Faramir Fiction Archive

Out of Memory and Time (PG-13)

Written by Shireling

30 March 2008 | 58682 words

Chapter 9: Many Meetings

The safe arrival of Rosie’s baby was a source of great rejoicing within and beyond the confines of Bag End and little Frodo-Lad was just the boost that Sam needed to finally make his peace with Frodo’s absence. He grieved still for the loss of his friend but it was a grief now tempered with understanding and he vowed to honour Frodo’s legacy by taking up the reins as Master of Bag End and doing all in his power to see the Shire prosper.

With Rosie and the bairns fit to travel there was no longer any doubt that the Gamgees would accept the King’s invitation. Sam borrowed a wagon and ponies from the Cottons and set about making it a comfortable mode of transport for his family. He rigged up an awning to shade them from sun and rain and he padded the cart with straw-filled mattresses and soft quilts.

On the day appointed for the beginning of the journey to Lake Evendim, Rosie and the little ones settled in the cart but it was not Sam who took the reins and urged the ponies on the road towards Buckland, Rosie’s brother, Tom had offered to escort his sister. Two days earlier, Sam had slipped away at dawn on his own errand, a trip he took with Rosie’s blessing. Rosie had a letter from Sam to the King explaining his errand and offering his sincere apologies for his delay. While she was sure the King would understand, she was less sure of Mr Merry’s reaction and as they approached the Brandywine Bridge to meet up with the parties from Tuckborough and Brandy Hall, Frodo-Lad sensed her anxiety and began to fret.

A fretful baby and an over-excited Eleanor went a good way to deflating Merry’s obvious agitation at this unexpected turn of events. He had little choice but to accede to Tom’s request that he relieve him of his position so that he could return to the farm to help with the harvest. Merry tethered his own pony to the cart and climbed up into the driving seat. Rosie thanked her brother and busied herself with the children, enabling her to ignore Merry’s muttered grumbling.

Just beyond the Brandywine, the escort sent by the King awaited the travellers. There were so many familiar faces amongst the escort party that it took a while for order to be established. Legolas and the twin son’s of Elrond met their Shire friends with delight and amongst the Royal Guard Merry and Pippin recognised Beregond and Bergil and Damrod.

Merry and Pippin and Bergil took turns to drive Rosie’s wagon and the Elves battled good naturedly amongst themselves for the honour of carrying Frodo-Lad when the babe grew restless; they would cradle him in a sling of cloth and serenade him to restfulness with elven lullabies. Eleanor had only to smile at the elves and one would pluck her from the cart and place her before them on their tall Elven steeds; they never seemed to grow wearied by her cheerful chattering nor could they resist when she begged for stories or songs.

The journey passed swiftly and a few days saw the party approaching the new palace on the shores of the lake. Only the central hall of the palace was completed, the strong stone structure standing tall above the temporary wooden buildings that made up the rest of the palace environs. A wooden palisade and a deep moat surrounded the buildings and tall guard towers were constantly manned while the Royal party were in residence.

It was a joyfull meeting of old and dear friends and the Shire travellers were quickly ushered into the Great Hall where they were greeted warmly. Merry and Pippin were delighted to see Gimli and Èowyn again and also Èomer King and his new wife Lothiriel. The also met the two younger sons of Prince Imrahil who had accompanied their sister, while the Prince, in his capacity as First Minister, remained in Minas Tirith to represent the King in his absence. Rosie and the children were soon whisked away to the nursery by Arwen and Èowyn, while the King and his guest caught up on each others news.

Only as the company were gathered together before dinner did Rosie get the chance to speak to the King. “Please, Sire, could you spare me a moment?” Rosie asked quietly during a lull in the conversation.

“Of course, Mistress Gamgee,” The King teased gently, leading her to a quieter corner.

“Everyone calls me Rosie, Sire.”

“And my friends call me Estel,” he replied, kindly.

“What, even my Sam?”

“If I remind him often enough, though it doesn’t fall easy from dear Sam’s lips!” the King explained causing Rosie to smile and relax a little more.

“I’d imagine he’d find that difficult… even poor Frodo couldn’t persuade my Sam to stop calling him Mr, not even after all they went through together,” Rosie explained.

“You wanted to ask me something, Rosie?”

“No, Sir, just to explain. Sam sent a letter for you but he wanted me to make sure you understood why he couldn’t come here with the rest of us. He didn’t want you to think he was being disrespectful,”

“Was it Shire business that kept him away?”

“No, Sir. Sam has gone to the Haven’s,” Rosie explained.

“Oh. Oh, I see. But he plans to return… he is not seeking passage with Lord Cirdan!”

“Oh, no, Sire. Sam would never leave us, not when we need him so. No, it is the anniversary, “ Rosie said and Estel nodded in understanding.

“No, forgive me, Sam would never desert those he loves. Is he alright, Rosie? Some of the letters we received from Merry and Pippin had us worried for him… we all know of his devotion to Frodo.”

“He took Frodo’s going awful hard and for a while we all feared for him. To have survived all the difficulties and dangers of the Quest only to lose him when they got home…”

“Yes, Arwen feared that Frodo was more deeply hurt by his experiences than any of us realised.”

“I have to tell you, Sire, that for a while Sam seemed lost to reason. He cursed the Elves and Mr Gandalf and even you, Sire, for burdening Frodo with that evil and for not healing his hurts when he was done.”

“As we all cursed ourselves, Rosie. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish things could have been different. But is Sam reconciled now? Has he forgiven us?”

“Oh, yes, Sire. Now that the sharpest grief has given way to acceptance, he knows, as he always knew in his heart, that you were not to blame.”

“And this trip to the Haven’s?”

“I think he just wants to make his peace with the past… To say his farewell to Frodo until they are together again.” Rosie explained.

“He believes that?”

“Oh, yes, Sire. Lord Cirdan himself promised my Sam safe passage when the time is right. He promised him that Mr Frodo would find peace and healing and that they would be reunited at last.”

“And you can accept that possibility, Rosie?”

“I know he will not go while the children or I have need of him, “ Rosie assured him. “And when I’m gone I would like him to find peace too.”

“Sam is blessed to have you, Rosie,”

“And I am doubly blessed to have him.”

“Greeting, Master Samwise. You are most welcome.” Lord Cirdan greeted the little Hobbit with a smile and a hug.

“The honour is mine, Your Lordship. I hope you do not mind my coming unannounced?” the diffident little Hobbit asked.

“Sam, the Haven’s will always be honoured to receive one of the cherished Ring Bearers,” Cirdan assured him.

“I had to come, see,” Sam stuttered.

“Sam, you do not need to explain your reasons. Did you come alone?”

“Aye. And likely to catch it good when Mr Merry and Mr Pippin catch up with me!”

“Why, Sam?”

“I reckon they will think I shouldn’t be here… at least not now.”

“Your meaning is not clear, Sam. Why would they object to you coming here? They and you will always find a welcome under my protection.”

“Aye, but they have all gone visiting with the King and I should have gone with them. I’m sure Mr Strider will understand when my Rosie explains it to him but Mr Merry will think I have forgotten my place and disgraced the Shire by my absence when I was sent an official invitation,” Sam babbled.

“Oh, I see, but you had a more important errand?”The Elf Lord asked. Sam nodded, his face tight and pale with suddenly remembered grief.

“Peace, Sam. I am sure that The Elessar will not be upset by your choice. How long will he be staying in the Northern Kingdom.?”

“’Till the spring. He has brought a great host with him. He wanted to show his friends the northlands and to introduce his bairn to his northern kin,” Sam explained.

“Then you will have ample time to join them when you have completed your errand here,” Cirdan assured him. He helped Sam back into the saddle and led the way down to the harbour.

“Would you like to join us in the Hall for supper, Sam?” Cirdan asked the Hobbit as they approached the harbour.

“Thank you kindly, Sire, but I’m right weary and I don’t think I would be good company just now. May I be excused?”

“Of course you may, Sam. I will show you to your room and have light supper sent up to you later.”

“I don’t want to be no bother, Sire. I will be gone in a day or two… I just wanted… I needed… to… br… here!”

“I understand, Sam. There is no need to explain. You grieve still.”

“Aye, Sire. It’s been right hard, even knowing it was the only choice left to him. It’s not right and it’s not fair that my Mr Frodo should have had to suffer so. . “

“No, Sam, it isn’t. But he will find the peace he seeks and you will be reunited with him when your time comes… even now the shipwrights are starting to work on a new vessel and it will be waiting for you when the time comes.”

“Thank you, Sire. That is a great comfort to me, though I know it is a long ways off.”

“Rest now, Sam, All will be well”

At dawn, long before the rest of the household was awake, the little Hobbit slipped out of the guest house clutching a bunch of flowers. He made his way to the end of the harbour wall to where he could see the ocean glinting in the distance, between the high steep cliffs of the estuary. All day he sat alone on the edge of the harbour wall and though the Elves kept a watch upon him but did not intrude upon his silent and sorrowful vigil. As the tide turned he threw his posy of shire flowers into the waves and watched its slow progress away from him until it was lost from sight. And still he watched and waited and only when it was full dark did Lord Cirdan approach him and gently lead him back, escorting him to the Hall to rest and to eat as the Elves held their own celebration for the trial and triumphs of Frodo Baggins, the honoured Ringbearer, on the anniversary of his departure into the West.

At break of fast the next day Sam found himself as guest of honour, seated between Lord Cirdan and Ranan. The Hobbit seemed in awe of the whole company and could not keep his eyes from traversing the company, to the point that Ranan had to keep urging him to eat, so great was his distraction. To one face his eyes were repeatedly drawn, though the object of his scrutiny was seated at the far end of the Hall.

“’Scuse me, Sire, but that gentleman is no Elf, is he?” he asked, his expression puzzled.

“No, Sam. He is a fellow guest who has been staying with us for a while,” Lord Cirdan explained, exchanging a conspiratorial glance with the Maia.

“It is strange but he reminds me of someone… but that is not possible,” Sam muttered, but the uncertainty plagued at him and he couldn’t help but ask, “What is his name, Sire?”

“He is called Min,” Cirdan explained.

“Aye. Not who I thought then… anyhow it would’ve been impossible. Must just be a trick of the light.” Sam turned his attention back to his breakfast but his eyes continued to flicker towards the stranger.

Min got up at the end of the meal and with a slight bow of acknowledgement to the Lord he left without a second thought for the small guest at the top table. As the Hall emptied Cirdan and Ranan led Sam out into a quiet courtyard.

“Sam, who did Min remind you of?” Cirdan asked gently.

“A man I met on the Quest. He was a Ranger… quite an important man we learned later. He was good to us. He helped Mr Frodo and me when we travelled in Ithillien. He caught us as spies but Mr Frodo soon convinced him that we was on an important errand… even when that wretch Gollum nearly wrecked everything with his trespassing. Aye, he was an important man and a good man, one of the best.”

“And his name?”

“Oh, yes, his name. He was called Faramir. Perhaps your friend Min is related to him. I know he had relatives in South Gondor, related as he was to Prince Imrahil,” Sam explained.

“And what of Faramir? What happened to him?”

“Prince Faramir is dead. Killed by bandits in an ambush… two, nearly three years ago.”

“And how do you know this, Sam.”

“We heard it from the King himself,” Sam explained. “We exchange letters with our friends in Gondor. It grieved Mr Frodo dreadfully to hear that Mr Faramir was missing and then last year we heard that the bandits had been found and tried and executed. It was a real blow to have confirmation that he was dead ‘ cause up till then, when he was just missing, we all hoped he was alive somewhere.”

“So Min reminds you of Prince Faramir?” Ranan asked.

“Yes, ‘course the hair is the wrong colour… Mr Faramir had red-gold hair and your friend’s hair is white… and from where I was sitting he seemed thinner… Mr Faramir was tall and broad across the shoulder, being an archer,” Sam explained.

“Sam, would there be rejoicing if Prince Faramir were found?”

“What, a body, you mean?”

“No, Sam,” Cirdan said gently, “if Lord Faramir was discovered to be alive.”

“What are you saying, Sire?”

“Sam, we believe that our friend Min many be your lost Prince.”

“Why would Prince Faramir be hiding here in secret… it makes no sense, Sire?”

“Min has no recollection and no knowledge of his history, Sam. He remembers nothing of his past and his suffering was such that he believes that his past is best left a mystery… he fears that he committed some dreadful crime!”

“That’s a lie, Sire! Mr Faramir was one of the most honourable people I have ever had the privilege to meet. He could no more commit a crime than my Mr Frodo could.”

“So there was no treachery, no treason, and no lapse of duty?”

“Not by Mr Faramir… only against him, if you get my meaning,” Sam assured them. “Can I meet him, Sire?”

“He knew you well?”

“Well enough, why?”

“Confronting him with a face from his past may be very difficult for him.” Cirdan explained. “His mind has blocked all memories and he suffers greatly when those memories try to resurface.”

“But how will I know for sure it is him?”

“I think you should meet him. Min spends a lot of time in his garden, I could introduce you there. But, Sam, I would have to rely on you to let him control the encounter; see if there is any sign of recognition from him; do not drop any hint of his name or his history unless he asks directly.”

“I’m not good at untruths, Sire,” Sam warned him.

“I do not ask you to tell untruths, Sam. Just assure yourself that he is who we believe him to be and leave the rest to us.”

Min was working in the garden when a shadow fell across the patch he was weeding. He stood up to greet his visitors.

“My Lord Cirdan, Ranan, greetings,”

“Good morning, Min. Your garden is looking beautiful, we have brought a guest, a fellow gardener, to admire your handiwork,” Cirdan explained, ushering forward a small stranger. “Min, may I present Samwise Gamgee.”

“Samwise Gamgee at your service, Sir,” Sam said gravely, his eyes never leaving the man’s puzzled gaze.

“The pleasure is mine, Master Samwise,” Min stuttered glancing at the two Lords as if seeking information.

“You have a fine garden, Sir” Sam offered, though Min was clearly disturbed and didn’t answer.

“Sam, Min is hard of hearing,” Cirdan explained.

Ranan could see the man’s increasing distress and took a step closer. “Are you unwell, Min?” he asked.

Min didn’t answer, too suddenly assaulted by a fierce pain behind his eyes and an anxious knotting in his chest. He staggered, reaching out to Ranan for support to keep his balance. Sam instinctively moved away, distressed to have been the cause of such a dramatic reaction.“If you will forgive me… please excuse me…” Min all but bolted for the sanctuary of his villa but not before they had all seen the colour drain from his face.

“Is there any doubt, Sam? Is this Lord Faramir?”

“He is much altered but, aye, it is him, I’d swear to it,” Sam affirmed.

“I will attend to him,” Ranan offered following Min into the villa.

“Very well. Sam would you like to play messenger for me. I feel the message you are to deliver to Estel will negate any hard feelings over your tardy arrival to attend upon his majesty.”

“You would trust me with such an important commission, Sire?”

“Who better, Sam. I will send Thorian, a young Elf, to escort you. I will write a letter to Estel but I think it better that you impart the news to him yourself… this news is too momentous to be conveyed in a letter.”

“And what about Min… Faramir? Will he be alright?”

“I will prepare him gently. He must know the truth before he is confronted with other faces from his past.”

Min woke slowly from the sedative Ranan had administered when all other means of comforting his distress had proved ineffective.

“What happened?” he croaked, his voice hoarse with the abuse his screams had inflicted upon his vocal cords. “Where am I?”

“You are in the Healing Halls. You have been unwell.” Cirdan helped his patient to swallow a goblet of water. “What do you remember?” Cirdan asked as he pressed him back against the pillows.

“I was in the garden… you were there and Ranan… and a stranger… a little stranger,” he gasped, his breathing becoming laboured and distressed.

“Gently, Min, you are quite safe. My friend wanted to meet you. He is a Hobbit of the Shire.”

“A Hobbit?”

“Yes, A Hobbit. You have met Hobbits before, I think.”

“Yes. . No… I don’t know!”

“Gently, gently,” Cirdan soothed. “Did you recognise our guest?”

“I panicked! Why did I do that?… he looked harmless.”

“Sam is a good friend. A good and loyal friend. In your heart you recognised him but your mind still closes itself to your memories.”

“He knew me?”

“He recognised you, yes. He was surprised and delighted to see you.” Cirdan explained.

Min was clearly struggling to form a question he wasn’t sure he had the courage to utter. Finally he forced out his query. “He knows who I was?”

“Yes. He was, is your friend.”

“And he gave you my name?”

“Yes, although I already had my suspicions as to your true identity.”

“But you said nothing.”

“You were not ready to hear,” Cirdan said gently.

“I am still not!”

“Min, don’t you think it is time to face down your demons and take back control of your life?”

“NO… I am happy here…”

“You cannot hide here for ever. You have friends and family who will be overjoyed to know you are safe.”

“You have not told them! Let me up. I must get up, get away. Why did you tell them?”

It took Cirdan a few minutes to restrain the youngster’s desperate struggles to get away. “Peace, Min. Hush,” he soothed.

“Leave me! You have betrayed me. I was safe here.”

“It is no betrayal to restore you to those who love you.”

“You don’t know that! You don’t know what I did?”

“And neither do you. It is time to face up to your fears. I will help you. You do not have to this alone,” The Elf Lord assured him.

“And what if the truth is a shameful as I fear?”

“You have been more than adequately punished for any error you may have committed… and I say error not crime… I believe you to be innocent of any crime, Faramir, Son of Denethor.”

“What!”

“Faramir. That is your name; Faramir of the House of Hurin, Prince of Ithillien, Son of Denethor.” Min pressed his hands against his ears to prevent any other revelations but Cirdan would not allow it, he grasped his hands and pulled them away. “No more hiding, Faramir. In a few days you will be reunited with your kin and your King.”

“The King is dead!”

“How do you know that?”

“I have seen it, heard it, over and over and over,” Faramir said dully.

“No Faramir. King Elessar is alive and well and is desperately missing his friend and Steward.”

“I saw him fall. I had his blood on my hands…”

“It is time to sweep aside disjointed thoughts and half truths, Faramir. Estel is alive and I would have you now go back and remember what brought you to this place.”

Faramir slumped in surrender, no longer able to resist the Elf Lord’s compassionate but insistent demands. “What must I do?”

“Place your trust in me. I will take you to a state of half-sleep. You will be able to experience your dreams and share them with me. Together we will delve into the past so that you can recall what really happened.

“I’m scared!” Min whispered, as though admitting the fact was in itself shameful.

“I know. True courage comes from facing your fears. The past cannot hurt you now. You will be able to see it without the pain,” Cirdan assured him. “I can tell you now that the ones who hurt you have already paid for their foul deeds with their lives… they are gone.”

“Let us get on with this, then, before I totally lose my nerve!”

It went on for hours. Long into the night Min relived the hours leading up to the ambush. Stopping every so often, Lord Cirdan and Ranan would rouse him to let him rest and take nourishment. When the final recitation of Faramir’s torment at the hand of Mathlong and Gothric’s gang was done, Cirdan nudged him into deeper, dreamless sleep to recover his strength and spirits.

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