stared at the ground. “You have never harmed me,” he replied somewhat evasively. “I believe I fear myself. Sometimes, I feel I that I have indeed lost my soul, just as you warned me,” he continued almost inaudibly.
“If your soul was lost indeed, your heart would not be so troubled,” the King replied.
“I committed deeds that I did not believe that I was capable of contemplating! I tortured you, killed in cold blood and even contemplated murdering an innocent child! It embarrasses me now, when you say that I am loyal to Gondor. I hardly know, even, why I acted as I did. Sometimes, I fear it was neither for you, nor even my country. I know only that I had lost one father in dreadful circumstances. I could not bear to lose another one who had become dearer to me by far.”
Aragorn reached out and fleetingly placed a hand on the troubled younger man’s shoulder.” I hope we can use this time to seek healing,” he said gently.” We saw the pain in each other’s hearts last night. Our bodies have healed but our souls have not. Arwen saw it all too clearly.”
“Your lady has great wisdom,” Faramir replied .He turned his attention back to the view. Did you discover this place when you served my grandfather as Captain Thorongil?” he asked.
Aragorn shook his head. “No, the first I knew of it was when Mithrandir showed it to me just over three years ago.”
“When you discovered the White Tree?” Faramir’s eyes were wide with wonder.
“That very day! You remember it too?”
“How could I ever forget? I made such a fool of myself barging into your rooms and accusing you of destroying Gondor’s heritage!”
Aragorn laughed. ”I was delighted to see you show some spirit! It showed just how much you loved your country .I think that was the first day I felt truly happy since I became King. The tree was a sign that my beloved Arwen was coming, also that was the first day our minds touched. I would not lose what I gained then.” His tone became wistful as he stared at the gleaming towers and the sunlit Anduin Vale.
“ Nor would I. “ Faramir’s tone was equally wistful. “Can I really see the sea over there?” he asked, changing the subject. The Steward craned his neck for a better look before getting to his feet and moving nearer to the edge.
“It is. Then, to the North, you can see Rauros. Then if you look to the South, you see the river making its way to Pelagir.”
“If only my mother could have come up here, maybe she would have not pined so much for the sea!” Faramir said wistfully.
“Your father could not have known of this place. We are standing in a Hallow known only to the Kings of Old,” Aragorn said quietly.
“The Kings? You mean this where you actually found the White Tree?” Faramir asked in awe.“ We are in the Hallow? I have no right to be here then! You said I was not allowed to enter this place!” By now, he was utterly bewildered at Aragorn’s abrupt change of mind.
“Cannot the King decide who may or may not come here?” Aragorn replied in a tone both incalculable and remote. Reaching a decision, he then relaxed and smiled at his Steward.” While I was praying, I had the feeling that you were meant to see this place,” he confided.
“You do me great honour, my lord” Faramir almost unconsciously dipped his head as a mark of respect.
Aragorn suddenly grasped Faramir’s arm and slowly turned him to face the stony slope behind them.
“The sapling was up there just below where the snowline is,” he said. “Would you like to climb up to see the exact spot?”
“Please!” With his deep love of his heritage, Faramir was determined to seize this unique opportunity to actually stand where the seedling of Nimloth had been found.
“We might have to help each other up the slope,” Aragorn warned, “It is very steep!”
Despite his words, he started the incline with the agility of a deer, dislodging stones in his wake. Faramir followed more cautiously, needing a helping hand from his lord where the footing was at its most precarious.
“It was just there; you can still see the disturbed earth where I uprooted it,” the King said once they had finally reached the spot. “I have returned to give thanks, as once did my forefathers in this hallowed place.” He solemnly knelt on the ground and bowed his head before saying; “I give thanks to the One and to the Valar for delivering me from my captivity and restoring me to my family and to my throne.” He hesitated for a moment and then added, “I give thanks too, for the one who delivered me.” He turned and abruptly placed a hand on Faramir’s head, murmuring, “Be thou blessed!”
Faramir fell to his knees, overwhelmed. He reverently touched the soil and then looked upward to where the snow lay unmelted, sparkling in the sunlight.
“It seems fitting somehow that it should be found here,” he said at last. “The White Tree, white as the snow. I will remember this day to tell Elestelle about. It will make a good bedtime story.”
“Maybe we will bring our children when they are old enough to understand,” Aragorn replied.
The Steward had spotted something out of the corner of his eye and started to climb up towards it.
“Faramir whatever are you doing?” Aragorn cried, “You are not a mountain goat!”
“I can hear water,” Faramir called, “Listen!” He climbed higher, disappearing behind a rocky crag.
“I can hear it now!” the King exclaimed and started to climb after him, his curiosity kindled.
“I have found it!” Faramir called joyously, “Look, a mountain stream, it must have nourished the seedling of Nimloth!”
For a moment, Aragorn was taken aback. Surely, he should have made this discovery, not his Steward? Then the voice came to him again in his head. ‘ Beware of pride! This was meant to be, remember to follow your heart!’ it counselled him
“You must be the first person to discover its source! How strange that it is not frozen!” Aragorn exclaimed, allowing himself to be caught up in his Steward’s excitement. He patted Faramir’s shoulder, somewhat surprised at just how pleased he now felt on the younger man’s behalf. The King knelt beside the stream and cupped his hands. He scooped up the pure sparkling water, and drank deeply of it. “It tastes fresh and sweet,” he told Faramir. ”Drink, it will refresh you!”
“I am not worthy,” Faramir said doubtfully.” I am no king, nor would I be! My line has become tainted!”
“All the more reason you should drink deeply then,” Aragorn replied.
Faramir hesitated for a moment and then drank. “ How pure and clean it feels!” he exclaimed. ”It reminds me of the water in the Fountain! See how it sparkles in the sunlight!”
“The tree must feel at home in the City then,” Aragorn smiled.
“Like the tree, the spring lay hidden here; even as your people lay hidden in the North!” Faramir exclaimed.
“Shall we follow it to find its source?” Aragorn suggested, now as excited as his Steward.” I think we can climb higher if we help each other again.”
Faramir eagerly concurred.
Footholds became ever more precarious as King and Steward painstakingly followed the stream uphill, certain its source could not be far off.
The way became almost impassable. In places they were forced to climb over boulders and maintain a precarious foothold on near vertical slopes made slippery by the snow.
Aragorn placed his foot on seemingly solid ground only for the ice to crumble beneath him. He started to slide forward and would have fallen had not Faramir caught him just in time.
“ I thought I was about to fall over the edge there!” he exclaimed, gasping for breath. He had been mere inches from tumbling to almost certain death on the rocks below.
“I have you now. I would not let you go!” Faramir reassured him. The Steward’s face was white with fear. “Maybe we should go back?”
“No, not after we have come this far. You may think me fanciful, but I feel I am meant to find the source now,” Aragorn replied, gradually regaining his breath.
Fearful that Aragorn might stumble again, Faramir kept a tight grip on the older man’s arm. When they rounded they next bend, they both stopped in their tracks, astounded at the sight before them. They had reached a small but incredibly beautiful lake concealed between two high rocky ridges.
Blue and white mountain blooms were scattered over the lush velvety grass carpeting the banks. The sun sparkled on the clear blue water, reflected from the overhead blue of the near cloudless sky.
Awestruck, Aragorn sank to his knees on the verdant shores. Faramir sank down beside him. For a moment, they concentrated on regaining their breath. Then they gazed transfixed at the beauty before them.
Feeling oddly compelled, Aragorn then cupped his hands and drank from the water. It tasted fresh and sweet, but unlike the stream, was not icy cold. The King swallowed deeply, feeling some revitalising force was renewing him. He realised the One had directed him to this place. “You should drink too,”” he told Faramir.
“Maybe this lake is sacred to your line?” Faramir said doubtfully. “I have never seen anything quite like it before! Perhaps I should not touch it?”
Aragorn smiled at him. “If indeed it is sacred to Isildur’s line, then I may bid you drink!” Playfully, he splashed his Steward with the water. “There you have touched it, so you may drink!”
Faramir drank. “It tastes sweet,” he pronounced, “but the flavour is no different to the water from the stream.”
“Do you not feel revitalised?”
Faramir shook his head and laughed. “I told you it was meant only for kings! Whatever are you doing?”
Aragorn suddenly pulled off his boots and was starting to unlace his tunic. “I feel I must bathe here! I feel the One calling to me!”
“But why? I thought you said I was washing too much! It is too cold up here!”
“I have bathed in far colder when I was in the North,” Aragorn said calmly throwing his tunic to one side and starting to unlace his shirt.
“You know nothing about this lake, it could conceal hidden dangers!” Faramir protested.
”This lake is hallowed, nothing here could harm me! Eru has directed my footsteps to this place” Aragorn replied adding his shirt to the discarded tunic.
“You do not even have a towel to dry yourself with!” Faramir pointed out, alarmed at the goose flesh that was already appearing on Aragorn’s bare back and arms. He was baffled that after yesterday’s insistence that he grant the King privacy to bathe, Aragorn now seemed untroubled by his presence. Feeling embarrassed, he started to back away.
TBC
A/N
A big thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I have replied to everyone who was logged in. Did readers have difficulty accessing the last chapter or simply not like it as I had far few hits and comments than usual?
This chapter refers to my story “The White Tree” and also to Tolkien’s chapter “The steward and the King” in ROTK.
I have updated my LJ with background information about the underwear our heroes wear and their changing relationship. I am also continuing to polish “Shadow and Thought” and “Web of Treason” on SOA. Links are on my LJ. I hope my American readers enjoyed their holiday.
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