Faramir Fiction Archive

Family Honor (NC-17)

Written by Mcguffan

14 July 2006 | 162886 words

Chapter 21

The Variags began to slow their charge as they drew nearer. The Officer was apparently still holding to his obsession to capture them alive. Even from the quickly narrowing distance between them Faramir could see the mad eyes of their enemy burning with need and hatred, but there would be no quick slaughter— the embattled Gondorhim could still cling to hope. No riders seemed to have broken from the main group to pursue Flyn and Hilo. Perhaps the Officer had not noticed, perhaps he was content to let them go and concentrate on subduing the remaining men who guarded Aragorn. Whatever the cause Faramir was grateful. The first attack crashed against the defenders’ shields. The Gondorhim on either end of the line quickly fell back and together forming a circle, which the enemy immediately surrounded. After the initial collision Faramir had few moments to take in much more than what was happening right in front of him. Lorel had been able to hone in on Aragorn with uncanny precision. Both Halbarad and Faramir did their best to put themselves between Aragorn and Lorel’s rage but the defenders were crushed tightly together and despite the lighter weaponry and new techniques Faramir had acquired, it was difficult to maneuver. The Officer and those around him fought wildly but as one moved away from Lorel and Aragorn the fighting grew slower, less violent. When Faramir was able to get a brief view of the larger battle he saw the Khandrihm delivering half-hearted attacks easily parried by the Gondorhim who, unwilling to provoke true rage in their opponents, returned similarly easily avoided strikes. The only exception seemed to be Isu. The child poured all his strength into every thrust of his sword. His enthusiasm earned him greater attention and the lad was sorely beset. Faramir could do nothing to help him but the Gondorhim had taken the matter into their own hands. Slowly but inevitably the boy found his allies pressing him backward until he forced into the middle of their defensive circle. Isu continued to howl and hack at the enemy wherever he could but his comrades gave him little opportunity to push passed their sheltering presence.

Faramir felt a moment of profound pity strike him. The Variags did not want this any more than the Gondorhim. They fought because they had to but they were men, made of the same stuff of Faramir and his own people. They must have the same love of peace and desire for prosperity, decency and compassion that Faramir himself had. What doom was it that men must always fight each other. Surely, there had to be a better way. In the next moment the hesitancy born of a feeling of fellowship abandoned Faramir and he slashed brutally at a man who was aiming a crippling blow at Aragorn’s temporally unprotected left side. Feeling sick at the folly of his own emotions Faramir ruthlessly forced down any thought but that these men were his enemies and they would destroy everything that had value for him if he did not fight, fight and kill. Faramir did not dare think about time or try to measure its passing. The fury of the Variags immediately besetting Aragorn and thus Faramir did not seem to diminish even as sweat began streaming from Faramir’s brow and his eyes began to water from the intensity of his focus.

The first indication that anything had changed in the relentless battering of sword against sword was the noise. The subtle rhythm of clanging metal, snorting horses and shouting men became fiercer. Aragorn’s spirits began to lift even before his rational mind was able to gather more information. Any change in their situation could only mean rescue had finally arrived. And it was so. Horns sounded; there was a sudden loosening of pressure around the surrounded Gondorhim. Many of the Variags had begun to flee. Those that remained, though, fought on with renewed intensity. Aragorn was on the verge of wheeling his horse around in hopes of gaining a glimpse of their rescuers when a sudden weight crashed into him dragging him off his mount.

Lorel understood that the battle was nearly over. He was about to lose everything he had struggled for and this knowledge filled him with dreadful determination. Despite the protective efforts of his companions the Variags had concentrated their best attacks on Strider. The ranger had been hard pressed for the duration of the fight. He had been left no time to so much as draw breath and Lorel who had watched him in round after round in the tournament had done his utmost to keep the ranger from making the best use of his speed and agility. Without warning, then, as the Gondorhim caught the first scent of potential victory, Lorel launched himself into Strider. He landed on the ground, atop the ranger, amid the deadly hooves of excited horses, but Lorel was oblivious to all danger. He cared only about having his enemy in his hands at last. He would die this day but it would be the Gondorhim who would suffer the greater bitterness.

Hands wrapped around his throat as Aragorn struggled against the weight pinning him. Groping desperately Aragorn took hold of his sword. It had fallen a little distance from him in the fall but he was able to grasp the hilt with his left hand. As spots began to flash behind his eyes Aragorn thrust wildly at his attacker.

Howling Lorel reflexively relaxed his grip as sharp pain stabbed up and down his arm. He had abandoned his own sword before launching his own attack. It did not occur to Lorel to search for his abandoned blade, now. For a moment he had felt the ranger’s life ebbing away beneath his fingers and the thought of distancing himself from that feeling by so much as an inch of cold metal seemed suddenly impossible. Pulling back slightly the Officer struck hard. He had meant to strike him in the face but Strider was already moving, shifting their weight, seeking any kind of leverage in attempt to reverse their positions and Lorel’s fist connected with the side of the ranger’s head.

Aragorn’s head rang and he stilled momentarily as a wave of nausea threatened to overcome him. Lorel was too heavy and too well situated to throw easily. He stabbed again at the Officer aiming for his face or throat this time. Lorel dodged but this motion gave Aragorn the opportunity to roll out from under his attacker. Finding himelf, suddenly beneath the ranger, Lorel snarled and thrashed. Again Aragorn attempted to bring his sword down in a killing stroke but his wrist was caught in a bruising grip. For a moment the two were still but then Aragorn hit the inside of Lorel’s elbow with a sudden blow and the ranger’s sword fell, biting deep into Lorel’s chest and shoulder. The Officer eyes opened wide in surprise, as though- despite everything- death still came as a surprise.

Pulling his sword free Aragorn leaned over the dying man, “I am Aragorn, son of Arathron scion of Isildur and of Elendil, Cheiftain of the Dunedain and rightful King of Gondor and Arnor. You pay for this truth with your life but greater than you shall pay still more dearly.” With this Aragorn drove his sword up under Lorel’s ribs and into his heart. He had no idea why he had said what he had. He had not planned it but as he slowly rose to his feet he felt a surge of exultation. He had declared himself to the enemy and it had given him an almost staggeringly clear sense of purpose.

Faramir and Halbarad watched Lorel and Aragorn fight in near panic. It seemed to happen so quickly. The two combatants grappled on the churned up ground, horses hooves thudding around them, sometimes missing them by mere inches. The contest was over too quickly for either Faramir or Halbarad to give aid. As Aragorn rose to his feet, the victor, Faramir felt a relief so strong that it nearly overpowered him surge through his body. Halbarad had by this time fought his way to Aragorn’s side. Dismounting the ranger positioned the body of his horse between Aragorn and himself and the now fleeing Khandrihm. Faramir yearned to join them; he wanted to throw himself into Aragorn’s arms and weep. He felt drained and weak. It seemed a struggle suddenly to hold himself upright. Aragorn could give him all the strength he needed, but even as Faramir thought this he remembered that he still had duties to perform. He would have to find the strength to carry himself as a soldier and Captain a little longer.

The battle had been won. The Variags were either dead or in full flight. The newcomers were shouting their victory and riding after their enemies. `Dear Valar’, Faramir thought as he realized that less than fifty men had ridden to their rescue. `They might still have won had they held their ground’. The thought chilled him but then he recalled the faces of the Variag troops as they had listened to him and Lorel talk before the Gondorhim fled into the forest and he remembered the desultory blows that had been aimed at his own men so recently and Faramir wondered if it would have been possible for the Variags to hold their ground. It was an interesting question but one Faramir was decidedly grateful not to put to the test.

“Stop! Do not pursue them. Gondor, to me! Let them run!” The first to obey Faramir’s shouted commands were the Captain’s own men. They began to form a line behind him, rallying to him. Then the rescuers began to heed Faramir’s repeated shouts. The hornsman heard him and took up the signal. Faramir stole a quick glance at Aragorn. He was leaning rather heavily on his sword and again Faramir fought down the urge to rush to him. Halbarad was there and Faramir comforted himself with the knowledge that Halbarad, though he hovered protectively, did not appear particularly worried. Now, nearly all the Gondorhim had gathered. Some were cheering but all were looking toward him expectantly, waiting for his next command.

“Lord Faramir! Lord Faramir?”

Turning toward the sound of his name. Faramir saw a tall, straight-backed, grey-haired man riding toward him flanked by Hilo and Flyn. Flyn was looking incredibly pleased with himself and Faramir fought down the urge to laugh.

“My lord, what has been happening?” The man demanded reining in before Faramir and saluting him. “The entire Eastern border has been on alert for days looking for you. Are you all right?”

Faramir’s eyes widened a bit at that news but he replied. “I am well. We have returned with treaties of alliance and friendship with many of our Eastern most neighbors- much to the displeasure of others with what results you have seen.” Seeing by the man’s expression that he had many more questions, Faramir continued: “I would gladly tell you more of our adventures but first I must beg food and shelter if you have it to spare. We have traveled far and are in some difficulty.”

“Of Course, my lord. Forgive my thoughtlessness. I am Commander Edrin. You are most welcome to all that I can provide. We are a small outpost but we have food- and drink-” Commander Edrin was interrupted at this point by enthusiastic cheers “-aplenty.”

Most of Commander’s Edrin’s force and some of Faramir’s men rode on ahead to the fort but Faramir chose to go more slowly. First, seeing that any immediate injuries were tended then walking the rest of the way both for the sake of his horse and to let the adrenaline seep slowly from his body. It also gave him the chance to exchange news with Edrin in comparative calm.

Edrin was appropriately circumspect but Faramir gathered that when Boromir had learned that his brother had been sent into Khand with a nominal escort and the very open-ended mandate to court alliances at some sort of strange Khandroric festival he had been incensed. Harsh words passed between father and son and Boromir initially vowed to go after Faramir and bring his less experienced and openhearted brother home but Denethor Forbade it. Fuming the Steward’s heir had then occupied himself writing increasingly urgent letters to every outpost along the eastern border advising them of Faramir’s mission and commanding all to stand ready to come to his aid at a moment’s notice.

As time went on and still no word of Faramir’s fate had come to Gondor, the Prince of Dol Amroth had added his pleas to Boromir’s and the rumor was that Imrahil was preparing a force of men to be put under Boromir’s command and sent to seek Faramir. Meanwhile, Denethor had let it be known that the mission had been the idea of Mithrandir and though, Denethor himself, had questioned the reasoning behind such a mission Faramir-through youthful exuberance- had been eager to pursue the Grey Wizard’s proposal. Edrin gazed at Faramir seeking in his reaction some confirmation or denial of the Steward’s pronouncements. Faramir, though, did his best to conceal his emotions. His brother and uncle’s concern touched him deeply but he was surprised that he could be at the center of so much uproar. Denethor’s behavior did not hurt him as much as it might once have done. Deeper betrayals made this lesser one seem insignificant.

When it came time for Faramir to answer Edrin’s questions, he found that Flyn- in a very limited time- had managed to communicate quite a bit about their recent travels. Though, Flyn’s account contained many distortions and omissions, Faramir was content to let much of it stand. Flyn had apparently decided to side with Faramir over Denethor at least for the present and so his account was full of Faramir’s wisdom and courage. Faramir was a trifle uncomfortable with the man’s grandiloquence but Flyn’s version tended to downplay the participation of the rangers and the tournament which served Faramir’s purposes. Relying on Flyn’s powers of imagination and talent for plausible self-aggrandizement saved Faramir the effort of inventing his own story that would stick as close to truth as possible without jeopardizing any secrets. Also, when Flyn talked it gave Faramir the chance to move nearer Aragorn and Halbarad who were walking close behind.

Halbarad was delivering commentary on Flyn’s story through the movement of his eyebrows and an occasional grunt or snort. He was moved to actual speech, however, when Flyn began to explain how the camp had taken in a Khandoric waif and that Flyn, himself, had undertaken to teach the boy something of civilization. Whispering to Aragorn with enough volume for Faramir to overhear said: “Ah, now there is a lad in need of a severe scolding. I think I must take him aside when we have had a bit of time to recover.”

“Perhaps he simply did not understand. He is new to the Common Tongue and there was much confusion at the time.” Faramir replied quietly. He was inclined to give Isu the benefit of the doubt.

“Let that excuse work once…” Halbarad warned dourly.

“Do you not think it took great courage, Baradnin, for the boy to stand firm against a superior foe?” Aragorn voice was soft and reflective. Faramir wanted him to continue speaking so he could drift in warm sound.

“It takes greater courage to obey your lord even when it is not what you would like to do. There is too much selfishness and self-importance in a man who will disregard an order on the battlefield because he would prefer the more risky and hence more glorious task to the one he is assigned. It is always thus, with young men especially: everyone is ready to charge to death and glory, and no one is willing to dig latrine trenches.”

Boromir would have argued the point, Faramir knew. Boromir tended to honor personal courage above military discipline. He was a warrior at least as much as a soldier. Faramir, though, found himself in sympathy with Halbarad’s argument, but then he remembered that he had been contemplating disobeying orders just as Isu had. If Aragorn had commanded him to leave him to hold off the Variags alone could Faramir have done it? The question troubled him deeply for he suspected that he would have stayed by Aragorn’s side regardless. Surely, though, there would have been more to that decision than the selfishness and self-importance Halbarad had described.

As if he were aware of his thoughts, Aragorn laughed. “There must be orders that even you would refuse to obey, Halbarad. Surely, some orders should not be obeyed.”

“None that you would give.” Halbarad responded easily.

“I could wish that you were less sure of that.” There was something in the manner of the last exchange that convinced Faramir that this was not the first time Aragorn and Halbarad had touched upon these issues. He wished very much that he could think longer upon the matter but Edrin was starting to take notice of his inattention. Sighing resignedly, Faramir returned his attention to his host.

He made a few emendations to Flyn’s account and reemphasized to the Commander, the incredible importance of the newly made treaties. Faramir did not intend to allow Denethor to repudiate any of the agreements that had been made and the more people who knew about them and understood their purpose the harder it would be for the Steward to brush them aside. These contributions seemed to satisfy Edrin as they made their way into the fort.

Sunlight shone through glass windows instead of stretched canvas. Faramir loved the thick stone walls that surrounded him. He adored the bed, stuffed with sweet smelling hay. Best of all, though was the door that closed and locked. It was a small room with few furnishing and there might have been a cobweb or two in the corners but to Faramir it was perfect because Aragorn was right there beside him, hands gently stroking his back as he allowed himself to drift contentedly between waking and sleeping.

Edrin could easily have spent the entire night asking question but as soon as he had eaten, Faramir advised Edrin to send for reinforcements from nearby garrisons for there were still a large number of Variags perilously close to Gondor. Faramir was very insistent that more conflict be avoided if possible. He wanted the Variags offered food and directed towards their homes with as much courtesy as possible. The East would come to learn that Gondor was merciful whenever possible and that their quarrel was with Mordor and not the tribes. Immediately after that Faramir excused himself claiming fatigue and the need for privacy to prepare messages for the Steward. In truth, the dispatches were all but prepared. It remained only to recount the activity of the last two days and their rescue. Looking over the messages he had dutifully prepared, and then rewritten as circumstances required, Faramir was amazed at the change in the length and style from first to last. It seemed to him that those first messages that he had labored so painstakingly over were much less useful and informative that those he had simply dashed off. Shrugging he sealed the packet and asked Edrin to send them to Minas Tirith. He also took the time to write short notes to Boromir and Imrahil informing him that he was alive and well.

With this final duty done, he was finally able to go to his perfect room with the wonderful lock. Aragorn had been waiting for him and they fell together. Exhausted but hungry for one another the two men came together seeking to assure themselves that they were indeed safe. Faramir remembered the night as a blur of passion and satiation. Smiling, he stretched languidly. In response to Faramir’s motion Aragorn’s hand drifted lower down his lover’s body to squeeze his buttocks affectionately.

“Good morning, my Faramir.” Aragorn’s voice was still heavy with sleep and the sound made Faramir smile as he moved over the older man, bracing his weight on his knees and elbows to nuzzle and kiss Aragorn’s neck.

“It is a wonderful morning and a beautiful day.” Faramir replied between kisses.

“Mm, yes.” Aragorn’s hands were now busily kneading Faramir’s firm backside and his lover could not help pressing up into his hands.

“Perhaps we might spend this wonderful morning and beautiful day here, together.” Faramir lifted his head slightly from Aragorn’s neck to watch the reaction to the suggestion.

“I have never heard paradise more aptly described.” Aragorn replied, wrapping his arms around Faramir’s waist and pulling him down so that their bodies pressed together. Releasing a soft sigh, Faramir resumed kissing Aragorn’s neck. “Did you imagine I would be averse to the notion?”

“No. Not really, only we are in Gondor now. I don’t know, I suppose I thought that might make a difference.” Faramir paused in his kisses to answer but he did not lift his head. Aragorn had managed to spot the small niggling worry that had somehow crept into Faramir’s question. It was possible; after all, that what they had shared in Khand- so far away from everything familiar- might have been like a dream to be forgotten with the return to every day life. He knew that Aragorn found his insecurity troubling but it had been so much a part of Faramir for so long that it was difficult for him to identify it, let alone control it.

“Geography is not a factor in my affection for you. I love you, Faramir. Trust me.”

“I know. I do.”

For reply, Aragorn lifted his head and took Faramir’s lips in a demanding kiss. For a few moments Faramir did no more than accept the kiss as he relaxed into the security of Aragorn’s possession. Gradually, though, he was drawn into motion, tempted into the slick slide of eager tongues until he was pressing down against Aragorn’s mouth greedily. After that first kiss ended, Aragorn lay back upon the pillow. With a comfortable sigh, he took up handfuls of his lover’s dark hair, watching in fascination as the fine strands slid through his fingers.

The heavy lidded contentment of his lover sent shivers of need through Faramir’s thighs. He kissed around Aragorn’s mouth, covering his lips, cheeks, chin, nose eyes with earnest proofs of his desire. He nibbled at his ears and his necks. It was an exquisite torture for Faramir to force himself into soft and gentle motions when his blood sang with the need to please Aragorn. Even as his own arousal began to burn within him, though, Faramir felt himself grow less alert to his own body. He would experience pleasure now only as the echo of Aragorn’s. His focus had turned completely to the strong dexterous fingers running through his hair and over his scalp, the firm flesh beneath his lips and tongue and the soft, encouraging sounds drifting languidly to his straining ears. All his senses were attuned to his beautiful lover, and his joy came as the joy of the other.

Working his way down Aragorn’s body, Faramir moved his palms over his nipples. He smiled as Aragorn’s grip in his hair changed subtly signaling his appreciation. Faramir could feel Aragorn’s awakening arousal stirring against his belly and he moved purposefully towards it. First he kissed the place where his beloved’s penis emerged from the dark curls, then quickly moved to take the head into his mouth. Aragorn groaned and Faramir pushed his mouth up and down the hot shaft. Faramir could feel Aragorn’s increased arousal, the thick member grew inside him, opening his mouth with its girth. His tongue pushed beneath the foreskin, then fluttered like a butterfly’s wings against the sensitive skin.

Watching with eyes dark from desire, Aragorn caressed Faramir’s face, neck and shoulders. The younger man was now bobbing up and down on his erection, his cheeks hollowing and a look of profound concentration on his earnest young face. Faramir was making low purring noises, which combined harmoniously with the occasionally wet gulping sounds that came from his lavish attentions. The sight was so lovely that Aragorn thought the beauty of it might choke him with emotion. At that moment, Faramir looked up at Aragorn, his lips were red and a little swollen, excitement tinted his cheeks pink and his brow was slightly furrowed with concentration. His eyes entreated praise and approval, pleading for affirmation that he was indeed giving satisfaction.

“Faramir, beautiful. My own beautiful Faramir.” Aragorn murmured, his heart aching with love.

Breaking into a sudden grin, Faramir rubbed his cheek along the hot length of Aragorn causing his lover to groan at the unexpected feel of his beard. Faramir grinned once again at Aragorn’s groan before returning in earnest to bringing his lord to release. He used his hands, lips, tongue and throat to coax Aragorn to greater and greater pleasure. He felt intoxicated by the hot weight filing his mouth, the dark rich scent of arousal and the firm muscles moving beneath his hands. He could taste salty flesh and the faintly bitter liquid that promised more. Faramir wanted more of that taste, he wanted all Aragorn give him. Calling his name a final time, Aragorn spilled his seed and Faramir drank thirstily, savoring the taste as he reached down to bring himself to completion with a few hasty strokes.

Aragorn pulled Faramir up his body to kiss him. Faramir returned the kiss lazily. He felt pleased with himself and a satisfied lethargy had overcome him. Giving Aragorn pleasure always made him feel strong and proud and grateful. He was no longer Faramir the bookish younger son or Faramir, the wizard’s pupil- that epithet always came with a derisive twist to the lips. Instead he was beloved Faramir the honored and honorable friend, companion and counselor to the kindest, best man in the world, devoted servant of the greatest lord in middle-earth. The pride of it filled him and he could think of nothing greater than what he had inexplicably been given.

Resting his head on Aragorn’s shoulder, the though had just flittered through his mind that he might just go back to sleep for a little while when there was a loud knock on the door.

“My lord?” Halbarad’s voice.

“A moment.” Aragorn returned, sitting up and rubbing his hands vigorously over his face. Faramir had already sprung from the bed and was now searching for his trousers. Halbarad would not disturb them to no purpose, Aragorn knew, so he resigned himself to getting up. Wrapping an arm around his lover Aragorn kissed him soundly before turning to don his own trousers so as not to make Faramir’s modesty conspicuous.

Faramir accepted Aragorn’s kiss gratefully. He had been startled by the interruption. The more so, because Halabarad’s timing had been so fortuitous. The thought had instantly entered his mind that Halbarad had known what they were doing and had courteously waited for them to finish before announcing his presence. They had not been loud or at least not very, but surely Halbarad who was so attune to all things that happened around Aragorn would know what they had been doing. Faramir’s cheeks colored but what he felt was not embarrassment-not exactly. A very real part of him wanted it known that he loved Aragorn and that Aragorn loved him. Another part of him had to be forcibly restrained from straightening the bed sheets.

Unlocking the door Aragorn pulled it wide to reveal Halbarad. Extending a steaming mug of hot, sweet tea to his lord the ranger wished them good morning before turning to offer another mug to Faramir. Faramir, Aragorn noted with some amusement, had pulled on a shirt and was eyeing his tunic with longing as Halbarad extended the cup to him.

“We will have a visitor very soon.” Halbarad informed them. “Any guesses as to who?”

`Denethror or his man?’ The thought flashed through Faramir’s mind before he immediately dismissed it as impossible. He had only sent messages to the Steward yesterday. It would be weeks before there could be any word from Minas Tirith. Boromir? Though that was a much happier thought it had to be dismissed for the same reason. Then, the answer was obvious. “Mithrandir.”

“I expect so.” Halbarad replied. “I saw him from the battlements but it was too far to be absolutely certain.”

“How long until he arrives?” Aragorn asked, sipping his tea.

Halbarad’s eyes turned upwards, as though seeking the sun before he answered. “Very little. Five minutes? More, if the men at the gate do their job and are able to hold him until the garrison commander can be brought. But Gandalf often has a way of avoiding such formalities.” This last comment made Aragorn smile, although there was nothing of amusement in Halbarad’s expression.

“Thank you for the notice, Barad nin. We shall be there soon.” Halbarad nodded and left closing the door silently behind him.

Despite his disappointment in no longer having Aragorn himself for the day Faramir was intrigued. “I shall be very interested to hear what Mithrandir can make events.”

“Interesting, indeed. I count upon you, my Faramir to be the voice of reason should the conversation become too `interesting’.”

“I gather from Halbarad’s demeanor that he and Mithrandir are not over-fond of one another.” Faramir commented, inviting Aragorn to confide if he wished.

“It is not a question of fondness rather Halbarad does not trust Mithrandir’s means nor even all of his goals. As for Mithrandir, he sees reflected in Halbarad something of himself that perhaps he would rather not see so vividly presented.”

“Ruthlessness.” Aragorn answered the question in Faramir’s eyes.

It was a sobering statement. Mithrandir had been an intermittent, unpredictable, inscrutable but always beneficent force in Faramir’s life. Yet, he knew that is was foolish to lose sight of the ancient mission and mystical power that sometimes chose to conceal itself behind a kindly, avuncular manner. The wizard could be as unrelenting and single-minded as Halbarad but unlike Halbarad whose actions were constrained by Aragorn, Mithrandir served the Gods themselves and what horrors could not be done in the name of the Gods.

“What is more, both our friends have a taste for the theatrical. I think they enjoy performing for each other and for an audience. It can be entertaining but occasionally it becomes… wearing.” Aragorn commented, straightening his tunic.

Faramir smiled in sympathy. He was familiar with the use of words as weapons and he had seen how quickly sparring could turn into the cruelest combat if the participants were not careful. Even so, he could not help but look forward to seeing Mithrandir and hearing what news he had. He had faith that both Halbarad and Mithrandir would not press their contest too far. Unable to resist a final embrace that managed to rumple Aragorn’s just-straightened tunic, Faramir wrapped his arms about his beloved holding in his mind for a moment their wonderful day and beautiful morning. Then he turned rapidly to lead the way out into the corridor.

Aragorn and Faramir heard their friend before they saw him. He had apparently already cornered Edrin and was busily demanding that Captain Faramir be instantly summoned or if that proved too difficult that the wizard be directed to the Captain. Edrin was stalling for time. The Commander was uncertain about what, if any deference should be accorded the visitor. He knew that the Steward treated Mithrandir as an ally but he also recalled that their relationship was still cool. Then again the wizard was, after all, a wizard and it might be prudent to let him have his way. Faramir’s arrival saved the Commander from the need to make a decision and he smiled as the young lord called out a greeting.

“Faramir, I am so glad to see you well!” Mithrandir’s owlish face grinned in relief and happiness as he took Faramir’s hand and shook it warmly. Faramir could not help but smile back at the genuine affection in the wizard’s greeting.

“And Strider, too is here.” Mithrandir announced, giving Faramir’s hand a final squeeze before turning and taking Aragorn’s hand. “Unharmed I am pleased to note, though as disheveled as ever.”

“It is good to se you too, my friend.” Aragorn replied, smiling much as Faramir had done.

“Hullo, Gandalf.” Halbarad had been skulking behind Aragorn and had not yet been noticed. If the wizard was surprised to see him though, he gave no sign.

“Ah, Halbarad. I see you managed to find Strider. That is an uncanny skill you have.” The two shook hands but the greeting was perfunctory.

“Well, he made the mistake of feeding me once.”

“Mm-hm.” Gandalf was ambivalent about Halbarad. The ranger had a number of useful talents but he was not an easy man to gauge. To his wizard’s eyes Halbarad shone grey. Gandalf could nearly always see something of the inner man, hobbit, dwarf and even elf if he concentrated. It was a gift he took for granted. The same dark mist shrouded the ranger, however, regardless of the outward face he wore. The light shadows surrounding Halbarad annoyed Gandalf for grey was his color. He had chosen it carefully and it had suited his purposes very well. Now to see another’s aura covered in a cloak he had come to regard as his own was discomfiting. This thievery as he very illogically thought of it tempted the wizard to pierce the obfuscating cloud surrounding Halbarad and lay bare all that lay beneath it. The task would not be so very difficult, Gandalf knew- eyes flicking to Aragorn of their own accord- but the urge was childish. Halbarad did not merit so much of the wizard’s mental energy.

Dismissing the ranger for the present, Gandalf beamed satisfaction at Aragorn and Faramir. The wizard had quickly discovered- though not quickly enough- after leaving the two men that he had been deceived in several important assumptions about what waited in Khand. He had passed days in an agony of worry, berating himself for so thoughtlessly risking two men so vital to his future goals on such a casual throw of the dice. He had been overconfident. He had underestimated the cunning, subtlety and malice of the forces arrayed against him and the result could so easily have been devastating. Gandalf did not have the full picture of what had transpired in Khand yet. While he hoped Aragorn and Faramir could throw light on some aspects of the mystery the wizard was willing to face the possibility that he had been out-maneuvered and he could only be grateful that Aragorn and Faramir still lived in spite of his miscalculations.

`Perhaps, though, I was not altogether wrong.’ Gandalf thought to himself as he took the opportunity to truly look at the men before him. One of his objectives had been to encourage a friendship between two of his favorites. A connection between Aragorn and Faramir might prove very useful should the Steward’s stubbornness assert itself at an inconvenient time. There had also been a nobler motive for arranging a meeting between the Steward’s son and the king-to-be, the wizard reminded himself, both his friends had suffered from a lack they had not even identified in themselves. Gandalf, who understood such matters, saw in each the need for what the other could provide. To Aragorn, Faramir must surely grant a sense of possession and belonging. Aragorn could never be a rootless wandered in Faramir presence. Likewise, to Faramir Aragorn was a worthy leader in a worthy cause, a man with vision holding the promise of a better future and a higher moral order in his hands. And on top of all that the two men seemed to get along. Yes, Gandalf had some reason to be pleased with himself despite his mistakes. Looking at them now, Aragorn and Faramir seemed- well, for want of a better expression- they seemed happy.

“I have worried over you both and I am eager to hear all of what has transpired in the East. Commander Edrin has generously lent us the use of his office so we may talk undisturbed.” By the faint look of surprise on Edrin’s face, Faramir suspected that Gandalf’s statement had been premature. The Captain, however, accepted with generous thanks and the Commander was quite contented.

In the Commander’s spacious, though sparsely furnished office Aragorn and Faramir sat close to one another. Faramir had had to drag a chair across the room to position himself beside Aragorn. It had not escaped the wizard’s attention that Faramir had seemed to take it for granted that Aragorn would take what was obviously the Commander’s chair and Aragorn for his part had acquiesced to this protocol. Settling himself in a third chair, Mithrandir removed his hat and brought forth his pipe. Though he had no tobacco he could at least chew on the stem as he looked ahead to a long story. Halbarad, as was his annoying habit, had elected to remain standing- slouched against the wall just out of the wizard’s line of sight.

Mithrandir regarded his friends with a piercing gaze. “My dear Faramir, I hope Strider has been helpful to you. I did not overrate him as a guide?”

Though Faramir was blushing furiously, Gandalf noted that the young man was not flustered in the least. He spoke with calm dignity. “The more proper question would be of what use have I been to my lord Aragorn for it is both duty and privilege to be of service to one’s king.”

Gandalf smiled. He had suspected that Faramir knew, but Aragorn would not quickly have forgiven him if he had spoken freely without first making sure. “You told him, then. A wise choice, Aragorn.”

“Faramir knew without the need of telling. Though you spoke very well of him, you did not praise him highly enough. He is doubly gifted with both keen perception and logical agility with which to order those perceptions.” Aragorn turned a fond eye upon Faramir before leaning forward as he warmed to his subject. He could spend pleasant days recounting all the myriads of things that made his Faramir such a wonder.

“The old blood is strong in him. Even when he was a child I could see it.” Gandalf affirmed. “But there has been a change in both of you since last we met, Aragorn. Though you objected at the time, I knew that you two should meet. I have lived a long time and I think I may trust my instincts. It was a risk perhaps but who can argue-”

There was an abrupt thud and all eyes turned to Halbarad. The ranger had come forward while the wizard had been speaking and dropped the `Killing Fist’ onto the desk. “I’m sorry, Gandalf, did I break your concentration? Please, do go on. You were, I believe, praising your own instincts.”

“Ah perhaps it is time we focused on… this.” Gandalf murmured gesturing toward the gauntlet without really looking at it. “Tell me all that has befallen you since we parted.”

“You would not care to tell us all you know of this matter first?” Halbarad suggested.

“Patience. All things in their time.” The wizard promised.

Aragorn began the story but soon invited Faramir to continue, urging the Captain to speak at greater length than Faramir would have done on his own about all his meeting with the tribes. Faramir was still feeling self-conscience because of all the kind words that Aragorn and Gandalf had lavished upon his character before Halbarad’s timely if somewhat tactless reminder of the danger they had only just escaped and which they still did not fully understand. He had been pleased and excited to hear the two speak so highly of him but the urge to deny or at least qualify their words had been difficult to suppress. Now, though, his enthusiasm for the tale he was telling carried him away from his self-doubt.

Gandalf listened with avid attention, interjecting only occasionally to demand greater detail. The story reverted to Aragorn at the point of Halbarad’s appearance. The other ranger’s encounter with Gollum had clearly managed to distract the wizard’s interest. Turning in his chair to face Halbarad who had retreated back into his corner, the wizard struggled with his curiosity. That Halbarad would take the opportunity to chide the wizard for pursuing his tangent was clearly communicated by the twinkle in the ranger’s eye. Gandalf saw it and cursed under his breath. “Later, Halbarad, you will answer all my questions.” The wizard commanded.

“Of course, sir. All things in their time.”

“Yes, yes. Thank you.” Gandalf replied. Having his own words thrown back at him really was one of his least favorite experiences.

While Mithrandir and the ranger had been speaking, Aragorn had raised a conspiratorial eyebrow at Faramir. Grinning in reply, Faramir had no time to order his countenance into a more neutral expression before the wizard turned.

“Does something amuse you, Master Faramir?”

“No, sir. Not at all.” The young man strove to look, well- if not innocent then at least not guilty. The wizard turned to Aragorn in hopes of finding some sympathy but the ranger had apparently been struck with a sudden coughing fit and could not meet his eyes.

“Whenever you feel ready to continue, children.” This comment seemed to provoke another coughing attack from Aragorn. No one had referred to him as a child since, well he did not recall. Though Gandalf’s tone had been peevish, he was more amused than irritated. Playfulness was not a trait often seen in either Aragorn or Faramir. It warmed his heart to see them both so at ease in each other’s company and in his as well.

Faramir recounted only the bare events as they had occurred without spending time relating all of the theories and painstaking conjectures they had made to try and make sense of those events. There would be time at the end to discuss the reasons behind their adventure. For now, Faramir did not wish to go over all their futile guesses. When the young Captain spoke of discovering Denethor’s interest in the Gauntlet he revealed nothing of his own thoughts or feelings on the matter but Gandalf noticed that Aragorn placed a comforting hand on Faramir’s arm.

The wizard had also learned of Denethor’s interest. It was galling to have been first deceived as to the purpose of the Gauntlet and then to have been deceived again by Denethor’s feigned indifference to the expedition to Khand. The wizard felt he had been made to work very hard to convince the cantankerous Steward to send Faramir after the Gauntlet when Denethor had every intention of giving in. He intended to remember this incident in his future dealings with the man. Now, though he steeled himself to explain just what he had believed about the Gauntlet. “I can explain why both the Steward and I have concerned ourselves with the `Killing Fist’. I was not, at first, aware that Denethor had been given the same information as I—the same erroneous information.”

“You mean to say that you and the Steward of Gondor were both convinced that an over-sized glove that no one has ever really heard of and that has been quietly rusting in obscurity is just as good as the Ring of Barahir, Narsil reforged and an ancient and royal pedigree combined?” Halbarad’s voice contained equal measures of incredulity and contempt. “Were you not the least suspicious?”

“Of course, I was suspicious!” The wizard snapped, rounding on Halbarad. “But you have vastly over-simplified the circumstances. If you had let me explain in my own way instead of blurting out your glibly naïve summation perhaps you would gain some understanding.”

“I certainly did not mean to steal your thunder. Pray, go on. I crave understanding.”

“Just you beware my lightening, ranger.” The wizard’s eyes had darkened and seemed to have grown larger and his voice crackled a warning. Such a display should have silenced even the most careless and foolhardy. The promise of danger in the wizard’s powerful countenance, however, had the perverse effect of emboldening the ranger. It occurred to Faramir as Halbarad shifted his stance, crouching slightly and planting his feet wide apart as though preparing to leap or to withstand an attack that the ranger wanted a fight.

“I have found that storms can be strange things, the fiercer they appear and louder the wind the quicker they blow themselves—much like a child in a tantrum.”

“It might well seem so to you, as you seek refuge and protection behind the `Highest Tree’ at the first ominous sign.”

To Faramir the words represented a clear escalation but to his surprise he heard Halbarad laugh with what sounded like genuine mirth.

“It is safe there, is it?” The ranger chuckled. “You could be right.”

“Mithrandir, you know that Halbarad-”

“No my Lord Ar-g-orn, I beg you, do not defend me. You shall only prove his point.” Halbarad was apparently still quite amused, though Aragorn was not. Gandalf seemed a little nonplussed that his witticism had ended the quarrel in quite the way it had.

For his part, the confrontation between Gandalf and Halbarad had left Faramir with much he wanted to consider. The ranger’s anger and frustration had been real as had Gandalf’s irritation and defensive guilt. Even so, Faramir did not have the impression that either man had lost himself to his emotions. The idea of violence occurring between the two had never entered Faramir’s head, though the air had been thick with animosity. Suddenly, Faramir remembered what Aragorn had said to him earlier, that both Gandalf and Halbarad had a taste for the theatrical. Had they been performing? If so, who had been the intended audience? Aragorn and himself? Or had they been performing for each other or perhaps themselves. It was a question Faramir hoped to explore at greater length. For now, though, it seemed best to bring the conversation back to the matter at hand: “Mithrandir, you were going to explain how you came to learn of the Gauntlet and how Denethor learned of it as well.”

“Yes. Yes, my dear Faramir.” The wizard seemed more relaxed now as he eased himself back into his chair. “I learned of the Gauntlet from an utterly reliable source. It seemed that there had been some correspondence intercepted between several of the leading Variag tribesmen and two lore masters inquiring if the stories surrounding the Gauntlet were true. My source had only obtained a few of the letters but what these contained seemed very suggestive. Of course, I was not content with that alone. I could not, however, make direct inquiries of the two masters that the Variags addressed to confirm and elaborate on what had appeared in the copies of the letters I had seen. I fear that the masters the Variags had sought would not have welcomed any communication from me. There are rivalries in all things and there are some who hoard their learning unwilling to share with colleagues- especially if they believe that a colleague has been ungenerous with them in the past.”

Aragorn and Faramir exchanged a smile. It was not difficult to imagine that there were many who felt Gandalf had been less than forthcoming. Even now, among his friends and closest allies Faramir sensed that Gandalf would not speak profligately. Automatically, Faramir turned toward Halbarad expecting that the ranger might deliver some sardonic comment. Halbarad, however, stood impassively. Having said his piece, it now seemed the ranger was content to be silent.

“I did some research on my own, but I had little time. Before I found anything either to confirm or deny what I had found in the letters, I had to act. I thought it more than likely that the Gauntlet would not be truly significant but I did not wish to take the chance. The idea of deception had occurred to me but I thought only that the lore masters might have embellished stories of the Gauntlet for the Variags.”

“But then you did know that the Variags would seek to win the Gauntlet- that Aragorn would thus be in danger.” Faramir was indignant. How could Mithrandir be so careless about Aragorn’s precious safety.

“Of course the Variags- and all the tribes- would try to win.” Gandalf replied. “But the Variags should have expected to win at the Gathering easily. They usually do- and the presences of Westerners should have been a surprise to them. I trusted Aragorn could handle himself.”

“After leaving you in Eastfield, I returned to Minas Tirith to continue my research.” Gandalf resumed when he saw that Faramir could not formulate a response. “I found nothing. The library was bare of any reference to the Gauntlet. This was discouraging but I did not give up hope. So much has been lost; so much had been destroyed in war and strife and much more to neglect and the decay of time. Even my own memory is not what it once was. I did, however, learn something of interest during those days of searching: I was not alone in my quest. The Steward had sent his own scholars to investigate the Gauntlet. I was able to learn from careful questions that Denethor had shown them the same clues I myself had seen. I do not know how Denethor received the information but he had. I began to grow nervous.”

“While still searching for any mention of the Gauntlet I began to receive answers to my first hasty messages. I asked scholars of my acquaintance to approach the Variags’ lore masters about the Killing Fist. Apparently, the lore masters knew no more about the Gauntlet than the most famous references. This boded ill but I had received an answer to my inquiries from Lord Elrond that took all my attention. Lord Elrond, as you know, has reason to possess a substantial number of the most significant records concerning the men of Númenor. He had found a ballad concerning the Gauntlet and sent a copy.” The ballad relied rather heavily on metaphor and other exceedingly unhelpful literary devices but even the most liberal interpretation could not make the Gauntlet more than a historical curiosity. I recall the refrain in particular which referred to the `Killing fist’ as an `empty hand’.

“That sounds suspiciously like someone’s idea of a joke.”

“It could be, Aragorn, but the line could also be translated as `invisible hand’ which in the convoluted context of the song could easily mean `destiny’. At least, that is what I told myself at the time.”

“But who can have planned this?” Halbarad asked. “It is an elaborate plan for someone who could not have been certain any heir of Isildur still lived.”

“Even without Aragorn, there was little risk and the hope of much gain for whoever planned this.” Gandalf raised his hand as though to demand a hearing though no one had made any attempt to interrupt. “Into who else’s path could news of the Gauntlet fallen? Imrahil’s? Théoden’s? Even leaders in Harad? Even Boromir’s”

“If any word of the Gauntlet came to Boromir or Imrahil then it clearly meant nothing to them.” Faramir spoke with more vehemence than he had intended but Boromir was no thief, no traitor. Even in the days when Faramir could find nothing in himself to justify any pride there was always his family, there was always his brother and he could take solace that he shared in his family’s sacred mission. The House of the Stewards held Gondor in trust for their King. Denethor might have- in a moment of weakness been tempted to break faith- but Boromir was true. “Boromir would no more be tempted by the Gauntlet’s promise of stolen honor than he could be tempted by an alliance with Sauron himself.”

“Be easy, Faramir. Boromir and Imrahil have done nothing except become extremely alarmed upon hearing that you had been sent to Khand for mysterious purposes.” Gandalf soothed, waiting for the high color in Faramir’s cheeks to fade before continuing. “Whoever planned this could hope to learn how many in the Kingdoms of men, when offered a crown, would rise to the bait. Then, once ambitions had been revealed, surely discord must result. Even if none came for the Gauntlet that in itself would be informative. And what of me, meddler and would-be Kingmaker, what part would I play? On whose side would I join?”

“If you are right then it is some comfort that only Denethor- at your urging no less- came forth to stake a claim.”

“I did not urge him to stake a claim, Halbarad. Though I am glad to find that no others came forward. As to who can have planned this, I cannot say. I do not believe this ploy came from the Dark Lord, Himself or even his nearest servants. I have reason to believe their attention is focused elsewhere. No, the enemy who has woven this web has yet to declare himself. He may even have yet to decide if he will be an enemy. I sense that he may be feeling the lay of the land before choosing sides for good and all.”

“So we must ask ourselves what have we revealed to our possibly ambivalent, certainly mysterious adversary.” Halbarad inquired.

“Nothing that can do us any harm.” Faramir replied with newfound resolution. “The men of the West came to the Great Gathering under one banner, competed honorably in the Tournament and won. Then we returned home under the same banner. There the Tournament’s prize was put safely away until the one to whom it properly belongs comes to claim it.”

“More than that, better than that.” Aragorn continued, leaning slightly forward his eyes burning with the import of his words. “The men from the West took only passing interest in such tokens as the Gauntlet, rather they showed the men of Khand that the unity and prosperity of all men is Gondor’s greater object. Oh Mithrandir, if only you could have seen Faramir. Great work has been done here. I am glad there is no magic in the Gauntlet. Prophecy is a weak and pallid thing laid against the fragile bonds of trust and friendship that now may be forged between East and West.”

“I hope you are right, Aragorn.” Gandalf saw that both Faramir and Halbarad were gazing at their King with utter adoration and the wizard knew a moment of sadness. Prophecy still held Middle-Earth in its sway. Aragorn’s time had not yet come.

The sun lay just beneath the horizon and the dew lay thick upon the ground as Aragorn and Faramir walked arm-in-arm across the sparsely wooded land surrounding the small outpost that had been their refuge the last two days. They had made the most of those two days, rejoicing in each other and jealously gathering every stray word or act of their beloved to store up against the loneliness ahead. Their time had finally run out. Aragorn and Halbarad would go north then east again to renew the search for Gollum. Faramir would return to Minas Tirith, he did not wish to lag far behind the messengers he had sent to his father, for he felt a strange urgency to take a greater role in matters of state. He also wanted the Gauntlet out of his keeping. It had been decided that Flyn would present the `Killing Fist’ to Denethor. Though, Gandalf would be sure the Steward understood that it was useless. Faramir would feign ignorance as far as was plausible and hope that the Steward learned from the experience of the Gauntlet not to overreach. Any thoughts of his father, however, had been banished for this predawn walk. Faramir would think only of Aragorn and the great gift he had so unexpectedly been given.

Before Khand, Faramir had not appreciated that there could be so many shades of green. Now he drank in his surroundings, his eyes hungry for the sight of living, growing things. In a few hours time the two men would go their separate ways, their futures uncertain. They spoke a little, for the comfort of hearing one another’s voice. Gradually, though the peace of the morning overcame them and they walked on in silence. As the sun crested the horizon the two men paused. Even after dawn had broken they remained as they were, arms around one another. “Do you remember, my Faramir, that night we arrived at the Gathering and you first went out to meet the tribes?”

“Of course.” Faramir replied, smiling. “It was the first time I allowed myself to see you as you are. It was the first night we lay together.” Aragorn turned toward Faramir then and kissed him. It was a long, slow, sweet kiss but when it ended, Aragorn turned away. He walked several paces from his beloved before once more facing him.

“Do you remember also that- that you would have sworn allegiance to me that night?”

“Yes, Aragorn.” It was difficult for Faramir not to cross the little distance between them and wrap his arms around his beloved lord, yet he restrained himself. Aragorn was struggling with something and he seemed to need space for the battle.

“I- I refused you. There was so much that you did not understand, so much you could not have known.”

“I knew all that I needed. Though you refused me I was, I am yours. You must know that.” Faramir spoke calmly but there was an old pain shining from his light eyes.

Aragorn was clearly agitated. He moved another pace away from the young man before him then leaned back against the broad trunk of a tree and ran rough fingers over his forehead and through his hair. Unable to withstand his beloved lord’s distress, Faramir went to Aragorn and gently kissed and caressed his arm and shoulder. “What is it, my lord? Please, Aragorn, tell me.”

Taking a deep breath, Aragorn straightened his posture. He would not send Faramir back to Denethor defenseless. He could not. Denethor, doubtless, had his strengths but he had his weaknesses also and those weaknesses could not go unchecked. For Gondor’s sake, for Faramir’s sake they could not.

“If you would offer me now, what I refused then… then I would accept.”

Faramir nearly laughed for the sheer joy of it but seeing Aragorn’s solemn- almost fearful expression he ordered his features with the proper gravity.

“I would. I do.” As he spoke, Denethor’s younger son slipped to his knees. Taking Aragorn’s hands reverently in his own. He swore his allegiance. He spoke the ancient words as he had spoken them once before, saving only that this vow was eternal. It would not be broken, not by death, not by the world’s ending. Struggling, as an infant struggles for its first breaths, Aragorn answered. When the oath had been given and accepted and given back, Faramir rested his head against their clasped hands. The power of the binding sang in them both and they remained still listening to the old magic.

“Rise now, Faramir. And hear your King’s command.”

As Faramir came to his feet, Aragorn drew him into his arms kissing first his forehead and then his lips. Faramir’s eyes were large and filled with a fey light. Looking into the pale blue depths, Aragorn felt fierce pride and love stir him. There was so much power to do good in Faramir, so much courage and intelligence. Yet despite all his great and good qualities or perhaps sometimes because of them Faramir was vulnerable. He could be so easily hurt. The cruelty and indifference of the world could wound Faramir profoundly. Before, such thoughts had always left Aragorn either angry or melancholy. Now, though, he finally had the right- the obligation- to shield Faramir and keep him safe.

“Return to Minas Tirith, tell the Steward of the great work you have done here but keep back any information that might tempt Denethor from his duties to protect and serve Gondor. Accord Denethor the respect due his station but you are not bound to obey any command that is not in the best interest of Gondor and her people. Trust your own judgment.” Aragorn’s palms rested on Faramir’s shoulders and his fingers curved gently along the nape of his neck. “You are mine, Faramir. Be careful of your safety, for I have great need of you.”

“My lord… Yes, my King. It shall be as you command.” Faramir closed his eyes against the sudden threat of tears as he felt Aragorn draw him into a tight embrace. For many moments they stood together. Aragorn buried his head against Faramir’s shoulder, clinging to the younger man as he tried to calm his ragged breaths.

Returning to the outpost, Faramir saw that Gildel and Warin were already assembling the men for the march. Edrin had generously provisioned them, and they would make good time. Many of the men had taken Faramir or one of his lieutenants aside and expressed a desire to be posted to the Ithilien rangers so as to remain under Faramir’s command. Others asked if they might be included on subsequent missions to Khand. He had been deeply touched by this, and Faramir would do his best to ensure good placement for all the men who had served with him on this expedition. Most especially, he meant to keep Isu with him for a few years to ensure the lad was able to adapt to his new circumstances.

“It is a good day for travel.” Halbarad commented, coming up to Aragorn and Faramir and handing his Chieftain his pack. The rangers had refused horses and they would have a great deal of walking ahead of them.

Mithrandir was not far behind Halbarad and the wizard reached for Aragorn’s hand. “Send word if you find anything of Gollum. Thranduil will keep the creature if you find him. I expect we shall see each other in Rivendell if not before.” Aragorn nodded and moved closer to wrap the old wizard in a one-armed embrace.

“Where is my hug?” Halbarad asked the wizard, affecting hurt.

“Charming as ever, Halbarad.” Gandalf returned and the two men shook hands.

“Farewell, Captain. Good luck.” Halbarad addressed Faramir with a formal bow.

“I am very glad to have met you.” Faramir spoke more softly than was his wont but he took Halbarad’s hand in both his own and pressed it with affection.

Halbarad took a sudden interest in the far horizon and Gandalf gazed on in sympathy as Aragorn and Faramir clasped forearms. They had already spoken their hearts and no more words were necessary. Turning away with an almost violent effort, Aragorn started off north without daring to take a backward look.

“Well lad, I suppose we should be on our way as well.” Gandalf said gently after they had watched the two rangers until they had disappeared from sight. The wizard had always felt special warmth for Faramir and now he prepared words of comfort. He expected to see sadness, even despair in the younger man’s eyes but when Faramir turned he saw to his surprise only resolute purpose.

“Yes, I must see my father and my brother. There is a great deal to be done. The House of Stewards has grown forgetful and we have much to remember. We must make ready.”

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