Faramir Fiction Archive

Family Honor (NC-17)

Written by Mcguffan

14 July 2006 | 162886 words

Chapter 13

Even beneath the large canopy erected for the comfort of the great men of the tribes, the weather was still oppressively hot. Faramir resisted the urge to fidget as he sat with a look of polite interest melting on his face. Soon, Figno’s harp would be presented and the Variag contingent, minus the Orcish Officer- who was no doubt out on the combat grounds watching Aragorn, were almost rubbing their hand with glee as they confidently expected to add another trophy to their winnings. In the meantime various poems were being read in honor of valor and all martial endeavor. The desire to spend every moment before the end of the tournament with his beloved conspired with the slow and rather boring proceedings to drive Faramir nearly mad and it took all of his self-control to maintain a stoic front. The day had started so beautifully. Faramir had awakened well before dawn with Aragorn’s arms wrapped about him. For a long time the Captain lay still relishing the safety and comfort of the embrace. Eventually, however, duty forced him to extricate himself from the reassuring arms. Faramir had nearly laughed the night before when Halbarad had announced without the slightest contrition that he had knocked Flyn into unconsciousness. From the look on the ranger’s face, Faramir could tell that Halbarad could also see the humor in the situation and the two might have giggled together like children had they shared the trust that would inevitably come with a longer relationship. Aragorn watched his friends indulgently. He was not inclined to laugh at Flyn’s expense but he did not judge his loved ones harshly for their reactions.

Once the circumstance of the incident had been explained, Faramir was decidedly less amused. He had not asked to hear what Flyn had finally said to send Halbarad into a violent rage. Only an insult to Aragorn could have had such an effect on the faithful ranger and Faramir- who did not wish to hate Flyn- was glad not to know. For a time the three men discussed how to change the routine of the camp in case Flyn had let slip more than malicious gossip while talking with the Variag. Halbarad, however, seemed sleepy and quite relaxed- Faramir surmised that striking Flyn had been very cathartic for him- and the ranger soon excused himself. Without the distraction of Halbarad’s presence, Aragorn and Faramir found it difficult to keep their conversation on task.

Even so, the practicalities of managing Flyn’s indiscretion could not be postponed for long and Faramir could not help but bemoan the fate that demanded he deprive himself of Aragorn’s presence to rearrange the duty roster with Gildel and Warin. As careful as he was to rise without disturbing his sleeping lover, Aragorn stirred as the man in his arms moved away from him. Unable to deny himself, Faramir kissed the slowly waking figure, savoring each brush of lips. Before the kisses could turn truly heated though, Faramir asserted his own self-control. The younger man began to smooth Aragorn’s hair and tuck the blanket around him as he begged him to return to sleep. In response to Faramir’s gentle entreaties Aragorn succumbed once again to slumber. Faramir finished tucking the blankets around the older man before washing and dressing quickly. It seemed to the Captain that the tent was a refuge, a sanctuary. In the future when Faramir felt beset by strife and surrounded by turmoil he would remember the quiet serenity of this place and he would remember the expression of peace on his beloved lord’s sleeping face and he would find comfort.

Warin and Gildel were receptive to Faramir’s suggested adjustments to the camp’s scheduled activities. The Captain appreciated their support, observing with mild astonishment that he was giving orders and the men were obeying as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The lieutenants assumed that the changes were being made on the principal that it was dangerous to grow too used to a routine and Faramir did not mention Flyn’s possible indiscretions. Faramir would have preferred to forget about Flyn altogether but he still felt responsible for the man and he could not help but try once again to reach him.

The Captain had sent advance word of his visit. Even so, Flyn’s possessions lay strewn haphazardly about his small tent. The odor of vomit and sour wine assaulted Faramir’s nostrils and beneath that he could detect the acrid scent of frustration and resentment. The former lieutenant stood at attention as Faramir surveyed him. Flyn looked dreadful. One eye was swollen shut and the other was bloodshot. A purple bruise adorned more than half his face and even Flyn’s usually thin lips were puffy and bulging. Such a sight of abject misery might have engendered pity in Faramir but the Captain’s face remained impassive.

The two men regarded each other for a long moment. Then Faramir who had been trying not to breathe through his nose released a sigh. Pushing a shirt off the tent’s only stool, he sat. At Faramir’s wave of permission Flyn sank onto his cot trying, barely successfully, to keep his shoulders from slumping forward. Faramir studied the defeated man for another moment before finally leaning forward and speaking softly so as not exacerbate the man’s headache.

“I daresay you would have preferred a different officer on this venture. And in all truth, I would have preferred another lieutenant. Fate would not have it as we would wish and we are stuck with one another for the duration of our time in Khand. There is no choice about that. The only choice we have is how miserable we are going to make one another. I won’t pretend that you have not been a thorn in my side but ultimately I have the power to hurt you far worse than you have the power to hurt me.” Faramir had said this last not as a threat but as a simple summary of the situation. He was finding this conversation much easier than he imagined and he realized that this was because he no longer cared if Flyn respected him.

Putting this newfound insight aside for the time, Faramir continued: “I would rather not have any more unpleasantness, however. Here are the things I need from you: Write a list of the goods you have traded in pursuit of the Gauntlet. I want an accounting of what has been spent and for what purpose. You are not to communicate by word or gesture with anyone not of this camp. I don’t want you to so much as look at anyone of the Variag tribe.”

Flyn’s expression up until this point had been carefully neutral- at least as neutral as it could be with so much swelling- but at the implications expressed in the Captain’s last sentence the corners of his puffy lips turned down and he objected. “Captain, I would never give away information important to the security of Gondor!”

“Can you swear to that? Do you even remember?” Faramir demanded, feeling anger overwhelm pity. Flyn lowered his head and Faramir calmed.

“And I do not want you drinking. Sulk in here if you must but stay sober.” The Captain resumed as though he had not been interrupted. “Do these things, Flyn, and upon our return to Minas Tirith we will part ways in hopes of never seeing one another again.”

Flyn gazed at Faramir. His face ached and his head pounded and the former lieutenant realized that he no longer had any desire to match wits with Faramir, to dominate him or struggle against him. It was too much effort. He just wanted to feel a little better and leave this miserable desert. “I will do as you ask, Captain.” Flyn finally answered and though Faramir could not have been sure it had sounded sincere.

Faramir did not prolong his leave-taking but departed quickly to allow Flyn recover in his own way. The Captain wasn’t entirely sure he believed the former lieutenant but the interview had left him confident in his own strength and that alone had made it worth the time.

Isu struggled not to feel out of place surrounded as he was by the throng of such grand personages- draped in fine clothes and carrying their importance as though it were a physical thing. He would not gawk or stare as though he were some masterless villager, though. He had a duty, a mission. He and another man had been chosen to act as Lord Faramir’s escort. Isu intended to accomplish this mission- as he meant to accomplish every service for his great commander- with skill and unswerving devotion. Darting another glance at his fellow guardsman, Isu did his best to copy him. He kept his back straight and his expression impassive even as he allowed his eyes to roam over the people nearby, assessing them for any potential threat.

As he studied those collected beneath the canopy set up to shelter the great men from the sun, it occurred to Isu that he wasn’t entirely sure what a potential threat would look like. This concerned him a great deal. Of course he could identify a knife-wielding maniac but Isu knew that was often the leas of the dangers that stalked great men. He was clever, as he had had to be to survive as the youngest child in a family such as his, and he suspected that there were much subtler perils. Impelled by his thoughts the young man’s eyes sought out his new lord. The man was seated near by and he was listening attentively to the flowery speeches and other ceremonial announcements. Isu was certain that Lord Faramir was dissecting every word finding worlds of hidden meaning in each phrase and incorporating it all into his already vast knowledge. Such an aura of quiet dignity surrounded the man that Isu had to struggle to hide the tide of admiration that threatened to overwhelm him every time he cast his eyes in the lord’s direction.

Everything had changed for Isu and he owed the world’s transformation and his own salvation to the mysterious and powerful foreign Captain. The Captain and two others, that was. The second man was Strider. The man who had tested him and miraculously found him worthy utterly perplexed the young soldier of Gondor. He did not even know if `Strider’ was a name or a title. At least Isu had heard legends and tales of great lords such as Faramir was but there was no precedent in Isu’s understanding for a man such as Strider. A shadow of secrets and hidden knowledge surrounded him. Isu, completely unable to understand Strider, had lit upon the idea that Strider and Faramir were actually the same person. Isu believed in magic and the intimacy and connection between Strider and Faramir was unmistakable. It seemed perfectly plausible that Faramir might occasionally want to act without the attention that naturally surrounded his rank and such a magical disguise would explain both the power of Strider and impenetrable mystery about him.

Even if Isu’s guess should prove incorrect and Faramir and Strider were in truth separate people still no conflict could exist between them. The young man could not have said how he knew this except that it was obvious. This truth did a great deal to ease Isu’s mind. For all that he intended to learn the intricacies of Gondor’s politics so that he might always know to stand for Faramir’s interests, it would have stretched Isu strong but new born loyalty should Faramir and Strider ever be at odds. It was a relief to know that he would never be so divided against himself as to have to choose between the two men who had helped him so much.

Immediately, this thought reminded Isu of the third man who had helped him. Halbarad was very different from both Lord Faramir and Strider and it was to him that Isu decided he would finally go for information. It was not that he believed Halbarad to be more perceptive than the other two and it was not that the tall ranger was kinder or gentler. No, the reason Halbarad was more approachable than the others was that he was more familiar. Halbarad could be tetchy and irritable, cynical, amused by vulgarity. In short, he was normal. The thought of pestering either Captain Faramir or Strider with Isu’s curiosity seemed as inappropriate and as importunate as seeking an audience with the Great Lord in Baradur to inquire about next week’s weather.

Not Great Lord, Isu quickly reminded himself. He was the Dark One or the Enemy. Sighing Isu realized that he had as much too unlearn as too learn and for that he would need Halbarad. His comrades had been unexpectedly good to him but he could not communicate with them with the subtlety needed to answer his questions. Moreover, Halbarad was not only clearly wise in the way of the world but he seemed to possess the same passion and loyalty that Isu aspired to. Yes, definitely Halbarad. He could tell Isu the things he needed to know; the only question was could he be persuaded to do so. Isu resolved to try at his next opportunity.

Out of consideration for his companions Halbarad did his best not to betray his eagerness to be away from the Gathering and away from Khand. Just one more night and day and then he and Aragorn could be quit of this miserable land. Striking Flyn had been a tremendous relief in its way but the anxiety quickly returned. It was not that Halbarad lacked patience- not at all. The ranger came of a race possessed of an almost pathological patience. Rather, it was his lack of control, his ignorance in the face of his enemy’s apparent knowledge. The sooner the Gauntlet was disposed of and Khand but a memory the happier Halbarad would be.

Aragorn and Faramir were not so ready to see the last of Khand, Halbarad knew. The ranger tried to let this knowledge rein in some of his own increasingly urgent desire to be gone. For them, their time in Khand was an idyll of comfort, passion and love. Halbarad would not see that cut short except that perhaps Faramir’s presence in Gondor would help draw Aragorn back to the kingdom he had last entered as Thorongil. Gondor needed Aragorn even as Faramir did and Aragorn needed Faramir even as he needed Gondor. It would not do his beloved chieftain any harm to have to confront that truth for himself, Halbarad reasoned as he and Aragorn returned to camp at the end of the day.

The three men sat together in the Captain’s pavilion and the atmosphere was heavy with impending loss. Faramir’s expression was mournful while Aragorn appeared resigned. Halbarad kept his own features carefully neutral and his tone businesslike. For the first part of the evening conversation centered upon plans for the next day. Barring treachery Aragorn’s victory was as certain as a single-combat could be said to be. There would be a little while after the battle had been won but before the gauntlet was presented. Usually that time was given to the winner to collect himself for the presentation ceremony and to entertain any last minute bids for his service. Aragorn expected and Faramir and Halbarad agreed that the Variags would make some demonstration of strength in that time. There would be little danger though until Aragorn actually had possession of the prize.

Though custom stronger than law forbade violence at a gathering Halbarad did not care to trust that any farther than he had to. Then, he and Aragorn would leave quickly once they had their prize. The gauntlet would pass between the rangers several times before appearing to settle with Halbarad in hopes of confusing the Variags’ attention. The details of such switches did not need to be discussed in detail nor did the exact moment the two men would disappear from the gathering or the differing routes they would take or the pace they would set. Aragorn and Halbarad knew each other too well for such a conversation to be necessary and it was better that Faramir asked to remain in ignorance lest he reveal something to their enemies by some inadvertent look or gesture. In all, Halbarad mused to himself; it would take more than the posturing of a few hundred orcling bullyboys to successfully track the rangers. If fortune favored them Aragorn and Halbarad would meet up in Eastfield where they would await the arrival of Faramir. Gandalf, too, was expected. No doubt the wizard would be aching to get his gnarled old fingers on the gauntlet. And if the ancient istar did not have a damned good explanation for all his secrecy and manipulation Halbarad had every intention of setting fire to his hat.

Feeling confident in the morrow and somewhat abashed by the somber mood of his companions, Halbarad rose to excuse himself. Aragorn and Faramir rose with him and as he said his `good night’ Aragorn clasped his shoulder and drew him against his chest for an embrace. Faramir offered him a shy but sincere smile and Halbarad bent his head to the younger man even as he rested against Aragorn’s shoulder. Though he should have learned better in all this time it never ceased to fill Halbarad with a mix of surprise and gratitude that whatever the intensity of emotion Aragorn felt for another it did not cause him to forget Halbarad. Though he loved Faramir, and Arwen as well, Halbarad was still remembered, still worth the effort of a small gesture of affection and approval. For Aragorn intensity of feeling did not imply exclusivity of feeling. To the contrary each love, each friendship made him more aware of others, more alive to the human community, more cognizant of the value of each person in his life. Halbarad’s own nature differed markedly. For him, his devotion to Aragorn overshadowed all other relationships. He was glad for the simplicity if his own personality that would admit of only one friend, one master. There was Aragorn and everyone and everything else in his life could only hope for a distant second place.

Sighing into the chill night, Halbarad did not so much as spare a glance at the campfires some dozen yards away. The light would destroy his night vision and the noise of other men snoring or thrashing would deafen him to any subtler sounds. Drawing his cloak tightly about his shoulders, Halbarad lowered himself to the ground and drew his knees up to his chest. He was close to the Captain’s tent, closer than was strictly proper but it was important to keep guard. No one would see him. He was just a shadow among other shadows on the landscape. Halbarad thought again of the night before and how good it had felt as the skin, bone and cartilage in Flyn’s face had turned to pulp under his knuckles. Only now, the rage that had triggered that episode had diminished leaving the raw desire to protect as a sharp pain in Halbarad’s chest. Guilt at losing his self-command still lingered but Halbarad thought he understood its origin. It came from his frustration at so many unknown dangers. Staying close to Aragorn would help relieve Halbarad’s tension- it would help give him the illusion of control.

Halbarad slept lightly and woke frequently. He monitored the sounds of night ever alert for something out of place. Occasionally soft sounds issued from the pavilion; so faint that only one as near as Halbarad and with superior hearing on top of that could discern them. He let these sounds pass without so much as marking his memory, though. Only a cry for assistance would have penetrated to his conscious mind. Whatever transpired within the tent was as safe from Halbarad’s observation as though the canvas walls were made of solid rock. Shifting on the hard packed earth Halbarad spared a moment to study the sky. There were still hours yet before the dawn.

It was going to be hot day for traveling, Halbarad thought glowering at the sun as though he thought to stare it down. Despite the whether which promised to be even more oppressive than usual, the ranger was in a positive frame of mind. He was standing somewhat back from the dirt circle where Aragorn would fight his last tournament battle. He watched the crowd as early comers staked out places for themselves. Both Aragorn and his opponent were already present and the public watched them with avid attention. Halbarad welcomed the scrutiny for it decreased the chances of anyone sabotaging the contest.

The leaders and chieftains had not yet arrived but then that was probably because excellent places had already been reserved for them. Not even Faramir had come yet, but Halbarad did notice that almost the entire Gondohim camp was wandering about the yard. The Captain had no doubt encouraged all of the soldiers who would not be needed to guard the camp to attend. Though the Gondorhim were still vastly outnumbered Halbarad was glad for the friendly faces in the crowd. Indeed, even as the ranger watched one of the friendly faces was approaching.

“Good morning, Master Halbarad.”

“Lad.” Halbarad responded, his customary frown softening slightly in greeting. There was a brief silence then as Isu considered what to say next and Halbarad continued to scan the people milling about.

“Not long now and Master Strider will have this tournament won.” The young man said after considering and rejecting several more direct openings.

“I expect so.”

Halbarad was clearly distracted and Isu wondered if he might take advantage of his distraction to find the information he wanted subtly without having to ask direct questions that might seem too forward or might make Isu seem silly or slow-witted in Halbarad’s eyes. “Who do you suppose Master Strider will give the prize to?” Isu asked striving to sound casual.

Uncertain about what the point of this conversation was supposed to be, Halbarad decided to turn the question back on the Khandirhm become Gondorhim in the hopes that Isu would take the opportunity to make his meaning clear. “Who should he give it to?”

“Lord Faramir is certainly worthy.” Isu replied blushing. “But perhaps the gauntlet is meant for Lord Boromir or Lord Denethor?” Isu had been told that there was great love between Faramir and Boromir but it was difficult for him to believe that. Only one of them could succeed to their father’s. How could two men in such a position be friends. This was the sort of thing he needed Halbarad to explain.

“And if Faramir were to get the `killing fist’, what then?”

“Well then he could become King, could he not?”

“Do you mean King or Steward?” Halbarad asked trying to keep the frantic urgency from his voice. Isu had almost certainly meant Steward- the concept of holding the throne for another did not come easily to the Khandrim and had probably caused confusion- but even if he had meant Steward… How could Faramir displace his elder brother and father?

“He will be the king? With the gauntlet, yes?” Isu felt unsure. Halbarad was staring at him with a disconcerting intensity.

“Isu, lad, what does the gauntlet do?”

“Do? It doesn’t do anything.” Then Isu continued unnerved even more by Halbarad’s gaze. “Does it?”

The air left Halbarad’s lungs in a sigh of disappointment. Of course, it was absurd. Halbarad had tried since learning of Aragorn’s mission in Khand to learn what power was within the gauntlet. It was too much hope that Isu would know when all of his other careful inquiries had yielded nothing. “What are you asking me, exactly?”

Isu colored. His attempts at subtlety had apparently not gone well. There was nothing left to do but ask his straight out: “It is said that the Steward Denethor does not honor Lord Faramir as he should, that he favors the Lord Boromir. It is also said that Lord Faramir and Lord Boromir are friends and that they have great affection for one another. Is that true?”

Nodding in understanding some of the tension left the ranger. Intrafamily animosity was typical among tribal leaders. Brothers vied against brothers and the sort of plots and conspiracies that would result in Civil War in Gondor were just politics as usual in this arid land. Isu just wanted to know who his lord’s enemies were.

“Aye, `tis true that Faramir and Denethor are often of different minds. It is also true that there is friendship between Boromir and Faramir. You must know, though, that even if there were only enmity between them, Faramir would never seek to challenge his brother’s place. Just so, the Steward would never seek to take the King’s place.” Halbarad added this last as a matter of general truth. Personally, he didn’t trust Denethor further than he could spit. “If you would do honor to your Captain, be a brave soldier and do your assigned duty. The Gondorhim do not resolve disputes among themselves with armed men.”

For a while Isu regarded the ranger dubiously as he tried to articulate just what it was that made this seem so very unlikely. As the youth struggled with his doubts the last combat of the tournament began and Halbarad focused upon the two figures that had slowly started circling one another.

“If it is really true that Lord Faramir does not desire to be King then why does Master Strider fight for the `Killing Fist’?”

The young man’s question struck Halbarad with all the shock and immediacy of a splash of cold water. The ranger now understood that Isu has some information that he needed but Halbarad did not know how to get to it. He had already asked the lad what the Gauntlet did and he did not doubt the honesty of Isu’s answer. So what was he missing?

“Isu, if Faramir had the Gauntlet how could he use it to become King?”

For an awful moment Halbarad was afraid the young man would not answer or dismiss the question as too silly to merit an answer. But at long last Isu sighed as though he suspected he was being given an almost offensively easy test and replied: “Surely, a man who was able to win such a great prize will have proved himself powerful and mighty. Who could deny the prowess of such a man? He would certainly be entitled not only to the respect but also the allegiance of others. Do not the legends of the West speak of tokens that will be shown to prove the rightful King? What token could have greater power than a treasure of the East?”

As Isu answered, his voice high with childlike impatience, Halbarad found himself forced to close his eyes against the swirling tide of images that assaulted him. Khand was a land where the greatest hunter could easily be made tribal leader, where a man’s worth could be measured in the number of buckskins he could display, where a princess could be bought with a musical instrument. Of course they would assume that a man could improve his social and political position with a prize won at the first great gathering in many years. There was more to it than that, though. Gandalf and Denethor had both wanted the gauntlet. Could it really be true that a glove most Gondorhim had never even heard of could be one of the tokens possessed by the rightful king.

Halbarad did not think that the tokens had been enumerated anywhere and in truth he had not given much thought to them at all. As far as he was concerned, anyone who knew Aragorn would accept him in no more than his skin and anyone who didn’t would not no matter how much a self-interested elf-lord testified to his identity or the number of ancient swords he carried about his person. What if this gauntlet was one of the prophesied tokens, though? Not all men thought as Halbarad did, after all, and Denethor wanted the `killing fist’ for himself.

When Halbarad managed to open his eyes he found that Isu was staring at him quizzically, clearly waiting for something. Taking a deep breath, the ranger composed himself to speak to the expectant young man before him: “Lord Faramir came to this land in order to make alliances with the tribes. Strider agreed to accompany him as a guide and he entered the tournament as a means of testing his skill and also as a way finding young men who might potentially be of use to Gondor. That is all. Do not suggest again that Lord Faramir would seek either the kingship or his brother’s place as the Steward’s heir. It would be an insult to his honor to imply that he would desire what by rights belonged to others.”

For the space of a breath Isu did not answer and Halbarad feared that the boy would continue asking questions but in the end Isu bent his head in acquiescence. “I would never wish to cast aspersions upon my lord’s honor. Thank you, Master Halbarad. You have given me much to reflect upon.”

`Same here, lad’ Halbarad thought to himself as he nodded in what he hoped was a way that conveyed both acknowledgment and dismissal. The ranger did indeed have much to reflect upon but even as he reviewed his conversation with Isu he knew that he would need help if he was to make sense of what he had learned.

The sight was glorious- even as he had imagined it would be. Every motion sang of graceful efficiency and controlled power. The combat was like a dance, or no not a dance, Faramir quickly revised for there was true danger here even if he had forgotten that for a moment in the face of Aragorn’s unshakable confidence. But neither was it a true struggle to the death. Aragorn’s opponent moved with desperate intensity but there was too much reserve in Aragorn. He wasn’t holding back, not exactly but neither did this fight touch the core of him. It was clear to Faramir’s practiced eye that the tall ranger was not fighting as a matter of life and death. As he watched, eyes riveted, Faramir could not help but marvel at how the arms that now wielded sharpened steel in a potentially deadly arc had wound around his body with gentle tenderness only a few hours ago. Yet the man who loved him was still discernable amid the hard edges and taut muscles of the warrior. Faramir recognized the iron control in Aragorn’s eyes, the deadly seriousness and even the quiet understanding.

Ordinarily the presence of the disconcertingly smug Variag officer would have detracted from Faramir’s appreciation of Aragorn’s prowess but now the enemy’s presence sweetened the experience. He felt triumphant, exhilarated watching Aragorn. As though he shared in Aragorn’s strength. The young Captain met the officer’s eyes once and his gaze seemed to say: `You see! See what power and what majesty you and yours must face? This is not even a real fight, for do you see how again and again he refrains from killing. Surrender now, for you are already defeated.’

“Lord.” Faramir was so caught up in the spectacle that he did not hear Halbarad. “Lord?” The ranger repeated, still speaking quietly but touching Faramir shoulder for emphasis.

“Master Halbarad, I beg your pardon. May I help you?” Faramir wanted to give the ranger the courtesy of his full attention but he could not quite manage to tear his eyes from the fight.

“I have been in conversation with Isu, the Khandrihm lad. He seems to be under the impression that whoever holds this gauntlet will have gained enough prestige to suddenly become an acceptable candidate for Gondor’s king.”

“What?” Faramir blinked a few times clearing his head of the daze he had been in and tried to focus on the ranger.

“Like the shards of Narsil or the Ring of Barahir, I presume. I am not entirely certain I understand what all this implies.”

“It is said that when the king returns he will bring tokens of his identity.” Faramir had not been able to conceal a frisson of excitement as Halbarad mentioned the ancient artifacts. Did Aragorn have these in his possession? “I don’t… The gauntlet could hardly be proof of anything. Most people in Gondor have never heard of it. It would be impossible for the `killing fist’ to be one of the prophesied tokens.”

“It would be enough if Denethor believed that it was.” Halbarad spoke very quietly. The idea came to him suddenly as he listened to Faramir articulate the thoughts that had gone through his own head immediately after his conversation with Isu. “That might also explain Gandalf’s interest in making sure Aragorn was the one to win it.”

The fight continued but Faramir could no longer find the same joy in it as his attention was forced onto his father. Squeezing his eyes shut, Faramir allowed himself to consider the possibility that Denethor’s ambition might reach as far as the throne. It didn’t seem right. Denethor loved power, certainly, and he had great pride in himself and his family but though the people respected him he did not share a deep love with them. He had always been content with their obedience- never desiring their love. Then a new thought struck him and Faramir felt a cold worm of fear begin burrowing through his guts.

“He doesn’t want it for himself. He means it for Boromir.” The Steward’s beloved son, his first born, it would please Denethor to see him king. And Boromir might be made to consent. Faramir knew his brother had no true desire for the kingship but in his own way Boromir wished to please their father even as Faramir had. Denethor would tell him that their people needed a king and that they depended upon him. He would tell him that he owed it to their family to take the rank that was theirs in all but name. Boromir would not know about Aragorn. He might not understand the true consequences of what Denethor asked and eventually Boromir might give in. Faramir desperately wanted to be in Minas Tirith in that moment, so he could go to his brother and protect him, keep him safe from Denethor’s temptations and transgressions.

Halbarad nodded slowing considering it and for a moment Faramir resented the ranger that he could contemplate something so terrible without the nausea that assailed him. “Perhaps, but how is it that Denethor and Gandalf have suddenly come to the same conclusion about an artifact that no one has paid any heed to before. And why are the Variags so particularly interested?”

Grateful to be torn from thoughts of his brother, Faramir considered Halbarad’s questions. There should be no greater incentive for the Variags to take the Gauntlet than for them to gain the allegiance of any of the tournaments’ winners, yet clearly they were fixated on the gauntlet. Could they also believe the `killing fist’ was one of the tokens of the exiled king? Did they have some plan of equipping a pretender to the throne? Faramir felt the color drain away from his face as realization struck him.

“Halbarad, I think the Variags might be the ones responsible for furnishing Gandalf and Denethor with news of the Gauntlet.” Faramir was so caught up in the horror of his idea that he was not aware that he forgot to add the customary honorific before Halbarad’s name.

“I don’t understand.” Halbarad’s mind had been reclaimed by the combat where he sensed Aragorn’s opponent was struggling. The ranger sensed the imminence of his lord’s victory and was watching for the end.

“I know what the `killing fist’ does.” Several loud clangs of metal on metal followed hard upon each other and then ended suddenly with a human cry. Faramir flinched as the roar of the crowd began to his fill his ears. “It has the power of a traitor’s kiss. The gauntlet marks the man who claims it. In seeking the gauntlet Aragorn has revealed his heritage and his intentions. The enemy will know now, they will know what Aragorn is.”

Shocked and confused, Halbarad tore his eyes from Aragorn standing victorious on the field of combat. Before he could turn his attention to Faramir, however, he caught sight of the Variag Officer. He was laughing.

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