Faramir Fiction Archive

Out of Memory and Time (PG-13)

Written by Shireling

30 March 2008 | 58682 words

Chapter 11 – At Journey’s end

He woke, still disorientated by the confusion of disjointed dreams and memories. He opened is eyes to find it still full dark but for the glowing embers of the dying fire. He took a moment to assess his surroundings; wanting to be sure he was alone. He knew that the Elf Lord’s skills usually had him sleeping till long after dawn but for whatever reason, this night, he had roused early. Next he catalogued his own condition; his eyes were sticky and swollen and his throat dry. Of a rush he recalled the last session with Lord Cirdan and Ranan and he flinched at the remembered distress.

Suddenly the room was too confining, he needed to be out, out on his own where he could allow himself to think and try to process the revelations that had washed over him like a drowning, unstoppable flood. He knew he would not be allowed to leave, that the duty healer would not wish him to venture out, even to his own villa, nor could he find his clothes or boots. He was dressed only in light sleep-pants and the only footwear he could find were the soft canvas slippers of the sickroom. Still determined to leave, he pulled the covers from his bed, he discarded the soft cream blanket and chose for a makeshift cape a gray woollen coverlet that would help him to blend into the cover of darkness. He slipped out onto the terrace and slowly and carefully made his way towards the harbour wall.

He had a destination in mind. At the far end of the harbour wall broad stone steps curved down to a small jetty where smaller boats could tie up. He went halfway down the stone flight until he had descended below the level of the upper walkway and there he settled on a step out of the wind, his cloak pulled tightly around him. Once secure in this isolated sanctuary he finally allowed his thoughts to roam free.

“If you are looking for young Faramir, you are already too late… he has already made his escape!” Beregond and Damrod stilled at the Elf Lord’s words; neither had heard his approach.

“I beg your pardon, My Lord?”

“Granted, youngling but you will not find your Steward within.”

“You knew we were coming, Sir?”

“I have been keeping watch for you. I am rather surprised that you waited so long.”

“We thought you wished us not to interfere, Sir!”

“Oh, I walk a tightrope of conflicting interests and in the first instance Faramir’s wishes had to take precedence but I believe that now he has reached a point where his ‘need’ to see you outweighs what he perceives to be his wishes… I do not doubt you both have an important role to play, as do The king and Prince Legolas but they are constrained by the pledge I was forced to lay upon them… you, however, made no such vow.”

“We waited longer than we were comfortable with. We heard his distress tonight, as did all others who reside here. We could not wait any longer,” Damrod challenged.

“You are correct. Faramir was greatly troubled by what was revealed too him. He was forced to acknowledge the deaths of many who were dear to him. His grief was profound.”

“And does he know all now, Sir, or does he have yet more grief to face?”

“I cannot tell you that for certain. It is my belief that he now remembers the essential facts and I do not think he will require my particular skills again, indeed, it would be better now if his memories came to him naturally. I do not think he will be able to hold them back any longer and it will be healthier for him to accept them as they come,” the Elf Lord explained.

“He is healed then, Sire?” Damrod asked hopefully.

“If you mean, is he as he was before, then the answer is no. We can none of us turn back time nor undo what is past. Everything he has experienced and endured of the last few years has changed him, just as you have changed and grown over that time.”

“So what happens now, Sir?”

“That depends.”

“On What?”

“On what Faramir decides to do.”

“But surely if his memory has returned and he remembers everything there is no need for him to stay away.”

“His memories have returned to him, yes, but I would not claim that he is healed… he has taken a few tentative steps on the road to recovery but he has a long way to go… I cannot wave a healing hand over him and make him whole, however much I would wish for that power.”

“So what can we do, Sir?”

“Well, to begin with I would recommend that you take a walk to the end of the harbour wall… I often find that a midnight stroll under the stars helps me to see problems more clearly and you might find the answers you seek,” The Elf lord said cryptically.

“And what of Faramir?”

“I bid you goodnight, gentlemen. I must go and appraise The Elessar as to his Stewards progress.” Lord Cirdan bowed to the two soldiers and swept away into the dark.

“Well, what do you make of that?” Damrod demanded.

“I don’t know but I do trust him, he has proven to have Faramir’s best interest at heart… even if we do not appreciate his high-handed methods. He does not make idle suggestions… perhaps we should do as he suggests, there is no point in sneaking into the Healing Halls if Faramir has already flown the coup.”

“And what if Faramir has already left the Haven’s?”

“No. I do not believe that to be the case. Lord Cirdan showed no concern as to Faramir’s whereabouts… he was too calm to be worried… I have no doubt he knows exactly where Faramir is hiding himself.”

Lord Cirdan smiled to himself. As he walked away he caught the soldier’s conversation as they emerged from the shadow to walk in the direction he had indicated. He had no doubt that with their Ranger skills they would find their quarry and he had no qualms about leaving Faramir to their care. His task now was to go and soothe Estel’s ruffled feathers and to prepare him for his reunion with Faramir.

Despite Lord Cirdan’s best intentions, the Captain’s nearly missed the shrouded figure hiding in the shadows of the wall. It was only due to good fortune that a stray gust of wind from the sea tugged the edge of the blanket and the soft fluttering caught Damrod’s eye as they stood on the upper wall. He peered over the rail and saw the huddled form below him.

“I think I now understand the Elf Lord’s instructions, my friend,” Damrod whispered as he drew his comrade to the top of the steps. They descended slowly, neither attempting to hide their approach.

Faramir didn’t stir as the two soldiers settled beside him on the stairs, Beregond two steps below him and Damrod at his side. He had his eyes closed, his head resting against the stone wall.

“If you have come to scold, My Lord, I have no apologies to offer!” he muttered, without opening his eyes. “I needed some peace and a place to empty my mind.”

“You always were a stubborn, independent beggar!” Damrod accused quietly.

Faramir’s eyes shot open at the rejoinder; he thought it was the Elf Lord who had come seeking him but the voice was familiar and produced a jolt in his chest. He looked at the two familiar faces with shock and buried his face down against his knees.

“It is too late to hide, Cub. We have found you now,” Damrod said, using the nickname the Rangers had given to the young Faramir when he had first joined their ranks.

Their first contact with him was tentative; Beregond placed his hand on a slippered foot and Damrod settled his hand upon a huddled shoulder. Both wanted more, they could feel how he trembled, but they were afraid of overwhelming him in his current state.

“Damrod…” Faramir offered tentatively. “Beregond… what are you doing here?”

“We heard a rumour that a certain errant ranger was hiding here… we came to get him back!” Damrod explained, his voice choked.

“Then you have had a wasted journey… that ranger is no more.”

“We will be the judge of that,” Beregond said firmly. “Now you are cold and you should not be out here alone.”

“If you are cold then return to your beds and leave me in peace… i do not need nursemaids!”

“You think we would abandon you now! …you have forgotten much if you think us capable of deserting our Captain.”

“I do not ask for your company.”

“But you have it whether you will or not… we have waited too long, grieved too long to walk away now. We are pledged to your service ‘until death’ and our pledge holds still.”

“Then I release you!”

“But we do not chose to be released,” Damrod insisted. There was an uncharacteristic brittleness to Faramir’s manner that made Beregond reluctant to push him but Damrod showed no such qualms; he grabbed Faramir by the shoulders and turned him, shaking him gently until the younger man met his gaze. “I will not lose you again. You are my Captain, my Prince, you are my friend!; once before you sent me away and you went to your death… you saw the King fall and you let the darkness take you. I will not let that happen again!” Damrod was weeping as he spoke and Faramir was broken again by the depth of these soldiers’ devotion.

“Forgive me,” he whispered as he found himself sandwiched between his two companions.

“There is nothing to forgive, Faramir; just come back to us.”

In time the two soldiers led their comrade back to Faramir’s villa to find that their arrival had clearly been expected; the fire was cheery and the lamps alight and a full kettle hissed over the fire. All night they talked together, reconnecting over shared reminiscences.

Neither Legolas nor Estel had found rest and Lord Cirdan’s visit had only slightly allayed their anxiety and impatience. They were relieved that the two Captains had Faramir in their care, though both had to quash their own resentment that they were not the ones to finally reintroduce him back to the ones who loved him. But they could not fault the Elf Lord’s logic in engineering the reunion; Beregond and Damrod had known Faramir longest and, as comrades, their bond with him didn’t have quite the same level of familiarity and would therefore not carry quite the same emotional intensity. It was just another demonstration of Lord Cirdan’s wisdom and understanding.

When daylight came and Estel and Legolas had broken their fast Lord Cirdan sent a messenger to them and requested their presence in the gallery.

“My Lord, you wished to see us?” Estel queried after their initial greeting.

“Yes, there is something I wished to show you.” Cirdan guided them to the far end of the gallery, not giving them time to stop and admire the many works of art on display.

“I thought you would like to see this,” Cirdan said, standing in front of a medium-sized painting. “This was one of the first works that Min completed when he first came here,” he explained.

“But this is Dol Amroth!” Legolas exclaimed.

“It is,” Cirdan confirmed. “It was this that gave us the first clue as to Min’s identity.”

“It is very accomplished; I didn’t know that Faramir was an artist,” Estel commented after examining the picture.

“He has a natural talent but maybe one he has never had the opportunity to develop before now.”

Legolas examined the painting more closely, his expression puzzled. “Why is this picture so significant?” he asked.

“Look at it closely and tell me what you see.” Cirdan requested of the Elf.

“I see Imrahil’s castle and the harbour beyond… I see the Royal Swan and many other vessels…”

“And from where is the vista viewed?”

“From the hill beyond the city…”

Lord Cirdan guided his two puzzled guests to a bench where they could sit and he continued his explanation.

“As you know, when Min came to us he could remember nothing of his origins or his past life but once he was settled here he was quite happy to tell us of his more recent travels and adventures. He was, for nearly two years, a member of the crew of a trading vessel, The Grey Swan, one of Prince Imrahil’s fleet. They traded extensively up and down the coast from their home port on Tolfolas as far south as Far Harad and Umbar… but they only made one brief visit to Dol Amroth!”

“So that is when he saw the city that inspired the painting!” Legolas offered.

“That would be the logical explanation, except that the Grey Swan was only in port for a couple of days and during that time Min was sick… he never went ashore.”

“So he could not have seen the castle and the harbour from that vantage point.”

“Exactly. The painting must have been done from memory. Only someone who was very familiar with the area could have executed such a detailed and accurate representation.”

“Did he realise what he was doing? Did he recognise what he was painting?”

“Not consciously, no. When I asked him about it he said it was just a picture.”

“But you realised he must have had close ties with Dol Amroth!”

“Yes. Of course, had he chosen to paint the White City, our task might have been much easier and we might have identified him sooner… and he was quite stubborn in refusing our aid in helping him to remember his past.”

“Aye, he has ever been of a stubborn nature.”

“Though his reluctance was for the best of intentions… he wished to spare others of the consequences of his failures,” Legolas explained.

“There were no failures,” Estel asserted firmly.

“Perhaps you should reassure him of that in person,” Lord Cirdan said gently.

Estel and Legolas turned slowly towards the entrance of the gallery to the three figures standing just inside the doorway.

The tall pale figure standing rigidly to attention was flanked by the two Captains. He was dressed in the manner of the Elves in a formal knee-length tunic, tight leggings and soft leather boots. His face though tanned showed the strain of his recent trials and his silver hair curled loosely at his shoulders but for two small braids at his temples. His expression was chillingly blank.

“Your Majesty, you wished to see me!” His voice was quiet and devoid of emotion as he saluted his Sovereign Lord. Estel and Legolas exchanged an anxious glance as they moved slowly and very carefully forward. Neither missed the further tightening of his posture at their approach nor the reassuring hands of the Captains on his shoulder.

“Faramir,” Estel said tenderly, carefully raising his hand to lift Faramir’s chin until he had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Faramir is that any way to greet a friend after all this time?” Very carefully, keeping his eyes fixed to Faramir’s he slowly raised his other hand, slowly tracing his palm from Faramir’s elbow up his arm, across his shoulder and up around to cup the back of his head, only then urging the youngster to him until their brows touched. In the flicker of a heartbeat, the barriers that Faramir held so tightly in place collapsed. He all but fell into Estel’s embrace as the Elf Lord ushered the two emotional Captains away to give the re-united friends some privacy.

There was such joy in their re-union, so many tears and explanations that they were closeted together in the gallery for most of the day. And when evening fell they chose to forgo the communal Hall and eat together privately in Faramir’s villa.

Estel and Legolas, needing the reassurance of his presence, stayed close enough to him to be in constant physical contact; a hand on his shoulder, a touch to his face or an arm across his back and Faramir seemed to drink in these touches, leaning in to the comfort being offered. But as the evening progressed his mood became more sombre.

“What is it, Little Ranger?” Legolas asked, noting his increasing disquiet.

“How can you be so kind to me? How can you be so forgiving after all I have done?”

“How would you have us behave? We are just so thankful to have you returned to us,” Legolas explained as they both moved closer, offering him the reassurance of their presence and gentling his agitation.

“But it was all my fault!”

“No, Faramir,” Estel assured him.

“Yes… yes it was!”

“Faramir do not trouble yourself with what is past,” Estel soothed.

Legolas could see that the reassurances were falling on deaf ears.“No, Estel, I think we should let him speak of this matter,” he counselled, “he has suppressed too much in the past and it has caused us all untold heartbreak. Tell us, Little Ranger. Open your heart to us so that we may know how to help you.”

“It was my fault. When first I was troubled by dreams of Boromir, I tried to deal with it on my own… I didn’t want to disturb your Honeymoon with my trivial worries,” he explained.

“And I was away and couldn’t help you,” Legolas offered.

“Yes, but I thought I could deal with it… and then at Osgiliath the vision came to me in the daytime and still I tried to hide my weakness from everyone. I knew Beregond suspected that I was compromised but I overrode his council and insisted we push on with the patrol.”

“And when Imrahil arrived and voiced out his concerns over your behaviour I rode out to intercept you.”

“And you nearly died… because of me!”

“Faramir, your actions saved my life… but for your quick actions the enemy’s arrow would have been a fatal blow,” Estel tried to assure him.

“I thought it was! I thought you were dead… and those poor boys, I led them to their deaths.”

“But you did not deal out their deaths. The patrol was overpowered by a bigger, stronger force. They fought and died bravely for their country. The fought bravely and with honour at your side.”

“But they died and I wanted to die with them… I gave in to despair!”

“Even the bravest warrior has moments of despair, Faramir. All who fight have moments when they doubt their courage or their abilities but they fight on despite their doubt… just as you fought so hard to live,” Legolas asserted. But still he could see the denial in his eyes.

“I deserve all they did to me!” It was little more than a whisper and their hearts quailed at the continued evidence of his suffering.

“Faramir, no one deserves what you suffered!” Estel assured him sternly.

“It was naught but fair retribution.” Faramir would have pulled away from them but they refused to release him.

“No, Faramir. No more now, you are overwrought. Lord Cirdan will have our hides if he sees we have brought you to this.” Legolas pulled the floundering man into his arms, holding tight against his struggles until Faramir once more yielded to the comfort being offered. “Come now, Little Ranger, you need to rest.”

“Will you stay?” he pleaded, “I am afraid my dreams will not be tranquil, my mind is too full… please will you stay?”

“We will be right here. We will not leave you alone this night,” Legolas assured him.

“Faramir, Lord Cirdan tells me that he has been treating your scars. Will you allow me the honour of doing that before you sleep?” Estel asked.

“You wish to see what was done to me?” Faramir asked defensively.

“I wish to continue the healing Lord Cirdan has accomplished,” Estel assured him.

“Trust Estel, Faramir. He has helped you in the past,” Legolas said, leading Faramir through to his bed chamber and waiting patiently until, with a sag of his shoulders, Faramir acquiesced, shrugged off his clothes and burrowed under the safety of the covers.

When Estel approached he noted two things; the first that Lord Cirdan had clearly anticipated his actions and had provided a cup of aromatic oil and a dish of fresh Athelas leaves on the nightstand, the other that Faramir was lying face down his arms clutched tightly around a pillow, his whole posture as tense as if he were expecting further punishment.

“Peace, Faramir, “ he soothed, “I cannot help you when you are so tense. Relax, I will not hurt you,” It was devastating to him that Faramir flinched away from his first touch. “Faramir, you are quite safe. Trust me, Little Ranger” he urged. When his words had no immediate effect he tried another tack.

“Turn over, Faramir… good… now look at me and listen to my voice…”Estel whispered, keeping his voice gentle and soothing. As he spoke he crushed some Athelas leaves between his fingers and as they released their soothing fragrance he dropped them to steep in a bowl of hot water. As Faramir inhaled the vapours some of the tension left him and Estel began to stroke his forehead, moving on to massaging his face and scalp as Faramir gradually relaxed into the treatment and all the time he kept up a constant hum of reassurance. Utilising the physical contact Estel channelled his healing energy but he made no attempt to follow Faramir’s spirit or thoughts, content to offer his friend comfort.

Only when Faramir was completely relaxed did Estel and Legolas gently role his boneless body onto his front so that Estel could address his scars. Faramir was deeply asleep long before Estel had finished his ministrations; he did not get to see their reactions to the evidence of his torment nor the tears they shed at his suffering.

For several days Faramir spent his time with his friends, sharing stories of his travels and learning of some of the happenings in the Kingdom during his absence. His friends were cautiously optimistic that ‘their’ Faramir was gradually re-immerging. He had no more healing sessions with Lord Cirdan but the Elf Lord and Ranan often joined in their discussions. Faramir was not immune to returning memories; his companions soon began to recognise when a fleeting thought or memory would wash over him; he would halt in his tracks and his eyes would become distant. The nature of the remembrances was obvious by the emotions that would track across his visage; the happier memories he shared freely with his companions but battle memories, the horror and the grief, he would try to hide but they never allowed it. The never allowed him to shut himself off in the past despite his reluctance to burden them.

The Royal party had been resident in the Haven’s for a week when The King reluctantly announced that he needed to consider returning to the Palace at Lake Evendim. It was the news Faramir had been dreading.

“When must you leave, Sire?”

“Tomorrow or the day after. I have left my guests there too long already.”

“They would not begrudge you this time, Estel, not when they know the reason,” Legolas assured him, only then noticing Faramir’s stricken expression. “Faramir, what is it? What troubles you?”

“I will miss you!”

“What!”

“I will miss you,” he repeated.

“You are coming with us,” Estel asserted firmly.

“No, Sire.”

“Do you think we would ride away from here without you! …No, Never again!”

“I’m afraid you must, Sire,”

“What nonsense is this, Faramir,” Estel demanded.

“I cannot go back,” Faramir insisted, “You must see that.”

“You are my steward! You must come back. You took an oath!” Estel all but shouted in frustration.

“Sire, you have no Steward. The post no longer exists and the oath… as far as Gondor believes I am a dead man… my tomb lies within the Hallows!”

“I will explain the error.”

“Sire, you cannot turn back time and unmake the past!… And what of the men executed for my ‘murder’? Can you bring them back to life?” Faramir said sadly.

“Even without their conviction for their crimes against you, they would have faced death for treason. You must not take their deaths on your conscience, Faramir.”

“Legolas, please can you not make him see that what he wishes is impossible!” Faramir pleaded.

“I do not understand, Little Ranger. I do not understand you stance in this matter. You know now where you belong. You know that your family and friends want you back, that you would be welcomed joyfully. Why do you resist?”

“I do not want to go back! Please do not make this any harder. That part of my life is over.” It was clear to all that Faramir was becoming increasingly distressed and his distress was shared by his friends.

“And if I order you?” Estel’s question echoed in the suddenly silent room.

“I do not believe you would do that, Sire. You are too honourable to force your will in this matter,” Faramir said stiffly, retreating back into his sanctuary of formality.

“Gentlemen,” Lord Cirdan interjected, “it is clear that this matter will not be resolved whilst emotions are running so high. May I suggest that we leave this discussion for now… I am sure a solution to your dilemma will present itself.”

“As you wish, My Lord,” Estel conceded reluctantly. “I will do as you suggest and let the matter rest for now.” Faramir also nodded his agreement, relieved that the moment of tension was past.

“Faramir I believe you were planning to take your friends out upon the water today; I believe the tides and winds are favourable for your excursion.”

“Yes, My Lord,”

“Legolas, could I ask you to remain, I have a commission for you,” Lord Cirdan explained.

“Certainly, My Lord. I am not sure that sailing is perhaps sensible for me,” Legolas conceded, remembering Lady Galadriel’s warnings to him.

Lord Cirdan and Legolas stood on the dock and watched the small sailboat bob out into the estuary.

“Do not worry, Faramir is an accomplished sailor. They will be quite safe.” The Elf Lord reassured him.

“You had an errand for me, Sire?”

“Lady Éowyn arrived at first light this morning; at the moment she is resting. She rode here overnight without escort. I have sent a message to Arwen to reassure her that her friend arrived safely and that Estel would be returning shortly.”

“And what would you have me do, Sire.”

“I understand that you know Éowyn quite well?”

“Yes. She has been my neighbour in Ithilien since Faramir’s disappearance. We have supported each other… she is as a sister to me,” Legolas explained.

“Before she is reunited with Faramir I would like you to explain his situation to her. There is much she will need to understand.”

“You doubt his recovery?”

“He has come a long way in the last week but he still has much healing to do. This morning’s episode was a timely reminder of all that he has lost… not least his sense of self worth.”

“Surely that is all the more reason for him to come home.”

Lord Cirdan aimed a fond but exasperated frown at the young Elf, one that reminded him much of his father. “The impatience of these mortals is rubbing off on you, Greenleaf!” he commented wryly. “He needs to be healed and to feel whole before he returns. I will council Estel to patience and I would ask you to help Lady Éowyn to fully appreciate his current state of mind. I understand that her devotion to him is undimmed but his memory of her is only recently rekindled. She must not expect too much too soon.”

When the sailors returned to the harbour, Legolas was waiting for them; he waved the men off to their quarters and led Faramir up towards his villa.

“What is it, Legolas?” Faramir asked, sensing the unusual tension in his friend’s demeanour. Legolas stopped before the garden gate.

“You have a visitor,” he said softly, turning Faramir to face the garden.

Éowyn was sitting in a shady arbour, anxiously twirling a wilting bloom between her fingers. Faramir stood transfixed. At Legolas’ urging he stumbled towards her, unable to quite comprehend the reality of her presence.

He knew her. Recognised her deep within his soul.

“Éowyn!” he gasped. “Éowyn!” he was weeping as he knelt before her, her hands clasped tightly in his. As the emotions welled up inside him he dropped his head onto her knees and, as Legolas slipped away, the only sounds to disturb the tranquillity of the garden were the anguish of his tears and the soothing litany of her endearments.

Most of the elves had long since retired for the night but in the Hall of Fire Lord Cirdan was entertaining Ranan and Faramir and Éowyn and the King’s companions as they talked softly, reminiscing by the fire. It was tranquil, without the highly charged emotions of recent days. Éowyn was just about to bid them all goodnight when they became aware that Faramirwas distracted, that he had been touched by another memory. They waited anxiously for him to be freed by this vision of the past.

“I saw you!” He whispered, grasping Éowyn’s hand with the urgency of his thoughts. “I saw you!”

“Where. .. where did you see me, Faramir?” Éowyn queried, looking to Legolas and Estel to see if they could offer any help.

“And you, Legolas, and Damrod… and… and Tamir… I saw you!”

“Gently, Faramir. Think on it calmly and tell us what you remember,” Estel soothed.

It took a few moments for him to order his racing thoughts. “In Dol Amroth… on the quayside. I was on The Swan waiting to go ashore… there were lots of soldiers, a big procession… you were there I saw you… my head hurt… I saw you!” he gasped.

“It must have been when we sailed down with Imrahil for Éomer and Lothiriel’s betrothal,” Legolas offered

“And we didn’t see you,” Damrod exclaimed sadly.

“You weren’t looking for me… I was already dead!”

“If only we had realised. You would have been restored to us a year ago,”

Ranan placed an arm around Faramir’s shoulder seeking to calm the agitation that the memory had produced. “Do not regret that which cannot be changed, My Friend. I think you needed that year. I think that you needed to be guided here where you could find peace and begin the process of healing.” Faramir relaxed and nodded his agreement.

“It is late and you all need to find your rest,” Lord Cirdan suggested, “Lady Éowyn may I escort you to your rooms?” Lord Cirdan took her arm. “Estel, I leave Faramir in your care, Good night.”

It took Faramir a while to relax enough to sleep but Estel and Legolas stayed with him until the soothing effects of the Athelas infusion finally worked their magic.

“It is a tragedy that he was so close to being found only to be carried away from us again.” Estel whispered as they watched him sleep.

“Closer than you think, my friend!” Legolas replied cryptically.

“What do you mean, Legolas?”

“Do you not remember that conversation we had with Imrahil when we re-joined you in Minas Tirith? He was explaining about meeting up with one of his Captains and of hearing about the deaf sailor who was such a talented artist! …that must have been Faramir… Imrahil came that close to being introduced to him.”

“Why did it not happen? I do not remember the details.”

“If I remember correctly, the sailor was ill and the ship sailed before the betrothal celebrations were concluded,” Legolas explained.

“Perhaps Ranan was right. It seems Faramir’s path was guided by the Valar. Perhaps he did need to come here!”

“And perhaps he needs to stay here, Estel,” Legolas offered, though he was loathed to bring up a matter that he knew would cause his friend such distress.

“No! You cannot mean that! How can we just ride away and leave him here… that cannot be for the best.”

“Estel, if you insist upon it, he will do as you wish… but before you resort to such measures, look into your own heart and make sure you are doing it for the right reasons.”

“But to leave him here… alone!”

“Who said he has to remain here alone. I will stay with him for as long as he needs me. It is not as if he is likely to disappear again; Lord Cirdan would not allow it… and just because he stays here does not mean he will be lost to you. You will be here in the Northern kingdom till the spring and when you do return to Gondor it will be no great difficulty to extend the messenger service from Lake Evendim to the Haven’s.”

“You have thought this all through!” Estel accused him.

Legolas did not allow himself to rise to the bait; with a sad smile he replied, “He is not yet ready to return, Estel. Give him your blessing to remain here and to make his peace with all that he has endured. Let him heal and be whole.”

“And what of Éowyn! She will not abandon him so lightly.”

“Éowyn has only just arrived and she is perhaps our best agent in achieving the outcome we all desire. Her love and support will likely have a deeper and more lasting impact than even our friendship could do. They need time together.”

“Does she know of these plans?”

“Lord Cirdan will have explained them to her. He is going to offer her a place here for as long as she wishes to stay.”

“Un-chaperoned!”

“She will not be un-chaperoned if I remain here and I do not fear for her honour or safety in Faramir’s hands, Do you?”

“And you think Éomer will approve of these plans?”

“He knows his sister and he wants her to be happy… and there is no reason why he cannot visit with them while they are here.”

“You have it all planned,” Estel complained.

“Estel, you are too close to this to see matters objectively.”

“I do not want to be parted from him so soon… I want to take him home!”

“He will come home, Estel. I am sure of it. Be patient my friend.”

In the New Year, Lord Cirdan officiated over their hand fasting, formalising the betrothal that had taken place four long years before in the aftermath of King Théoden’s funeral. There were only two witnesses, Legolas and Ranan, and their wedding breakfast was a simple picnic in their garden overlooking the harbour.

“How does it feel to be married to a ghost?” Faramir teased as they sat entwined together in their sheltered bower.

“Not just a ghost but a pauper too,” Éowyn giggled.

“What?”

“Your estate passed to your Uncle… he passed it all on to me!”

“So I bring nothing to this marriage but the clothes on my back, and even those are not my own! …you have made a poor deal, My Lady.”

She sobered, taking his face between her hands. “You have come back to me, beyond hope or expectation… that to me is beyond price. I would not exchange what I have now for worldly riches or honours,” She assured him earnestly, cementing her words with a passionate kiss.

“Have I told you recently that I love you, My Princess, My golden Lady?”

“Aye but I will never tire of hearing you declare it, My Princely Pauper!”

It was in the autumn when the newly refurbished Grey Swan sailed into the great harbour of Dol Amroth and was guided with honour into the premier berth below the castle wall. As the crew furled the bright new sails two Royal pennants continued to flutter and snap high over the little ship; the Prince of Dol Amroth’s insignia and the recently commissioned standard of the Prince and Princess of Ithilien.

Captain Cardolan and his crew saluted from the rail as Faramir escorted Éowyn down the gang plank to the tumultuous cheering that erupted from the large crowd who had gathered on the quayside to welcome them home. Faramir saw so many familiar faces among the throng; Éomer and Lothiriel, Legolas and Gimli and the Son’s of Elrond, Merry and Pippin and Sam and Rosie, Zerbah and Tat, his uncle and cousins and their families, Tamir and Beregond, Damrod and Bergil; so many other faces that he recognised. And in the centre, Estel and Arwen and their baby son.

Arm in arm Faramir and Éowyn stopped in front of the Royal couple to offer their obeisance.

“Sire…” Faramir faltered as the emotion of the moment washed over him. He swallowed hard, grateful for Éowyn’s calming support at his side.

“Sire, The Prince and Princess of Ithilien humbly request permission to return to your service. We also beg leave to introduce to you our Son, Elboron, that he may grow to be a friend and helpmeet to your sons and daughters and to faithfully serve your Majesties and Gondor, as we are proud to do.”

“We are proud and honoured to accept you back in our service, My Lord. Gondor is honoured by your presence,” The King said formally, “but, more importantly…” the King embraced his friend fiercely and bestowed a kiss of blessing to his brow and to each cheek “…welcome home, my beloved friend.”

The End

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