Faramir Fiction Archive

Paying the Piper (G)

Written by Shireling

15 November 2005 | 22964 words

Title: Paying the Piper
Author: Shireling (shirelinghpc@hotmail.com)
Rating: G
Warning(s): Spanking
A/N: Sequel to 'Seeking'
Summary: In the early days of the King's rule Faramir is left in charge during the King's absence and finds himself having to deal with unexpected complications

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Chapter 1

Faramir, the Steward of Gondor, strode from the council chamber at the conclusion of another day’s business. He had waited in the chamber for the last of the Councillors to depart and had spent a few minutes going over the preceding hours’ business, mentally evaluating the discussions and the decisions taken.

It surprised him to find that he enjoyed presiding over these meetings, never having anticipated that the cut and thrust of political manoeuvring was similar to the duties he had held as a Captain of the Rangers. The skills were much the same: clear decisive reasoning, the ability to take account of the details without losing the over-view of any given situation, reading men’s hearts and reasoning, discerning weaknesses in men and proposals and having the courage to take decisions even if the decisions proved to be unpopular. Within the Council he thrived; his wit, intelligence and air of serenity had won over even the most recalcitrant of the ‘old guard’ as Estel had dubbed them.

Stopping in the corridor at a window that overlooked the Pelennor to where the river meandered south from Osgiliath. Faramir stifled a yawn; being responsible for the administration of the city and the security of the realm was exhausting, and try as he might there were just not enough hours in the day to keep on top of his own duties as well as those of the King. He worked long into the night and rose with the dawn, delegating where he could and prioritising when he could not. He had had nominal charge of the Kingdom now for a week and he would not be relieved of his charge until the King returned in another week. The King, accompanied by Legolas and Gimli and a platoon of the White Guard led by Beregond, had gone into Ithilien to scout out and deal with the remnants of the forces of Harad who still plagued the mountains and hillsides.

In the weeks after Estel and Legolas had finally broken through the isolating grief that had paralysed his physical and emotional recovery, Faramir had blossomed, finally accepting his place within the King’s circle. It had not been an easy or a smooth journey, doubts and fears that had been a lifetime in the making could not be wiped out overnight. On several occasions Legolas, or occasionally Estel, had taken Faramir aside and had demonstrated in a practical ‘hands on’ manner that Faramir was indeed worthy and deserving of their special care and that they would not allow him to lock inside grief or guilt, as had been his habit in the past.

That the King had left Faramir in charge was a great boost to his confidence. Lord Elrond and Gandalf both remained in the city and the Elf Lord had agreed to act as an advisor to Faramir, offering his wealth of knowledge and wisdom to the inexperienced Steward. Lord Elrond had declined to sit in on the council meetings, preferring to wait in the background for Faramir to call upon if necessary. At the end of each meeting Faramir would meet with the Elf Lord in the Royal apartments and would discuss the conduct of the meeting and the decisions taken, seeking reassurance that the decisions and judgements had been sound. At the end of these informal sessions Faramir came away buoyed up by Lord Elrond’s approval.

At the end of one such meeting Lord Elrond excused himself, leaving Faramir in the company of Arwen and her brothers. He was still a little uncomfortable when in the company of the Elves, his famed ability to read the heart’s of men did not appear to extend to the Elves, their calm and serene expressions foiled his oft vaunted skills. He noticed the gentle, almost teasing, smiles that passed between the siblings as they regarded him. He was about to excuse himself when Arwen waylaid him, tucking his arm through her elbow and leading him to the balcony.

“My Lady?”

“Faramir, I know that Ada is delighted that you show such confidence in his judgements,” she explained, taking a tighter grip on his arm when he tried to pull away from her.

“Of course. I am very grateful that he shares his wisdom and experience with me. It is a reassurance to know that there is someone infinitely wiser than me to oversee the King’s business,” Faramir explained, puzzled that his response seemed to elicit another expression of mirth between the Elven siblings. He didn’t like the feeling of being excluded from what was obviously a private joke at his expense and he pulled into himself, suddenly feeling defensive and unsure of his standing.

Arwen, sensing his emotional withdrawal, released her grip on his arm but replaced it with a hand upon his shoulder.

“Have I overstepped the mark, My Lady? Have I misjudged His Majesty’s intention? Imposed upon Lord Elrond’s time and patience?”

“Peace Faramir, of course not. I’m sorry; it was not our intention to tease you or to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Arwen is right, forgive our thoughtlessness.” Faramir wasn’t sure which of the twins spoke; he was still unable to tell them apart. Faramir again tried to make his excuses and leave but Arwen had no intention of letting him get away until she had cleared the air between them.

“Faramir, my father has said many times this last week just how impressed he is with how you have handled the extra duties placed upon you; how naturally you have taken to standing in for Estel.”

“He has?”

“Yes, Estel will be very proud of you when he returns, though I am sure he never doubted your capabilities; it will be a weight off his mind to know that he has you to help him share the burden of rule.”

“Thank you, My Lady. But I don’t understand….what was causing you such mirth.”

“Oh, Faramir, we weren’t laughing at you, it was the situation.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Faramir, everyday, after Council, you seek out Lord Elrond. Yes?” Faramir nodded, looking anxiously between the Elven siblings.

“Why?”

“For his advice and guidance,” Faramir explained. “I need to be sure I haven’t made any grave errors or made any foolish decisions.”

“I see. And what advice did he impart to you today?” Arwen asked.

Faramir stilled, looking off into the distance as he thought back over his discussions with Lord Elrond. There had been many matters he sought advice upon, several decisions upon which he was unsure of the judgements he had made.

“Well….Um….I!” Faramir turned his puzzled gaze to Arwen; she graced him with a smile of reassurance.

“I don’t remember” he stuttered. “I….” he shook his head to clear his confusion.

“Think, Faramir.” One of the twins encouraged.

“He never….never gave me any advice, nor questioned any of my decisions,” he muttered, realising the truth of his insight. “He never did, did he?” Arwen leaned over and kissed his cheek, adding to his confusion.

“No, Faramir, he never did.”

“But then why?….He must resent me for wasting his time.”

“No, Faramir, never that. It is just Ada’s way and he would never view it as a waste of his time. You made those decisions, Faramir. You made those judgements and talking them over with Ada only helped you to clarify your thoughts and confirm to yourself that those judgements were sound.”

“But what if I had made an error?”

“Then he would have guided you and prodded you in the right direction until you recognised the error and came up with a solution.”

“But he wouldn’t have made the decision for me?”

“He would have had no need to, Faramir. He has confidence in you, just as Estel does.” Arwen whispered.

“So I should stop pestering him with my insecurities?” That comment earned him a non- too gentle cuff on the shoulder from Arwen.

“Faramir, we pointed this out to you to show you that you ‘are’ making the decisions and that you don’t ‘need’ to keep doubting your abilities. Ada is happy to be a sounding board for you as he is for Estel and if it gives you reassurance to talk through your concerns then he will be there for you. But you don’t ‘need’ him.” One of the twins explained.

“Do you understand now, Faramir?”

“Yes, My Lady.”

“Good, then we will say no more.” Arwen concluded. When it seemed that Faramir was still intent on bolting for the door, she halted him, her question a gentle order. “You will, of course, be joining us here for supper, Faramir.”

“If it will not be an intrusion, My Lady.” Seeing the look on Arwen’s face, Faramir beat a hasty retreat before she could take him to task for his reticence.

Faramir was still trying to process the whole interaction as he made his way back to his chambers. He greeted Tamir, his young adjutant, with a bemused grin, handing over a handful of papers.

“Is everything alright, Sir?” Tamir asked, waiting to take Faramir’s formal court tunic and helping him to don more comfortable attire.

“No…yes, thank you, Tamir, everything is fine, the meeting went well.”

“Can I get you anything, Sir? You seem a little distracted….will you be eating here again tonight?”

“No I will be joining Her Majesty’s party for supper. It appears that I am taking the evening off!”

“Not before time, Sir. You work too hard.” Faramir chuckled as the young lad realised what he had said and blushed. ”Forgive me, Sir. I meant no disrespect.”

“None taken, Tamir. You are not the first one to say so and her Majesty’s invitation was couched in terms that I would find very difficult to refuse.”

“You mean an order rather than a request?”

“Exactly so. Queen Arwen can be most persuasive. Now run along, Tamir, it seems only fair that if I am playing hooky for the evening that you should also have the opportunity.”

“Thank you, Sir. Are you sure there is nothing I can get you before I leave?”

“No, I am quite content.”

Dinner that evening was a jolly affair, the Hobbits were on fine form and Arwen and her brothers seemed keen to outdo the Halfling’s merriment. Faramir was happy for the most part to be a passive observer although he surprised the others and himself when he beat them all at a nonsense word game that Frodo introduced. By the time they all retired to Arwen’s parlour Faramir was more than a little tipsy on wine and laughter.

It was Pippin who instigated the next game and before long the Hobbits, the twins and Faramir were tussling over a soft leather ball. There were no rules, no boundaries and no quarter given and it was soon clear that despite the declared object being to keep possession of the ball, the un-stated objective was to down and attack Faramir, reducing the poor Steward to a giggling heap, made breathless by the tickling, insistent fingers of the Halflings. The more he pleaded for mercy the more persistent the attack until finally Arwen and Lord Elrond took pity on him and hauled the Hobbits away.

“Thank you for your timely assistance, My Lady,” Faramir gasped trying to catch his breath. He looked down and realised to his mortification that he was more than a little dishevelled; at some point in the melee he had lost his tunic and one of his shoes and his hair flopped in damp ringlets around his face.

Arwen noticed his discomfiture. “You are a delightful mess, My Lord,” she teased.

“Perhaps now would be a good time for me to retire, Ma’am,”

“Do not go so soon, Faramir. It is so good to see you enjoying yourself, please stay a little longer,” she urged.

“If you insist, My Lady.” It was hardly a gracious acceptance, for he would rather have retreated back to the sanctuary of his own chambers.

Arwen grinned and knelt down in front of the still breathless Steward. She placed her hands on each side of his face, taking a firm pinch of each of his earlobes. Faramir squeaked.

“My Lady?”

“Faramir, to every other citizen of this land I am ‘your Majesty’ or ‘your Highness’. Here, in private, when I am relaxing amongst friends I am Arwen.” Faramir blushed more brightly and tried to turn his gaze to the floor. Arwen was having none of it. “Am I not your friend, Faramir?” she asked.

And for Faramir that was the heart of the problem.

In the weeks following the Coronation it had taken much persuasion on the part of the King and Legolas to break down the barriers of formality Faramir used to assimilate his place in the new order; breaking down a lifetime of rigid adherence to protocol instilled in him from the time he could walk. They had made progress but the process was by no means complete and it did not yet extend to his Queen.

If one excluded the servants, Faramir’s experience of interacting with females was almost non-existent; he had entered the military academy at the age of twelve and from there had spent his entire life in the barracks or out in the wilds of Ithilien with his rangers. The few occasions when filial duty called him to the city afforded him little opportunity for frivolity or socialising and, with Boromir unwed, the wives and matrons of the nobility had no interest in the younger, unfavoured son the Steward as a prospective husband for their daughters. They left him alone and he escaped back to his ‘real’ life at the earliest opportunity.

His mother was only a phantom of memory, a presence of warmth and scent but no substance; he had no image to recall and no real memories of her to draw upon. He had been too young and Boromir’s shared remembrances, whilst cherished, were like the fireside tales of a lost generation.

Lady Mimaver, his nanny, was a clearer presence though he had pushed away his memories of her until the King had bidden him to recall his childhood and he had reconnected with his memories. She had been the one who nurtured and cared for him as a child, loving and teaching him, there to kiss away his tears, chase away his nightmares and tend his bumps and scrapes. But she had abandoned him too, sent away without notice on his eighth birthday when his father deemed him too old for the nursery. From then there had been no female presence in his life and he had grown to manhood without realising the lack, he was a man in a man’s world and that world filled with constant conflict and dire threat. He had no time for romancing and he had no time to regret the loss; he thought little beyond survival.

Faramir used the armour of formality to ease the discomfiture of his interactions with Arwen and now Arwen was asking him to discard that protection, asking for his friendship, and he knew not how to give it. As during his tentative and hesitant courtship of Éowyn he simply didn’t know how to be ‘friends’ with a lady. He felt tongue-tied and awkward. He had no reason to feel intimidated by Arwen’s presence, she was kindness itself, serene, calm and endlessly supportive but she was a queen, his Queen and an Elf and the combination had the power to reduce him to a blushing, inarticulate simpleton.

From across the room Elrond observed, his grey age-wise eyes taking in the interaction and missing none of the emotions that flickered across Faramir’s troubled countenance. While he knew a little of Faramir’s history, the significance of the Steward’s discomfort did not escape him and he recognised, as his daughter did not, that in pushing her offer of friendship she was in danger of pushing him further away. With the flicker of a glance Lord Elrond signalled to Elladan to rescue Faramir. Elladan picked up Faramir’s discarded tunic and reached out a hand to help him to his feet. In the mean time Lord Elrond used the distraction to draw Arwen away.

“Arwen, you have a kind heart and I realise that you are acting with the best of intentions but I fear that you are in danger of overwhelming our young Steward with your attentions.”

“But, Ada, I only wanted to offer him my friendship; he seems so lonely, so alone. It breaks my heart to see him hovering on the periphery of our company, as though he fears to join in.”

“I know,” Lord Elrond affirmed, “I see it too but you cannot force him to feel at ease in our company. You must let him make the first moves; welcome and reassure him of your own good intentions but let him dictate the pace of his integration. He will join in, in time.”

“But I don’t have time, Ada!” Arwen whispered, with tears in her eyes; she buried her head against her father’s broad shoulder. “Soon you will all leave and I will be left here with only Estel for company and the occasional visits from Legolas and my brothers. I will need his friendship.”

Elrond swallowed down his own tears and tilted up her chin until he could look into her eyes. “And he will give it, my daughter, you could not ask for a more generous and loving heart than Faramir’s. When you get the chance, explain to him your fears, I deem that you will engage his friendship more quickly if he thinks it is for your benefit rather than him seeking it for his own comfort; he would give all for another, and his friendship and loyalty, once given, would be safe against all threats or dangers. Just give him time, my daughter.”

Faramir breathed a sigh of relief at Elladan’s intervention; he accepted the Elf’s assistance and once on his feet attempted to straighten his appearance.

“Lord Faramir, did you manage to speak to the master-at -arms about our offer to assist with the cadets’ archery lessons?” the Elven warrior asked.

“I did, indeed. He would welcome your assistance in training the recruits in using a shorter bow, one more suited than the long-bow of the Rangers to use from horseback. The Rangers rarely used horses in the past but Beregond and I have decided that in future the White Guard of Ithilien would be more effective and versatile as a mounted troop. Your expertise and experience would be most welcome. He suggested that you and I demonstrated to the cadets the differences between the two types of weapon.”

“That could be fun,” the Elven warrior grinned and then sobered, remembering the Steward’s recent recovery from his battle wounds. “Are you recovered enough for such a demonstration? I know your injuries must have affected your use of the bow?”

“As long as I do not overexert myself I will be fine; my speed of draw has not fully recovered but I have not lost much in the way of accuracy.” Faramir explained. “Have you used a long-bow?”

“Not in many, many years. A shorter bow has always been more appropriate for the kind of situations we usually find ourselves in,” Elladan explained, sharing a look of past remembrances with his twin.

“The master-at arms suggested that the day after tomorrow would fit in well with his training schedule, if that is acceptable to you.”

“What time?”

“Afternoon.”

“Excellent, we will look forward to it, won’t we, Elrohir?”

Faramir, in the process of donning his tunic, turned to see the other Elf’s reactions. In the process he caught his unshod foot on the leg of a chair; he recoiled in pain and lost his balance. With his arms still entangled in the sleeves of his tunic he couldn’t put his hands out to save himself, he toppled over, banging his chest into the arm of a wooded chair as he fell and striking his head on the corner of the hearth.

The darkness was a familiar friend and he felt no fear as it enveloped him in its velvet embrace. Where once the darkness had been threatening, smothering, an ice cold band of fire around his heart, here there was no threat and no pain. He allowed himself to float upon the waves of nothingness.

Now there was PAIN; it sliced through his senses, pinning him like a captured butterfly on a specimen table. He could not escape, to move was to invite the pain to multiply; the weight forcing his chest down onto the ground left no possibility of crying out or calling for aid, barely left him the option of breathing. Fear was curling around him, smothering him.

Not enough breath.

He couldn’t move.

Nothingness beckoned with its promise of oblivion.Perhaps this was the death he had cheated in the past; the presence on the edge of his awareness the grim reaper come to gather him back into the bosom of his sundered family. But the presence didn’t seem grim. It was offering him ….something; calling to him. Boromir, perhaps, coming to usher him home.

But no, not Boromir! This fey spirit radiated a calm that could not possibly be Boromir. Boromir had been many things in life: bluff, courageous, loving, supportive, full of life but never calm, never serene. Serenity he had only seen once on that beloved face and that had been in death, as the grey Elven bier had born him away into the mists of a shadowed river.

The spirit beckoned but he couldn’t move …he didn’t want to move…the darkness of his surroundings echoed the shadow in his spirit. He retreated into himself and banished the spirit, allowing it to float away from his consciousness.

A moment’s inattention and none had been close enough to prevent his fall. Only at the last moment had the twins seen him stumble and even their Elven reflexes had not been speedy enough to save him from the impact. Their Elven senses registered the grunt of forcibly expelled air as his chest hit the chair and the awful, sickening thud of flesh and bone impacting with the stone of the hearth.

And then for interminable, endless seconds, absolute silence.

“Faramir!” The shout of alarm broke the paralysed silence and, as one, the Elves moved with the choreographed ease of past experience; instinct taking over from shock. Arwen whipped a folded napkin from a side table and handed it to Lord Elrond who was already bending over the fallen figure. That deed done she moved away from the focus of attention and ushered the stricken Hobbits back to give the healer more room to work. Pippin was weeping silently into Merry’s shoulder and Frodo and Sam, pale faced with shock clung to each other as if that simple contact was all that was keeping them from shattering.

Faramir had fallen face down, his arms still caught in a tangle of sleeves. He lay, silent and motionless, his forehead resting against the hard stone, a spreading red stain pooled beneath his pale face.

“Elladan, Elrohir, help me to turn him,” the Elf Lord ordered, releasing the Steward’s arms from his tunic. “Keep his neck straight…gently, turn him gently.”

With practiced ease the Healer examined his patient, palpating around the wound for signs of damage to the skull and mopping away the blood that flowed freely from the laceration just above the hairline. He pressed the napkin to the wound, applying gentle pressure to slow the bleeding

“I do not think the skull is broken but it was a nasty fall and we must wait to see if he has sustained any serious damage.”

“Why won’t he wake up, Sir?”

“Pippin, he has a nasty concussion; his brain has taken a severe shock, we will have to wait for him to wake up in his own time,” the Elf Lord explained gently to the youngest Hobbit.

“But he will wake up, won’t he, Sir?”

“I can give you no guarantees, Merry. Much depends on his own strength.”

“Please, Sir, you must do something…you healed Frodo from the Morgul blade, I know you must be able to help Faramir!”

“I thank you for your faith in my abilities, Merry. I will help him as I can. First we must get him to his chambers…”

“Not the Healing Houses, Ada?” Arwen asked.

“No, this young one has seen enough of those rooms; I deem he will be more at ease in his own bed.”

As Elrond knelt down to hitch the pale limp body into his arms Faramir groaned and started to retch, they rolled him onto his side and waited for the spasm to pass. Only when the risk of him choking had passed did Elrond lift him and cradle him to his chest, oblivious to the blood staining his fine embroidered robes.

“Come Arwen, Elladan, I will require your assistance. Elrohir would you stay with the little ones. I will send word as soon as there is any news.” With his instructions given the Elf Lord swept out of the chamber carrying his precious, lifeless, burden.

Chapter 2

Several hours later Arwen and her Father sat in quiet vigil over the unconscious Steward. They had bathed and sutured his head wound and in removing his soiled clothing discovered a large livid bruise on the right hand side of his chest; Lord Elrond prepared a poultice and they bandaged the bruised ribs; during their ministrations Faramir never stirred.

“Ada, shouldn’t he have woken by now?” Arwen asked, replacing a damp cloth across the pale brow.

“I had hoped to see some improvement by now,” he confessed, “but it was a nasty blow and I sense that he is not ready to return to us yet.”

“Can you not call him back, Ada?”

“I can try but I cannot compel him to return. It would be better if Estel was the one to seek him; there is already a connection between them and I suspect that Faramir would respond better to a friend than to a figure of authority.”

“You think he fears you, Ada.”

“No, fear is too strong a word but he is not at ease in my company.”

“Should I try, Ada? I do not have yours or Estel’s gifts but I know something of the methods you employ….could I help him?”

“The offer is kind, my daughter but I fear that for the reasons we discussed earlier your intervention would not aid him at this point,” he explained gently, cupping his hand to her down turned cheek. “No, I will attempt to reach him. Will you stay and give me your support.”

“Of course, Ada. What would you have me do?” From their positions on either side of the bed they each extended a hand and entwined fingers, allowing their joined hands to rest over Faramir’s heart. Elrond placed his other hand on Faramir’s brow. He closed his eyes and allowed his senses to reach out through his fingertips.

He sank into the darkness enveloping Faramir’s mind.

Pain.

He felt, experienced the pain with a force that threatened to overwhelm him and for a moment he was tempted to retreat from its onslaught. He pushed it down and allowed his strength to smother the pain to a bearable level. Once he had regained a measure of control he moved further into the darkness. He could sense Faramir now; his bright spirit beckoned him forward until he reached an invisible barrier. He called but his words were swallowed by the silence, silent to even his own ears. He could feel the battle raging within the frail vessel that held Faramir’s spirit, could feel the temptation to give into the darkness. He called again, and again his voice carried no sound; he was a passive observer of this battle and he recognised the instant that Faramir drew away and let the shadow take him.

“Ada!”

“ADA.” The urgent call brought him back to his senses and he found himself slumped back in his chair, Arwen’s worried face inches from his own.

“Are you alright, Ada? You cried out as if in pain.”

“I am fine,” he reassured her, reaching out with a shaky hand to a glass of water on the bedside table.

“What happened?”

“He is in great pain, both physically and emotionally. He seeks to retreat from it and in doing so he has gone farther than I could reach. Estel explained before how he distances himself from pain to better ride out its fury, at present he is too weary to fight.”

“Is there any hope, Ada?”

“Of course. I will give him something to ease both the physical pain and to ease his mind, then I will try again to reach him.”

“But won’t the medicines make it worse and send him into even deeper sleep, Ada?”

“It is a fine balance. I need to give the draught enough time to be effective so that he has the strength to find his way back, only then will he slip into healing sleep,” the Healer explained, sorting through bottles and vials until he had collected the herbs he required.

Hearing was the first sense to return, though it took a while for the fact to register that these were real sounds and not the background noises of the darkness. He reached out with this first sense to try and comprehend his situation. He could hear the gentle murmur of voices, loud enough to register but not clear enough to decipher the words. He could hear the hiss and crackle of a fire and the whispered footfall of someone’s restless pacing. He could hear the pounding of his own heartbeat drumming in his ears, louder, louder; the pain in his head pulsed and he swallowed repeatedly against the bitter up swell of nausea.

“Easy, Faramir. We have you.” The soothing voice assured him as they turned him onto his side and supported him as he retched, dry heaves that seemed sure to explode his pounding head. “Easy now.”

He tried to bring his hand up to the focus of the pain but his arms felt like lead and he couldn’t get the wretched limbs to move. He felt hands upon him, moving him like a limp rag doll. When they had finished moving and tending him he resisted the temptation of sinking back into the oblivion of sleep and instead used his energy to try to open his eyes. Even the act of trying to force open his lids left him damp with the sweat of exertion; a cool cloth was pressed against his neck and brow and he leaned into its offer of comfort.

“Hurts!” He wanted to say more but that was the only word he could articulate.

“I know, Faramir. Just relax and we will give you something for the pain.” It was a female voice and was accompanied by a soft hand cupped to his cheek. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

It took all of his remaining strength but he blinked once, twice and tried to focus on the face in front of him. Gradually the blurred vision cleared and in the dim lamplight he realised that it was Arwen.

“My Queen…..!” He struggled to sit upright but firm hands stilled his attempt, pushing him back against the pillows.

“Easy Faramir, you must rest. You had a nasty fall and sustained a bad blow to the head. You must rest.” Lord Elrond’s stern but compassionate instructions quelled any further struggle and he sank back further into the pillows. A moment later a cup was pressed to his lips and he swallowed down the offered water with relief; the drink was followed by a bitter tasting elixir, he hadn’t the strength to turn away from the noxious brew and he swallowed it with difficulty.

“Well done, young one, I’m sorry I couldn’t make that one more palatable,” The Elf Lord chuckled at his grimace. “I want you to sleep now; you will feel much better in the morning. Just relax and we will take care of you.”

As he relaxed and slipped back towards sleep he remembered the darkness and the presence. “Where’s Boromir?” he mumbled as sleep claimed him.

“Ada?”

“Don’t worry, Arwen, A little confusion is to be expected after such an injury. His heart seeks the comfort of a loved and familiar presence.” The Elf Lord assured her.

“He still seeks comfort from the past,” she said sadly, stroking her hand through his hair.

“It is a shame that Estel and Legolas are away, I think he would find ease in their company.”

“Should we send for them, Ada? Ask them to return early?”

“No, Arwen, there is no urgency. He will recover without difficulty, I deem. Now that he has wakened and knows his surroundings it will not take long for him to be back on his feet. He will be recovered before Estel’s party could get here and I fear he would hate to be the cause of the King cutting short his expedition.”

When Tamir reported for duty at dawn he found his Lord, pale, bandaged and still abed. Even from the doorway he could see the bruised and battered visage, Faramir’s face and right eye swollen and discoloured beneath the bandage around his forehead. The young Adjutant’s gasp of shock roused the Elven Healer from his reverie and he rose gracefully to usher the youngster back into the anteroom.

“My Lord, what has happened?

“Lord Faramir had a fall and banged his head. He was knocked senseless for a while but he is alright now. He will recover.” The Healer assured the shocked youngster.

“You should have sent for me! I should have been here,” the adjutant whispered, “the one time he needed me and I was out with my friends.”

“Peace, Tamir. It was an accident and you could not have prevented it. The queen and I attended him. He will be fine; two or three days in bed and he will be fit to resume his duties.

“Are you sure, Sir?”

“I am sure, young one. . . through I don’t envy you the task of keeping him in bed.”

“No Sir, he hates being idle when he knows there are duties awaiting him.” The young adjutant grimaced at the thought of the likely battles ahead

“I don’t think it will be a problem today as I am sure he will have a considerable headache. I will stay until he awakes and I will leave you some medicines to help ease his pain. Try to keep him as quiet and still as possible and try and keep visitors to a minimum, he will likely not feel up to entertaining guests. I will inform Queen Arwen and the rest of her entourage of his condition.”

When he climbed slowly to wakefulness the following morning it was to the grateful realisation that though his head still ached he no longer felt that it was liable to explode. He was also thankful to find himself alone, though the quiet buzz of voices filtering through from the ante-chamber promised that his oasis of peace would be short-lived.

An insistent need to utilise the facilities of the washroom claimed his attention. With a groan of exertion he pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. At that point the condition of his ribs came sharply and painful into focus, overriding even the increased pounding in his head. He hugged his arms around his chest to support his bruised ribs and pushed himself to his feet. An involuntary groan betrayed his actions and he found himself subject to the disapproving scrutiny of his two self-appointed carers as he slumped back down onto his bed in defeat.

“What are you doing out of bed, my Lord?” Elrond asked with a knowing grim as he pulled gently on Faramir’s arm and assessed his pulse.

“I am going to the washroom,” Faramir growled through clenched teeth, pulling his hand away and trying again to get to his feet.

“You should not be out of bed,” the healer said firmly, quelling his charge with a hand on his shoulder.

“I thank you for your concern but I ‘am’ going to the washroom.”

“Not without assistance you are not.”

“I don’t need assistance.” Anger and frustration were giving Faramir strength but he was no match for the determined Elf Lord.

“You have a choice, young one, either you allow us to help you to the washroom or we deal with your needs here . . . but I would advise you to make up your mind swiftly or you will be dealing with Arwen as well and she has been my assistant in the healing halls for long enough to have mastered the art of dealing with difficult patients!”

“Fine! Tamir may assist me,” Faramir hissed, sullen in defeat.

“We will both assist you,” the Elf Lord affirmed, giving the pouting Steward no further room for dissent.

By the time he returned to bed he no longer had the energy or the inclination to resist the healer’s attentions and he lay, limp and motionless, as the Elf Lord assessed his injuries. Though the blow to his head had been in his hairline, the bruising and swelling had spread lower and his right eye was swollen almost shut and sported a colourful array of bruises. He winced as the area around the wound was palpated and only when the healer had finished his ministrations did he finally meet his eyes.

“You’ll mend,” Lord Elrond assured him, moving his attention to Faramir’s bruised chest. “Two or three days rest will see you back on your feet.”

“But I can’t laze in bed. I have duties to attend to.”

“Your only duty at the moment is to follow my instructions. I have checked the agenda for today’s council meeting and there is nothing that cannot be postponed for a day or two. Arwen and I will keep an eye on matters until you are sufficiently recovered to return to your duties.”

Elrond was only too aware that Faramir would consider his incapacity a shameful weakness and he did his best to reassure his unhappy patient.

“Faramir, you really are in no condition to return to work.”

“Please, if you would just give me something for the pain. . . .a bump on the head is no excuse for abandoning my responsibilities. . . “

“Faramir, it was more than ‘just a bump’ . . . consider what sort of example you are setting young Tamir if you ignore my advice and instructions. Would you rather I ordered you to obey or maybe have you moved to the Warden’s jurisdiction for care and observation?”

“That is a low blow, Sir.” Faramir almost spat the words but Lord Elrond was not fazed by his ill-humour and merely fixed him with a calm and impenetrable gaze.

“Tamir, you may give Lord Faramir four drops of this medicine every four hours. See that he stays in bed and make sure he rests. Do not worry if he has no appetite today, though you must make sure he continues to take a drink every couple of hours. I will come back and check on him later.” Lord Elrond spoke within Faramir’s hearing so that there would be no doubting his orders. With a final instruction to send for him if the young adjutant was worried, Lord Elrond took his leave.

By lunchtime the following day Faramir was ready to explode with frustration. Tamir had been ruthless in his application of the Healer’s instructions, keeping visitors at bay and dosing Faramir on a regular basis. While the medicine worked well at treating the pain it also made him very sleepy, a fact that infuriated the patient who fretted against the enforced and unwelcome incapacity. In truth, Faramir still suffered from a considerable headache and found the thought of food increased his feelings of nausea. He avoided battles over eating by consigning most of his breakfast and lunch to the fire when Tamir stepped out of the room.

When Lord Elrond appeared to check on his patient Faramir feigned sleep, though he wasn’t above eavesdropping on the Elf Lord’s conversation with Tamir.

“Well youngster, how is our patient today?”

“He seems a little better, my Lord, he ate most of the breakfast and lunch you had sent up for him and he says his headache is better. . .he doesn’t like taking his medicine because it makes him sleepy, Sir,” Tamir reported.

“That is one of its purposes, Tamir,” Elrond whispered,” it helps to keep reluctant patients in bed.”

“OH. . . I hadn’t thought of that.”

“If he does indeed feel better there is no need to give the medicine on a regular basis. Keep some handy and just give him a dose if and when he needs it. What about his ribs? Is he moving more easily?”

“He seems to be and he hasn’t complained of any discomfort today, Sir.”

“Very well. I won’t disturb him as he is resting. I will be in the Houses of Healing for the rest of the day if you need me.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Try not to worry about him, Tamir. He is well on the way to recovery. He is most fortunate to have such a watchful and diligent companion to look after him.”

“It is my privilege, Sir.”

Faramir listened to the conversation with a growing sense of frustration. It wasn’t that he doubted their intentions, but he hated being fussed over and he felt more than capable of judging for himself what he was capable of. This was the second day of his enforced incarceration and he was all too aware that in his absence his duties would be piling up, especially with the King away. He could simply no longer abandon those duties and undo all of the progress he had worked so hard for. When the King returned he wanted everything to be in order and running smoothly.

As he played these thoughts through his mind he suddenly remembered that he had engaged to attend the cadets’ archery lesson, another duty he was loath to abandon. The pounding in his head intensified as he attempted to work out a way of fulfilling his obligation. Noticing the bottle of elixir he measured out two drops onto a small mithril spoon, not a full dose but hopefully enough to mask the pain without making him drowsy.

Calling Tamir to his bedside he tasked the young adjutant with seeing to some research for him in the archive, a task that would take most of the afternoon. Tamir was clearly torn between this important task and leaving Lord Faramir unattended.

“Are you sure you will be alright on your own, Sir,” he asked. “What if you need assistance?”

“I will be fine,” Faramir assured him. “I have just taken another dose of Lord Elrond’s delightful potion,” he said, pointing to the sticky spoon with a grimace. “. . .you know how that stuff affects me. If I need anything I will ask the guard to send for you.”

Tamir nodded and reluctantly gathered together the documents he required. He made sure that the Steward had a drink within reach and pulled the shutters closed.

“Tell the guard that I do not wish to be disturbed,” Faramir instructed as Tamir took his leave.

Faramir lay still for many minutes to allow the medicine to take full effect. He slowly pulled himself to his feet and struggled to dress himself in his Ranger attire, before strapping on his bow and quiver.

A small voice of reason nagged at his conscience as he made his covert exit from his chamber via the concealed door in his closet. He recognised that the chances of his illicit excursion escaping the notice of his ‘nannies’ was remote but reason and logic had long since deserted him; he could not allow the consequences of his clumsiness to interfere with his duties.

Carrying a lighted torch he made his way through the labyrinth of tunnels burrowed deep within the heart of the city. This had been his playground as a boy and Boromir had been his playmate, he knew the tunnels and passageways like the back of his hand. The last time he had utilised these secret ways had been to escape the city in his search to connect with his memories of his beloved brother. This time he stayed within the confines of the city, exiting the cool, damp confines in a sheltered corner behind the market square on the second level, using the crowds and bustle to mask his unorthodox appearance.

The archery lesson was in full swing when he arrived at the practice field and he waited quietly in the shade for a break in the session before announcing his presence. He watched in silent admiration as the twin Elf Lords first demonstrated their skills and then assisted the weapons master in instructing the cadets. It was a surprisingly peaceful scene; the three instructors moved up and down the line offering words of encouragement and instruction, occasionally stopping to adjust a stance or the position of hands on the bow. At the end of the session the cadets retrieved their arrows and gathered around the water butt to rest and quench their thirst. It was at this point that Faramir approached the Master-at-Arms and apologised for his tardy arrival.

“My Lord, we were not expecting you. I was given to understand that you were still unwell,” the old soldier commented, looking the Steward over with a glance that left no doubt that he thought that he should indeed still be abed.

“I am quite recovered,” Faramir assured him.

“Recovered but not yet truly healed,” The man confirmed pushing back a lock of hair to reveal the sutured laceration in his hair line and then tilting his face this way and that to examine the bruising around his eye. Faramir stepped away from the scrutiny with a grimace of irritation.

“Recovered enough to fulfil my obligations to assist Lords Elladan and Elrohir in a promised demonstration.”

“Lord Faramir, we were not expecting to see you here today.” Both twins appeared at his elbow and they too subjected him to intense scrutiny.

“So people keep saying. I am not in the habit of reneging on my promises, My Lord.”

“But Ada said you would be resting today. Does he know that you are here?”

“Lord Elrond checked up on me earlier. . . Now are we giving this demonstration today or have I dragged myself here for nothing,” Faramir challenged, hoping to turn attention away from Lord Elrond’s instructions and not wanting to tell an outright untruth to the Elven Lords.

“Faramir, are you sure you want to do this? You are still very pale. . .we can always reschedule this for another day, “ Elladan coaxed.

“I’m fine. Let us proceed.” The twins exchanged wry glances but felt they could do little in the face of Faramir’s obvious determination. They were both familiar with a warrior’s frustration at enforced idleness following injury and could sympathise with Faramir’s plight, even as they recognised that he would have to accept responsibility for his actions.

“Very well, Faramir. You sit here while we set up the targets.”

“Keep a close eye on him, brother. I fear that he is not here with Ada’s blessing,” Elladan cautioned his brother as they moved the targets back to accommodate the longer flight of the longbow.

“Should we send word to him?”

“No. I think we should allow Faramir his freedom. He is not a child and I am sure he knows his limitations.”

“Like Estel did at that age!”

“Yes, you are right. Still it is too late to take him to task now. . . he will have to deal with Ada later,” Elladan said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Rather him than me. You know how Ada feels about patients who do not follow his instructions.” Both twins grinned and unconsciously reached back to rub away the warning tingle that shot down from their backs to their thighs in remembrance of their father’s preferred method of accounting.

By late afternoon Faramir was beginning to regret his missed meals and his medicine; his head pounded and he felt light-headed and nauseous. The afternoon was hot and airless and his leathers clung heavily to his frame. He fetched another scoopful of water to drink and then poured the next one over his head.

“Let us finish now, Faramir,” Elladan requested, worried by his obvious distress.

“No, one more round.”

“Faramir, please…”

“I said, One. More. Round!” Faramir snatched up his bow and took his place on the firing line. The Master-at Arms took one look at the Steward and appeared ready to bring the proceedings to a halt; his was the final authority here on the training grounds. He glanced at the Elf Lords, an unvoiced question in his expression; Elladan shook his head.

“Two arrows only, My Lord,” he instructed. His glower when Faramir seemed likely to protest was enough for Faramir to leave his thoughts unvoiced.

Faramir stood for a moment to regain his composure and to clear his mind of all distractions. This was what he wanted, to be able to give his full concentration to his task, this was where he took pleasure from his skill with the bow. In engagements with the enemy firing was done with well-honed instinct, no time for thought or doubt. Here on the practice field he excelled; he blocked out everything but the target. The air stilled, the breeze dropped and even the birds were silenced to his ears; his peripheral vision narrowed to the point that the bulls-eye was the only thing in focus. He increased his pull on the bow, ignoring even the pain in his bruised ribs. He took a deep breath, held it and let the arrow fly as he released the air from his lungs.

The arrow flew straight and true, hitting the very centre of the target.

There was no applause, no cheering, just silence.

Faramir dropped his head and allowed the bow to drop from his grasp. Sixth sense told him what he would see if he turned round. He was in no hurry to look.

“Would someone be kind enough to tell me what is going on here?” The softly spoken words carried across the field and Faramir winced. His knees finally folded and he landed with a bump on his backside.

“Your lecture is not necessary,” he growled when Lord Elrond appeared in front of him

“Indeed!” The Elf Lord’s exasperation was clear from his tone if not from his expression. “Can you stand?”

“Of course I can stand. . . just prop me up on the keel and I will demonstrate that I can fly too!”

“Sarcasm is not perhaps your best defence, My Lord,” the Healer said, assessing his patients pulse and general condition. He was not impressed. He called over Tamir who was hovering on the edge of the field beside the twins.

“Tamir, you told me that Lord Faramir ate both his breakfast and lunch today, is that correct?” The young adjutant cast a worried glance at his senior before nodding his head in confirmation.

“Lord Faramir, is there something you think you should share with us?” Faramir remained stubbornly mute.

“Faramir, did you eat the meals provided for you?” Elrond tilted Faramir’s head up until he could no longer evade his gaze.

“No Sir. . .I wasn’t hungry,” Faramir ground out irritably.

“I see. Elladan, would you run to the barracks or the market and get some bread or sweet cakes or milk; anything to get some energy into this young fool. Elrohir, would you go to the stable and bring a mount for Lord Faramir, I’m sure he doesn’t want to be carried all the way back up the Citadel like a babe in arms.”

“That will not be necessary. I am perfectly capable of getting there without assistance,” Faramir said, brushing off the hands of the Elf Lord and struggling to get to his feet.

“For once you will do as you are told. . .if I hear one more word of dissent from you I will deal with your foolishness here and now!” It wasn’t a threat Faramir wished to challenge and he settled back onto his ground, his arms curled around his knees and his face hidden from view. He felt so foolish, so humiliated and yet he couldn’t blame Lord Elrond; he had brought this on himself, had brought himself to this point. He knew before he left his chambers that his actions were childish, that he would be called to account. . . but to have been caught in the act and to have his misdemeanours examined in public was more than he could bear.

The field was still suspiciously silent and as that fact registered he snuck a glance around himself. He was surprised to note that the only ones still in attendance were Lord Elrond and Tamir; the cadets and the Master-at-Arms were nowhere in sight. He breathed a sigh of relief at this small reprieve and sent up a silent vote of thanks to whoever had cleared away the possible witnesses to his humiliation.

When Elladan returned he handed Faramir a warm honey cake and a fresh dipper of water, he wasn’t allowed to move until both were consumed and he felt some strength returning to his still shaky legs. Faramir made one more determined effort to avoid being escorted back up to the Citadel on horseback. He wasn’t successful, Lord Elrond led the procession followed by Tamir who held the leading rein; the Twin Elf Lords walked on either side of the horse, not holding him in place but watchful in case he faltered. The whole progress was conducted in silence; Faramir had his eyes closed to avoid seeing anyone who might be witness to his disgrace.

Chapter 3

Being led back up through the entire city on horseback was an exercise in profound and gut-wrenching mortification. Faramir wished fervently that he could simply disappear but his escort of noble Elves and his young adjutant had him expertly contained and he knew he could not evade them, nor would he dare risk antagonising Lord Elrond further for fear that he would make good his promise of exacting retribution in public.

Faramir silently cursed his own stupidity and closed his eyes against the spectacle he had made of himself.

Back in his chambers Lord Elrond ordered Faramir into the bath while a meal was prepared. The Healer examined and re-bandaged his ribs and then sat at his bedside until every mouthful of the meal had been consumed. Without a word he handed Faramir a measure of medicine.

“I don’t need it,” Faramir said, handing it back untouched.

“You will drink it, though it is your choice as to if you do so willingly,” the Elf Lord explained with a chilling grin.

“. . .but it is not necessary, I assure you I am fine.”

“Tamir, I require your assistance.” Lord Elrond called Tamir over and they towered over Faramir, one stood on each side of the bed; the effect was most intimidating.

“Alright. . .alright!” Faramir snatched the vial and swallowed down the medicine. He didn’t bother to look up to see the Elf Lord’s grin or Tamir’s worried expression. He rolled over and grasped his pillow, burying his face into its soft depth. Within moments a warm drowsiness washed over him and he surrendered himself to sleep.

Lord Elrond ushered Tamir through to the ante-room where his sons were waiting and quietly closed the door.

“Is he alright, Ada?”

“Has he taken any lasting harm?”

“I’m sorry, Ada, we didn’t realise…”

“He assured us he was fine!”

Lord Elrond raised his hand to quell any further explanations. He eyed his sons with thin-lipped silence. It was a look they both recognised and treated with the utmost caution. Tamir sensing the tension in the air moved over to the desk and attempted to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.

It was not often that the Elf Lord allowed his feelings to show but his exasperation with Faramir for his actions and with his sons for not handling the situation more sensibly pushed his patience beyond breaking point.

He never raised his voice but his tirade was forceful and scathingly eloquent. His sons stood to attention in the face of his wrath like two pale-faced, marble statues, neither daring to catch the other’s eye for fear of inviting a more physical chastisement.

The tirade only halted when a violent crash echoed through the chamber. All four occupants of the room turned as one to see Faramir standing in the doorway, the door still swinging on its hinges from the force of his entrance. It was an incongruous sight, Faramir, pale as a ghost, his hair tousled and damp with sweat, his crumpled nightshirt flapping around his knees and his eyes. . . his eyes were glassy and unfocussed. Only his hands, braced on either side of the doorframe, appeared to be holding him upright.

“What in blazes does an invalid have to do to get some PEACE in this place?” he yelled. “First you forcibly dose me with your foul concoctions with the intent of rendering me unconscious and then you have the gall to disturb me when I finally succumb to your ministrations. Have you no pity?” Faramir pleaded, his whole body quivering with tension.

“I appreciate your concern for my welfare, My Lord, but please, if you really feel the need to lambaste your sons for something over which they had no control then at least have the courtesy to do so elsewhere! It was my decision to attend the archery lesson, just as it was my decision to decide that I was fit to lay aside your instructions . . . not Tamir, and most definitely not your sons!” Faramir swayed on his feet and both Tamir and Lord Elrond took a step towards him. Faramir shooed them away.

“Tamir, escort the noble Lords from my chamber,” he ordered.

“But, My Lord. . .”

“That is an order, Tamir. I want them gone and I want a guard posted with orders that none are to be allowed entry until I give permission . . .Is that clear?” Faramir spun on his heals and went back into his bedchamber, slamming the door behind him.

“My Lord, I am so..sorry. I don’t…that is…that is not like Lord Faramir to be so…ru…brusque. I’m sure he didn’t mean it, Sir.” Tamir broke the stunned silence that followed Faramir’s exit.

“Peace, Tamir,” the Elf Lord smiled his reassurance at the flustered and distressed youngster.

“But. . .”

“Hush, child.” The healer placed a reassuring hand on Tamir’s shoulder. “My sons, I believe it is best if we avoid any further distress to either the Steward or his Adjutant by acceding to Lord Faramir’s orders. I will join you shortly,” he said, shooing his sons away.

“What am I to do, Sir?” Tamir pleaded, eyeing the closed door to Faramir’s chamber.

“It will be alright, Tamir. I suspect Lord Faramir’s outburst was a reaction to the medicine I gave him. . I have seen such a reaction before. He will likely not even remember this when he wakes,” the Elf Lord soothed.

With one arm around Tamir’s shoulder he indicated that the boy be silent as he quietly opened the door into Faramir’s bedchamber. The room was quiet and dark. Faramir lay diagonally across the bed, his bare feet dangling over the edge of the mattress. He was deeply asleep and didn’t stir when they moved him and tucked the covers around him.

“He will sleep till morning, Tamir. Do not fret.”

“I will stay with him, My Lord. . .in case he wakes and requires anything.”

“Very well but make sure that you get some rest. You may tell Lord Faramir that he is to remain in his chambers tomorrow. I rely on you to ensure that he eats,” the Elf Lord said with a grin. “I will leave it to Faramir to decide if he needs to take any medicine for pain. Send for me if you need me, I believe he will be more comfortable without my presence. It will give him time to consider the folly of his actions.”

“I’m sorry, My Lord. . .I’m sure he appreciates your care. . .”

“You’re a good lad.” Lord Elrond patted the adjutant on the shoulder. He paused on his way out and turned the key in the door to the clothes closet; he removed the key and handed it to the wide-eyed youngster. “We don’t want any more unauthorised departures, do we? Best to remove temptation!” he grinned.

Faramir endured a further day of incarceration with almost silent ill-humour. He ate what was presented to him and took a half-dose of pain medication as necessary. He waited until Tamir left on an errand to get up, only to discover his clothes closet locked. Growling in frustration he donned a long woollen robe and stalked to the door of his chambers only to find his exit barred by two guards at the door.

“Do you require something, My Lord,” the older of the two men enquired, doing his best to suppress a smirk and keep his expression impassive.

“I require that you let me past.”

“”Forgive me, My Lord, but I’m afraid that will not be possible. We are under strict orders to ensure that you remain resting in your room.”

“Well, I rescind those orders and release you from the remained of your shift.”

”With the greatest respect, I’m afraid we can’t do that, My Lord. Our orders were most specific and came from Lord Elrond himself. You wouldn’t want to get us into trouble with the Noble Lord, would you, Sir?”

Faramir slumped in defeat and retreated back into his bedchamber to contemplate the mess he had made for himself. Tears of frustration prickled behind his eyes and burned in his throat but he would not allow himself the weakness of letting them fall. He had expected a scolding from Lord Elrond and it had not happened; the Elf Lord had uttered nothing in the way of reproach, no lecturing, no scolding, either on the practice field or once they had gained the privacy of his chambers. His silence on the subject was unnerving, Faramir would have preferred him to rant and rave as his Father would have done but that was not the Elf Lord’s way. And now his absence was most unsettling. Not for the first time Faramir wished for the King or Legolas to return; at least their reaction would be predictable, he could confess his foolishness to them and know that they would deal with it and allow him some peace.

Lord Elrond’s absence was wearing on his nerves.

“When is Lord Elrond coming to check up on me?” Faramir asked Tamir when the youngster returned.

“Not today, Sir, not unless you need him. Are you in pain, Sir? Should I send for him?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. Did he give you any indication of his plans?”

“He said he would be busy with the Warden today and that he would be by to see you after you break your fast on the morrow. . . to check that you are fit to return to duty, Sir. . . and I am to report to him directly if you do not cooperate with his instructions!” This last remark came out as a cringing whisper as though the young adjutant feared his Lordship’s reaction.

“Do not fret, Tamir, I will not risk further challenges to Lord Elrond’s instruction . . .I fear I am in enough trouble without adding to my already impressive tally!”

“You don’t think he’s angry with you, do you, Sir?”

“I don’t think he gets angry but I have no doubt that he will report the full extent of my foolishness to the King when he returns,” Faramir said as he slumped back down into bed.

Lord Elrond appeared as the servants were removing the breakfast trays. He examined the dishes and flashed a grin at Tamir when he noted that Faramir had indeed consumed a reasonable repast.

“Would you excuse us, Tamir, Lord Faramir and I have business to attend to.” Tamir bowed and took his leave with one last apologetic glance at Faramir as he closed the door.

Faramir submitted himself to the Healer’s examination with as much patience as he could muster. He flinched when the sutures were removed but could answer truthfully that his headache had gone and that the pain and stiffness from his bruised ribs was much improved. The still colourful bruises around his eye were the only visible reminder of his injuries.

“Well, My Lord, I am pleased to say that you are fit enough to return to duty. I dare say you will find that you tire easily for the next few days. . .I suggest you listen to what you body is telling you and rest when you need to. I advise you to refrain from riding or strenuous activity until your chest is fully recovered.” Faramir nodded and allowed the Healer to help him to don his tunic.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you for your care and attention. . . I’m sorry I was such a difficult patient!” Faramir said getting to his feet, hoping that his movement would encourage the Elf Lord to depart. A pregnant pause filled the room and the Elf Lord showed no signs of departing.

“Was there something else I can help you with, My Lord,” Faramir asked, taking post behind his chair.

“I believe that there are still matters that need to be attended to, Faramir, don’t you agree?”

If there was one conversation that Faramir wished to avoid above all others, it was this one. He recognised with chilling clarity that his recent behaviour was likely to attract, indeed actively warranted, what the King and Legolas both termed ‘loving attention’ but with them both absent there was no one he felt comfortable seeking that attention from, especially not this great and venerable Elf Lord.

“I apologise for my foolish action, My Lord. I do realise that it was reckless and irresponsible to go against your instructions. Please forgive me.” Faramir begged from behind the fragile safety of his chair.

Lord Elrond remained calm and passive, giving Faramir no hint of his feeling on the matter. Faramir cringed under the soul-searching scrutiny.

At long last Lord Elrond spoke. “Of course I forgive you, Faramir. It was an error of judgement not a heinous crime. . .” Faramir sagged with relief; however that relief was short lived as the Elf Lord continued “. . .however, I’m sure you will agree that even an error of this nature needs to be addressed!”

“I. . .I. . .I’m sure…surely my recognition of the error and my apology answers for it. My Lord.”

“Do you indeed!” The Elf Lord’s expression didn’t change. “Faramir, you have my forgiveness but tell me, are you able to forgive yourself? Are you able to deal with your own feelings about your actions? You are too hard on yourself, Faramir, far more severe than those who would offer you their support and guidance,” Lord Elrond explained with gentle compassion.

“Legolas and the King return soon. I would take my foolishness to them and ask one of them to attend to me, Sir.”

“That may not be for many days yet. You cannot think it a good idea to postpone this matter till then. I know that Estel wouldn’t approve of such a delay, not when I am here to help you to deal with it.”

“It is not ideal, I agree but I would prefer to have them deal with this. . .with me.”

“Faramir, I can’t in all conscience allow this to fester as you suggest; it is folly to allow this to hang over you. It will weigh more and more heavily as each hour passes.”

“Please, Sir. . .please. I don’t seek to escape what is due but I beg you to allow me to deal with this matter in my own way,” Faramir pleaded. Lord Elrond was not immune to his entreaties, indeed he could observe all too clearly just how anxious he was; the rapid beat of his pulse at his throat and the unconscious rubbing of slick palms against his tunic betrayed Faramir’s state, despite his attempts to project a calm façade.

“Come Faramir, let us not delay this any longer,” Lord Elrond commanded gently but firmly, his hand expended in silent invitation.

Faramir moved forward as if in a dream, though his movements were sluggish and forced. He took one step, two steps, three steps before coming to a shuddering halt, his eyes never leaving the hand extended towards him to bridge the fearsome gap.

“Come Faramir, you are quite safe,” the Elf Lord coaxed. Faramir remained transfixed in place; he swallowed hard and for a brief moment his eyes shot up to meet the Elf Lord’s calm visage.

“I’m sorry. . .so sorry. . .forgive me?” Faramir bolted from his own chamber leaving the stunned Elf Lord to gape after him.

Lord Elrond proceeded from Faramir’s chamber and made his way to the Royal apartments.

“What’s wrong, Ada? Is Faramir alright?” Arwen sensed as soon as he walked into the room that her Father was more perturbed than she had seen him in many years.

“He is about his duties,” the distracted healer replied, sinking into an armchair and rubbing his temples, a sure sign that something had disrupted his composure.

“What happened, Ada?”

“Faramir refused my attentions!”

“Oh, no. He refused to allow you to tend him? Why?”

“Oh, he allowed me to see to his injuries but when I sought to help him atone for his foolhardy actions, he fled.”

“I can’t believe that Faramir would seek to evade the consequences of his actions, Ada, he is too honourable, too noble. . .”

“No, daughter, you misunderstand, he expects to be held to account but he seems to have difficulty in accepting me in that role. He wishes to wait for Estel and the Prince to return.”

“But that could be days yet. . . he will have tied himself in knots by then, Ada. We both know how he buries his emotions and his guilt. You cannot have agreed to this, surely, Ada.”

“Neither can I force him to submit to my care, it must come willingly. . . I will not risk undoing the progress Estel and Legolas have made by coercing him. . .we both know that if I ordered him , his sense of duty would compel him to submit but I cannot, will not subject him to that,” the Elf Lord explained.

“Then what will you do, Ada?”

“The only thing I can do is accept his decision and hope that Estel returns sooner rather than later!”

“The last message he sent indicated that, provided there are no unforeseen delays, he should be back in two or three days. Will Faramir be alright till then?”

“Physically, yes, emotionally, who can say. I have let Estel down. I gave him my word that I would keep a close eye on Faramir and on all levels I have failed in my duty of care to him.”

“No one could have done more, Ada. We all know the burden of memory and grief that Faramir carries and not even your experience and compassion can undo all of his Father’s legacy,” Arwen reassured her Father as they sat together in quiet contemplation of the conundrum that was Faramir.

“What now, Ada?”

“I will have a word with him before today’s council meeting. He will not seek me out; he will see this morning’s action as another failure, another manifestation of weakness. . .I would have the air cleared between us and let him know that I respect his decision.”

Faramir and Tamir made their way to the council chamber deep in conversation, both with their hands full of scrolls and documents. Neither noticed the person waiting at the chamber door until they almost collided with him.

“My Lord. Tamir,” Lord Elrond bowed in greeting.

“Lord Elrond, forgive me, I didn’t see you.” The Elf Lord silenced any further apologies with a gesture. He relieved Faramir of his burdens and handed them to the Adjutant.

“Tamir, would you apologise to the Noble Councillors and tell them that the Lord Steward will be slightly delayed.” He was already leading a dumbstruck Faramir towards a small ante-chamber.

“My Lord, I really must protest. . .I cannot be late for Council.”

“I am sure the Councillors will forgive a few moments delay,” he led the flustered Steward into the chamber and gently pushed him down into a chair.

“About this morning, My Lord. I am sorry. . .it as unforgivable.. . . I-I…”

“Hush Faramir, I haven’t brought you here to take you to task, I have come to ask for your forgiveness!” the Elf Lord explained.

“What have you to apologise for, Sir? I was the one at fault. . .” Lord Elrond hushed any further self-condemnation by placing a finger across the young Steward’s lips.

“I have to apologise for pushing you into a situation you were not ready or able to cope with. . .And no, I do not think you actions cowardly or weak. I know you to be brave and honourable but I pushed too hard and I am sorry.” If anything this confession made Faramir even more uncomfortable.

“I don’t know why I ran, Sir. I knew it was wrong. . I don’t know why it was so difficult. . .so impossible to accept your attention.”

“Do not worry about it, Faramir If you are only comfortable in receiving that manner of attention from Estel or Legolas then we must both accept the fact and rejoice in the certainty that they are happy and willing to do that service for you. It is early days for you yet, Faramir, and I know that for you to be able to accept their attentions at all is a matter of relief to all of those who care for you.”

“It does not feel like a blessing when I am upended over their knees, squawking like a baby!” Faramir pouted with just the hint of a smile.

“Maybe not, but the relief comes when the storm has passed and you are once more surrounded by their affection and support, is that not so?”

“Yes, Sir. . .I have never known such peace of mind.”

“Faramir, you do know that I would never force my disciplinary attentions on you, don’t you? That you would be safe with me?”

“Yes, Sir.” The response was not as sure as either would like.

“Do you really believe it, Faramir, with you head and with your heart?” he asked, touching a gentle hand to Faramir’s head and then to his chest. He left his hand resting against his chest and could feel the racing heartbeat pounding beneath his touch. The Elf Lord sighed.

“Do you trust me Faramir?”

“Yes, Sir.” Faramir looked up into the benign age-wise eyes of the Elder and released his breath, letting go of a portion of his anxiety.

“Close your eyes, Faramir,” the Healer instructed. Faramir obeyed and felt the Elf Lord lift the circlet from his head to be replaced by the Healer’s cool hand. Instantly he felt a surge of energy and comfort flow from the Healer’s fingers. He dropped his head forward, his forehead coming to rest against the Elf Lord’s chest as he drank in the comfort, only recognising the residual tension in his own chest as it melted away under the Elf’s ministrations.

“Now, My Lord Steward, I believe the Councillors have waited long enough,” Lord Elrond’s whispered words broke the spell and Faramir raised his head to meet the Lord’s compassionate gaze. “Know, child, that I will be here for you, if and when you need me. Promise me only that you will not allow all that has occurred between us to weigh heavily upon you. If you still feel the need to wait for Estel’s return to deal with this matter then do so in the knowledge that you have my support and my understanding. I would not have this matter oppress you further.”

“Thank you, My Lord. I will heed you wisdom.” Faramir bowed and replaced his circlet. He caught hold of the Elf Lord’s hand and pressed his lips to the knuckles before touching the fingers to his forehead in a salute of thanks and reverence.

Chapter 4

At one time a midnight alarm would have seen Faramir instantly alert and ready to respond to whatever threatened. At Henneth Annûn sleep was snatched as and when possible; the Commander and his Rangers sleeping in boots and leather armour, their weapons close to hand, to aid a speedy reaction. Now, when the call for assistance came, Faramir found it a struggle to shake himself awake to deal with the situation. Once the severity of the crisis became apparent he was dressed within minutes and off running down through the levels of the City with Tamir in attendance.

A fire in the stables on the first level had spread rapidly to the temporary barracks, threatening not only the military buildings but the slum dwellings of the poorest quarter of the city. The temporary barracks had been set up in buildings long since abandoned for habitation, their use made necessary while the war-damaged buildings of the main garrison were repaired.

By the time the Steward arrived on the scene the fire was out of control, the roof of the stables had collapsed and there was no hope of saving the barracks. The Watch Commander had men organised to pass a constant chain of water buckets from the wells to the scene of the blaze. Faramir assessed the situation and organised more men to dowse the at risk buildings. As the night dragged on he made the decision to evacuate and demolish a whole row of ramshackle dwellings in an attempt to halt the spread of the blaze.

It was a long, long, exhausting night and the dawn brought little relief. More men were drafted in and the struggle continued. Faramir was in the thick of the action, toting buckets, encouraging exhausted men and organising rotas and refreshments to keep the men on their feet. It was only when Tamir drew his attention that he realised that, in the midst of the chaos, he had missed the trumpet call announcing the King’s return.

“Is the King here now?” Faramir was too exhausted to worry about protocol.

“No, Sir. He was informed by the duty guard at the City gate of the fire and that you were in attendance and he carried on up to the Citadel.” Faramir sat down on an upturned barrel to catch his breath.

“Tamir, I need you to go up to the Citadel and present the King with my apologies. Explain what has happened here and tell him that I will attend him as soon as I am able. Also, have my secretary present the reports from the council meetings for him to peruse at his leisure. I’m sure that he will require some time to spend with his loved ones before he falls back into the pressure of everyday business.”

“Very well, Sir. I will return as soon as possible.”

“No, Tamir, you have done more than enough for today. Go and get some rest.”

“What about you, Sir?”

“I will be done here shortly. I will snatch a bite to eat from the quarter-master before I attend his Majesty.”

“See that you do, Sir.”

“Yes, mother!” Faramir cuffed the youngster and sent him off with a tired grin.

“Sire, Lord Faramir to see you,” the page announced. Faramir went down on one knee before the King.

“I trust you had a worthwhile trip, Sire?” Faramir asked as the King drew him to his feet.

“I think we have managed to deal with most of the trouble makers. The remnants of the forces of Harad have been rounded up and the Swan Knights have taken them into custody and will arrange their repatriation back across their own borders. Beregond is planning to keep up extra patrols in the border areas and you and he will need to discuss increasing the contingent of the White Guard.”

“I have already discussed it with the Cadet Commander, Sire. There is a new draft of promising cadets due to graduate shortly. We are planning an accelerated training programme to equip them with the basic skills required by the White Company. Beregond will need to appoint a Sergeant to take responsibility for training them in-post. . .it is not ideal but it will at least boost Beregond’s numbers and make his task more manageable.”

“An excellent idea, Faramir. We might even consider asking my brothers to see if they would be interested in assisting in the training; their skills and experience are unrivalled and they have expressed a wish to spend some time exploring Ithilien. I will sound them out later.”

The King had not missed the signs of exhaustion that Faramir was trying his best to disguise and so before they moved on to discuss other business he sent for refreshments, the loud, persistent rumbling of Faramir’s stomach contradicting his assertion that he was not hungry.

For more than an hour they discussed the reports and decisions taken in council during the King’s absence and for a little while Faramir was able to push to the back of his mind the other business that still needed attending to. Their discussions were interrupted by the Chamberlain.

“Sire, the Queen was wondering if it is your wish for a Court Banquet in the main Hall tonight or would you prefer a quiet dinner in your apartments?” The King pushed idly at his hair, the last thing he wanted after two weeks in the saddle and sleeping on the cold ground was a formal Court occasion to mark his return.

“I think we will leave the Banquet until tomorrow. Tonight we will have a quiet family dinner, especially as Prince Legolas and Lord Gimli have not returned with us.”

“Yes, Sire. Thank you, I will see that it is arranged according to your wishes.”

Faramir hadn’t been paying much attention to the exchange, noting only that the King was wanting a private evening with his family, until the King’s comment about Legolas and Gimli’s continued absence awoke his attention with a jolt, so shocked that he surged to his feet.

“Why did Legolas not return? Is there a problem? Is he injured, Sire?”

If the King was surprised by his questions he suppressed it in his concern for Faramir’s obvious distress. “Peace, Faramir, there is no need for such concern,” the King soothed ushering Faramir back into his seat. “Legolas wished to spend more time surveying the woods of Ithilien to try to find an ideal site for his own settlement. He will return in a few days.”

“I thought I would be the one to show him!” Faramir whispered, “I wanted to share that with him. . .”

“There will be many other opportunities, Faramir. . . What is really bothering you? Legolas’ absence is only temporary, he will be back before you realise.”

Faramir really did mean to confess, had been planning how to begin his confession during the long trek up to the Citadel. The words that sprang from his mouth took even him by surprise.

“I’m fine, Sire.” Once said they couldn’t be taken back and he dug himself even further into a hole, “I’m just tired, Sire, it was a long night!”

“Ah, yes, the fire! Tell me about it, Faramir. What was the damage?”

“The stables and barracks were destroyed, Sire, and we lost a row of cottages in trying to keep the blaze contained.”

“And casualties?”

“Two men presumed dead, one was the night watchman who raised the alarm and the other a stable lad, they were both still in the stables trying to rescue the horses when the roof collapsed. We lost several horses, although we are not yet sure of the exact number.”

“What about other injuries?”

“Several men with burns, some quite serious I believe, though I haven’t yet had a chance to check in with the healers. I understand Lord Elrond and his sons are assisting with the wounded, Sire.”

“And what of you, Faramir, that bruise isn’t from the night’s alarms, I deem.”

“No, Sire. . .it was nothing. I-I bumped my head . . .I was tussling with the Hobbits.” Faramir flinched to hear his own words. The King didn’t appear entirely convinced of his explanation but seemed willing to give him the benefit of the doubt given his obvious exhaustion.

“You need to rest, Faramir. Enough of duty for today.”

“Yes, Sire, by your leave.” Faramir saluted. Rather than just allowing him to depart, the King draped an arm across his shoulder and led him to the door.

“You did well while I was away; I couldn’t have left the city in safer hands. You have my thanks and my gratitude.”

“Th-thank you, Sire. It is my pleasure and privilege to have your confidence.”

All the way back to his chambers he cursed and berated himself for his cowardice and stupidity. He ‘had’ meant to confess . . . he just wanted to take his foolishness to Legolas and allow his Elven Prince to relieve him of the burden of guilt. He didn’t want to have to confess his childish actions to the King and risk undoing the King’s good opinion of him. It was easier, safer to confess to Legolas. . . and now he had compounded all of his previous errors, had deceived the King, knowing that it was only a matter of time before his actions were revealed in all their gut-churning awfulness.

“Tamir, I told you to go and rest!” The adjutant was waiting for Faramir when he reached his chambers.

“Forgive me, Sir, but I have bathed and rested and eaten. I feel much better and I wanted to make sure you were attended to, Sir,” he explained, helping Faramir to remove his soiled and smoky outer garments. “There is a hot bath ready for you, Sir and I had the kitchen send you up a snack to keep you going until dinner is announced.”

“I won’t be attending the dinner. The King and Queen are having a private family reunion.”

“Bu-but you are family, Sir!”

“The King was quite specific, I wouldn’t dream of intruding on a private occasion.”

But, Sir. . .!”

“No Tamir, enough. It’s alright, I just need to sleep. Ask the kitchens to send up a light super at sundown,” Faramir instructed, heading for the bath.

“Estel, I really don’t think we can wait dinner any longer, it isn’t fair to keep the staff waiting.”

“Very well, I’m sure Faramir will be here shortly.”

“Do you want me to send a messenger to remind him of the time?”

“No, I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Come, let us lead the others,” Estel took Arwen’s arm and led the rest of the guests to their places.

“Ada, what news from the Healing Houses?” Estel asked when they were all seated.

“Better than I first feared. One young stable hand may not survive his injuries but the others should all recover, given time and good fortune.”

“It seems we were lucky, from what Faramir said the casualties and damage could have been much greater.”

“You can thank Faramir that they were not. I spoke to the Watch Commander and he lays much of the good fortune to Faramir’s timely intervention; his decision to demolish that row of buildings saved goodness knows how many lives and homes. He copes well in a crisis,” the Elf Lord affirmed.

“Aye, he seems to have coped well with all his extra duties in my absence, though I fear he has exhausted himself dealing with the fire, he has not yet regained complete fitness.”

It was one of those unfortunate accidents of timing that Pippin’s urgent and worried voice piped up just as the general hubbub of conversation died down. “You don’t think he’s collapsed again do you? Perhaps I should run and check on him!” Pippin yelped as a sharp kick urged him to silence but the damage was already done. The question hung in the air amid the awkward silence. The Hobbits started chattering; hoping to cover the blunder but one glimpse at the King’s thin-lipped visage confirmed that he had not missed the significance of the exchange.

“Would someone like to tell me exactly what is going on?” The words were barely a whisper but they carried all the weight of Kingly authority.

“Pippin?”

“I-I. . .”

“Ada?”

“Estel, perhaps now is not the best time or place to discuss this.”

“Perhaps if I had some idea of what ‘this’ is, I would be in a better position to judge! I take it that it has something to do with my errant Steward?”

“It does, but I can assure you that there is nothing to be alarmed about. Put this aside for now, my Son, I will explain all later.” The King nodded his assent and the company continued with their meal. It proved impossible, however, to recapture the easy relaxed atmosphere of the gathering and the guests made their excuses at the earliest opportunity.

When Tamir answered the discrete knock on the door to the Steward’s chambers later that evening it was to find the King on the threshold.

“Good evening, Tamir. I am here to enquire after Lord Faramir.”

“Good evening, Sire.” The youngster gulped, saluted and stood back to allow the King entry. “I’m afraid Lord Faramir has already retired for the evening, Sire.”

“We missed him at dinner. Was he unwell?”

“Oh, no!” the young adjutant looked stricken; “I knew it was a mistake. I tried to assure him he was mistaken!”

“Mistaken about what, Lad?”

“The dinner, Sire. Lord Faramir was convinced that it was a private occasion and that he was not…!”

“Not what?”

“Well, he said it was family only, Sire,” Tamir explained, cringing at the look of frustration that flashed across the King’s face.

“Is he actually asleep, Tamir,” the King growled.

“Yes Sire, he took a dose of Lord Elrond’s medicine a couple of hours ago. Why, Sire?”

“Because I’m very tempted to go in there and shake him until he rattles. . .of all the idiotic. . .!”

“Sire, is my Lord in trouble?” The King was alert to the youngster’s genuine concern and he pushed aside his own irritation.

“Sit down, Tamir, and tell me what’s on your mind?” It took a few false starts before the overawed youngster could order his thoughts.

“It’s just that it’s been a very difficult week. . .what with one thing and another, and then with the fire and your return. . . Well, he seemed rather agitated when he returned from your meeting, Sire,” the boy whispered, a picture of misery.

“I’ve been informed of some of the matters that may have been causing him some anxiety!” the King said, with a gentle grin.

“Did he tell you himself, Sire?”

“No, he did not and I’ll admit that that omission concerns me more than his actual misdeeds.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to deceive you, after all he knew that you would learn of it sooner rather than later. He. . . well, he seemed most distressed by the unexpected absence of Prince Legolas, Sire.”

“Oh. . .oh, I see.” And suddenly he did see; suddenly Faramir’s actions and his reluctance to admit his misdeeds made some sort of sense. The friendship and bond that Legolas had built with the young Steward had quickly become an important support and it was that friendship that marked the difference between how he related to Legolas and the King. The King had his loyalty and his duty but he was still in awe of the Monarch; Legolas, despite his superior age and his royal status was first and foremost his friend, a mentor happy to see him through good times and difficulties, happy to provide firm, and occasionally corporal attention when Faramir’s tendency to risk his own health and wellbeing needed to be reined in. Estel pushed down his own sadness that he had yet to really gain Faramir’s friendship and realised that he had a valuable ally sitting right in front of him.

“Tamir, you seem to be itching to say something, won’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” the King urged the young Adjutant

“Sire, I’ve come to know his Lordship quite well over the last few months and, well, he’d rather bite off his own arm than disappoint you. He was so focussed on keeping on top of everything that he pushed himself a little too far. . .set himself almost impossible standards. He just wanted to prove to you that you could rely on him, Sire”

“I already know that I can,” The King assured him. “Tell me, Tamir, does he confide in you?”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t presume to share his confidence. I’m not really sure that he confides in anyone. He is a very private man, Sire!”

“Then how. . .?”

“If we’re working late I often bed down on a cot in the small ante-chamber next to Lord Faramir’s. . . Lord Faramir’s dreams are not quiet, Sire, especially when he has something on his mind. . .which is most of the time!”

“Not a new problem, Tamir, and I thank you for your concern and your insight. I want you to know that we appreciate all you are doing for Lord Faramir and I hope you know that you can bring your concerns to me or to Prince Legolas at any time.”

“I wouldn’t want to break his trust, Sire.”

“Nor would I ask you to but if you had a real concern I’m sure you could find a way to alert us without compromising your duty to Lord Faramir. You do not have to bear the burden of concern alone,” the King reassured him.

“Yes, Sire. . . Are you still cross with him, Sire?”

“Worry not, Tamir, I may threaten and bluster but I would never hurt him. You do believe me, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sire. . .though I may need to stock up on his Lordship’s stock of Lord Elrond’s ‘cooling lotion’!” the youngster exclaimed. If the King was surprised by the youngster’s nerve he chose to hide his amusement.

“Do you disapprove of my methods, Tamir?”

“Oh, no, Sire. Lord Faramir has had a hard and lonely life, full of grief and pain. I’m relieved that he has found a safe haven within you circle . .even if it does mean he has difficulty sitting comfortably. I’m glad he has your attention and care, Sire; I don’t know anyone who deserves it more, he deserves to know some peace and tranquillity.”

The King’s eyes sparkled. “You stock up on your salve and I will do my best to earn your trust and chase away his demons.”

“Yes, Sire,”

“. . . and tell Lord Faramir that I will expect him in my chambers in the morning after he has taken the Duty Officer’s report.”

Chapter 5

It was a subdued Steward who presented himself to the King the next morning. Having given the report and discussed the latest information from the scene of the fire the meeting came to an awkward silence. Faramir had no doubt that the King had been informed of the details of all of his misdemeanours and he wanted to own up to his stupidity and throw himself on the King’s mercy. Before he had he chance to begin the King surprised him with a request.

“My Lord Steward, would you walk with me; there is something I would like to share with you.” With an arm around his shoulder, the King ushered Faramir along the quiet corridors and out into the early morning sunshine of the Queen’s garden. In a peaceful arbour overlooking the Pelennor they found a table set with a breakfast repast.

“Sire!”

“Humour me, Faramir. I would like to tell you a story.” The King poured two mugs of steaming, sweetened tea and encouraged Faramir to fill his platter. They ate in silence and encouraged by the tranquillity of the surroundings and the King’s obvious placid temperament, Faramir allowed himself to let go some of his anxiety.

“When I was a young man,” the King began, “several years younger than you are now, I spent several years living and riding with my kin, the Northern Rangers. It was a hard and unsettled life, constantly on the move as we tracked and fought the Orcs and Goblins that threatened the northern Realm. During a skirmish I took an injury to my sword arm and despite the best attentions of my comrades the wound became poisoned and refused to heal. As you know, the wilds are not the place to be when one is incapacitated and I was a danger and a burden, unable to defend myself or my brother Rangers. For my sake and for theirs I was escorted back to the borders of Imladris and handed into the care of the Elven guards, who brought me to my Father’s house.

“It took many weeks and some unpleasant and painful treatments but eventually my Father’s skill prevailed and the wound started to heal. There was no question of my returning to my Rangers until I had regained full use and strength in my arm. My brothers and Lord Glorfindel all helped in my recovery but I was becoming increasingly restless with the continued restrictions my injury placed upon me.”

“But wasn’t it good to be home and away from danger, Sire?” Faramir asked, remembering the hardships and deprivation of his own days in the wild.

“It was. Good food, warm dry clothes, a soft bed and good company were all wonderful but I had been away for so long that I had forgotten the constraints and protocols of living there. I was used to freedom and independence but in my family’s eyes I was still the child they had nurtured. I became irritable and restless, longing to get back out into the woods long before I was recovered enough to do so. As an incentive to keep me at my rehabilitation, my brother’s promised that when I was deemed fit that I could go out on an expedition with them.

“I had nearly acquired that level of fitness required for Ada to pronounce me fit to return for duty when I got the first symptoms of a developing head cold; sore eyes, prickly throat, general aches and pains. I was determined that nothing was going to delay my ‘escape’ so I dosed myself up with herbs from the infirmary and tried to hide my discomfort.”

“Oh, no!” Faramir cringed in sympathy.

“Oh, no, indeed! My deception lasted all of a few minutes. I had barely taken my seat at the breakfast board when my Ada came over and put his hand on my forehead. ‘You have fever,’ he announced. I assured him that I was well. ‘And I suppose you are going to tell me that your head doesn’t ache and your throat isn’t sore!’ That statement was accompanied by one of his patent stares, the one that has you convinced that he can read every thought in your head. When I assured him again that I was alright, rather than argue or make a scene he proclaimed that as I was well I could spend the day with him in the library and he would continue instructing me in healing lore.”

“Lord Elrond has a very ‘trying’ manner of making a point, Sire. How long did you last?”

“I struggled on for an hour but by then I was feeling truly dreadful and the words were dancing before my eyes. With a fond, if slightly exasperated grin, he helped me to my feet and supported me back to my room. By the time I was wrapped up in bed I could no longer disguise my shivering or my streaming nose and sneezing. I drank his potion and settled in to ride out the worst of the fever.

“Did he take you to task for your deception, Sire?”

The King shook his head. “No. I got a scolding lecture when I was feeling slightly better but my Ada knew me well and he knew how much I hated being ill, so he took pity on me.”

With a chastened expression Faramir spoke, “And I presume the moral of your tale is that one should never try to hoodwink a healer, Sire?”

“Oh, no. My story isn’t finished,” the King explained with a grin.

“You mean it gets worse?”

“Much worse! Shall I continue?” Faramir nodded by way of confirmation.

“Well, after two days in bed I woke feeling a little better and more aware of my surroundings. I was a little surprised that it was a servant rather than Ada who brought my breakfast but I knew how his duties ate into his time and he had spent much time with me while I had been ill. As the morning progressed I realised that the house was unusually quiet and that I hadn’t had a visit from either Ada or my brothers. When Ada finally appeared to check on me I asked him what was happening. He seemed reluctant to tell me but I was so persistent that I think he realised that I would give him no peace until I knew.”

“And what had happened?” Faramir enquired.

“During the night a messenger had arrived with word from the border patrol that a band of Orcs had been sighted and were trying to penetrate the forests. My brothers, Lord Glorfindel and a large contingent of warriors had been despatched to deal with the threat.” The King looked off into the distance, lost for a minute in the long forgotten memories.

“I was livid. I was all for getting out of bed that minute and going after them. I couldn’t believe that they had left me behind, that they hadn’t even informed me of what was happening; my Rangers patrolled the area beyond the border and they were at risk! I fumed and raged and pouted but Ada was not to be moved and he ordered me to stay in bed, threatening to post a guard if I didn’t agree to heed him.”

“And did you heed him, Sire?”

“What do you think, Faramir! I stayed in bed and plotted. I knew that I would never successfully sneak out in daylight, so I waited until nightfall. When Ada came to say goodnight I pretended to swallow his sleeping potion and tipped it into a balled-up handkerchief when his attention was diverted and then I snuggled down and feigned sleep.

“When the house was quiet and all were settled I made my escape via the balcony, utilising all the tricks and evasions my brothers had perfected and taught me over the years. I set off on foot in pursuit of the guards determined to help rid the area of the Orc threat.”

Faramir seemed caught between disbelief and apprehension as he listened to the tale unfold. “Sire, I-I. . .”

“Worry not, Faramir,” the King reassured him, “I lived to tell the tale. Do you want to hear more?” Faramir’s eyes said no but his head nodded in agreement, so the King continued.

“I tracked for two days without catching sight of either the Elves or the Orcs. I tried hard to ignore my worsening health but by the second night I had to acknowledge that the rain and the cold had aggravated my condition. I stopped in a small glade and made a shelter out of branches and leaf litter between the roots of a tree and wrapped myself in my cloak.

“I woke in the dark aware of movement in the undergrowth. I remained hidden and waited to see who or what approached, my sword in one hand and my knife in the other. There were four huge, stinking Orcs and they were obviously following a trail, my trail. The grunted to each other in their own tongue and I knew it was only a matter of time before they found me. I attacked first, taking them by surprise. They kept shouting and yelling and soon had me surrounded. I attacked as hard as I could but they seemed to be toying with me and I realised they wanted to take me alive. I was getting desperate as my strength failed. I had just manoeuvred myself into a position to take the head of the nearest Orc when I felt a blow to the back of my head and saw the ground coming up to meet me.”

“When I came to I found myself in my own bed, my Ada and brothers keeping vigil at my bedside.”

“How were you rescued, Sire?”

“A good question, Faramir and one I wanted answers to. Apparently I was babbling about Orcs and was generally rather incoherent but when Ada was convinced that I at least knew where I was he sent me back into a healing sleep.

“The next day I faced the ‘Elvish Inquisition’ and I was required to recount all of my actions from the time I heard of the Orc sighting. So I explained about the medicine and about sneaking out and what I recalled of my time in the forest up to, and including the Orc attack. My explanation was met with teasing exasperation and then I begged my brothers to tell me how they had discovered me and rescued me from the Orcs.”

A look of comprehension suddenly flashed across Faramir’s face as he waited for the King to continue his tale. “There were no Orcs, were there?” he gasped. The King smiled at his insight.

“No, Faramir, there were no Orcs. I was only a two hour walk for home; I had been going round in circles in my confusion and the ‘Orcs’ were none other than my brothers and their troop,” Aragorn explained. “I could scarcely believe it, it was all too much for me to take in and I asked Ada and my brothers to leave me for a while whilst I tried to comprehend what had occurred. Ada granted my request, though when they left a guard took up post inside my chamber.”

“Another of your Ada’s expressions of disapproval, Sire?”

“Yes,” the King chuckled, “I discovered later that there was also one posted in the garden beneath my window.”

Faramir shuddered, “I take it you were eventually taken to task for your actions?”

“Oh, yes. That very evening after supper Ada came in, dismissed the guard and came and sat beside me on the bed. The discussion was short and to the point, the chastisement was not! And within minutes I was begging and pleading and flailing about over Ada’s lap as I endured the worst spanking of my life and he took not a blind bit of notice of my wailing. He just kept on spanking until he recognised in my surrender that I had let go of all my guilt and regret.”

“I’m sorry he spanked you, Sire. You only went out with the intention of protecting your Kin.”

“Faramir, he wasn’t spanking me for my intent but for my actions, for my deceit in sneaking out, for my disregarding his orders, for not safeguarding my health. I wanted, no I needed his attention. I would have been devastated, bereft, if I had thought for one second that he didn’t care enough about me to make me answerable for my thoughtless actions.”

They sat in silence for a while as Faramir considered the Kings words. “Was that the end of the matter, Sire?”

The King grinned and made no effort to hide the blush that painted his cheeks. “Not exactly!”

“Will you finish your tale for me, Sire?”

“You want all the gory details?”

“Of course, it is a novelty not to be the subject of such a tale!” That made the King laugh out loud as he hugged Faramir briefly

“Well, to cut a long story short. After he had comforted me my Ada settled me on my front, called in the guard and left me to sleep. The following day I was confined to my room and as I still couldn’t sit comfortably I lay in bed reading and visiting with Ada. After supper, when Elladan came to keep me company, I braved sitting up determined not to betray the after effects of Ada’s attention. He asked me if I was recovered and I was foolish enough to say that I was.

“ ‘Good’ he replied, ‘then you won’t object to me reinforcing his lesson!’ and before I had a chance to even react I was back in that all too familiar position with my nightshirt around my waist as Elladan beat a tattoo on my still very tender backside, all the while lecturing me for worrying my family and friends and for putting myself in danger and for behaving like a petulant child. With only a few spanks I was squawking like the child he called me; to blazes with dignity or restraint, I bawled and howled and begged until he turned me in his arms to comfort me.”

“I guess you spent another night on your front, Sire!” Faramir grimaced, fidgeting in sympathy.

“Aye. . .and the next night too!”

“Not Elrohir as well!”

“Oh yes. It hadn’t occurred to me before but the ‘Orc’ that I had been set to behead had in fact been Elladan. Elrohir had saved his twin’s life by knocking me senseless before I could land the strike. Elrohir exorcised his fear for his brother by re re-warming my backside!”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch, indeed. He also informed me that I was to join the household for the morning meal and after a public apology for the concern I had caused I was to spend the morning writing out a full account of my misdemeanours and their consequences so that none of us would ever forget or be tempted to repeat such foolishness.”

“I hardly dare to ask but what happened to that report, Sire?”

“I suspect that it still resides in a special folio in the Library of Imladris. . .along with all the other such reports my brothers and I wrote over the years. I suspect there are also a few there in the hand of a certain Prince of Mirkwood,” the King grinned.

“Thank you, Sire.”

“And what is my admirable Steward thanking me for?”

“For your tale and for the thought behind it, Sire.”

“And what would that be?”

“That we all make mistakes and it is not the end of the world. . .as long as we learn from our mistakes.” Faramir graced the King with a look of such heartbreaking vulnerability that the King had to resist the instinct to grab him into his arms and squeeze the fear right out of him. “What now, Sire? What happens now?”

“Well, you have had a difficult few days and have made some less than sensible decisions. I think we both agree that some response is warranted.” Faramir nodded and the King continued, “who do you think should help you deal with is?”

“Well, it was against Lord Elrond that I enacted my greatest folly but I also let you down, both with my actions and with my failure to report the matter to you directly. . .So I suppose I owe you both penance, Sire.”

“Hmmmm, I suppose you are right but in the strictest sense your offences against me were ones of omission and I think that given the circumstances we can include reparation for those when the main matter is dealt with,” the King adjudged. “Tell me Faramir, have you formed any insight into why you found it so difficult to give yourself into Lord Elrond’s care? You had no such difficulty with myself or Legolas and we both made it clear to you that, should the need arise, you should accept the care of those seeking to support and protect you.”

“No one mentioned Lord Elrond, Sire!” Faramir pouted.

“Only because his imminent departure made it unlikely that you would find yourself subject to his disciplinary attention, “the King said sternly. Faramir flinched under the gentle rebuke.

“It was just. . .just different, Sire”

“How so?”

“Well, you are my liege Lord, so even if I didn’t already hold you in such high regard, I would be obliged to submit to your attention, and with Legolas, well, despite his age and his prowess as a warrior, he looks so young and fair and he has such a gentle spirit that I know I am safe with him. Do-does that make sense, Sire?”

The king smiled in sympathy. “More than you realise, Faramir. But are you telling me that you didn’t feel safe with Lord Elrond?”

“Oh, no, Sire, I wasn’t afraid, at least not of a physical sense. . .It’s just that he is an Elder, an Elf Lord, a being out of myth and legend. When I was a child Mithrandir told me heroic tales of him from the time of Isildur. . .and. . .and I was about to go over his knee like a bawling infant. I just couldn’t do it! I’m sorry I let you down.”

“You didn’t. Faramir, there is nothing you could do that would change my good opinion of you. You do not have to keep proving yourself to me or to anyone. And I do understand how you felt. I was never in awe of Lord Elrond, as he was first and foremost my Ada. But the first time I went to Mirkwood as a youth and attracted some disciplinary attention from King Thranduil I was near paralysed with mortification. The thought of being upended and spanked by a ‘King’ seemed the very worst form of humiliation. But he approached the whole matter in much the same way as my Ada did. . .not only the spanking but the comforting and the forgiveness. I realised then that it matters not who is giving the attention as long as it is done with care and love.”

“I feel foolish now for my actions, Sire.”

“Put that thought aside, Faramir, let us just decide how to proceed.”

“What do you think is best, Sire?”

“This is not about me, my friend. If you feel unable to allow Lord Elrond to conclude this matter then I will gladly do so in his stead and I will think none the less of you. If you feel able to go to him and want my presence for moral support then that is fine too. But I will not make the decision for you.”

“I would have an end to this matter, Sire. It has been hanging over me for too long.”

“And your decision?”

Lord Elrond was resting in his chambers, allowing the breeze from the window to waft over him and help blow away the residual tension from what had been a difficult night. He had spent many hours in the Houses of Healing in a failed battle for the life of one of the soldiers injured in the fire. He had done his best but the fight was hopeless, the boy’s burns too severe for even the Elf Lord’s skills.

His acute hearing detected the approaching footsteps well before the visitor reached the door. He allowed himself a small smile as the visitor hesitated on the threshold trying to pluck up the courage to knock. The Elf Lord had been hoping for this meeting, though in his heart he had not been convinced that it would occur. He knew that if it had been necessary Estel would have dealt with the matter in his stead, knowing that for Faramir a conclusion was long overdue. He rose from his seat and opened the door before the knock sounded, not wanting the uncertainty to risk Faramir bolting.

“Faramir, welcome. Come in.” With an arm across the younger man’s shoulder he ushered the Steward into the room and closed the door.

“I am very pleased to see you, Faramir. What can I do for you?” The initiative had to come from Faramir. He was doing his best to appear composed but the Elf Lord was not deceived, he noted the slight sheen of sweat on his brow and the way he fidgeted absently with the hem of his tunic.

“I have come with a request, Sir,” the youngster said, hesitantly raising his eyes to meet the Elder’s gaze, his hands now clasped in front of him, unconsciously worrying the skin at the edge of his thumb with the nail of his forefinger until his thumbnail was rimmed with blood. Lord Elrond moved closer, taking the restless hands within his own grasp and tenderly wiping away the blood with the corner of a clean handkerchief.

“What would you ask of me, Faramir?”

“That you conclude the unfinished business between us, Sir. That you deal with my foolishness and allow me to atone and find peace.”

“And is this your request? Are you asking this of your own accord?”

“Yes, Sir. I have spoken to the King and confessed to my actions and omissions and following his council I have come to request your assistance.”

“You were not ordered to come?”

“No, Sir. The King left the decision with me. He offered to assist me in this matter if that was my wish but I realise now that honour demands that I seek your ministrations.”

“I am honoured that you feel able to place your trust in me. I will do my very best to honour that trust.” He ushered Faramir across the room and settled them side by side on a long padded settle.

“We both know what has brought us here, Faramir but I would like you to tell me in your own word what you seek to atone for,” Lord Elrond said, tilting the youngster’s chin until their eyes met.

“For disregarding your instructions, for sneaking out of my chambers in contravention of your orders, for putting my health and the safety of others in jeopardy and for not allowing you to help me when you first offered, Sir.”

“Well that is quite a catalogue,” the Elf Lord joked, raising just the hint of a smile from the troubled youngster. “Very well, seeing that I taught them all they know! I suspect my manner of handling this process is much the same as those who have helped you in the past. Are you ready?” Faramir nodded, releasing his hands from the Lord’s grasp to loosen the ties of his leggings.

Lord Elrond leaned across in front of Faramir and clasped his shoulder with a firm but gentle hand and guided the tense youngster over his lap, settling him with his chest supported on the seat and his legs unrestrained; all the while keeping up a whispered litany of reassurance, his movements calm and controlled. There was no need to restrain him; Faramir, while not relishing this process, accepted the necessity and had long since resigned himself to the Elf Lord’s care. Lord Elrond used his left hand to try to ease some of the tension in Faramir’s tense, rigid shoulders but there was really no way to make this easier. “Lift up for me, Faramir,” he requested, easing his leggings down to rest at mid-thigh.

“Ready Faramir?” Faramir tensed, anticipating the first blow, memories of the King’s story of a ferocious spanking suddenly flashing through his mind. When it came, the impact was sharp but without the strength of either the King’s or Legolas’ attentions. The Elf Lord wasted no time in establishing a steady but insistent rhythm, the strength of his hand falls gradually increasing until Faramir was squirming and flinching with each blow to his rapidly heating skin. Faramir was still locked in rigid tension, his shoulders hunched and his face buried within his cupped hands. Lord Elrond kept up the soothing massage with his left hand, even as his right maintained its steady rhythmic percussion.

Despite his increasing distress, Faramir recognised that the Elf Lord was treating him lightly, far more lightly than his offences warranted. But lightly or not he was fast approaching the point where he could no longer control his reactions, strangled gasps forced their way past gritted teeth and he was fast losing the ability to control the jerking of his limbs with each impact of the Elven hand.

Lord Elrond looked down sadly at the youngster draped over his lap. He wanted this finished, he recognised that his purpose was not to chastise but to allow Faramir the opportunity to let go of his guilt, a guilt that the young man had locked deep within himself. Only stubbornness was now keeping that guilt contained and the Elf Lord had no intention of allowing the situation to continue.

“Let it go, Faramir,” he demanded, landing three harder spanks on his already blazing backside. The shock of the impact was enough to tip him over the edge and he collapsed, limp and boneless over the Elf Lord’s lap, submitting himself, mind and body, to the Elder’s care, his sobs unrestrained by thought or will.

“I’m sorry. . . so so-sorry,” Faramir gasped through his tears.

“Hush now, be at peace, all is forgiven,” Elrond soothed, not quite sure how to proceed; with his own sons or Legolas he would have scooped them up into his arms to offer them comfort but he was not sure if Faramir was ready to accept that degree of intimacy. The youngster answered the question for him by dropping back off his lap onto his knees, pulling up his leggings as he moved. Hesitantly, Faramir dropped his forehead to rest on Elrond’s knee as he continued to weep. Elrond accepted this small gesture of trust and cupped his wet cheek with one hand while with the other he stroked a soothing hand over damp red-gold locks.

To the Elf Lord’s alarm his attempts to comfort the youngster seemed to have the opposite effect; Faramir’s weeping became more desperate. Unable to bear the sight of his distress, Lord Elrond gently pushed the inconsolable Steward away from him so that he could himself drop to his knees and take the youngster into his arms, hugging him tightly to his chest. Faramir’s arms wound around his back, taking a desperate grip on his tunic.

“Easy, Faramir. I have you now. You are quite safe,” The Elf Lord whispered, his hand guiding the youngster’s head down onto his shoulder. “Easy now, I have you. Calm now, be at peace.” Very slowly Faramir’s sobs eased as the Elf Lord’s calm wrapped itself around him.

“Can you talk now, Little One? Can you tell me what’s in your heart that gives you such pain?”

“He-he never once offered me a kind word or-or a gentle touch,” Faramir sobbed. “Why could he not love me!” he wailed, his tears overflowing again. Lord Elrond realised that he had unwittingly breached the well of anguish that Faramir had not yet managed to deal with. Estel and Legolas had helped him to grieve for his lost brother and for the comrades lost in the conflict but his grief over his Father’s actions and death had so far escaped their ministrations.

“I never wanted grand gestures, just a small sign would have been enough; a smile, a kind word, an expression of pride, of acknowledgement. Was that too much to ask? I never wanted to usurp Boromir’s place in his affections. I did everything I could to appease him, took his spite and his punishments without complaint. What did he see lacking in me that drove away his love?”

“Nothing!” Elrond shook him gently to emphasise his words. “There is nothing lacking in you, Faramir. Nothing! You were not to blame for his deficiencies as a father. Imrahil and Estel and others who knew him as a young man say he wasn’t always like that. But whether it was grief or the seeing stone or just the pressure of rule he should not have taken his feelings out on you. His duty as a Father was to love and nurture you, as he did your brother. That he failed in that duty was Not. Your. Fault.” The Elf Lord emphasised. “It was never your fault.”

Estel stopped outside the door to his father’s chambers and listened. Hearing only the quiet murmur of voices he took the tea tray from the servant and dismissed the lad before knocking and pushing the door with his hip.

“May I come in?” he asked. ‘Is everything alright?’ he mouthed silently to his Ada. Lord Elrond nodded in confirmation and gently roused Faramir who was still resting within his embrace.

“I though you might both welcome some refreshments,” he explained, placing the tray on a side table and pouring three cups of tea.

“How fares my Steward?” he asked as Faramir untangled himself from Lord Elrond’s embrace and got to his feet, perching gingerly on the arm of the sofa.

“As well as can be expected, Sire,” Faramir admitted rubbing the sleeve of his tunic across his cheeks.

“How was it Arwen described you, Faramir? Ah yes ‘A delightful Mess’” the Elf Lord chuckled causing Faramir to blush.

“I take it you would rather not spend the afternoon sitting in council,” the King enquired, openly grinning at Faramir’s inability to sit still without squirming.

“Oh, please. No!” Faramir groaned at the prospect.

“Then it is a good job that I have cancelled the Council until tomorrow, isn’t it?” the King teased. “I suggest instead that you and I take a walk down to the First Circle and you can show me the damage caused by the fire and we can discuss the rebuilding. Of course, if you are not up to walking that distance I could have our horses saddled!”

“NO! No, Sir, walking is fine,” Faramir blustered causing both Lord Elrond and the King to laugh.

“May I be excused for a while, Sire? I believe I need to freshen up before I venture out in public.”

“Of course. I will meet you at the front of the Citadel in an hour. Will that be long enough, Faramir?”

“Yes, Sire. By your leave, Sire, Lord Elrond.” Faramir saluted and turned to leave. The King waylaid him on the threshold.

“Oh, Faramir,” the King called, his eyes flashing with laughter, “ if you ask Tamir nicely he has a large pot of Lord Elrond’s Cooling Lotion!”

“Sire!”

“You should not tease him, Estel,” Lord Elrond chastised, though his words held no censure.

“Do not spoil my fun, Ada. Until now I have always been the little brother. . .it is a novelty to have a little brother to torment. Besides, I suspect that under that sad and reticent veneer Faramir has quite a pixie sense of humour. . .he just needs the opportunity to let it loose.”

“Can you just picture him and Legolas together in devilment?” the Elf Lord asked with a shudder.

“Life could get interesting, Ada!”

“Yes, and I will not be the one to deal with the consequences, thank goodness.”

Faramir appeared in the Queen’s garden in answer to Arwen’s invitation. A table was set with drinks and refreshments for a large gathering but only Arwen was present. She sat in the shade, an unopened book in her hand; she appeared lost in thought. Faramir was reluctant to disturb her peace but the crunch of his boots on the gravel path drew her attention.

“Forgive me, My Lady.”

“Welcome Faramir. Thank you for coming.”

“Can I be of assistance, My Lady. . .Arwen?”

“No, only in offering me your company. The others will join us shortly. Estel has been delayed by an unexpected visitor. He will be finished soon,” she explained, urging Faramir to sit beside her and tucking her arm through the crook of his elbow.

“You look happy, Faramir. I take it the word from Edoras was good news.” Faramir blushed and touched his hand to his tunic where Éowyn’s letter lay over his heart.

“Yes, Arwen.” he flushed again over calling her by her name but her smile of delight eased his discomfort. “King Éomer will be returning here at the end of the month and I will petition him formally for his permission for our betrothal.”

“And will he say yes,” she teased.

“I believe Éowyn has convinced him that withholding his permission will be detrimental to his health and wellbeing.” Faramir smiled.

“Yes, I can believe that even Éomer would not want to elicit Éowyn’s wrath!” the Queen chuckled. “I have the greatest respect for Éowyn’s forthright manner.”

“I didn’t realise you had met Éowyn?” Faramir queried, knowing that the Rohirrim had returned to Edoras before the Queen’s entourage had arrived in Gondor.

“We stayed in Edoras on our journey here. Éowyn was very kind to me. I will be happy when she comes here. I do hope your betrothal will not be too extended.”

“You are likely to see her before I do, I am relying on you to convince her a short engagement would be best.”

“Why will I see her before you? I don’t understand, Faramir?”

“You are planning on journeying to Edoras for King Théoden’s funeral, aren’t you?” Faramir asked, seeking confirmation for what he had assumed was a foregone conclusion.

“Yes of course.” Arwen was confused by the direction this conversation had taken and from the sudden anxiety in Faramir’s manner he was also floundering. “Faramir, what is this about?” She watched him trying to seek out the answer, hampered by not really understanding the question. He drew away, his hand playing out its unconscious dance, first to the hem of his tunic then to his throat, finally to rest in his lap where he worried ruthlessly at already sore and broken skin.

“Faramir? Faramir, look at me,” Arwen demanded, her voice stern yet gentle, two fingers curled under his chin to reinforce her message.

“You will be coming to Edoras with us,” she affirmed.

“Oh, no, Lady. I cannot. My place is here; with the King away I must stay and see to the city. It is my duty.”

“And what of you duty to Éowyn? You cannot be betrothed by proxy. What sort of message would it send to her and to the people of Rohan? No, I will not have it. You will go to Edoras and claim your Lady, even if it means I must stay here and stand in for Estel.”

“But you cannot do that.”

“Why, do you not think me capable?”

“Of course not. I know you are capable, more capable than I will ever be. . . but your family, your father! I would not have you sundered from them a moment sooner than necessary. I will not allow that.” His words were forceful, with a hint of anger that she should be willing to sacrifice her own needs for his convenience.

And then she was weeping.

“Arwen. Pl-please don’t cry. I’m sorry. . .forgive me. Please. . .!” He did the only thing he could think of in the face of her distress, he wrapped his arms around her, awkwardly patting her shoulder as she wept against his tunic.

When she finally sniffed and pulled away from him she gifted her with a watery smile.

“The king will have my head for making you cry.”

“And Estel will be thankful I have a friend I can turn to,” she countered. “I will need all my friends, Faramir. All of them.”

“And Faramir. . .we will all go to Edoras! I would have all my friends and family there to celebrate your betrothal before they go their separate ways.” Faramir nodded, too full of emotion to speak.

In ones and twos the rest of the company joined them in the garden and amid the warm sun and the gentle companionship the earlier sadness was pushed aside. The King had still to make an appearance and Faramir was beginning to curse the visitor who was keeping him occupied.

A familiar booming voice caught his attention. “Gimli!”

“Aye, Laddie. The one and only. Don’t stand there grinning like a fool, lad. I’m parched and in dire need of some refreshment.” Faramir signalled to a servant and within minutes Gimli was nursing a large tankard of Ale.

“How was Ithilien, Gimli?”

“It’s a pretty enough place, I’ll grant you. . .though in my humble opinion, too many trees and not enough caves!” he chortled.

“We have caves. . .you just need an expert to show you where they are.”

“And you’d be the expert, would you, Lad?”

“I have been known to stumble my way around occasionally,” Faramir grinned. “By the way, did you happen to bring Legolas back with you?”

“Aye, he’s just prettying himself up! ‘getting rid of the dust of the road’ he said. I’ll never understand that lad’s priorities,” the dwarf explained with a belch, holding out his tankard for a refill.

“Missed me, have you?” Faramir turned to the familiar voice with a smile that lit up his face.

“No, we were just saying how peaceful it has been around here,” Faramir’s attempt at nonchalance failed miserably and he found himself swept into the arms of his Elven warrior. The embrace lasted only a moment before a cough alerted them to another’s presence.

“Sire, has your visitor gone?” Faramir thought at that moment that nothing could dim his pleasure at having his friends returned.

“Not exactly, Faramir,” the King’s smiling eyes flicked to Legolas.

“You mean Legolas was the visitor?” a shiver crawled slowly down Faramir’s back as it dawned on him just how long the King and the Prince had been in conference. He pulled slowly away, his gaze darting between the two of them and Lord Elrond who had appeared over their shoulders.

“I’ve been hearing some interesting tales, Faramir!”

“I-I. . .um”

“Very interesting tales. . .!”

“Has the lad been up to mischief?” Gimli asked with feigned surprise.

Legolas clasped his hand to his chest. “Gimli, I could hardly believe the reports!”

“Really….that bad!”

“Indeed. In fact, I had to insist on Lord Elrond confirming these damming rumours.”

Faramir took a pace backwards in the face of Legolas’ suddenly predatory expression. His backward progress was halted by Gimli’s sturdy frame.

“Going somewhere, Laddie?”

“No, I-um. . .” His mind went a fearsome blank and words became impossible.

Legolas grinned and crooked his finger. “I think, Faramir, you and I have some things to discuss, some little truths that seem to have slipped your mind in my absence.”

“That is really not necessary. All matters have been dealt with.” Faramir stuttered

“Indeed?” Legolas made no move to close the gap between them but he drew himself up and again crooked his finger. “Come Little Ranger, you really don’t want us to be having this discussion in public.” Legolas flicked his gaze to where Arwen and the Hobbits were observing the proceedings.

“I have done nothing to deserve such treatment! My ‘foolishness’ has been more than adequately discussed,” Faramir blustered. “It is all sorted. Tell him, Sire, Lord Elrond, please. . . tell him he cannot do this.” Faramir pleas were met with only gentle smiles and a slight nudge from behind. Legolas beckoned again and waited for Faramir to join him before he turned to walk back into the palace. As he got to the door Estel called and the Elf turned in time to catch a small earthenware pot.

“What is this?” Legolas asked, examining the sealed pot with a dawning smile of comprehension.

“Tamir decided that ‘Lord Elrond’s Cooling Lotion’ was too big a mouthful so he has renamed it ‘Faramir’s Friend’.”

“SIRE!” Faramir’s outraged bellow could be heard even as he was led away to face another reckoning from the firm but tender hands of his Elven mentor.

“Was that really necessary, Estel. I thought Ada had taken care of all matters outstanding between them.” Arwen looked between her husband and her Ada, her protective instincts roused by Faramir’s plight.

“He will be fine, my Love. Trust that Legolas knows what he needs and, more importantly, that Faramir trusts him. He is in safe hands.”

The End

Shireling. November 2005.

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