Linda's Lord of the Rings Fanfiction

The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been,nor will be made from these stories.

The Gift of Dawn

With grateful thanks to Raksha.

“Wake up, ion nîn!” Aragorn called, gently shaking the sleeping child.

“Ada? Why are you waking me?” Eldarion sat up. “It is still dark.”

“I want to show you something. Dress quickly, there is no need to wash, or comb your hair.”

Eldarion beamed. The washing of his ears, face and hands by his insistent nanny was a morning chore he would gladly avoid. Eldarion scrambled out of bed and pulled on the clothes his father held out to him. Aragorn helped him fasten the laces in the dim light of a single candle.

The King took his son by the hand and led him through the halls of wood and stone, where the royal family were spending a few pleasant days with the Prince and Princess of Ithilien. They passed a few guards, and a bleary-eyed maidservant beginning chores in the kitchens; but most of the great house was still and silent.

“Where are we going, ada?” asked Eldarion.

“To the stables, for Iavas has given birth to her foal,” his father told him, leading the little boy outside to the spacious and comfortable building where the horses were kept.

Lamps illuminated the end stall. Faramir and Éowyn stood in the shadows, keeping a watch over Faramir’s chestnut mare.

Iavas stood over a small foal whose coat was still damp from birth. The delivery had been difficult, keeping Éowyn and Faramir from their beds for most of the night. Aragorn had kept watch with the Prince and Princess, using his healing hands to calm the mare. Like her mother, the foal was chestnut with a white blaze. The infant had already tried twice to rise on her slender, wobbly legs; but had not yet managed to stand.

Still holding Eldarion’s hand, Aragorn petted the foal’s head, “Come now, you can do it!” the King coaxed the newborn, then stood back.

The foal whickered, then began to rise, the long legs trembling with the effort until she stood up on them. She did not fall! Eldarion watched in wonder as the little animal tottered to her mother’s side. Iavas nuzzled her baby affectionately.

“She is beautiful!” Eldarion exclaimed. ”What is her name?”

“You may choose, for she is to be your horse once you are both old enough,” said Faramir. “We thought it was worth waking you early to see her stand for the first time.”

Eldarion’s face lit up. He rushed to hug the Steward. “Thank you, Uncle Faramir, I think I will call her Amaurea, since ada woke me so early to greet her. How clever she is to be able to walk so soon! My sister couldn’t walk till she was a year old!”

“Horses grow up quickly, like kittens and puppies,” Aragorn explained.

“I wish I could grow up so quickly!” Eldarion lamented. “Then I would be tall and strong like you, ada, and a Ranger, and I wouldn’t need any more lessons!”

Faramir chuckled.

"You would have to take many lessons to become a Ranger," his father told Eldarion solemnly. "You would have little time to play."

Eldarion frowned, considering the information.

"I will take you back inside now,” said Aragorn. "Iavas should have some peace and quiet while she gives Amaurea her breakfast.”

The boy cast a final thrilled glance at his new treasure, who was now greedily suckling her mother's milk.

Eldarion felt like he was walking on air as he accompanied his father back to the house. The sun rose in the Eastern horizon, promising a glorious day.

A/N

"Amaurea" means “Early Day” in Quenya. Iavas is Faramir’s chestnut mare, a wedding gift from Éomer .She was introduced in “Shadow and Thought”.

Partners in crime

Aragorn grimly surveyed the scene of chaos. The trade agreement on which he had laboured all morning was scattered across the floor, the parchment torn to shreds.

Eldarion’s puppy, Nimrodel stood beside Aragorn's desk, wagging her tail.

Aragorn called a servant and bade her summon his son.

A few minutes later Eldarion arrived. “You wanted to see me, ada?” he asked innocently. “ Ah, there is Nimrodel; I could not find her!” The puppy ran to him and licked his hand.

“And how did she come to be in my study?” Aragorn asked severely.

“Um, maybe the door was open,” Eldarion said evasively. He looked down, unable to meet his father’s stern gaze.

“A dog cannot open a closed door,” said Aragorn. “Look at me, Eldarion! There is nought to gain by studying your feet.”

“She must um have um followed me in here. I wanted to look at your model soldiers.” He gestured towards a collection of ornate bejewelled warriors that a visiting envoy had given his father.

“I have told you are not allowed in my study without permission,” said Aragorn. “ Just look at all the damage the pup has done! An important treaty – ruined!”

“Bad, bad dog!” Eldarion shouted at Nimrodel. The puppy whined and her tail drooped between her legs.

“You should not blame her,” Aragorn admonished his son.

“She chewed up your papers,” Eldarion replied, a trifle sulkily.

“Puppies do chew things, it is their nature,” said the King. ”However, if you had not disobeyed me by coming in here, you would not have led Nimrodel into trouble. Take her outside, then return and I will decide best how to punish you.”

“I am sorry, ada.” Eldarion blinked away a tear. He led Nimrodel from the room, his eyes downcast. It was hard to tell whether boy or pup looked guiltier.

Just then Faramir arrived, a parchment tucked under his arm. ”Whatever has happened here?” the Steward asked in dismay.

“Nimrodel decided to chew up the trade treaty with Rhûn,” Aragorn told him.” I had just spent three hours working on it.

“Maybe she is too high-spirited a pup for the Citadel,” Faramir lamented. "I regret not having chosen a quieter pup for the lad, but Nimrodel was the fairest and strongest of the litter."

“We would not be without her, mellon nîn, so do not blame yourself. She is a good-natured creature, just mischievous, as all younglings are. But what brings you here? I thought you were occupied with the City renovations today.”

“I am, but I thought of some new details to add to the treaty.” Faramir spread his parchment on the King’s desk. Aragorn perused it carefully. His features slowly relaxed into a smile.

“This treaty is far better worded than the one Nimrodel chewed!” the King beamed, clapping Faramir on the shoulder affectionately.

A few minutes later, Eldarion returned in a state of growing apprehension. “What is your will, ada?” he asked.

“Do I have your word you will not come in here without permission again?”

“Yes, ada, I promise.”

“I want you to sweep up this mess,” Aragorn said sternly. Then he smiled. ”Later, if you do it well, I will tell you the story of Huan, the greatest hound ever to live.

“Thank you ada!” Eldarion embraced his father then gladly set to work.

Outside in her kennel, as if sensing the young Prince’s relief, Nimrodel wagged her tail.

Morning has broken like the first morning,
blackbird has spoken like the first bird.
Praise for the singing! Praise for the morning!
Praise for them, springing, fresh from the Word! - Eleanor Farjeon (1881–1965)

Aragorn rose silently from the bed so as not to disturb his sleeping wife. He stood for a moment looking down at her in the pale light of dawn, which streamed through the window.

Her beauty always made him catch his breath. Now with her cheeks were slightly flushed with sleep, framed by her flowing dark hair, black against her white nightgown and the pillow, Arwen looked fairer than ever. He was a privileged man indeed to have her to wife. Sometimes, he could hardly believe his good fortune that he was free to awaken every day beside her.

He crept into the adjacent dressing room, almost stubbing his bare toe on the washstand as he did so. Faramir’s home in Ithilien was still relatively unfamiliar to him; as was the freedom it offered to escape briefly from his royal duties.

Quickly, he splashed water on his hands and face then changed out of his night attire, donning his oldest riding clothes.  He paused to kiss his wife lightly on the cheek. Arwen stirred slightly, smiling in her sleep. Aragorn tiptoed softly from the room.

The kitchen was already a hive of activity. A young maidservant brought a mug of ale and a plate of bread and cheese at his request, looking only slightly surprised when he elected to sit and eat it at the kitchen table.

A few minutes later Éowyn appeared, accompanied by a bleary- eyed Faramir. The servants seemed accustomed to seeing their lady at this hour, less so their lord. Aragorn rose to embrace his friends.

“I often ride at dawn, unlike my sleepy husband,” said Éowyn, taking a bite of crusty bread, still warm from the oven. “I breakfast here in the kitchen as I did in Meduseld. It is the warmest place to be at dawn.”

“It promises to be another hot day,” said Aragorn. ”I am glad we are riding before the sun is too high in the sky.”

”A pity the Queen does not wish to join us,” Faramir lamented. ”She has told me she loves the countryside.”

“My beloved Undómiel prefers the evening,” said the King. ”She will just about be ready to eat breakfast when we return. I hope to ride with her under the stars one night while we are here.”

“It will be evening today ere we set out if we do not hurry,” said Éowyn, tapping her foot impatiently, having already finished her makeshift breakfast.

The three friends made their way to the stables, where dismissing the grooms, they saddled their own mounts.

They rode across the lush countryside, east into the sunrise. Like a blood red ruby, the sun crept above the horizon painting the sky in glorious hues of pink and mauve. The dew sparkled on the grass and the air felt fresh and sweet.

The breeze blew Aragorn’s hair behind him as he rode. He laughed out loud for sheer joy. On a morning such as this, the ranger in him could leave the King's cares behind and take pleasure in the bright clear dawn, if only for a little while.  It was enough.

All through the Night

While the moon her watch is keeping
All through the night
While the weary world is sleeping
All through the night
O'er thy spirit gently stealing
Visions of delight revealing
Breathes a pure and holy feeling
All through the night. -Harold Boulton

With thanks to Raksha.

Dedicated to Julia

Aragorn and Arwen fondly surveyed their sleeping son.

“He grows more like you every day, Estel,” said Arwen contentedly; observing, beneath the roundness of the sleeping baby's face, the hint of the father’s high cheekbones and strong chin.

“At least he has your nose, vanimelda,” the King replied dryly. “Are you ready to leave now?”

“I hope Eldarion will not be afraid if he awakens and we are not there,” Arwen fretted. "He is not accustomed to being in Ithilien. Everything will still be strange to him.”

“He has his nurse and knows Faramir and Éowyn. They will take good care of him,” Aragorn reassured her.

The Queen pressed a final gentle kiss to her son’s forehead before following her husband outside to the stables where their horses were already saddled, awaiting their riders.

The full moon bathed the countryside in a gentle silver light. The clear sky was dotted with a myriad of twinkling stars.

“How fair the stars are here!” Arwen exclaimed. “They always seem slightly veiled in the City.”

They urged their horses forward, savouring the feel of the wind in their hair. The fresh night breeze carried the sweet scent of wild roses.

Aragorn led the way uphill until they came to a stream he had seen with Faramir and Éowyn that morning. It rippled over the rocks before cascading down the hillside.

“How beautiful! The water is sweet music to my ears!” Arwen exclaimed, dismounting from her horse and kneeling beside the stream. ”It reminds me of Imladris. I could hear the waterfall every morning when I awoke.”

“Do you miss your home?” Aragorn enquired anxiously, joining her by the bank.

“You and Eldarion are my home now,” she replied, kissing him tenderly on the lips. “As the long years passed, my heart remained untouched, I feared that I might never know the bliss of marriage and motherhood. Then when I saw you in Lothlórien my heart was changed . At last, I knew hope.” She looked up at the stars. “See how our forefather, Eärendil smiles down upon us tonight!”

The horses cropped the fresh grass while Aragorn drew Arwen in a close embrace, whispering soft words of love in her ear.

A mother badger and her cubs emerged from their set amongst the trees, oblivious of the two-legged interlopers. The mother and the little ones drank from the stream. Then the cubs started to play, chasing and tumbling on the bank. The King and Queen of the West watched the badger family, entranced, until an owl's hoot caused the mother to hurry her brood back to their den.

Long they sat there, watching the stars and listening to the sweet song of the nightingale.

Let Sleeping Kings Lie

With thanks to Raksha, Deandra and Julia

Released early from his lessons because his tutor was unwell, a bored Eldarion made his way to his father’s study. Ada had said he was working on some dull but important documents.Maybe he could be persuaded, instead, to play a game for a little while, with the collection of model soldiers that Eldarion so liked. The brightly coloured and bejewelled models, a gift from a visiting ambassador, held a great fascination for the young prince. Ada had confided in him that playing with model soldiers was much more fun than working even when you were very old, as his father undoubtedly was.

Eldarion passed the guard at the end of the corridor, who smiled and greeted him.

The boy tapped on the door of the study, but received no reply. Strange, for he was certain ada was planning to spend all afternoon working there. He listened carefully. A strange and raucous sound suddenly emanated from the room.

Although he was forbidden to enter without permission, Eldarion opened the door. 

Aragorn was slumped back in his chair with his mouth wide open, snoring loudly, his papers scattered around him.

Eldarion was about to creep quietly away when his little sister, having escaped the care of her nurse, toddled past him through the open door and ran to her father. She was clutching a doll almost as big as herself.

“Ada, look at my dolly, she has a pretty pink bonnet and shawl!” Farawyn cried. (

Aragorn’s only reply was an especially loud snore, which made both children jump.

“What is wrong with ada?”  Farawyn asked, her lower lip trembling.

“He is just asleep,” her brother replied. “We must not wake him or he might be cross with us as we are not supposed to be in here.”

“I will leave dolly’s new bonnet and shawl for him to see,” said Farawyn. “They will keep him warm. Naneth says people get cold if they fall asleep without a cover over them.”

The children tiptoed from the room, quietly closing the door behind them.

***

A little later, the Queen went in search of her husband. “Will you have tea with me, my love?” she asked brightly as she entered the room. She then caught sight of Aragorn and burst out laughing. Stifling her mirth, she hurried off in the direction of Faramir’s study.

The Steward was engrossed in a document on grain tariffs when Arwen entered his room.

“Faramir, you must come with me at once to Estel!” Arwen demanded.

“My lady! Is the King unwell?” Faramir asked anxiously, springing to his feet.

“No, nothing is wrong. I just want you to come and see him,” Arwen replied laughing at the very thought of what she had just witnessed.

Queen and Steward made their way to the King’s study, where they both stood, shaking with mirth.

“I wonder how many flies he has caught? Or has the colour of that shawl frightened them away?” Arwen giggled.

“We should wake him,” said Faramir. ”What if the servants come in?”

“Dolly is cold and wants her bonnet and shawl back!” announced the Farawyn, running into the room.

“Lady Farawyn, come here!” called the little girl’s nurse from along the corridor.

Arwen rushed out and called to the servant. “I will look after my daughter now. You may go Miriel.”

“Yes, my lady,” said the nurse curtsying. She disappeared in the direction from which she had come.

Arwen returned to the study just in time to see her daughter remove the doll's frilly bonnet from Aragorn’s head and bright pink shawl from his chest. The little girl then kissed her father.

Aragorn blinked and open his eyes. ”What is the matter?” he asked a trifle tetchily.

“You were snoring when I came to ask you if you would take tea with me,” said Arwen sweetly. “Faramir is invited too.”

“I do not snore!” said the King. “Ada does not snore, Farawyn.”

“Dolly snores then, “said Farawyn wrapping the pink shawl around her plaything.

Unable to feel out of sorts any longer, Aragorn picked up his little daughter and hugged her. "Bring dolly to tea, there might be some of her favourite cakes to eat," the King said, smiling. 

"Girls!" snorted Eldarion.

Queen and Steward smiled at each other. The afternoon’s entertainment had been most amusing.

Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, - Congreve.

“How could you, Estel?” Arwen demanded the moment Aragorn entered her sitting room. The Queen’s beautiful face was alight with fury. Beside her, stood an equally irate Éowyn.

“I am sorry, vanimelda. The council meeting went on longer than we expected. Prince Imrahil wanted to discuss the coastal fortifications after the debate on trade was over. I completely forgot we planned to take the children to see the jugglers, as did Faramir.”

“This is the third time this month you have both forgotten a promise you made,” Éowyn said sternly. “I suggest you tell Faramir that if he wants company this evening, he can stay with you. I am remaining here with the Queen.”

“As for you, Estel, I have no wish for your company at supper tonight. You can dine alone in your chambers,” Arwen said haughtily. “ Eldarion and Elestelle were very upset that their fathers were not there to take them out as you promised.”

“I am sorry,” Aragorn repeated. ”I did not wish to cause pain to you or the children. Next time, I will insist the meeting concludes at the proper time.”

“You promised me that last time,” Arwen said coldly, unmoved by her husband’s attempts to apologise.

Knowing it was pointless to argue with either lady when they were so angry, a crestfallen Aragorn went in search of his Steward. He found Faramir sitting in his apartments looking equally despondent, having found an irate letter left for him by his angry wife.

“Arwen is as angry as your lady,” Aragorn explained. “She told me to seek your company and dine in my own rooms with you tonight and no doubt sleep there too!”

“Éowyn bids me do the same,” said Faramir. He glumly followed the King to his chambers.

The two men found Aragorn’s rooms to be cold and uninviting. The King only used them occasionally and the servants had had no time to prepare them for his use. It took only a moment for both men to decide to seek solace in a tavern on one of the lower levels.

“It is good for a King to mix freely with his people and learn their needs,” said Aragorn, by way of excuse. He rummaged amongst his clothing for old cloaks and tunics for himself and Faramir.

“Indeed so,” said Faramir “Our wives can hardly complain since they deny us their company tonight! The Silver Crown usually has good ale and a warm fire to sit by. I used to go there sometimes with Boromir when we were both off duty.”

000

The two men were soon sitting in the cosy inn in the sixth circle, their hoods drawn around their faces to avoid recognition. They sipped a mug of ale apiece, wondering why the tavern was so packed that night.

“Have you come to hear Minohtar play?” asked the innkeeper, bringing them a plate of crusty bread and cheeses.

Aragorn and Faramir merely nodded, not wanting to betray their ignorance of the name.

A hush fell over the gathering, when in the far corner; a man picked up a lute and began to sing. His voice was unexceptional in contrast to his skills with the instrument. The haunting song of love and longing he played, brought tears to the listeners’ eyes. He next performed a familiar ballad, which most of the people joined in with, including Aragorn and Faramir.

“You two have fine voices,” said a serving girl, coming to refill their glasses. “No woman could resist either of you, if you serenaded her!”

Aragorn snorted.

“That could be a good idea,” Faramir said thoughtfully, tossing the girl a coin for the ale.

“Why not? We could but try!” said the King, draining his glass and feeling somewhat more confident. "Maybe Arwen will recall how I was singing the Lay of Lúthien on the day we first met?"

King and Steward hurried back to the Citadel and positioned themselves outside Arwen’s sitting room window and began to sing.

“ O, thou my glorious Evenstar, I have always gladly greeted you. This heart has never betrayed you!” sang Aragorn’s rich bass voice in Quenya, so that the servants would not understand.

“Éowyn, fairer than the sun, glad was I when your hand I won!” sang Faramir in Rohirric; his warm baritone blending nicely with Aragorn’s deeper voice.

The servants hovered around, enjoying the impromptu concert.

Suddenly the door opened and Arwen appeared. “You are just in time to read Eldarion a bedtime story,” she said smiling and kissing her husband’s cheek. “Faramir, Éowyn is just coming.”

Aragorn embraced his wife. ”Will you forgive me, beloved?” he asked.

Arwen’s tender kiss to his lips was the only answer he needed.

King and Steward exchanged relieved glances as they bade one another goodnight.

000

Faramir carried Elestelle in his arms as he walked back to his apartments with his wife.

“I wish you would sing for us more often,” said Éowyn. ”You have a beautiful voice, which I love to hear.”

The Steward at once began a lullaby for his daughter. The little girl listened entranced then fell soundly asleep.

“That is amazing!” exclaimed Éowyn. “She has been fretful all evening.”

 “It is said that the Valar created Arda itself from music. So maybe magic is indeed contained in a song?” Faramir mused.

“Only if the singer has sufficient skill,” said Éowyn, smiling at her husband.

A/N. Aragorn’s song is from Wagner’s Tannhäuser.

Winter Wonderland 

With thanks to Raksha and Deandra

 When it snows, ain't it thrilling,

Though your nose gets a chilling

We'll frolic and play, the Eskimo way,

walking in a winter wonderland. – Smith and Barnard

One cold winter’s morning the King and Queen of the Reunited Kingdom lay curled in each other’s arms, loth to leave their warm bed. For once, Aragorn had no official duties until the afternoon and could rise at a leisurely pace.

“The baby is kicking,” said Arwen, referring to the child she was expecting in a few weeks’ time. “Eldarion will have a lively playmate!”

“How blessed I am to have you, our son and another little one soon,” said Aragorn kissing her tenderly.

“I hope we can fill our home with children to share our love with,” said Arwen.

A tap came on their bedroom door disturbing their peace.

“My lord, my lady!” a servant called. “Prince Eldarion is upset and his nurse requests that you come.”

Aragorn slid out of bed, pulling a thick robe over his nightshirt. “You stay there, my love, “ he said. “ I will fetch our son to us.”

Aragorn found his four-year-old son kicking and screaming in the hands of his nurse.  

 “What is the meaning of this, ion-nîn?” the King asked sternly.

“I want to go out and play in the snow and nanny won’t let me!” Eldarion raged. “It isn’t fair! I’ve never seen snow before and I don't want to stay in bed!  I won't!"  He stomped a bare foot defiantly.

“I deemed it unwise to expose the Prince to such weather this soon after a cold,” the woman replied in a weary voice.  Mistress Idril had joined the household three months past, after Eldarion's beloved first nanny had grown too old and frail to keep up with the child.  It seemed this woman, the sister of the governess of Hurin's grand-daughters, was not up to the task either, though she was but in her middle years. 

“Come here, Eldarion! “ Aragorn ordered. His heir shuffled over to him, small hands clenched into fists.  Aragorn placed his hand on the boy’s forehead.  "Hmm, he seems well enough. Has he coughed or sneezed this morning?”

“No, my lord, not since last Tuesday,” said the nanny.

“Some fresh air should do him good then so long as he is warmly dressed, “ Aragorn said briskly. “Eldarion, tell Mistress Idril that you are sorry and then I will take you outside after breakfast.” He decided to discuss with Arwen whether it was time to find a nanny better able to control her young charge’s temper and less eager to mollycoddle him. He had no desire for his heir to grow up wilful and over cosseted.

“I am sorry,” Eldarion said obediently with a polite bow.

“I will take him to his mother now,” said the King.

Aragorn swept up the child in his arms and carried him back to the bedchamber where a somewhat anxious Arwen awaited them.

“What ails him? Is he ill?” the Queen enquired, putting her arms around her young son when Aragorn placed him in the bed between them. “What is wrong, ion nîn?” she enquired of Eldarion.

“I’m going to see the snow!” the boy exclaimed joyfully. “Nanny would let me go out but ada says I can!”

Aragorn laughed. “His nanny feared it would be bad for his health, but snow never did me any harm as a boy. It seems wondrous when you are young, but not when you have to travel long distances in it,“ he said. “You were just a baby the last time it snowed in Gondor. It used to snow every winter in the North where naneth and I grew up.”

“What is snow made of?” Eldarion asked.

“It is frozen rain. Water turns to ice when it is very cold,” Arwen explained.

“You can play lots of special games in the snow,” said the King. ”I will show you as soon as we have dressed and eaten our breakfast.”

Eldarion beamed. It was not often his father had time to spend the morning with him

**

After breakfast, Aragorn and Eldarion, both warmly clothed, went outside into the Royal Family’s private gardens. The sun was now shining and the white covered garden looked quite magical. The snow shimmered like diamonds in the winter sunshine.

Clutching tightly to his father’s hand, Eldarion walked through the snow as gingerly as a cat that disliked getting its feet wet. The young Prince was somewhat reassured when he found he could walk on it without falling. His father scooped some of the snow up to reveal that underneath; the grass was still there.

“When I was your age, I loved the snow,“ Aragorn told his son. "Sometimes I would be excused lessons and allowed to play outside making snowballs."

“What is a snowball?” asked Eldarion.

“I will show you.” The King formed a handful of snow into a ball and threw it at a tree. Rather wistfully, he recalled all the times when as a grown man, he had gained a respite from his cares as Chieftain by engaging in a lively snowball fight with Halbarad. He missed his friend and kinsman still, though Faramir had filled the yawning gap left in his heart. He could hardly engage in a snowball fight with his Steward, though. There were always watching eyes and wagging tongues ever on the look out for behaviour considered unseemly for a King or a Steward in Gondor. He only dared to be less than regal during his times away from the Citadel. He missed the simplicity of the North with its lack of stifling court etiquette.

Just then, Faramir and his daughter Elestelle joined them in response to a message Aragorn had sent. The Steward and his family were staying in the Citadel for the Mettarë celebrations. Elestelle ran towards Aragorn. He scooped her up in his arms and hugged her. The little girl smiled happily, looking delightful in a blue  fur trimmed cloak.

Eldarion scowled. ”Girls!” he muttered under his breath.

Aragorn put Elestelle down and turned to speak to Faramir.

The moment his father’s back was turned, Eldarion scooped up the snow as his father had shown him and hurled it at Elestelle’s back. It hit her on the shoulder and splattered all over her pretty cloak. Elestelle’s lower lip trembled, but she maintained a composure worthy of a daughter of two great Houses.

“Boys!” she said with all the scorn she could muster.

“Eldarion!” chided his father, “That was very naughty of you. We shall return indoors if you do not behave!”

“I just wanted to play,” said Eldarion. ”I’m sorry, ada.”

“You told me of making a snowman in your youth, mellon nîn,” Faramir said to the King. “ Could we make one with our children?”

“An excellent idea!” enthused the King and set to work with a will on the body, helped by his son, while Faramir and his daughter made the head. Both children worked happily, their earlier quarrel quickly forgotten

The fathers then took their children to the kitchens to ask the servants for coal and a carrot. The little ones watched wide-eyed as their fathers gave the snowman eyes, a nose and a mouth. They then gathered twigs to make him some arms.

“Doesn’t he need clothes to keep him warm?” asked Elestelle.

“He has to be cold or he will melt and turn back into water,” Faramir explained.

“Poor snowman!” said Elestelle sadly.

Aragorn and Faramir exchanged glances. It was maybe time to take the children back indoors before they became too attached to their snowman that would most likely be melted by the morrow.

Just then, an older girl came running towards them. It was Faramir’s niece. “Uncle Faramir, Strider!” Elbeth exclaimed. “ Aunt Éowyn said I might miss a Quenya lesson and play in the snow for a while. Their Nurses are waiting for Eldarion and Elestelle with hot milk and buns.”

The younger children made only token protests at being taken back indoors. Their hands, feet and noses were starting to feel cold.

While the two men were absent, Elbeth made two snowballs then concealed herself behind the snowman.

 As soon as the King and Steward came into sight, she hurled snowballs in quick succession at them, hitting both with deadly accuracy.

“Elbeth!” exclaimed Faramir, slightly winded from the impact of the snowball.

“This calls for revenge!” Aragorn exclaimed, hurling a snowball back at Elbeth. She ducked and successfully avoided it. Grabbing another handful of snow, she threw another at the King. This time he dodged it and it hit Faramir instead.

All thoughts of decorum forgotten, the two men replied in kind. A fierce snowball fight was soon in progress as they strove to hurl snowballs at Elbeth and each other.

From an upstairs window, Arwen watched smiling as the three outside frolicked in the snow as if they were all as young as Elbeth. It seemed that even Kings and Stewards remained little boys at heart.”You will be born into a happy home,” she whispered tenderly to her unborn child.

More Haste, less speed

with thanks to Raksha

“How I long to see Arwen and Eldarion again!” Aragorn exclaimed to Faramir as the two men rode abreast through the lower levels of the City. They had been away from Minas Tirith for several days touring the outlying fiefdoms. After what had seemed endless sessions of attending feasts in their honour and judging petty grievances, they were glad to be home again.

“I can hardly wait to see Éowyn, Elestelle and Elbeth,” Faramir said longingly, wishing it had been possible to ride through the City unrecognised, but knowing it was impossible when followed by their guards. He paused to smilingly accept a bunch of flowers offered by an old woman. Meanwhile, a man lifted up a child to see Aragorn and receive the King’s blessing.

They had reached the market, which was even more crowded than the rest of the City with citizens milling around the varied array of stalls.

“It is good to see the market flourishing,” Faramir said in a tone loud enough for the surrounding people to hear, knowing some comment was expected of him.

Aragorn forced himself to smile at his subjects, ardently wishing it were not a market day so that they could travel at a faster pace. A sudden thought struck him. He had returned without suitable gifts for his wife and child! King and Steward had been showered with hand woven blankets, baskets and gifts of delicacies, but none of those would delight either Arwen or Eldarion.

His eye was caught by a stall a few paces ahead, which sold colourful jewellery and trinkets.

“I need to buy a gift for Arwen. Maybe this stall will have something she would like?” Aragorn remarked to his Steward.

“I bought new saddles for Éowyn and Elbeth in Lamedon and a doll for Elestelle,” Faramir said rather smugly, dismounting together with his King. “It was while you were healing a child with a fever.”

“My Lord King and my Lord Steward!” The stallholder bowed low, his eyes alight with awe and joy. “This is a great honour indeed, that you should visit my humble stall. What may I show you? I have amethyst and topaz, tourmaline and tiger’s eye, agate and amber, rose quartz and...”

“I will take this, please.” Aragorn gestured towards a pretty necklace of roughly polished amethysts. Arwen had fairer jewels by far, but he felt she would like these simple, colourful stones that many of the common folk of Gondor wore. His keen eyes scanned the stall for a gift for Eldarion. He spotted some carvings of horses in an onyx type mineral. ”I should also like one of the model horses.”

“They are yours,” smiled the stallholder. “They are far from my best pieces, though. I keep those under the counter in case of thieves.

Before Aragorn could say anything, the man had dived under the stall and started rummaging in some boxes.

“See, I have some river pearl necklaces,” said the merchant placing them on the stall. He disappeared under it again. “And silver bracelets.”

“They are very nice but I just..” The trader had vanished under his stall again before Aragorn could finish his sentence. The King struggled to hide his impatience, not wanting to hurt the man’s feelings. Beside him, Faramir tapped his foot.

“I have some silver brooches carved, I believe, by Dwarves here somewhere,” said the man. “If you would just wait one moment.” He pulled out another box and looked inside.

“Not today, thank you, good merchant,” Aragorn said in desperation as about forty brooches of dubious workmanship were presented for his inspection. ”How much do I owe you for the necklace and the horse?”

“They are a gift, my Lord King,” said the trader. “I require no payment. They are but trinkets!”

Aragorn knew to refuse would be an insult.

“Thank you,” he smiled. ”I will take this too.” He selected the nearest brooch, wanting to give the man some money for his wares. His shabby clothing suggested he did not earn a great deal selling his simple jewellery. The wealthy people of Minas Tirith had somewhat more elaborate tastes.

“But my, lord, that one is far from being the fairest! “ the merchant protested. “How about this brooch set with a sapphire, or this one inlaid with pearl?”

“I will take the pearl one,” Aragorn said firmly.

“You have not yet seen my finest necklaces,” the trader said eagerly. “I have some designs inspired by Elven-craft.”

“I am sure they are beautiful,” Aragorn said tactfully. He espied a tiger’s eye pendant that he was certain would appeal to Elbeth. “I will have that pendant and that is all.” His patience exhausted, he finally resorted to the tone of command he used as Chieftain and King.

“Yes, my lord!” The man looked startled.

Aragorn softened his words with a smile as he handed the man a handful of coins, far more than the purchases were worth. With a sigh of relief he remounted his horse.

000

A little while later, having stabled their horses, King and Steward were finally on the way to their apartments.

“At last I shall see Arwen and Eldarion!” Aragorn said joyfully.

“I feared you would never escape that merchant,” Faramir said dryly.

“So did I,” the King replied. “Greetings, Lady Morwen!” He smiled at Arwen’s lady in waiting as she passed him, her head dipped in a respectful curtsy.

“Greetings, my lord.”

“How fare my wife and son?” the King asked.

“They are well, sire,” the woman replied. “ The Queen has just left to visit the market together with the Lady Éowyn and the children. She has given me the rest of the day off as she expects to be gone for several hours.” She hurried on her way, oblivious to the dismayed expressions of the two impatient husbands and fathers.

Alas, all their haste had been in vain.

The Vase that was Broken

With grateful thanks to Raksha

“Tell me a story, ada, please!” Eldarion pleaded. He was sitting with his father in his mother’s sitting room eating his tea. The Queen had taken Farawyn to visit Éowyn for a few days and the young prince was bored.

“What sort of a story?” asked Aragorn.

“A tale of your battles and brave deeds,” said Eldarion.

The King began to tell his son about how they had fought the orcs and the cave- troll in Moria, using his spoon to illustrate how he had wielded Andúril. Before long, father and son had risen from the table and were mock-fighting enthusiastically.

A sudden loud crash brought the game to an abrupt halt.

“Oh, no; we broke naneth’s vase!” Eldarion exclaimed.

Aragorn surveyed the scene in horror. All of Arwen’s vases looked much alike to him. He seemed to recall that this was a special one; a family heirloom that had belonged to Celeborn and Galadriel and had been made for them before the breaking of Beleriand. He gingerly picked up the fragments.

Eldarion frowned. "Naneth will be cross." He looked up at Aragorn, his small face earnest. "I did not mean to break so old a thing, truly, ada."

Aragorn caressed the child's tousled black hair. “ It was not your fault, ion nîn,” he reassured his son. "I should have known better than to mimic a battle with you in Naneth's sitting room. Let us send for Uncle Faramir and see if he can help.”

The Steward, who was working late to allow Aragorn to spend more time with Eldarion, appeared within a few minutes and inspected the damage. “ I fear it is beyond repair,” he said. ”At least it does not look to be very valuable.”

“It is!” Aragorn contradicted. “ It is Elven workmanship dating from the First Age. It had pride of place in my lady’s room.”

“I have rarely been in your lady’s private rooms, so had little chance to appreciate its beauty,” Faramir said diplomatically. “ I suggest we summon the City’s craftsmen and find a vase of equal beauty ere she returns.”

“A good idea, mellon nîn, always you think of something!” said Aragorn, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

The King’s enthusiasm for the plan abated somewhat after spending much of the day inspecting the wares of a seemingly endless procession of craftsmen, all of whom had dozens of vases to show him. Aragorn’s head began to ache at the sight of each additional vessel of silver or gold or multi-coloured glass. Eventually, with Faramir’s help, he chose a silver vase encrusted with sapphires and rubies. It seemed well made and was quite costly, but the expense would be worth it if it staved off Arwen’s wrath.

Aragorn went to bed weary and slept badly, dreaming he was being buried under a mountain of vases of every hue and description imaginable.

The King’s heart was in his mouth when his Queen returned and took her accustomed place in her sitting room. He decided to wait for her to notice the vase before confessing his mishap with her treasured heirloom.

Suddenly, she espied the new vase and her eyes lit up. “How beautiful!” Arwen exclaimed. “And how thoughtful of you to buy me a surprise gift, Estel!”

“I fear your grandparents’ vase was broken while Eldarion and I were playing,” the King said sheepishly.

“The priceless heirloom?” Arwen looked puzzled. “That is silver inlaid with pearl and I put it away safely as soon as Eldarion could walk. The one that was there was a gift from the Harad Ambassador, which I always considered hideous! How could you fail to notice the difference? Men are so unobservant!”

Aragorn sighed with relief, before ruefully realising he had wasted a good deal of time and money.

Arwen picked up the new vase and studied it. Then, embracing her husband lovingly, gave him a tender kiss.

Returning his wife’s loving embrace, Aragorn decided the vase was worth every coin after all.

Playing with Fire

With grateful thanks to Raksha

The fire burned low in the hearth of the King and Queen’s private sitting room one evening in late spring.

“Would you like me to fetch more wood, my lord?” asked a servant.

“No thank you,” said Aragorn. ”The evening is warm; and we shall only stay here until Prince Eldarion's bedtime.”

The girl bobbed a curtsey and scurried from the chamber.

Arwen bent over her needlework while the King watched his son playing.  

Three-year-old Eldarion, clutching his toy horse, moved nearer to the glowing embers. “No!” Aragorn said sternly. “Do not go near the fire. It will hurt you.”

Reluctantly, Eldarion moved back a few paces; his eyes still fixed on the hearth.

“I worry for our son,” said Arwen, putting her sewing aside. ”These past weeks he has become enchanted by fire. He keeps trying to approach the flames; no matter how many times his nanny or I tell him to keep away from it.  No, Eldarion!” she cried, dragging her son back from the hearth.

“I fear children are curious,” said Aragorn. He looked troubled. Eldarion was the apple of his eye and he would rather  cut off his right hand than see any harm come to his son.

Eldarion returned to playing with his toy horse, pretending to race it across the floor. Arwen turned her attention back to her embroidery, satisfied that their son was safe in his father’s care. She frowned in concentration, putting the final stitches to an embroidered rose that looked real enough to sweetly scent the chamber.

After a few minutes had passed, Eldarion toddled purposefully back to the glowing ashes. Aragorn watched him intently, a look of anguish in his grey eyes. This time he did not admonish his son. He simply watched the child’s every move. The little boy stared at the embers for a few moments then reached out towards them. He screamed as his chubby finger touched the glowing fire.

Arwen cried out in horror.

Aragorn, who had been poised like a cat behind his son, now swept up the weeping child. He plunged Eldarion’s finger in the water jug, and then placed his hands over it to ease the pain. Arwen kissed her son’s cheek and murmured soothing words.

“It hurts!” said Eldarion once his sobs subsided. ”Bad fire, won’t touch it again!”

“I am taking my son to bed,” Arwen said, glaring at Aragorn. “I shall speak to you later!” She strode from the room, her child in her arms.

000

“How could you, Estel?” Arwen raged when she joined her husband for dinner an hour or so later. “You were watching our son and you let him get hurt!”

“It pained me deeply to allow it to happen,” Aragorn replied. He picked at the beautifully cooked food on his plate with little appetite.

“You deliberately allowed him to burn his finger?” the Queen demanded, her eyes aghast.  "How could you?"

“When I lived in Gondor many years ago under the guise of Thorongil,” the King replied, “a kindly Guardsman and his wife befriended me. They had three children, their youngest being a little boy of Eldarion’s age. Like our son, the beauty of fire charmed him. One day, when his mother’s back was turned, the lad plunged his arm into the flames. His clothing caught fire and he was badly burned. I tried my utmost to heal him, but his injuries were beyond any man’s aid. He died in agony later that night. He was a fair child and it still grieves me to think of him. When I was small, I once touched some embers like Eldarion did tonight. Ever after, I had a healthy respect for fire. It was hard to see our son in pain, but it was a fleeting hurt, that should be healed by the morrow.  Yet the memory of that pain will return whenever Eldarion even thinks to approach a flame.  I could think of no other way to protect him, especially since our duties necessitate that we must often leave him in the care of others.”

Arwen looked across at her beloved and saw that his eyes were wet with tears.  She patted his hand tenderly. It seemed that even after almost six years of marriage, there was still much to learn about her husband. “It seems some lessons must be harshly taught,” she whispered.

“I hope I shall never again need to teach so painful a lesson,” Aragorn said sadly. “I felt that I, too played with fire tonight.”

A Dainty Dish

Now, wasn't that a dainty dish
To set before the King? – Traditional nursery Rhyme.

With thanks to Deandra.

“So how are you enjoying your visit to Gondor?” Prince Imrahil enquired of Merry and Pippin. Imrahil and the Hobbits were sitting by the fire with Aragorn, Arwen, Faramir and Éowyn after a convivial dinner.

“It is very nice - that is, apart from the food,” said Merry.

“That grieves me to hear,” said Aragorn. “I instructed the cooks to prepare their finest dishes for you.”

“It is not good simple Hobbit cooking, though,” said Pippin. “All those fancy dishes smothered in sauce so you don’t know what you are eating hardly! And they never serve mushrooms! Don’t they grow them in Gondor, Strider?”

Imrahil raised his eyebrows at Pippin’s casual form of address to the King. He refrained from commenting, as Aragorn seemed not to notice. “Mushrooms, Sir Peregrin?” he said in a horrified tone. “No lord or lady of Gondor would eat such a common food! Poor peasants, who cannot afford to eat any better, gather them in the woods.”

“When I was a Ranger, it was a pleasure to come across some mushrooms and cook them for my supper,” said Aragorn. “Pippin is quite right. Mushrooms should be served at the King’s table.”

“Your guests would be shocked, my lord,” Imrahil cautioned. “You are King, though; your word is law.”

“When I was serving in Ithilien, my men introduced me to the delights of mushrooms. Éowyn often instructs our cook to prepare them in Emyn Arnen,” said Faramir. “My father would never have had them served at his table, though.”

“The people of the Mark enjoy mushrooms, too,” said Éowyn.” If our Kings can enjoy them, I cannot see why the lords of Gondor cannot!”

“It is hard to change the closed minds of Men, I fear. Unlike the Elves, they do not appreciate the fruits of Yavanna that grow wild when they have sufficient coin to buy those that are cultivated.”

“I believe it is because many of the City folk cannot distinguish a mushroom from a toadstool,” said Faramir. ”Therefore, rather than run the risk of being poisoned, our lords prefer not to eat them at all!”

The rest of the company nodded, thinking that Faramir had most likely explained the puzzle. The conversation moved to other matters.

A week later, the King’s birthday was celebrated with a State Banquet. All the highest ranked lords and ladies were invited, and the invitations were gladly accepted. As special friends of the King, Merry and Pippin were the guests of honour.

The guests enjoyed a appetizing creamy soup, which was followed by some sort of vegetable stuffed with crab and covered with breadcrumbs. The guests then partook of a stew, before feasting on a selection of desserts.

“What a delicious meal!” exclaimed Imrahil. “The cooks have surpassed themselves!”

“We made good use of the crabs you had sent from Dol Amroth,” said Arwen sweetly.

“I did not recognise the flavour of the soup nor the vegetable you served with the crab,” said the Prince of Dol Amroth. “It was most enjoyable though.”

Most of the lords and ladies murmured their enthusiastic agreement.

“We’re glad you liked our favourite mushroom recipes from the Shire,” said Pippin.

“The soup recipe has been in my grandmother’s family for ten generations,” Merry added.

“We have been eating mushrooms?” Imrahil looked aghast.

“From your words the other night, I surmised that you and the rest of the nobility had never eaten them,” said Aragorn. “Therefore, I asked Merry and Pippin to instruct my cooks in the best ways to prepare them. From now on, mushrooms will be served at the King’s table regularly. I had forgotten just how much I enjoyed them until Merry and Pippin reminded me. Why should the lords shun a food, because the common folk enjoy it? If a food is good enough for my lowliest subjects, it should be good enough for their King, too.”

“I have learned a valuable lesson tonight,” said Imrahil. “It seems we all have much to teach each other.”

“ Indeed! We decided we liked the food here after all once we became accustomed to it,” said Merry.

“We would like to take some recipes from Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth home to the Shire,” said Pippin.

“I will send a message to my cook and request that he copy out my Household’s favourite dishes,” Imrahil told the Hobbits. “Perhaps you would allow my cook to sample some of your recipes too?”

“When we return home we will collect all our favourite recipes and despatch them to Gondor,” said Merry.

“Let us drink a toast to all our peoples and their culinary traditions,” said Aragorn. He smiled at the Hobbits, recalling a long ago birthday he had celebrated at an inn in Bree. The mushrooms had tasted as good then as they did today, despite the humble surroundings. He reminded himself that the simple pleasures of life were often the best.

A Price above Rubies

Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies.- Proverbs 31.9-11. The Bible.

Based on an idea of Raksha's

With grateful thanks to Deandra

Aragorn had spent an enjoyable hour sparring with Faramir. King and Steward had been honing their skills with sword and bow, before Faramir left to spend a few days with his family in Ithilien. The two men had parted in good spirits. Aragorn was looking forward to spending the rest of the day with his wife and children. He hummed contentedly to himself as he approached his wife’s solar.

“May I see Andúril, Ada?“ asked Eldarion as his father entered the chamber, his sword still at his hip. The little boy ran to his father’s side.

“You may look, but not touch; the sword is very sharp,” Aragorn cautioned.

“Did you defeat Uncle Faramir?” the little boy asked. “I wish I could have watched.”

“You shall, next time you have no lessons,” Aragorn promised. “Uncle Faramir defeated me with the bow while I bested him with the sword. It was a close contest, as usual.“ Aragorn unsheathed the weapon and held it while his son studied it longingly. “You will have your own sword once you are grown up. Eldarion, I promise you will have a truly splendid one.”

“No other sword could be as fair as this,” Eldarion said wistfully, stroking the hilt. ”But, I will kill lots of bad men with it!”

“Estel, Eldarion, I do not like such talk, or naked blades indoors!” Arwen chided. She was pacing the room, trying to pacify a fretful Farawyn.

“I am sorry, my love,” Aragorn said contritely, sheathing the weapon. “Is Farawyn teething again?”

“I fear so,” Arwen sighed. “She has been crying most of the day.”

“Shall I hold her?” the King volunteered.

“Thank you, Estel,” said the Queen, gladly handing over her daughter. “I will leave her with you while I help Eldarion’s nanny put him to bed.”

“I’m not tired!” Eldarion protested. “Why do I have to go to bed before the sun does in summer?”

“Little boys need their sleep so they will grow up to be big and strong. and grow tall enough to wield a sword,” said Aragorn. “I will come and tell you a bedtime story later, ion nîn,” he promised as Eldarion left with his mother.

The King tried to settle on his favourite chair. He rocked Farawyn in his arms. Still she cried. The King sang an Elvish lullaby. Farawyn cried all the louder. Aragorn tried a healing touch to soothe his daughter. She continued to wail dolefully. The King stared desperately round the room for a means to distract her. A beam of evening sunlight was playing on his sword. “Look at the pretty jewels, see how they sparkle!” Aragorn cried, reaching for the sheathed weapon and showing the baby his sword hilt in a bid to distract her.

Farawyn’s eyes lit up. Suddenly, she clamped her mouth down on the hilt and started to chew it contentedly. Usually, Aragorn would have been horrified to have his precious sword used as a teething ring. The silence, though, was blissful. Farawyn looked so pleased with herself; he had not the heart to take it away from her. The hilt was solid mithril, so she could not do it any harm and he had cleaned it after his bout with Faramir earlier that day.

“Farawyn has finally settled!” Aragorn said delightedly when Arwen returned.

“Fancy letting a baby chew on a sword hilt!” his wife scolded. “Give her to me now. It is time for her to be fed, while Eldarion is waiting for the story you promised him.”

Aragorn was engrossed in telling his son a tale, about how he fought off a dozen Orcs single-handedly, when a servant interrupted to say the Queen required his presence at once.

“I will finish the story tomorrow, ion nîn,” said Aragorn kissing his son on the brow. He called to the nanny in the next room to take care of Eldarion and hastened to his wife.

Arwen, her face pale, was gazing fixedly at Andúril’s hilt. “There is a jewel missing!” she exclaimed. ”Farawyn must have swallowed it! How could you be so irresponsible? My poor baby!”

Aragorn took the sword from her and studied it. A large ruby was missing. “It should not do her any harm,” he said.

“It could have sharp edges and cut her inside!” Arwen fretted. ”You are a Healer, you must be able to do something!”

“It is smooth and small enough to pass through her when nature takes its course,” Aragorn said with more confidence than he felt.

The baby had begun to cry again, and Aragorn reached to take her from his wife.It was impossible to tell though, whether it was the commotion, pain from her teething or the fact she had swallowed a jewel, that was distressing her. The King carefully undressed the baby and gently felt for any trace of the ruby, but could find none. She reacted indignantly by biting his fingers when he felt in her mouth. Arwen, meanwhile shook out Farawyn’s clothes, but could find no sign of the stone.

Unable to do anything else, Arwen reluctantly put Farawyn to bed just as the servants arrived with their dinner. Though neither had much of an appetite, they picked at their meals in silence. Aragorn was uncomfortably aware of the fierce glare his wife favoured him with throughout the course of it.

When bedtime came, Arwen banished her husband to his dressing room. She spent the night dozing fitfully, expecting any moment that her baby would be taken violently ill.

Aragorn became increasing infected by his wife’s fears. As a Healer, he knew the stone was unlikely to cause harm, but as a father he was terrified that some harm would befall his beloved child. When he fell asleep, he was plagued by hideous nightmares of having to cut into his little daughter to retrieve the ruby when it blocked some vital organ, while Master Aedred shook his head and pronounced the child dead. The King cried out and woke up shaking in distress just as the cock crowed, heralding dawn. A wakeful Arwen took pity on him and permitted him to join her in the marital bed. Farawyn slumbered peacefully in her cradle.

The King and Queen were glad when the maid arrived bearing their morning tea. The girl set the tray down then hovered hesitantly by the door.

“What is it, Nienor?” enquired the Queen.

“Nothing, my lady, save the housemaid found a red stone under the rug this morning. She thinks it’s a ruby and that she should tell you, but the housekeeper says it must just be a glass bead and she shouldn’t bother you over such trifles.”

Arwen hugged the astonished Nienor. “That is the best news anyone could tell me!” she exclaimed. “You may have the rest of the day off. First, though, send the housemaid to me; she shall be richly rewarded!”

An hour later, the King and Queen were breakfasting in the solar. The stone had been identified as the missing ruby. A craftsman had been summoned to replace it in the hilt and the housemaid given five silver pieces as a reward.

“I am so sorry, I was angry with you, my love,” Arwen said contritely.

“I deserved your wrath. I would never forgive myself if any ill befell my children,” Aragorn replied.” They are a treasure far above any rubies in value.”

Seeking the Sun

With grateful thanks to Raksha.

I walked from door to door in the July heat until my feet were blistered and bleeding. It seemed no one wanted to employ a seamstress of low degree. There were far too many such as I seeking employment in Minas Tirith; women who knew only enough of the homely arts to tend their families in some smallholding or croft. I was neither broideress nor tailor. I possessed only my mother's old sewing kit and some experience in using it. And all I had left to wear were the clothes, now growing dirty for want of a place of my own to wash them in, that I had stuffed in a sack when my man and I had fled our cottage on the Pelennor before the Southrons had burnt it down. I spent the last of my small hoard of coin several days ago.

Some folk have advised me to ask the King for assistance. Never! I am widowed because my husband followed the Northerner to the Black Gate, where no man in his right mind has ever ventured! Who is this man who calls himself King anyway? Lord Faramir should rule, as did his longfathers before him. This usurper from the North must have tricked him into surrendering his birthright! And what manner of a Man marries an Elven witch? How can such a union be natural?

I feel faint now with hunger. Even the taverns will not employ me. I suppose they want comely wenches who can laugh with the customers. I suspect all can read the sorrow in my eyes, for I cannot hide it. They see the grief of having not only lost my husband, but my parents and sister too, to the Black Shadow. And my baby, my helpless unborn child; was also lost. I know there is one way a woman can always earn a crust, but how could I do that? 'Tis a thing worse than death!

Sometimes I think my soul is dead already. My body simply waits to follow.

I pause because my legs refuse to take one more step. I hear murmurs from a crowd that has gathered in the street. The people look and point, their faces impatient. What do they await? I ask a woman what is happening and she tells me the King is due to pass by. I have no wish to set eyes on the cause of my misery. I try to turn away, only to stumble upon a stone and almost fall. Then an idea comes to me. I am as good as dead, so this usurping foreigner can put an end to my misery. Maybe I can first strike a blow to avenge my husband? I stoop, ignoring the aches in my wearied bones, and pick up the stone.

It surprises me how small the procession is. Just a handful of horsemen ride into view. The man wearing a gem upon his brow in the middle of the group must be the King. The others all wear the black and silver livery of the Tower Guard. A woman rides at his side. She is garbed in the finest silks. I hear her laughter as she turns her face away from me, toward the tall rider. Is this the Elf he brought to be our Queen? What could she know of care and loss? I push my way to the front and cry, "Shame on you, King Elessar, for leading good men to their deaths and leaving the women to starve!" I aim the stone. He turns to look at me. His eyes! I have never seen the like. He seems to gaze into my very soul. I see the expected flash of anger; but then his eyes soften with a look of concern and something else. Kindness? I do not understand! The stone slips from my grasp. My sight dims and I sink to the ground.

When I regain my senses, I am lying on a soft bed, much to my surprise. I expected to be in prison. My worn garments have been replaced by a nightgown of fine linen. A woman in Healer's garb sits at my bedside. She smiles at me and asks whether I would like food and drink. I eagerly accept. No doubt I will die soon, but at least I shall eat first. I greedily devour the broth and watered wine that is brought to me. The Healer then brings me a robe and tells me that I shall soon receive a visitor. To my amazement, only a few minutes later, the King himself enters the room!

I had no intention of doing so, but find myself inclining my head respectfully. I keep my head bowed, not wanting to meet those eyes again.

"Look at me!"

I want to resist but cannot. I find myself meeting his grey gaze. His voice is stern but his eyes are filled with compassion.

"What is your name, Mistress?" he asks.

"I am Niniel, daughter of Alcarin, widow of Hador, a seamstress," I tell him.

"And what is your quarrel with me?" he demands.

I find myself pouring out my story to him. He listens intently, saying nothing.

"Mistress Niniel, try to remain calm," he says at last. "A woman in your condition..."

"What condition?" I interrupt bitterly.

"Surely you know you are about five months gone with child, Mistress?" the King says.

"You mock me, lord!" I retort. "I miscarried of my child after my husband died following your banner!"

Just then a woman enters, wearing a silver-grey cloak over a dark blue gown. A fairer lady I have never seen. She is more radiant than the stars. She places a gentle hand upon my belly. "You are indeed with child," she says. "I sense its life force waxing strong within you. Doubtless you were carrying twins and lost one of them while the other thrives. It is not uncommon."

I burst into tears: tears of joy that something of my husband still stirs within me and tears of sorrow that I have no way to support a child.

The woman tries to comfort me. I realise she is none other than the King's Elven bride. I think I was wrong when first I saw her. This lady is no stranger to sorrow. Mayhap she is a fitting Queen for Gondor after all.

"But Mistress, since you were destitute and starving, why did you not seek help?" the King asked once my tears subsided. "Steward Faramir first opened houses of refuge for the war-torn in March; and I have added more since I entered the City.

"I did not want charity," I replied. More tears welled up in my eyes. Was there no dignity left to me?

"It is no charity to offer work to an experienced seamstress," said the Queen, smiling.

"As King, it is my duty to help my people," said Elessar.

I look at him and at that moment I know I love him. Not of course, as a woman loves a man, but as a flower must love the sun.

A/N. This story was inspired by Pentangle's wonderful "Conversion”. The idea is used with her permission.

The Storm

My soul’s joy,
If after every tempest come such calms,
May the winds blow till they have wakened death!
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas
Olympus-high, and duck again as low
As hell’s from heaven! - William Shakespeare (1564–1616), British dramatist, poet. Othello, in Othello, act 2, sc. 1, l. 185-9.

Aragorn paced restlessly across the chamber, oblivious to the fine tapestries and furniture that adorned it. The room felt oppressively stuffy after a day of humid heat.

A summer storm now raged outside in the gathering dusk, the wind and rain beating fiercely against the windows. Lightning flashed against the darkening sky, while overhead the thunder roared like an angry dragon. How many times had he craved shelter when the elements raged outside? How often had he envied the Bree folk safe and dry in their snug houses? He had lost count long ago. Now he lived in sumptuous surroundings, well protected from the wind and rain. Yet, he found he missed them! Somehow, he felt less than fully alive, sheltered as he now was from nature’s fury.

“You remind me of a wild horse, chomping at the bit,” said Arwen, looking up from her embroidery. ”Go and get some fresh air, ere you wear a hole in the carpet!”

“My guards would never let me!” Aragorn said glumly.

“What became of the Ranger I married?” asked the Queen. ”You spent many a year evading being seen, if you so chose. It should cause you little difficulty in slipping past the guards unnoticed!”

“Your words are wise, vanimelda,” said Aragorn, kissing her tenderly. Snatching up his cloak, and pulling the hood closely around his face, he slipped through the maze of corridors, skilfully dodging his guards. He made his way outside, silent and stealthy as a cat.

The King walked briskly until he came to a secluded corner of the Citadel gardens. The thunder and lightning had ceased now, leaving in its wake heavy, drenching rain and a refreshing stiff breeze.

Aragorn cast aside his cloak and lifted his face towards the heavens, rejoicing in the feel of the cool water as it ran down his face. The sweet smell of the summer rain delighted him. His hair was soon drenched and plastered to his face, but he cared not.

Soon his clothing was soaked. Cold rivulets of rainwater trickled down his neck. Impulsively, he peeled off his tunic and shirt, allowing the rain to run freely down his bare chest and back. He closed his eyes. The breeze gusted fiercely against his bare skin. It seemed almost to caress him, making him feel invigorated and truly alive. He felt as if he could dance with the sheer ecstasy of feeling as one with nature; a child of wind, and storm and sky

Suddenly, his keen senses heard a twig cracking, as if trodden underfoot. Startled, he opened his eyes and made to snatch up his discarded clothing. It would not do at all for a King to be caught like this, half naked and dripping. The servants and nobility would think their new lord a madman!

“Estel! I could not resist joining you.”

It was Arwen. She came barefoot, dropping her cloak at her feet to reveal a simple linen gown beneath.

“Beloved, you surprised me!”

Arwen laughed, a sweet musical tone that always made her husband’s heart soar. ”A Peredhel can be as stealthy as a Ranger, and even closer to nature,” she said. ”At Imladris I would dance beneath the waterfall and revel in the feel of the spray. Come, dance with me!” She pulled him close, her breath warm against his skin.

Aragorn kicked off his boots and they laughingly began to dance across the grass, oblivious of the downpour. Slowly the rain ceased. The moon emerged from behind the scudding clouds, bathing the dancers in a silver glow.

Aragorn studied his wife’s lovely features. She looked fairer than ever in the moonlight, her hair dishevelled and damp, while her gown clung becomingly to her graceful figure.

Suddenly they stopped dancing. Breathlessly, they stood gazing at each other. Aragorn pulled his wife close and kissed her. She returned the kiss, her slender fingers caressing his skin, her warmth and nearness setting his body ablaze. The tempest in the heavens had abated, but nature had kindled another storm within their hearts, one of a very different kind, but no less fierce in its passion.

A/N This was the sole entry for a contest with the theme of “Nature” as the challenge.

The events take place soon after Aragorn and Arwen’s marriage.

Star of Wonder

O star of wonder, star of light,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect light. - John H. Hopkins

“Is that not a more suitable task for you, or Eldarion’s nanny?” Aragorn asked his wife desperately.

“I have a meeting with the Embroiderers' Guild while the nurse has the day off to visit her family,” Arwen explained. “I know you have a free afternoon.”

“Well, could not one of the nursery maids stay with Eldarion then?”

“You should know by now that our son needs a firm hand when it comes to having new clothes fitted,” Arwen said sternly. ”Last time he wriggled so much that the tailor could not alter his tunics to fit him properly. Eldarion simply hates standing still for tailor's work. He does not inherit such wildness from me!”

Aragorn fidgeted uncomfortably beneath his wife’s keen gaze. Eldarion was not the only member of the House of Telcontar who found it difficult to keep still while he had new garments fitted.

“Very well, vanimelda, I will see that Eldarion’s clothes for the Mettarë feast are fitted correctly,” conceded the King, sighing deeply.

000

“Please stand still, Master Eldarion,” begged the tailor, a short plump man with a nervous air about him.

“Do as you are told, ion nîn,” said Aragorn sternly. “Surely you want to look smart for the Mettarë Feast?”

“I hate having to wear silly clothes to attend feasts!” Eldarion grumbled in the jaded tones of one who had dozens of such occasions, rather than the three he actually had. “When you were a Ranger, Ada, did you have to dress up for Mettarë?”

Aragorn shook his head. ”The life of a wandering Ranger is a hard one, my son. We moved around too much to keep animals for food; our feasts were usually whatever we could scrounge on the day and a bottle or two of wine if we were near enough to a stash of provisions." He thought back to those cold nights of early winter spent with his men in the wilderlands. Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment remembering Halbarad and others of his Rangers who had perished in the long struggle against Sauron. "As for dressing up,most of us owned only the clothes we stood up in and a change of linens. We spent more coin on our weapons than on the cut of our cloth.

The tailor looked so shocked he dropped the bolts of silver-gilt black and gold cloth he was holding.

A sudden flash of inspiration struck Aragorn. ”If you are very good, we will celebrate Mettarë in traditional Ranger fashion before it is time for the feast.”

“Thank you, Ada!” The cloth was again knocked from the tailor’s hands as Eldarion ran to embrace his father. From then on, Eldarion stood so still and quiet that Aragorn started to fear that something ailed the boy!

000

“Is it wise to go riding with Eldarion with so little time left before the feast?” Arwen fretted. “It is bad enough when you fetch the mistletoe from Dame Gudrun!”

“That is why I fetched it yesterday, so I would have time to take Eldarion out today,” said Aragorn. “We are not going far and the weather is good for travelling. There is no snow or ice underfoot.”

“I will see that they are back in time, ”said Faramir, who was hovering at his lord’s side.

“Very well, but do not be late for the feast!” said the Queen. “I will call for the servants to bring you some hot drinks to have before you go. I do not want any of you taking a chill!”

0000

A short time later, Aragorn, Faramir and Eldarion rode out through the City gate, followed closely by several guards. It was a cold, grey winter afternoon. Dusk was starting to fall on a day that had never really been light.

“I am curious about these Northern Ranger customs of yours,” said Faramir, bringing his horse alongside Aragorn’s. ”In Ithilien, we had a bonfire and stood around it to toast the coming year and pray that the darkness would not prevail.”

“They are very simple,” said Aragorn. ”I only hope it will not be too cloudy to observe all the traditions. We begin here.” He reined Roheryn to a halt beside a large holly bush bedecked with brilliant red berries. The King dismounted and intoned “Yavanna, gracious giver, who deserts us not entirely in darkest winter, for this symbol of renewal, we thank thee.” Drawing his sword, he cut several sprigs of the dark green leaves and distributed them amongst the party, telling them to wear it on their cloaks. The King pinned Eldarion’s sprig in place telling his son. ”We wear the holly leaves as a symbol of hope that the land will be renewed. Holly is a very special plant as it is still fresh and green even in the depths of winter. The Elves have long cultivated it.”

“Where are we going, Ada?” asked Eldarion once they had remounted.

“Just as far as the copse yonder,” said Aragorn, gesturing towards some trees about a mile distant. “It should be dark by the time we get there.”

“Why does it have to be dark, Ada?” the little boy asked.

“You will see, I hope,” said Aragorn looking up anxiously to the sky. To his relief the clouds were parting as the last of the grey winter daylight faded. He urged Roheryn forward, narrowly avoiding a large stone in their path.

“Ranger festivals are very dull!” Eldarion remarked once they reached the unremarkable copse and halted before it.

“I doubt your father would bring us out here if there were not something important to see,” Faramir chided gently.

Aragorn’s keen gaze was searching the heavens. He smiled when he found what he was seeking. “Look above the tallest tree!” he cried, pointing upwards towards the Star of Eärendil, which gleamed like mithril against a small patch of velvet blue sky. ”Now make a wish!”

The company ceased chattering as they concentrated on their heart’s desires. A great stillness descended as they contemplated the shining star. Even the horses were quiet and the owl ceased her hooting.

“A! Elbereth Gilthoniel! silivren penna mírielo menel aglar elenath!” Aragorn started to sing softly in a rich, clear tone.

Faramir felt tears pricking his eyes. To watch Gil-Estel rise in a sky unshadowed by the Enemy still made him shiver with joy.

Aragorn finished the hymn and then gestured to the others to join in. They all knew the words from the oldest soldier of peasant stock to the King’s young son.

“I think I like the Ranger traditions, Ada!” said Eldarion as they rode homeward.

“Every year we would look at the star and see it as a sign that the light was always there, however dark the path before us might seem,” said Aragorn. “By Elbereth’s grace, the Star of Eärendil led me safely home.”

A/N this was written for the “Leaf and Stone” Yule Traditions challenge.

The Gate of the Year

I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year

'Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.'

And he replied, 'Go into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God

That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way!'- Minnie Louise Haskins 1908

With grateful thanks to Raksha

It seemed that half of Minas Tirith wanted to see the new King light the Mettarë fire. For the first time in living memory, the people of Gondor celebrated the festival with hope. Many had lost loved ones and fighting continued in the South and East, but Sauron was no more, the air was no longer foul with ash, but fresh and sweet, and the King had returned.

Anxious not to detract attention from the King and Queen, the Steward stood a little to the side. He pulled his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. Faramir's memories were still painful at times, as were his war wounds, yet he was well content. A year ago, the future had seemed so bleak with the Enemy's threat growing daily, his brother departed on a desperate mission and his father’s moods turning ever more strange. His father and brother were now gone forever, but he had a new lord and a new life.

Faramir watched as Aragorn, his Queen at his side, walked amongst the people. Despite the chill in the night air, the King wore no gloves and reached out towards those who approached him. Faramir thought how very unlike his father the King was; where his father had been cold and distant, Aragorn was warm and easy to approach. That the common folk loved Aragorn was plain for all to see; from the smiles on their faces, to the lovingly made gifts they offered to him and his lady, all of which were received with as much gratitude as if they were priceless jewels.

A herald blew a silver trumpet and the crowd fell silent. “My dear people,” Aragorn said in a loud voice. “We may no longer mark the New Year on this day, but we do mark a new beginning for our beloved land. We have walked though the night of shadow and sacrifice into the light of new hope. Let the light in our hearts be rekindled with Anor’s strengthening rays!”

A guard handed Aragorn a flaming brand. He flung it into the heart of the bonfire, which quickly caught alight and flared up.

Faramir found himself shuddering, but not from the cold. His father had tried to burn him alive on such a fire! He recalled nothing of the terrible events, yet fire at times disturbed him deeply. Suddenly, he felt very alone. His beloved brother was no more. Éowyn’s presence would have heartened him, but she was needed beside her brother in Rohan for a while yet. He swallowed hard and took a step backward; thinking to melt into the crowd ere anyone could notice his disquiet. Then a firm yet gentle hand grasped his shoulder. Healing warmth flooded through his body at the touch. Startled, he turned and found himself looking at his King.

Aragorn said nothing, but his grey eyes were filled with kindness and compassion. The Star of Elendil that encircled his brow reflected the light from the blazing fire. As Faramir looked at him, living flames seemed to dance upon the King’s brow and brightness surrounded him. Faramir relaxed, warmed by a sudden, joyful realisation: light had returned Gondor in the person of the King himself.

Strong, and of good courage

Be strong, and of good courage; dread not, nor be dismayed – The Bible..22

Faramir slowly picked his way through the rubble, his head bowed. Although weeks had passed, an acrid smell still lingered in what remained of the House of Stewards.

As he neared his destination, his steps grew even slower. Others had offered to carry out this task for him, but this was meant for him alone. Only a Ruling Steward or the Rightful King was meant to touch an object of such power. In a few days, the King would come and Faramir intended to hand over what was now rightfully his. Faramir hoped only he would have the strength to carry it out. His still healing wounds throbbed painfully.

He had been insensible when his father brought him here to burn him - and yet sometimes he felt as if he remembered brief flashes of what had happened that day. Or maybe it was simply his imagination trying to comprehend the horror of how Denethor had died? He repressed a shudder.

The Steward knew that what remained of his father had been decently interred, so he would not have to face that gruesome sight. The stone table was still here though, where Faramir had been laid to burn. He was certain what he was seeking was here too. He doubted any mortal fire could consume it.

Faramir found the object in a corner, covered in dust and ash. Cursing himself inwardly for not bring a sack, he scooped it up in his cloak and carried it to his rooms.

His mission accomplished, Faramir sank on to a chair. He took deep breaths to steady himself. He could hardly give the palantír to the King, as it was, filthy and covered in ash. Cautiously, he unwrapped his cloak from around the Seeing Stone. He called for a servant to bring a cloth and cleaning materials.

“Does aught ail you, my lord?” enquired the girl, seeing his pale face. ”Can I help you?”

“I am well, thank you. You may go now.”

How Faramir wished he could entrust this task to another! He could not take the risk though of letting any unwary soul touch the stone that had destroyed his father. Sauron was no more, but it was still a powerful object. Taking up the cloth, he started to clean away the dust and grime. The palantír seemed undamaged by the fire. When Faramir began to polish it, it tingled and seemed to come aliveat his touch. He tried to avert his eyes from the Stone, but they were drawn there as if by some unseen force. Then he saw the hands; withered and contorted with agony. His father’s hands! Faramir drew breath and tried to steady himself, but the overwhelming feelings of grief and horror made him tremble.

When the Steward regained his composure, he was seized by nausea. Somehow, he managed to wrap the palantír in a several layers of cloth and stow it carefully away.

***

“I have brought you this, my lord. It is yours by right.” Faramir placed the shrouded object on the King’s desk and bowed low.

Aragorn studied his Steward anxiously. The man looked pale as a ghost and very fragile. The King hoped fervently that Faramir would be strong enough for the high office with which he had entrusted him. ”Are you well?” he enquired. ”Is there anything I might do to aid you?”

“I am well, sire; thank you. The performance of my duties is aid enough. Here is the Anor-stone that my longfathers have held for you; I have found and cleaned it. If I might be excused?”

Aragorn nodded. “Remember, you may come to me at any time,” he said as Faramir departed.

The King unwrapped the bundle and picked up the palantír. Almost at once he saw the withered hands and dropped the object back on the desk, shuddering in revulsion. Faramir, the son of the owner of those hands, had retrieved it from the Rath Dinen where the young man had nearly met his death, and brought it here to him! Faramir possessed strength far greater than Aragorn could ever have imagined. This younger son of Denethor’s was proving an extraordinary man. Together he hoped they could renew the greatness and glory of Gondor.

 A Day at the Houses

The physician must not only be the healer, but often the consoler - Harriot K. Hunt

These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

With thanks to Virtuella and Raksha

Humming softly to himself, Aragorn, flanked by two guards, made his way to the Houses of Healing for his weekly visit. Out of all his duties, healing gave him the greatest satisfaction. Not only was it an opportunity to help his subjects, but also to meet them and learn about their joys and sorrows.

Dame Idril, a plump and pleasant faced woman in her middle years, who cared for many of the women and children, met him at the door, a troubled expression on her face. “I am glad you are here, my lord,” she said. “A woman was brought in with a high fever yesterday. She is very agitated and in great distress.”

“Athelas should help her,” said Aragorn and followed the woman in what had become a familiar routine as she ordered a servant to bring some hot water.

Within the hour, the sick woman was sleeping peacefully, her mind calmed and the fever abated by the athelas and Aragorn’s healing touch.

“Who else requires my help today?” Aragorn asked.

“Old Finnwyn is much troubled by painful ulcers on her legs, but I have no idea if she will see you or not,” said Idril. “She is quite a character!”

“Why not ask her?” Aragorn suggested.

He followed Idril to Finnwyn’s room and waited outside the door.

“No, it isn’t proper, having a man in my room, it isn’t!” shouted an old woman’s voice from within.

“He is the King and a great healer too,” Idril reasoned.

“Well, he’s still a man, and I am not having a man in my bedroom,” Finnwyn said firmly. “I’ll box his ears if dares come near my bed, king or not!”

Idril emerged from the room and closed the door behind her. ”I fear the lady says no,” she replied.

Aragorn smiled wryly. ”She is not the first patient to refuse my help, and it is her right. I will send you some Elven salves which should aid her.”

Just then, Aragorn’s friend and fellow healer, Aedred, appeared. ”Pardon me, Mistress Idril,” he said, “but the Warden would welcome the King’s help in treating a man with a badly fractured leg. Poppy juice is not easing his pain.”

Aragorn followed the Rohirric healer to a room where the Warden, Tarostar, was trying to set a broken limb. Two assistants held down the writhing and screaming patient. Aragorn hastened to the bedside and gripped the man’s hand, laying his other hand on the sweat soaked brow. ”Easy, now, easy!” he said in a compelling yet soothing tone. He then closed his eyes and held his hands a few inches about the injured leg.

The patient’s breathing eased as the pain lessened. “Thank you," he whispered. He managed a faint smile. Aragorn then sent him into a healing slumber while his injury was treated.

“Thank you, my lord,” said Tarostar. “It should be a simple matter to set the broken bone now.”

“There is another patient I will take you to see,” said Aedred. ”One Amras, who was until recently apprenticed to a carpenter until he was dismissed for idleness. He is troubled by pains in his limbs, which render him unable to walk, and none here can find the cause. Master Tarostar has examined him, as have I. You are our last hope of determining his malady!”

“I am certain if anything serious ailed him, you would have found it,” said Aragorn. ”Nevertheless, I will see what I can do.”

Amras started to moan quietly as Aragorn and Aedred entered the room, and when Aragorn examined him, he screamed louder than the patient with the broken leg. Aragorn held his hands a few inches above the man’s limbs and frowned at his findings. ”This is a strange malady indeed, Master Aedred,” he said, winking at the Rohirric healer. ”The only way we can help this poor fellow is to amputate all his limbs, which I suggest we do immediately!”

With a loud cry of alarm, Amras leapt from the bed and grabbed his clothes. Still wearing his nightshirt, he fled from the room.

Aedred burst out laughing. ”One of your most miraculous cures yet, my lord!” he chuckled. ”We suspected he was in search of free bed and board, but had no way of proving it!”

“I could sense his limbs were sound” said Aragorn and grinned. ”Of course he had no way of knowing that. I doubt he will trouble you again unless a genuine malady afflicts him! Now who else do you want me to see?”

“I think that is all for today as -” Aedred was unable to finish the sentence because he was interrupted by a servant telling him that a youth had been admitted.

“You are welcome to come with me if you have the time, my lord,” said the healer as he bustled off to see his next patient.

“I am always happy to assist you,” said Aragorn, easily outpacing his companion.

They found the boy, who appeared to be about seventeen years of age, lying on a bed looking rather pale and clutching his chest.

“What happened, lad?” Aragorn asked kindly.

“I went to visit my sweetheart and we were just exchanging a kiss.” The boy flashed scarlet.

“Only a kiss?” Aedred asked sternly.

“I swear it was, master,” said the boy. ”Her brother objected, though, as he came back from market at just the wrong moment. He punched me and I fell against a table.”

“Let me have a look and see what the damage is,” said Aragorn, while Aedred helped the unhappy boy to remove his tunic and shirt and covered him with a blanket. ”Now where does it hurt?”

“Here,” said the boy, gesturing to the ribs on his left side.

“I fear you have two cracked ribs, lad,” said Aragorn as he skilfully examined the youth. “I will ease your pain as best I can, but you will have to rest while they heal. And resting includes not visiting young ladies with protective brothers!”

“Yes, Master Healer,” said the boy who obviously did not recognise the King, though he looked puzzled when Aragorn eased his pain by holding his hands a few inches above the injury before applying a salve made from comfrey leaves.

“You can stay here overnight,” said Aedred. “You ought to be able to go home tomorrow. I will fetch you a nightshirt to wear.”

He left the room, accompanied by Aragorn.

“I think he will be well, but send for me if he has any difficulty breathing during the night,” said Aragorn.

“Injuries like this must seem very mundane for a healer who has healed the Black Breath and terrible battle wounds,” Aedred remarked.

“How much better things are, though,” said the King. “A few years ago, a boy of this age would be fighting orcs, I have seen far younger ones die among the Northern Dúnedain fighting for their lives and everything they hold dear. I would prefer by far to be tending the victims of love rather than war.”

Hunting the Dragon

“Truly?” asked Eldarion. “There were no more monsters in the kingdom?”

“Not one,” Aragorn said firmly. “It is time to sleep now, ion nîn. I will tell you another story tomorrow.” He bent and tucked the covers around the little boy.

“Where is Smaug?” Eldarion asked sleepily.

Aragorn glanced around the room. He could see no sign of Eldarion’s favourite toy. “Is he not in bed with you?” the King asked, feeling under the covers. There was only a wriggling small boy there. Aragorn sighed. Doubtless, the toy was on the floor under the bed. Dropping on his hands and knees, he prepared to investigate. He found a ball, some marbles, and a half eaten cake, not to mention a great deal of dust. Of Smaug there was no sign.

Sneezing, Aragorn got to his feet, determining to have a stern word with the maid who was supposed to clean Eldarion’s room each morning. “Smaug is not there,” he told his son. “You will have to sleep with another toy tonight. What about Shadowfax?” The King picked up Eldarion’s toy horse from a shelf as he spoke.

“I don’t want Shadowfax! I want Smaug!” Eldarion’s lower lip began to tremble.

“Don’t cry, ion nîn, ada will find him for you,” Aragorn said reassuringly, repressing an inner groan. Arwen was attending an important meeting of the Weavers Guild and he had blithely assured her that he could settle Eldarion to sleep before she returned. “Your nanny will sit with you while I find your toy,” Aragorn told his son after vainly searching the rest of the room.

After checking with the woman that she had not seen the toy, Aragorn went in search of his friend and Steward. Faramir was good at solving problems, and would surely know what to do. The Steward was fortunately in the Citadel to attend a Council Meeting upon the morrow.

“I wondered if you might know, since you grew up in the City, which craftsman made Smaug?” Aragorn asked after telling his friend his dilemma. “I thought we could tell the man we urgently required another dragon.”

“Have you forgotten, mellon nîn, that the toy was a birthday gift for Eldarion from King Thranduil?” said Faramir.

Aragorn buried his face in his hands. He could hardly send a messenger to Eryn Lasgalen to return with a new toy that night.

“A toy dragon cannot have flown too far,” Faramir said hopefully. "We will just have to hunt for it in all the places where Eldarion has been this day. The guards and servants can assist us.”

Soon Aragorn’s apartments were in an uproar as every cushion was moved, every chair looked under, and every cupboard turned out. The cook even looked in the ovens, while the Master of Hounds searched the kennels. High and low they searched, but there was no sign of Smaug.

“Whatever is going on?” Arwen answered, entering with two of her ladies.

“Eldarion has lost his favourite toy, vanimelda, and cannot go to sleep without it!” Aragorn explained. “We have hunted everywhere in vain!”

“Have you tried the Great Hall?” asked Arwen.

“Eldarion does not go in there!” Aragorn protested.

“Don’t you remember anything?” chided the Queen. “I brought him in to see you in your crown and robes this morning after you had judged the prisoners.”

“Of course!” said Aragorn. "I have had such a busy day that this morning's judgments seemed to have passed a long time ago!”

King, Queen and Steward made their way to the Great Hall. There on the throne, grinning at them with finely carved jaws, sat Smaug. 

Aragorn grabbed the toy and bore it in triumph to his son’s bedchamber only to find the child sleeping peacefully with his chubby fingers clasped around Shadowfax.

“I gave Master Eldarion his toy horse and told him to go to sleep,” said the nanny in reply to Aragorn’s query. “Good as gold, he was!”

King and Queen exchanged a rueful glance before placing Smaug on the bed and tiptoeing from the room.

“Eldarion was fast asleep clutching his toy horse!” Aragorn informed Faramir who was waiting outside. “Thank you for helping me search for Smaug.”

“I know how much a favourite toy means to a child,” said Faramir. “I truly loved my wooden horse and a brightly covered picture book when I was Eldarion’s age.”

“I had a set of carved Elven warriors that I would play with until the colours wore away,” said Aragorn. “And then there was my favourite wooden sword....”

“Come and join us for dinner, Faramir,” said Arwen. “You can both tell me more about your favourite toys while we eat.”

“An excellent suggestion,” smiled Aragorn. "After we have eaten I must show you the latest books I have acquired for the royal library."

Faramir’s eyes lit up with childlike joy.

Arwen suppressed a smile. It seemed that little boys never truly grew up.

Out of the depths

Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit, in darkness, in the deeps. Psalm 88.6- The Bible.

With grateful thanks to Raksha

Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain

Faramir could still hardly believe it. Aragorn was dead. How could he have let it happen, that the King should be cut down before his very eyes? Bitterly, he berated himself for trusting Khan Janab and agreeing that they should visit Harad with only a small escort.

They had been riding through a narrow valley with a steep precipice either side when a band ofHaradrim had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and ambushed them. Faramir had seen a sword slice across Aragorn’s chest and the King fall from his horse, not to the ground, but down into the abyss. They had not even had a chance since their assailants outnumbered them five to one and had harried them fiercely. Faramir had refused to lose his men along with his lord, and ordered them to retreat. Their Rohan-bred horses were swifter than those of their assailants and eventually they had managed to evade their pursuers.

Faramir wished he had fallen with his lord, the man who had saved his life and been father, brother, friend and King to him. He knew he must try to live. Gondor needed him, his wife and children needed him; and young Eldarion would need his protection and instruction. Yet Faramir's heart was surely about to break under the weight of his great grief.

It was growing dark and he had finally ordered his men to rest. He would not, could not sleep

“My lord?” Beregond, the Captain of his Escort, interpreted his thoughts. “You have eaten nothing. Will you not take food and rest?”

“I thank you for your concern, friend, but I need some time alone.”

“We understand, my lord. We all loved him too.”

Beregond melted back into the shadows.

Faramir felt a sudden overwhelming urge to return to where Aragorn had fallen. Maybe to stand at the spot would help him accept the tragedy. The assassins had long since vanished. He ought at least to be able to tell the Queen where her husband had breathed his last. The moon was bright and his horse had rested and grazed sufficiently to bear him again.

“My lord, are you sure this is wise?” Beregond pleaded, as Faramir saddled Iavas.

Faramir was past caring whether or not his actions made sense. “I will return,” he said curtly. “Do not attempt to follow me.”

The Steward rode until he reached the site of the ambush and then dismounted. He quickly realised how their attackers had managed to remain concealed. The sheer drop at the side of the road was an illusion, for a broad ledge ran several feet below the edge. He stood at the side of the road lost in thought. He wanted to weep, but no tears would come, so deep was his anguish.

Then he heard it, a weak cry like some wounded animal, maybe a kitten. Though what a kitten would be doing here, Faramir had no idea. The cry came again, this time, Faramir realised it was no animal. He lowered himself over the ledge.

“Faramir!”

He knew that voice, weak and frail though it sounded! Faramir’s heart soared with joy.

In the moonlight, he beheld a shadowy form crawling painfully towards him on all fours and groaning softly in agony.

Faramir dropped to his knees beside the King. Aragorn was alive.

“Help me!” Aragorn whispered.

“I am here, I will not leave you,” said the Steward. He was no Healer, but he could tell that the King was seriously wounded. Blood covered his clothing and he appeared so weak that he could scarcely summon the strength to speak. Faramir gently cradled the wounded King in his arms.

“You came!” Aragorn whispered. ”Tell Arwen and the children I love them. I love you too, ion nîn.”

“You shall tell them yourself,” Faramir said firmly. ”By the love I bear you, I swear that I shall return you to them!”

“Water!” Aragorn whispered more weakly than ever.

Faramir fortunately had his water skin with him. He uncorked it and held it to Aragorn’s parched lips and supported his friend while he swallowed.

Aragorn drank deeply then slumped back in his arms.

Faramir lacked training in the arts of healing, but he had helped care for his men and had tended Aragorn before when his King had been sorely hurt and no other help was available. He knew he must first try to discover how badly his friend was injured. He felt Aragorn’s pulse, which he was certain should not be so weak and rapid. He then placed a hand on the King’s forehead, which felt clammy with fever. “Where are you hurt, mellon nîn?” he enquired.

Aragorn stared at him with a glassy gaze, making a supreme effort to concentrate. “Sword cut across my chest,” he murmured. “Managed to staunch it with my cloak – also hit my head and twisted my ankle-can’t stand.”

The moonlight fortunately provided sufficient illumination for Faramir to see clearly. He gently pulled aside Aragorn’s torn clothing to reveal a deep gash across his lord’s chest. Even to an inexperienced eye, it was clear that the wound needed to be thoroughly cleansed and then stitched. Faramir had the means to do neither. He gently felt the flesh surrounding it Much to his alarm it was hot to the touch. The wound was becoming infected. “I will go and fetch help,” he said.

“No,” muttered Aragorn, grabbing hold of his sleeve. ”Don’t leave me, so cold!”

The Steward realised he could not leave his friend and lord here alone. What if Aragorn fell over the precipice in his confused state of mind? And if Aragorn were to die here, under strange stars, with none at his side to offer comfort, Faramir would never forgive himself. He would somehow have to bear Aragorn to safety.

Suddenly, the moon went behind a cloud, plunging the ledge into darkness. It was too perilous to move without light. One false move could easily plunge them both into the abyss beneath them.

Aragorn’s teeth started to chatter. The days in Harad were exceedingly hot, but the nights were cold, especially for a sick and wounded man. Faramir unfastened his light cloak, and drew it around Aragorn. He clasped his wounded lord in his arms. ”Fear not,” he said, “ I will not leave you while I draw breath!”

Aragorn sighed then fell into a feverish doze.

Faramir could do nothing, but wait for the dawn and try to offer what warmth and comfort he could to his injured King.

0000

A faint light was visible in the East. The last few hours had seemed endless for the Steward, cramped on the ledge with his badly injured friend. Aragorn at least still lived. He had woken several times to beg for water, or mutter feverishly while clutching at Faramir’s hand, or to feebly lash out at some imagined terror. Within the next hour, it should be light enough to attempt to leave the ledge. But who would give Aragorn the expert care he needed, should they safely rejoin Beregond and his men? Aragorn was their Healer. It had seemed foolish to bring anyone else while they had his great knowledge of the healing arts to guide them. Now, alas, even the King’s healing supplies were at the bottom of the cliff. Faramir tried to flex his stiff muscles without disturbing the sleeping King. He knew he must not despair, but hope was fading rapidly.

The Steward’s keen hearing suddenly detected the sound of approaching hoof beats. His heart soared. Beregond must have decided to disobey his foolish orders and follow him! He looked up, only to see a scarlet banner decorated with a serpent. The treacherousHaradrim had come to determine that Aragorn was dead. Alas! What fools they had all been! Gondor would lose both her King and her Steward at one fell stroke. He reached for his sword. He could at least die fighting. He would sooner take both Aragorn’s life and his own then be put to torment by these murdering cowards!

Chapter Two

My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning: I say, more than they that watch for the morning. - Psalm 130.6

Faramir rose, albeit with some stiffness, and stood astride his wounded king, sword bared and ready.

“Lord Faramir, we come in peace!”

The Steward recognised Khan Janab in the grey early morning light. The First Khan of all Harad was peering cautiously over the cliff.

“Do you think I will believe you after what your men have done to my lord!” Faramir retorted. He thought bitterly of all that Gondor suffered from the Haradrim in the Ring War: all the men and good comrades whom the Haradrim killed, not to mention the arrow that felled him. Since then, though, relations had improved and the ambassador from Harad to Gondor had even become a good friend of his, but how could he trust the Khan after all that had happened this day?

“You have every right to be angry, Lord Faramir,” said Janab calmly. “They are not my men, though, but followers of my kinsman, who would overthrow me as First Khan. Some of my warriors encountered them yesterday and brought them to me, where they were made to reveal their wicked acts against your lord. They sought to provoke war between our peoples. They have seen their last sunrise. We rode in all haste with my personal physician to see if King Elessar yet lived. See, Lord Faramir, our weapons are sheathed; we seek only to aid you. By guest-right and treaty we are bound to assure your safety. At least, let my healer see if he can aid your King! Behold, your men are with us!” he gestured behind him. Beregond came forward together with several of his men.

“He speaks the truth,” said Beregond. “When your horse returned without you last night, we set out to search for you and encountered the Khan and his men who were looking for the King.”

“I will permit the healer to come down,” said Faramir, though he kept his hand on his sword.

An old, but surprisingly agile man with a long white beard clambered down the slope.

“I am Talib, physician to Janab the Glorious, Greatest of Khans, and his father before him,” he said in heavily accented Westron. "Tell me what you know of your lord's hurts.”

“My lord was conscious when I found him,” answered Faramir, hoping this robed elder was the true physician he claimed to be. ”He told me he had been stunned when he fell, but he seemed lucid until fever overcame him. I think a wound on his chest caused the fever. I have given him water and tried to keep him warm.”

The healer knelt beside the unconscious Aragorn and swiftly examined him. “He is a very strong man. He should live with proper care,” he pronounced. “Our glorious Khan has made camp nearby. We will take your lord there, and I will tend his wounds.”

Faramir’s heart soared. His stiffness and weariness no longer troubled him.

Janab’s men swiftly constructed a litter. Faramir watched anxiously as they secured ropes around Aragorn and carefully raised him to the surface. Janab offered him a horse, but he chose instead to walk alongside Aragorn as they carried him for about a half a league.

The Khan's men carried Aragorn inside the second largest of the tents and laid him on a pile of sheepskins, then covered him with a silken sheet. Aragorn moaned softly, but did not open his eyes.

“Would you care for refreshment, Lord Faramir?” asked Janab, with the hospitality typical of his people.

“Later, thank you, my Khan, I do not wish to leave my King’s side,” said Faramir, though in truth he was very thirsty.

“You can drink some sherbet tea and remain with him,” said Janab, gesturing for a servant to bring some. “I will leave Talib now to tend your lord.”

Faramir hastily swallowed the refreshing drink. He knelt beside Aragorn while the healer cut away his ruined shirt and tunic and gently removed the makeshift bandages to reveal a deep and ugly gash across his chest. When Talik began to clean and stitch the wound. Aragorn started to struggle and cry out.

“Easy now, the healer is trying to aid you,” Faramir soothed, clasping Aragorn's restless hands in his own. “I am beside you, you are safe now.”

“That should do,” said Talib, rubbing salves and a generous amount of honey across the gash, and wrapping a bandage around it. “Our warriors' blades are smeared with a venom that induces fever, but the fact you gave your lord water and kept him warm has saved his life. The fever should gradually abate. I need to take refreshment now. Our illustrious lord has offered the use of his own body servants to wash and clothe your King in fresh garments while I am gone.”

“Thank you,” said Faramir, “but I would prefer to tend my King myself together with my captain, if you could send for him. I would be grateful if you could provide some clean garments for my lord.” Knowing Aragorn as he did, Faramir was sure the King would be far from happy to have strangers change his clothing and gossip about such matters as the whiteness of his skin compared to the Khan’s, or the length of his limbs.

Beregond was the fist to arrive. “How is the King?” he enquired anxiously.

“The healer has dressed his wound and hopes his fever will break soon,” said Faramir. “He needs changing into clean clothing now, if you will assist me?”

“Gladly, my lord,” said Beregond, beaming at the good tidings.

The Khan’s servants brought a bowl of hot water, cloths, towels, and an assortment of garments. They placed their burdens on the ground, then bowed low and departed.

Faramir and Beregond were relieved to find no other hurts on Aragorn apart from a few bruises. Soothingly telling him what they intended to do, they bathed him and salved his bruises, before clothing him in a pair of loose cotton breeches of the sort favoured by Janab’s people to wear beneath their robes. They covered Aragorn with light silken covers and pulled them up to his chin. Aragorn's eyes occasionally flickered open for a few seconds, but he accepted their ministrations without trying to struggle and sipped from a cup of water Faramir held to his lips.

Talib returned, just as Faramir was telling Beregond to seek food and rest with the other men. “You should rest too, my lord,” he counselled. “There is little more I can do for your King now, save bathe his brow and coax him to drink whenever he awakens.”

“I shall not leave him,” Faramir repeated.

Talib smiled wryly. “Perhaps you will be able to coax him to swallow my medicines then?” he said. “I can see that your lord trusts you.”

“He is not only my liege, but also my friend,” explained Faramir. “He has saved my life on more than one occasion.”

Together they sat keeping vigil at Aragorn’s bedside, bathing his brow and coaxing him to drink draughts of water and healing herbal infusions.

“The wound is draining now,” said Talib several hours later, applying more honey to it. “The fever is abating. You should rest, Lord Faramir, you are so weary, you can scarcely keep your eyes open.”

Faramir was about to protest when Aragorn opened his eyes and looked at him with recognition. ”Where am I?” he enquired. “I remember men with swords then falling and pain everywhere. My mind reached out to you. Then you were there. I think I slept. Faramir, what ails you? You look pale!”

“You were attacked by some Southron rebels,” Faramir explained, clasping his lord’s hand. “You fell over the cliff edge. I feared that you were lost. I felt compelled to seek you once we had evaded our pursuers. That must have been when your mind reached out me, though I feared I could only tell your lady where you had fallen when I found you. To my joy you lived, but I could not raise you to the surface. Khan Janab came to our aid at dawn, bringing a healer with him. You are safe now, and will soon be well again.” Supporting Aragorn’s head, he held a drink to his lips. Aragorn drank deeply, and then fell into a deep sleep.

“He will recover now,” said Talib, tucking the covers more securely round his patient. He called to the servants, who entered carrying more sheepskins. Swiftly they made up a bed for Faramir beside his lord’s. Another servant brought Faramir a plate of what tasted like mutton stew, together with more of the sherbet tea. The Steward found he was surprisingly hungry now. As soon as he had eaten, he fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

“How do our guests fare?” Janab entered the tent and enquired of Talib who remained keeping watch.

“The Lord Elessar’s fever has broken,” said the healer. “The Lord Faramir is resting. They should be fit to ride home ere the next full moon.”

“I have come to admire these Men of Gondor,” said Janab.

“Indeed, most noble Khan,” said Talib. “Their loyalty to each other runs very deep. The lord Faramir loves his King as deeply as a son loves his father and even his servants are deeply devoted to their lord.”

Janab regarded the sleepers noting how even in slumber, Faramir had his hand stretched out towards Aragorn as if to protect him “Did you know, Talib, that Lord Faramir’s father ruled Gondor before Lord Elessar?” he enquired.

“No, my Khan,” I did not.”

“Most wondrous that the King allowed Lord Faramir not only to live, but to marry and beget heirs while holding high office. Even more wondrous is how Lord Faramir repays that trust. Would that my kinsmen were so loyal!” Janab murmured more to himself than Talib. “Care for them well!” he ordered and strode from the tent.

Talib checked Aragorn’s pulse again and content that his patient was on the mend settled himself on a cushion softly humming the words of an old ballad. ”Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere, In action faithful, and in honour clear; Who broke no promise, serv’d no private end, Who gain’d no title, and who lost no friend.”

The End

A/n. The “old ballad” is actually taken from a poem by Alexander Pope.

Oh, a-hunting we will go,

A-hunting we will go;

We'll catch a fox and put him in a box,

And then we'll let him go! - traditional

With grateful thanks to Raksha and Deandra.

We do not weary of eating and sleeping every day, for hunger and sleepiness recur. Without that we should weary of them. So, without the hunger for spiritual things, we weary of them. Hunger after righteousness—the eighth beatitude. – Blaise Pascal.

“I caught nothing.” The dejected look on Faramir’s face made his words superfluous. “I saw a doe with her young, but could not bring myself to kill either. It is not as if we are about to die of hunger.” He flopped down in the forest clearing beside his friend and King.

“Nor would I have killed them either in your place,” Aragorn conceded. “I just feel as if I were starving. I did not see as much as a rabbit, and my attempts at fishing were equally fruitless. This stream contains naught but tiddlers! I am thankful that Arwen would not permit us to bring Eldarion this time, much as I yearn for him to be old enough to join us.”

Faramir turned away and rummaged in their packs, not wanting the King to see the look of sorrow in his eyes. Aragorn had treated him as a son, almost since they first met, but now that the King’s own flesh and blood was approaching his seventh birthday, Eldarion was becoming old enough to keep his doting father company during these excursions in the wild. Aragorn was a loyal friend, but Faramir knew it would be only honourable to volunteer to remain behind once the King’s heir could accompany his father.

“I would have both my sons beside me,” Aragorn said firmly, sensing Faramir’s thoughts. He gripped Faramir’s shoulder and turned him around to face him. “I will need you more than ever, ion nîn, when Eldarion is with us. I would not take him without you joining us. It would not be the same at all!”

“You honour me,” said Faramir, deeply moved. He cherished these outings all the more, given the opposition from the Council and their Guards at the King and his Steward going out unescorted. It took all of Aragorn’s considerable strength of will to escape from the strictures laid upon him. Aragorn and Faramir knew they could occasionally safely leave the City in the capable hands of Arwen or Imrahil. The Queen understood all too well that her husband’s health would suffer if he were kept caged within the City walls and she trusted Faramir alone to guard him with his life.

“I have my reasons,” Aragorn grinned. “Arwen will scarcely permit me to ride two leagues out of the City without you, far less Eldarion!”

The two men laughed. They began gathering firewood, which was in far more abundant supply than anything to cook with it.

“Who else would endure your snoring save I?” Faramir teased. He nimbly dodged the King’s feigned blow.

“The fact you are with me, though, does nothing to fill our bellies tonight!” Aragorn grumbled, returning to their original subject. He rummaged in his pack for their cooking utensils.

“We do have the blackberries and hazelnuts we gathered earlier, and some mushrooms we can cook,” Faramir informed him, trying to raise his lord’s spirits. “Then there is the bread we brought with us.” Thus saying, he tipped a meagre handful of small mushrooms into a pan, while Aragorn skilfully kindled a fire.

The two friends began their meagre supper in grim silence, trying to ignore their rumbling stomachs.

“We should have brought more supplies with us,” Faramir said, swallowing a final mouthful of the tasteless mushrooms.

“That would have defeated the object of this hunting trip, though,” Aragorn replied. “Arwen was praising the new cook’s skills last week, and I was telling her how well a Ranger could live off the land.” He laughed mirthlessly, before taking another bite of stale bread and washing it down with water. “Before we set out, she told me the details of the cook’s plans for the week. I boasted that we would dine in an even more lordly fashion on what we caught ourselves. Tonight, Arwen will be feasting on tomato soup, steamed trout with roast potatoes, and blackberry syllabub washed down with fine wine for dessert!”

“At least we have the blackberries,” said Faramir, pulling a face as he nibbled an especially sour one. “And most of the houses of the City will have tomatoes on the vines of their gardens, including yours and mine. How I wish I had a plate of venison before me now!”

“Or even roast mutton!” said the King rubbing his stomach wistfully. He laughed suddenly. “Just listen to us! We sound like a pair of Hobbits, thinking of naught but food!”

“We could always return home early,” suggested Faramir.

“I think I would rather go hungry than have Arwen tease me for weeks,” Aragorn replied ruefully, sprawling his long legs comfortably on the grass.

Faramir nodded. “Éowyn would never let me hear the last of it if we returned now. I have been looking forward to our venture into the wilds for weeks now! It is so difficult to find a few days when we are not obliged to hold audiences or attend Council meetings.”

“I have been counting the days that I could leave stone walls behind for a little while,” Aragorn replied. He found life at Court far more restricting than his Steward after so many years of wanderings as a Ranger. “Come; let us make preparations to sleep. Perhaps we will have better luck tomorrow.”

No sooner had the dishes been washed in a stream and the bedrolls laid out side by side, than it began to rain. Even though the two friends huddled together for warmth, they grew increasingly cold, hungry and miserable.

“I wish I were in my nice warm bed with Arwen beside me,” Aragorn said glumly.

“I thought you said you missed sleeping under hedges!” Faramir teased.

Aragorn’s only reply was a grunt.

Worn out after their day’s exertions, King and Steward eventually fell asleep, only for Faramir to be awakened by his companion’s loud snoring. He wished fervently that Éowyn were beside him instead. His wife never snored!

The Steward suddenly noticed that it had stopped raining. The clouds had dissipated, leaving a clear sky in their wake. Countless stars twinkled overhead, fairer by far than priceless jewels. A sudden feeling of joy overwhelmed Faramir. Wishing to share it, he gently elbowed Aragorn awake. “Look!” he said in a hushed tone, “I had almost forgotten the wonder of a starry night!”

Just then a shooting star streaked across the heavens. The two men watched it in awe.

“Did you make a wish?” Aragorn asked Faramir, smiling.

“Only that everything would stay just as it is,” said the Steward. ”What more could I want than Gondor at peace, the hand of the fairest lady that lives, children to surround me and the love of a father I thought I would forever be denied?”

“Some breakfast maybe?” teased Aragorn. “But you speak as wisely as ever, Faramir. All I ever wished for has now come true. There were many times I wandered the wilds, when I wondered if I would ever have the crown of Elendil, and with it my beloved’s hand in marriage, and a son at my side to cherish. Then I would look at the stars and hope would spring anew.”

No longer caring about their empty stomachs, King and Steward lay watching the stars until Eärendil vanished over the horizon with his ship. Then they slept, contented. Soon they would be constrained by duties of State once more, but tonight they would simply enjoy being Rangers together.

Or in the night, imagining some fear,

How easy is a bush suppos’d a bear! - Shakespeare

“Please, Naneth, let me go camping with Ada and Uncle Faramir,” begged Eldarion.

“Faramir and I would take good care of him,” said Aragorn, his tone almost as pleading as his young son’s. “It would be but for two nights and we are not going far. The countryside here in Ithilien is not beset by dangers. We could quickly return home, were any problems to arise. What harm could Eldarion possibly come to? Faramir and I enjoy returning to the Ranger way of life whenever we can be released from our duties. I have waited so long for a child of my own to take out in the wilds with me and share all the things that fathers and sons do!”

“Very well,” Arwen conceded. Loth though she was to be parted from her son, the prospect of a few quiet days with Éowyn and the other children at Emyn Arnen was appealing. Eldarion was a delightful child and she loved him dearly, but there were times she feared she did not give Farawyn as much attention as she had given her eldest. It would be good to devote some time exclusively to her little daughter.

“Thank you, Naneth, I promise I’ll be good!” Eldarion rushed to gratefully hug his mother, almost knocking her over in his enthusiasm. He hastened off to pack his possessions while Arwen instructed her husband and Faramir in great detail as to how they should care for the boy. They listened patiently while struggling not to show their amusement at her fretting over their safety, warnings to remember to tell Eldarion a bedtime story, to take care not to let him fall in river, to protect him with their lives and to keep him clean. Aragorn’s eyes met his Steward’s and both men struggled to restrain their amusement. Arwen seemed to think they could hardly take care of themselves, never mind a child!

000

The next morning, the three set out for some woods but a few miles from Faramir’s home. Aragorn and Faramir selected a campsite near to the river so that they would have water for their needs.

Eldarion sat quietly while his father and Faramir caught trout from the Anduin for supper. “May I try?” he asked after his father had caught a fish.

“It is getting late now, you may try to catch your own dinner tomorrow,” Aragorn promised.

“Please, Ada, I want to catch a big fish!” Eldarion cried in a voice loud enough to warn every fish for miles around that a hungry little boy was eager to make a meal of it.

Aragorn and Faramir exchanged amused glances. ”Very well,” he conceded. “You may try for a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Ada!” Eldarion cried joyfully.

The King put a finger to his lips reminding his son that a fisherman needed to keep quiet in order to be successful

Eldarion lapsed into silence. To his delight, he was rewarded when a fish took his bait.

“Well done, ion nîn!” said Aragorn, humanely despatching the trout. “Go with Uncle Faramir back to the campsite now and he will show you how to prepare it for supper.

Eldarion watched as Faramir expertly prepared the plump trout for cooking.

Aragorn caught a second fish. Deciding they had sufficient for their needs, he handed it to the Steward to prepare. He asked his son to help him collect firewood, explaining that ash and yew logs burned best, while willow made but a poor fire. Eldarion scurried amongst the trees picking up sticks and handing them to his father to identify. Aragorn was in his element, rejoicing in the all too rare opportunity to spend time teaching his son about life as a Ranger. When their arms were so full of kindling they could carry no more, farther and son returned to the campsite where they rejoined Faramir

As if by magic, Aragorn lit the fire by rubbing two sticks together. Faramir put the fish on to cook in a pan they had brought with them. Eldarion thought it smelled delicious. He felt much hungrier than he usually did.

While the meal was cooking the men pitched the tent they had brought in deference to Eldarion’s tender age. The boy tried to help, albeit not very successfully. Aragorn indulgently righted his mistakes, remembering with wry amusement his own first experiences of making camp and sharing his memories with Eldarion and Faramir.

“The food is cooked now!” Faramir announced.

Soon the three were tucking into a hearty meal of streamed trout together with potatoes and carrots they had brought with them. They had also brought juicy apples and pears.

“This is much more fun than having food sent up from the kitchens. It tastes better, too!” said Eldarion, tucking into his supper eagerly.

“You are fortunate, ion nîn,” said Aragorn. “Last time Uncle Faramir and I went camping, we caught nothing and went to bed hungry!”

Eldarion pulled a face.

“We still had a good time, though,” said Faramir. “We saw some shooting stars.”

“I’d like to see shooting stars,” Eldarion said eagerly. “May I take first watch?”

“We have no need to keep watch in a safe place like this,” Aragorn told him. “And I fear you only see shooting stars at certain times of year.”

“Please, Ada?” the child begged.

Aragorn exchanged an amused glance with Faramir. “Very well,” he agreed, humouring his son.

After singing Elvish songs that Aragorn recalled from his childhood, and telling Eldarion about Eärendil and his ship, one of the boy’s favourite bedtime stories, the two men settled down for the night inside the tent.

Eldarion remained outside keeping watch. The boy felt very grown up and important. He would keep the wild animals away from Ada and Uncle Faramir. Maybe, he might even see a shooting star to tell naneth about! At first, the low murmur of his Ada’s and the Steward’s voices provided companionship, but then they fell silent, as did the birds in the surrounding trees. Even the horses became silent as they ceased grazing and slept. Eldarion started to feel very alone. The night had come so fast, and the clouds hid the moon! He was tempted to wake his father, but he was a big boy now, far too old to be scared of the dark.

Shapes loomed around him, dark and menacing. He could hear rustling. What if a bear lurked in the bushes? Then he saw a distant glow. He recalled the dragons in the tales that his father and Lord Legolas had told him: Ancalagon the Black, who was slain by Eldarion's own great-grandsire; and the Dragon of Erebor. He liked to pretend that Smaug, his favourite toy, was a real dragon. But didn’t real dragons eat people along with their horses? The glow grew brighter and flames shot up in the air. Eldarion screamed in fright.

“What is wrong, ion nîn?” Aragorn, who had been watching his son all the time, came immediately to his side. Faramir followed.

“There’s a dragon in the bushes! It will eat us all for its supper!” Eldarion cried, rushing towards his father and flinging his arms around his waist.

“Do not be afraid! Uncle Faramir and I will keep you safe,” said Aragorn. “Come here,” He scooped up Eldarion in his arms and sat beside the campfire with his son.

“I will go and investigate,” said Faramir, drawing his sword. “I think I know what our ‘dragon’ might be.”

Trying hard not to tremble, Eldarion snuggled on his father’s lap and buried his head against the broad shoulder. Aragorn gently rubbed the child’s neck and shoulders, using an Elven healing art to calm the boy.

A few moments later Faramir returned grinning. “Our ‘dragon’ was a party from my White Company, sent by the Queen to keep an eye on us,” he explained. “I chided them for letting themselves be seen and frightening the boy. Those youngsters would not have survived five minutes in more dangerous times! I shall tell Beregond to take the men on extra training exercises. Do you think we should take Eldarion home?”

“There is no need,” Aragorn whispered, placing a finger to his lips and gesturing towards his young son, who, overcome by weariness and excitement, lay sleeping peacefully in his arms.

 Enough is equal to a feast. - Henry Fielding(1707-1754)

Aragorn awoke when a ray of sunlight streamed through the open flaps of the tent and warmed his face.

On one side of him slept Eldarion, contentedly snuggled against his father, his fright of the previous night forgotten. Curled against Aragorn’s other side lay Faramir, whom Aragorn had come to love as another son. The King was a happy man. He had a family after many long years of waiting.  

Eldarion stirred. At first wide eyed at his strange surroundings, the little boy was swiftly reassured by his father’s presence. “Ada, I need to get up!” he said urgently. ”But what about the dragon outside?”

“The dragon was but a neighbouring camp fire,” Aragorn reassured him. ”I will come with you, ion nîn; you are perfectly safe.”  

“I will make the breakfast while you are gone,” said Faramir. He sat up, yawning then stretched like a cat.

When father and son emerged from the trees, Aragorn led the child to a nearby stream and splashed cold water on his hands and face, telling the boy to do likewise.

“It is freezing!” Eldarion complained. ”The water nanny brings me to wash in is always warm.”

“Rangers wash in cold water,” Aragorn assured his son solemnly.

“I didn’t think Rangers needed to wash?” Eldarion protested.

“Yes, they need to keep clean, just like everyone else,” his father told him.

Eldarion was silent, pondering whether his chosen career was quite as good as it appeared to be.

“I had thought we might go swimming later,” said Aragorn. “But as you do not like cold water, maybe that is not such a good idea after all.”

Eldarion was thoughtful for a moment. He had learned to swim in the huge bath in his father’s private apartments and had been longing to try ‘real’ swimming outside with his Ada and Uncle Faramir. ”Perhaps it is not too cold for swimming?” he conceded.

“It will feel warmer when the sun is high in the sky,” Aragorn promised him.

“The porridge is almost ready,” Faramir announced when Aragorn and Eldarion arrived back at the campsite. The Steward ladled the gruel into three bowls.

Eldarion tasted it and pulled a face. “I don’t like porridge!” he announced. “I always have bread and honey for my breakfast at home.”

“I fear you will not make a Ranger, then,” said Faramir. “This is a typical Ranger breakfast.”

Eldarion’s lower lip trembled. Aragorn realised that a disturbed night and fear of a monster had been an ordeal for the usually sunny- natured seven year old. He hugged his son. “It is only when you are quite old that you enjoy such a simple breakfast,” he said. “Why I remember when I was in Moria with the Fellowship…”  

Eldarion’s eyes brightened. He loved his father to tell a story. Faramir, almost equally attentive, drew closer as the King began.

“I was loth to enter the mines of Moria,” Aragorn began. “I had been there before in my travels and it is a frightening place, dark and cheerless, though once it must have been magnificent.”

“Lord Gimli told me it was a vast City of great splendour for the Dwarves,” Eldarion said eagerly.  

“That is true, ion nîn,” Aragorn replied. ”Alas, when I was there, it was deserted, the Dwarves all slain or fled. We travelled for three days and two nights, our only light being Gandalf’s staff. The paths were steep and treacherous. It was not a pleasant place. I feared I would never again see the light.”

“You were scared, Ada?” Eldarion sounded incredulous. 

“I was indeed,” Aragorn confessed ruefully. “It would not have been too bad, if only we had been able to eat a hearty meal. This porridge would have been a feast there. All we had to eat was stale bread and dried meat.”

Eldarion pulled a face, trying to imagine such unappetising fare.

A sudden thought struck Faramir and he rummaged in their packs, emerging with a jar. “Look!” he said, ”I have found some honey to put on our porridge and there is a cow with her calf over there. Perhaps she will give us fresh milk to drink!”

“You are familiar with cows?” Aragorn looked astonished. “You never cease to surprise me!”

“As we have our own herd at Emyn Arnen, I like to take an occasional turn with the milking. I first learned to milk when I became a Ranger.” Faramir replied. He rose from the campfire; a bowl in his hands, and cautiously approached the cow.

“Your Uncle Faramir has a way with animals,” the King explained to his young son.

“Can I learn to milk cows?” Eldarion asked.

“When you are a little older,” said Aragorn observing Faramir deftly dodging a well-aimed kick from the cow he was milking. ”I think this cow would prefer her calf to drink all the milk! I think we have enough now, mellon nîn,” he called. ”Come back before you get injured!”

A few minutes later, the trio were relishing a breakfast of porridge with milk and honey, while Eldarion had warm milk to drink.

“I shall tell naneth that we had our very own feast!” Eldarion exclaimed.

“And I am certain she will tell the cook to prepare an especially nice meal for us when we return home tomorrow, ”said Aragorn.

“I wish we did not have to go home so soon!” said the little boy. “I like camping, though I miss naneth.”

“So do I,” said Aragorn smiling. “She will be pleased when we return. You can tell her that Uncle Faramir and your Ada hope to bring you again soon to sleep under the stars.”

Eldarion jumped for joy, almost knocking over his porridge.

“We will make a Ranger of you yet!” said Faramir grinning.

The child that is not clean and neat,
With lots of toys and things to eat,
He is a naughty child, I’m sure—
Or else his dear Papa is poor. - Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894), Scottish writer, poet. “System,” A Child’s Garden of Verses (1885).

.

Be sure to keep him safe and keep him clean. Arwen’s parting words had caused Aragorn to gain more than one new grey hair over the past two days. Faramir looked equally troubled.

Long had the King tried to persuade his wife that at seven, Eldarion was old enough to accompany his doting father and the Steward on a hunting trip. Arwen had finally given her reluctant consent with more conditions than many a legal document.

It had been simple enough to track and catch their meals, easy to teach the boy how to follow a trail, tell him that no creature should be killed merely for sport, but only when hunger made it necessary and then quickly and cleanly. It was even possible to teach a lively lad to keep quiet, but to keep one clean was impossible.

Eldarion had been spotlessly clean after swimming with his father and Faramir the previous day, but that was before they had encountered a patch of swampy ground. Ignoring his son’s protests that he wanted to play in the mud, Aragorn had risked injuring his back by carrying his son through an especially swampy patch of ground, which he had deemed it unsafe to ride across. The King had never imagined that such a slender young boy would feel as if he weighed like a mumak to carry any distance! All his efforts were for naught; somehow the child still became covered in mud.

“If we return Eldarion to his mother like this, she will never let us take him out again!” Aragorn told Faramir grimly

As they approached Emyn Arnen, much to the King’s relief, they found a stream.

“The Valar be praised!” exclaimed Aragorn. “We can give Eldarion a bath.”

Faramir rummaged in their packs for a towel and soap.

“I will help you undress, ion nîn,” said Aragorn. ”We shall soon get you nice and clean for naneth.”

“I don’t want to wash!” Eldarion protested. ”It’s too cold to take off my clothes!”

“It is no colder than yesterday when you enjoyed our swim together,” his father said firmly.

“That was swimming, not washing!” Eldarion scowled, trying to wriggle away as his father started unlacing the child’s tunic. ”Only girls like being clean!”

Meanwhile, Faramir, using the brush they usually used to groom their horses with, tried to remove the dried mud from the young Prince’s clothing. He had by far the easier task as Eldarion writhed like an eel once his father had coaxed him in the water.

At last both Eldarion and his clothes were passably clean and the travellers continued on their way.

As they approached Faramir’s home, King and Steward exchanged relieved glances. Apart from his windswept hair, Eldarion looked almost as presentable as when he had simply been playing in the gardens of the Citadel.

“Arwen should be delighted how well we have cared for Eldarion,” said Aragorn. “There is not a scratch upon him and he is clean.”

“Éowyn will be so impressed that she will allow us to take Elboron as soon as he is old enough,” Faramir smiled contentedly. They rode through the gates, greeting the guards. As soon as they reached the stables, they handed the horses over to the care of the grooms.

“The Queen and Lady Éowyn are in the garden,” the head groom informed them.

As Aragorn approached the garden, he quickened his steps when his keen eyes spotted his wife tending a bed of daisies. Eldarion ran on ahead towards his mother.

Arwen rushed to embrace her son.

“I had a wonderful time with Ada and Uncle Faramir," Eldarion told her excitedly. “I helped Ada gather firewood, and we went swimming, I even caught a fish for my supper!”

“Beloved, I have missed you and Farawyn so much!” Aragorn said, approaching his wife to embrace her.

Arwen recoiled. ”You are covered in mud, Estel!” she exclaimed. “You badly need a bath!”

Just then Éowyn approached from behind the hedge that enclosed the herb garden. Faramir made to kiss her, only to be indignantly pushed away. “Ugh!” she exclaimed. ”You smell worse than an Orc. Go and wash at once before the children see you like this!”

Crestfallen, the two men slunk away.

“Whoever would have thought that Éowyn slew the Witch King?” mused Faramir. ”As I recall, the Pelennor fields were extremely muddy at that time. Surely she did not accomplish the deed without getting dirty?”

“Arwen never said a word about how well we had looked after Eldarion,” Aragorn said glumly. “One would think Ranger’s wives would appreciate a little dirt!”

“It seems we only receive a warm welcome when we are clean!” said Faramir ruefully leading the way to the bathing chamber. The servants were already bustling to and fro with buckets of hot water to prepare a bath for the men.

“Still was it not wonderful being Rangers again in the wild?” Aragorn replied. “What more could a man desire than the freedom to go camping with the son of his body and the son of his heart and a fair wife to return to? Our welcome will be warm once we are scrubbed!”

The End

The icon on this page was created for me by Raksha

No more be grieved at that which thou hast done,
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud,
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. – Shakespeare

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may:
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying. - Herrick

Roses have Thorns

“He is just so perfect! I think he has Éowyn’s eyes,” Faramir said for about the hundredth time. “My own son will become Steward after me!”

“Not for a very long time, I hope. I like the Steward I have now,” Aragorn said dryly. He stretched out his long legs and shifted to a more comfortable position. The two men had been banished on a hunting trip by Arwen, as soon as Faramir had been told the joyful news and glimpsed the new baby. The midwife had declared that Éowyn was exhausted and needed to rest.

Aragorn and Faramir had dined on stewed rabbit and then caught another for the pot. Their hunting completed, King and Steward relaxed sprawled on the grass in a sunny glade in Ithilien watching the swallows dart to and fro overhead. The summer air was perfumed with wild roses. Nearby, Roheryn and Zachus grazed contentedly on the lush grass, their riders having removed their tack.

“I must give Éowyn a special gift to thank her for the child she has given me,” Faramir said thoughtfully. “A mithril pendant of the emblems of the Houses of Eorl and Húrin might please her.” He suddenly became grave. “I should like a gift for Elestelle too. I should never wish her to think she is any less dear to me than the baby. I shall love them both equally. I shall never neglect her, or Elbeth.”

“I know you never would, mellon nîn,” said Aragorn. “I should love to have a daughter next.” For a moment he felt melancholy that his friend had two children already. Much as he and Arwen desired another child, they still only had Eldarion. He forced himself to cast such thoughts aside and share his friend’s joy.

The two men fell into companionable silence contemplating their hopes and dreams for the future.

The afternoon grew warmer. The two friends shed their outer tunics; there were none save the birds to see them informally attired. Aragorn grew sleepy and was soon snoring softly, his head resting on a bank of moss.

Faramir smiled indulgently at his friend. He was determined to stay awake. Despite his happiness, a feeling of growing unease was pricking at the edges of his consciousness. He berated himself for his foolishness. The sun became hotter, while the chirruping of the grasshoppers sounded almost like a lullaby. Faramir’s eyelids grew heavy. He had had little sleep the night before.

Aragorn was awakened by a loud cry. He leapt to his feet, instinctively reaching for his sword. He turned in the direction of the cry and beheld Faramir struggling to free himself from the thorny branches of a rose bush.

“I nodded off and fell into the bush,” Faramir said sheepishly. “I had forgotten it was behind me.”

Aragorn regarded him with a mixture of sympathy and amusement. “A rose bush is not a good place to sleep!” he remarked extending his hand.

“I had forgotten it was behind me,” said Faramir taking the proffered hand and trying to get up. “Ouch!”

“I had better cut you free.” Aragorn grimaced in sympathy. He raised Andúril and hacked at the bush. Faramir rather gingerly freed himself, wincing in pain as the sharp thorns tore his shirt and dug into his back.

“You are hurt! Let me see!” Aragorn ordered.

Faramir ruefully presented his bloodied back to for his friend’s inspection.

Aragorn carefully removed the twigs and leaves, which were sticking to his Steward’s back. Faramir’s white shirt was now speckled with blood. ”You have been badly scratched,” he commented wincing in sympathy.

“It feels like it!” Faramir said wryly.

“I have brought my healing supplies,” said Aragorn. “Arwen insisted that I bring them. She always fears some ill will befall us, for some strange reason!”

“Ladies do tend to fret, Éowyn is just as bad” said Faramir. “Still, your wife has been proved right.” He laughed inwardly that his feelings of unease had foreboded such a ridiculous accident.

Aragorn fetched his satchel from the far site of the clearing and rummaged in it. “Your wife is correct. There is not a scratch on me!” he said a trifle smugly. “You had better take your shirt off so that I can tend your injuries.”

Faramir cautiously removed his shirt and propped himself on his elbows. Aragorn carefully removed the remaining thorns embedded in Faramir’s upper back, and cleaned the scratches with water from his flask before applying some calendula salve. Faramir sighed contentedly as the stinging eased. “It could have been far worse,” he said “If the scratches had been over my face, I would never have heard the last of it from Éowyn, especially as next week there is the reception with the Ambassadors from Dale to attend.” Rising to his feet, he pulled his shirt back over his head. “Thank you, mellon nîn!” He hugged his friend gratefully.

By now the sun was starting to sink. “I think we should return home in time for the cook to prepare rabbit pie for supper,” said the King.

Faramir was thoughtfully studying the branches that Aragorn had lopped from the rose bush. “I think I will take the blossoms home for the ladies. It would be a pity to leave them here to wilt. They smell so sweet. Éowyn loves roses.”

“As does Arwen. I will cut them while you load our saddle the horses. You have had enough of rose bushes for one day!” said Aragorn. He set to work with a will, choosing the finest blooms for his beloved wife and good friend.

A few minutes later the two men were riding slowly homewards. Faramir noticed that Aragorn was holding Roheryn’s reins rather awkwardly. His eyes moved to his friend’s hands, one of which was marked with blood. “You have hurt yourself!” Faramir exclaimed in concern.

“It is only a scratch, no real harm is done” said Aragorn. “Alas, though, it seems that Arwen is quite correct in that I seem unable to avoid mishaps!”

Faramir grinned. “As ever, your lady speaks the truth!” The smile froze on his lips as a sudden feeling of dread assailed him. He heard an almost forgotten voice from long ago, as clearly as if the speaker were standing beside him. “Ride home to your lady with all speed, ion nîn. She has need of you and the King’s healing hands!”

“What is the matter?” Aragorn enquired seeing the frozen, far away look on Faramir’s face.

“My mother just spoke to me,” said Faramir. “Éowyn needs us to return at once!”

Aragorn did not hesitate. Faramir was farsighted and given to visions. ”Then let us make haste!” he said, urging Roheryn to a gallop.

Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. – The Bible. 13.8

Lady Éowyn is very ill,” the midwife said grimly. “The aftermath of the birth has gone very badly. The women of Rohan are strong it seems, but I still fear for her life, my lady.”

Arwen moved to the bedside and anxiously felt Éowyn’s brow. “If only I had not told Estel and Faramir to go hunting so soon after the babe was born! Éowyn should have her husband beside her to comfort her. She is in dire needs of my Estel’s healing skills. My father taught me, though, how to mix healing brews for women in childbed. I shall see what I can do.” She squeezed Éowyn’s hand. “Be strong, my friend, I will return soon.”

“I just want to sleep,” Éowyn whispered.

0000

Éowyn knew not for how long she slept. When she awoke, the sun was streaming through the bedroom window. A dark haired woman was sitting beside her. For a moment, Éowyn thought she was the Queen. Then the woman lifted her head and smiled at her. She had never seen the lady before. Yet she looked oddly familiar.

“I have long wanted to meet you, my daughter,” said the strange woman.

“Lady Finduilas!” Éowyn cried with a sudden flash of realisation. “But you are dead! Does that mean I am too?”

Finduilas shook her head. “That is your choice, my daughter. Long have I desired to speak to you, but not until today did Lord Námo grant me leave.”

Éowyn sat upright and studied Faramir’s mother. She had always imagined her as pale and sickly, but this woman looked to be glowing with health and vitality. She had often been told that Faramir resembled his father in appearance, but the warm gentle eyes that looked at her now were her husband’s, as were the slender hands and graceful demeanour. Next to the Queen, she was the fairest woman Éowyn had ever beheld.

“Faramir sees you as the most beautiful woman that ever lived, daughter,” said Finduilas, apparently able to sense Éowyn’s thoughts. “He loves you dearly and you have made him very happy. You are exactly the bride I would have chosen for him. With your colouring, my blue cloak suited you far better than it did me. I always looked better in scarlet, like the Queen.”

“You think so? I lack the sophistication of the ladies of Gondor. Neither do I have the mental abilities of Faramir’s people. Most likely I will die many years before my husband!” Somehow it seemed easy for Éowyn to tell Faramir’s mother all her deepest fears.

“My son knew many a lady of Gondor and found them all wanting compared with you,” said Finduilas. “You have more spirit and joy of life than the quiet women of this land, and yet you also carry Númenorean grace, as well as the pride of the House of Eorl, through your grandmother. Faramir needs you to take him away from his books and make him smile. As for the mental gifts of his people, the King’s friendship will see he never lacks for a chance to use them.”

Éowyn noticed that Finduilas had ignored the last of her confidences. She wondered if the lady had come to lead her beyond the circles of the world. She felt oddly calm, as if nothing mattered any more.

“Is there anything else you would ask me, child?” said Finduilas.

“Why did Faramir’s father not love him?” said Éowyn. “That makes me so angry. Who could be more lovable than Faramir?”

Finduilas looked saddened at the question. “They were too alike,” she explained. “Denethor saw in Faramir what he could have been, had he been less cursed with pride. He did love him, but he feared Faramir’s powers of mind and strength of will, and fear can destroy love.” She wandered over to the crib where Éowyn’s newborn son lay sleeping. “Now this little one is more like unto you, and perhaps my Boromir; he will be a great prince and leader of men, but at heart a warrior rather than a lore-master. Elestelle has the far-sight of both Faramir and Denethor, and the love of music that I gave to my son.  Poor little ones, they will know less of their mother than Faramir did of me!”

“No!” cried Éowyn. “I won’t leave my children, I won’t!”

“Then fight, daughter! Fight for life, as fiercely as you fought the Witch King! Lord Námo gave me leave to come to fetch you, but I would rather not break my son’s heart again by doing so!”

“Faramir!” groaned Éowyn. ”It will destroy him to know I died bearing his child!”

“And should you live to bear more children, you will easily bring them into the world,” Finduilas said gently. “I have called for my son to bid you farewell, but it is your choice whether you go or stay. Your kinsfolk are eager to greet you beyond the circles of the world, while others who love you just as dearly desire you to abide with them here.”

“I will fight to stay with Faramir and my children!” Éowyn cried. She tried vainly to struggle to her feet. The baby started to cry.

“We will meet again one day, my child. I am proud of you.” Éowyn felt the gentlest of kisses upon her brow as she sank back upon the bed. She knew no more.

000

It was dark when Éowyn woke again. Faramir was sitting at her bedside tenderly holding her hand. Aragorn and Arwen stood at the foot of the bed. A large vase of sweet scented roses adorned a table by the window.

“Praise the Valar!” said Faramir. “You are awake, my love!” He raised a glass of water to her lips and supported Éowyn while she drank. Tears glittered in his grey eyes.

Aragorn moved forward and felt her brow. “The herbs Arwen gave you worked, “ he pronounced smiling. “We were very worried about you.”

“I had the strangest dream, Faramir,” said Éowyn. “I saw your mother.”

Faramir turned pale. “When Aragorn and I were on our way homewards,” he said slowly, “I suddenly heard my mother’s voice in my head telling me to return at once. We rode home with all speed.”

“There are many things we do not understand,” said Aragorn, smiling at them both. “Maybe the Lady Finduilas was indeed granted leave to return within the circles of the world for a little while in your hour of need. Those we held dear are beyond our sight, but I believe they continue to lovingly watch over us and the Higher Powers permit them to offer aid when our need is greatest.”

Faramir’s eyes were moist as he whispered, “Thank you, naneth.” He felt a gentle touch upon his brow. His mother’s kiss; or was it simply a draught from the open window?

The End.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. - Sea Fever – John Masefield

With grateful thanks to Raksha and Virtuella

Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain

Aragorn frowned deeply at the letter he was perusing.

“What troubles you, my love?” Arwen enquired.

“There is more trouble in the coastal regions,” Aragorn said grimly. ”Last week there was a riot in Linhir in favour of restoring the Stewards' rule. Three people were injured; and a child almost trampled by the crowd. This week a group of farmers have refused to pay their taxes asking why should they pay tithes to a King they do not know if he really exists or not!”

“Maybe it is time you paid the coastal towns a visit?” Arwen suggested.

“We went to Dol Amroth when Lothiriel married Éomer,” Aragorn protested.

“And how long were we there? All of three days, I recall. You had to hurry back to quell an Easterling attack on the borders.”

“I cannot be everywhere at once!” Aragorn retorted.

“You have managed to visit realms outside your own borders,” Arwen pointed out. “Why not investigate to the coastal towns while the Council is not in session and everyone is preoccupied with harvest? After the Council debate tomorrow, they will not meet again for several weeks. I would imagine you could visit most of the coastal towns and pay a call on Prince Imrahil within less than a fortnight..”

Aragorn looked thoughtful. The idea of leaving Minas Tirith for a while during the heat of summer was most appealing. ”It would be a gruelling trip for you, vanimelda,” he said after a moment’s pause.” And what about Eldarion?”

“I think it would be better if you took Faramir with you,” said the Queen. “Let the people see that their King and Steward support one another. That would do more to quash future rebellions than any amount of decrees!”

“I would be glad of Faramir’s company, but I will miss you so, my love!” said Aragorn.

“I shall miss you too,” said Arwen, ”but someone has to care for Minas Tirith while you are away! Eldarion is too young to travel for days on horseback, and I do not wish to leave him. You and Faramir can travel swiftly and light.”

“I bless the day I insisted you should have the same rights as Faramir and Imrahil to rule in my place,” said Aragorn.

“I have had far more experience than all three of you together,” Arwen said rather smugly, thinking how she had been Lady of Imladris for the last five centuries. Presiding over the minor grievances of the citizens of Minas Tirith for two weeks would be as nothing to allocating places at table for stubborn Dwarves forced by chance to dine with arrogant Noldor

00000

“I fear we must postpone the hunting trip we were planning,” Aragorn told his Steward as they walked back to their apartments after the Council Meeting. “The coastal towns require my presence.”

Faramir swallowed hard, trying to conceal his disappointment. ”Please convey my warmest greetings to my Uncle should you visit him,” he said.

“No, I cannot do that,” said Aragorn solemnly, "not when there is a far more appropriate man to do so!”

“And who might that be?” The hurt in Faramir’s eyes was evident.

“Why his nephew, of course!” said Aragorn, grinning. “We leave in a week’s time, which should allow you to visit your lady first. That is: assuming you want to come with me?”

His eyes alight with joy; Faramir hugged his friend and King.

00000

A week later, soon after sunrise, Aragorn and Faramir met at the Great Gate, together with their escort of six Tower Guards and six men of the White Company; and prepared to depart. They carried little apart from changes of clothing and gifts for the dignitaries who would be their hosts.

Although the King and Queen had made their farewells in private, Arwen had come to watch her husband ride away. It was not a duty she relished; but at least this time Estel did not ride to war. “Take good care of my husband, Faramir,” she said to the Steward. “ I trust you to protect him from danger.”

“I shall guard him with my life, my lady,” said Faramir.

“We shall return soon,” Aragorn promised his wife. ”Then I shall take you and Eldarion to Ithilien for the harvest celebrations. Until then, farewell, and may the Valar protect you!”

“May the stars light your path!”

Aragorn gave the signal and with Faramir at his side, they rode away, the horses’ hooves echoing on the stone in the early morning stillness.

Arwen stood gazing after them; knowing that much could happen in two weeks, brief though the time was in the lives of Men.

Truth is Fallen in the Street

And judgement is turned away backward, and justice standeth afar off: for truth is fallen in the street, and equity cannot enter.- Isaiah 59.14 – The Bible

With thanks to Raksha

At Faramir’s insistence, Aragorn sent two guards on ahead when they arrived at Linhir. After some debate the King and Steward had decided to first visit the troubled region, and then make their way along the coast, visiting the towns and villages until they reached Dol Amroth where they planned to spend a few days with Prince Imrahil before returning home.

The guards soon came back with a report that the tax rebels were to being punished that very day in the town square, but everything was under control as the Lord of Lamedon’s retainers were preventing any trouble.

“We will enter the town quietly,” said Aragorn. “I should like to see how young Lord Mardil keeps order.”

“Is that wise?” cautioned Faramir. ”I know the young man is loyal, but his late father’s supporters may be behind the disturbances. Maybe we should wait until later?”

“If there is trouble in my realm, I need to understand exactly what is wrong,” Aragorn insisted. "It is not as if our wives and children are with us. We are warriors who can protect ourselves."

Pulling their hoods around their faces, the small group rode into Linhir. The entire population appeared to be assembled before the pillory. A battered and bloodied man was being dragged to the side by two burly retainers, while two more dragged a young man, seemingly just come of age to take his place. The first man was roughly shoved onto a heap of rotten vegetables at the side.

A soldier beat a solemn roll on a drum and a man richly dressed in heavily embroidered brocade stepped forward. “Bring the second prisoner forward!” he cried. “Hador son of Valacar, you are charged with refusing to pay your taxes and your punishment is to stand for an hour in the pillory where you will be whipped with twenty five lashes while the good townsfolk may throw what they please at you!” 

“The taxes ain’t fair!” the young man protested sullenly. ”Why should we toil all day, and then go hungry, all on account of some King that we don’t even know is real, or but a figment of old tales!”

“Prepare him!” said Brandir roughly. Two soldiers secured the boy in the pillory, while a third drew his dagger and cut the lad’s shirt from his back. A burly man brandishing a whip came forward, cracking it menacingly.

“That man cannot be Lord Mardil,” said Faramir. “Mardil is not yet one and twenty, while this man is at least fifty!”

“You must be a stranger to these parts,” said a man who had overheard the Steward’s remark. “Lord Mardil is away fighting on the borders of Harad. He has left his Steward, Brandir in charge in his place. Lord Mardil is a nice enough lad, but his steward...”He spat upon the ground.

Suddenly a woman appeared from amongst the crowd and threw herself in front of the boy. She thrust a leather bag towards Brandir.” I have the taxes owed, my lord,” she said. ”Please take the money and spare my son! My husband is in no fit state to work,” she gestured towards the man lying on the rubbish. ”If my son cannot work either, the harvest will be spoiled and we will starve!"

Brandir smiled and reached for the money, which he pocketed, pushing the woman aside. He smiled grimly. ”The debt is paid, but the punishment still stands!” He gestured with the man with the whip to proceed. The whip cracked and swished through the air. The youth screamed in pain. His mother collapsed sobbing at Brandir’s feet. The steward ignored her.

“Hold! That is enough!” Aragorn stepped forward with Faramir beside him. The guards formed a protective cluster around their King..

“And who might you be?” Brandir enquired haughtily.

“Your King, Aragorn Elessar Telcontar, “ said Aragorn, drawing Andúril and showing the renowned blade to the assembly.” The man has paid his debts, so under the law he goes free. And even had he not paid his debts; the punishment is hard labour, not flogging.”

Brandir shrugged. ”Very well, my lord,” he said bowing low. “Since those that rioted could not be found, we sought to make an example of these three to maintain order.”

“And what sort of justice is that?” demanded Faramir.

“And who might you be?” asked Brandir.

“I am Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor and loyal servant of the King,” said Faramir.

“It was much better when your father ruled, lad,” said a very old woman from amongst the crowd cried. ”Taxes were much lower then!”

 ”Let it be known that I will countenance no dissent in my name! My fealty is to King Elessar,” Faramir replied sternly.

“Good people,” cried Aragorn, turning to address them. ”I know times are hard, but the tithes are needed to rebuild our land, and see that none go hungry.”

“Tithe indeed!” sniffed the old woman. ”The tax has trebled at your command!” The rest of the crowd murmured their agreement.

A sudden realisation dawned on Aragorn. Mardil’s Steward was taxing the people at extortionate rates, and blaming the King for the increases, while he pocketed the money himself.  He turned to face Brandir, but the man was trying to slip away amidst the throng., while his men had already made good their escape. ”Seize him!” he called the guards, who hurried to carry out his orders. 

“Good people, I shall endeavour to right the wrongs done to you!” Aragorn promised.

A handful cheered, while the majority looked indifferent. The King turned to the woman who had tried to protect her son, who was helping her bloodied husband off the rubbish heap, assisted by the lad, whose back was disfigured by an angry weal. ”Mistress, permit me to aid your kinsfolk,” said Aragorn. “I am a healer.”

“I can look after my own well enough, lord,” said the woman. ”We don’t need no help.”

Aragorn looked at her for a long moment. “I will send officials from the City to take charge here,” he said. “Any overpaid taxes will be returned to you. ”With that, he turned and walked away.

After finding a suitable escort of former soldiers to escort Brandir to the City for trial, Aragorn departed the town. A handful of children regarded him curiously, while two women and one old man said thank you. Otherwise the people watched him leave in silence. Heavy of heart, he rode onwards.

“You have done your best,” said Faramir, bringing his mount alongside Aragorn’s. “I fear some people cannot recognise a pearl before their very eyes.”

“It is as much my fault as theirs,” Aragorn said morosely. ”I should have taken more heed of what was happening in my realm.”

“Next time you come this way they will strew your path with flowers,” said Faramir.

“I wonder,” said the King, urging Roheryn forward.

must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. – John Masefield – Sea Fever.

These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

With grateful thanks to Virtuella.

The August sun beat down remorselessly upon the small group of riders travelling along the coastal road. Aragorn and Faramir had long since removed their cloaks, and given their guards permission to do likewise, but they were still sweltering in the heat of the afternoon.

The constant glimpses of the sea from the road only served to make matters worse. After the troubles in Linhir and their frosty reception, they were not greatly looking forward to the rest of their trip. Still, duty demanded that Aragorn visit all parts of his realm while at least Prince Imrahil would welcome them.

“We are not due to arrive in Belfalas until nightfall,” said Aragorn. “Maybe we could rest awhile?”

“Looking at the sea without being able to bathe in it would only make me hotter,” sighed Faramir, who rode alongside his lord.

Aragorn echoed his Steward's sigh. Even if they were not both naturally reticent men, a king could hardly bathe in full view of every passing subject. The royal dignity had to be maintained at all times.

The party rode onwards until they approached a curve in the road. A little way ahead some trees promised much welcome shade.

“Look!” exclaimed Faramir. “That secluded cove would be perfect for a quick swim. The currents are not dangerous in these parts and we could not be observed from the road.”

Aragorn surveyed their surroundings. Faramir was right. A narrow path led down to the beach, while the trees screened the road. He called the company to a halt. ”Rest the horses awhile beneath the shade of the trees,” he said. “Lord Faramir and I wish to refresh ourselves in the water. Take it in turns to see no one approaches.” The King dismounted from Roheryn, handing the stallion's reins to the nearest guard. He paused only to grab a towel and change of linens from his pack, before he hastened down the track leading to the sea with Faramir.

As soon as they set foot on the beach, the two men joyfully pulled off their boots and stockings. The sand felt delightfully cool beneath their feet. The salty tang of the air and aroma of seaweed immediately refreshed their spirits. Leaving a trail of scattered garments in their wake, they undressed down to their drawers and plunged into the inviting waves.

“This is bliss!” Aragorn exclaimed as he immersed himself. He felt as free as the gulls that circled overhead.

“Mmm,” was Faramir's only reply.

The two swam until they felt cooled and refreshed. Reluctantly, they left the water and then started to gather up their clothing.

“I have never known you fail to fold your garments before when going swimming!” Aragorn remarked.

“Obviously your bad influence has rubbed off on me!” Faramir retorted. He dried himself and donned his breeches. Skilfully, he dodged a playful blow from his sovereign.

“You were simply too hot to care!” Aragorn laughed while he pulled his shirt over his head. “If only we could stay here on the beach a while longer, but it would be irresponsible to leave the men waiting “

“We could always tell them to come and swim too if they wish,” said Faramir. “The horses would enjoy the water as well.”

“As ever you are wise, mellon nîn!” Aragorn grinned. Without bothering to don his boots and stockings, he went to call to the guards.

***

An hour or so later, the once peaceful cove was filled with men and horses frolicking in the waves. A little apart from them two figures lay drowsing in the sun. Faramir lazily opened his eyes and dug his toes deeper in the warm sand. He studied the position of the sun. It was not yet starting to sink over the horizon, so they could linger here a little longer. Belfalas could wait. The sea had gladdened his heart and he felt far more confident that they would be made welcome. He closed his eyes again and went back to sleep beside his softly snoring lord.

You can see Whitewave’s delightful illustrations for this chapter on my LJ, http://lindahoyland.livejournal.com/165509.html

Out of the mouths of Babes –Psalm 8.2

With thanks to Virtuella

Much to their relief, Aragorn and Faramir were cordially received in Belfalas, at least by its leading citizens. They arrived just before sunset and were warmly greeted by the town dignitaries who had turned out in force to welcome them, as had a handful the common folk.

They were served a delicious meal of freshly caught local fish after which they gladly retired after a day of travelling in the heat. The next morning they rose early and attended a meeting with the reeve and the local landowners at which taxes, trade tariffs and the progress made since the Ring War were discussed. Aragorn and Faramir were satisfied that all appeared to be in good order.

“You are invited to visit our school this afternoon, my lords,” said the reeve, as the meeting concluded. ”We are immensely proud of our children’s progress there. We are even able to employ two teachers, one for the older children and one for the younger. They have been eagerly preparing for your visit. This evening we have a State Banquet in your honour where you will be able to sample the diverse variety of seafood that our fishermen catch.”

“We will look forward to it,” Aragorn said politely.

“I will visit the older children,” Faramir said to Aragorn once the reeve had left. “I think I can endure badly recited Quenya poetry better than you can!”

“Surely it will not be that bad?” Aragorn replied. “I will enjoy meeting the children.”

“Wait and see,” was all that Faramir would say.

After a hearty meal and many long and tedious speeches from the leading townsfolk welcoming their honoured guests, Aragorn and Faramir felt almost too full to move. A nap would have been most welcome, but duty demanded that they visit the school. After loosening their belts and taking a short walk in the bracing sea air, they made their way towards the school.

Aragorn was taken to a schoolroom full of young children. All had been scrubbed until they almost glowed and were wearing their best clothes. He overheard the schoolmistress exhorting them to be ‘very good indeed’ just before he entered. The teacher beamed with pride as she introduced her young charges, who greeted their King very respectfully with bows and curtseys. Their expressions, though, suggested they were unimpressed by their illustrious visitor.

“Let us show our Lord King just how much we have learned,” said the schoolmistress.

A girl, who looked to be the oldest pupil in the class, rose to her feet and recited a short poem in perfect but expressionless Quenya.

Aragorn thanked her politely all the while thinking he would tell Faramir that the young children also learned to bore visitors with badly recited poetry!

A freckle- faced boy then recited all the Kings of Gondor and the dates of their reigns, followed by a tiny girl who listed all the Stewards, after which a boy with light brown hair recited the battles fought during the recent war. Another, slightly older, girl listed all the heroes of the war and their great deeds.

Aragorn tried hard to look interested, his face wearing an expression learned during long and tedious Council meetings. The difference here was that he loved children, and was determined not to hurt their feelings. He desperately tried to stifle a yawn.

“You must be very proud of the children, mistress, they know their lessons well,” the King said hastily before another child could start reciting a long list of names and dates.

“We are greatly honoured to have you visit us, my Lord King,” beamed the teacher. “The children know their geography well too and are looking forward to telling you all the rivers and cities of Gondor.”

Aragorn suppressed a groan and braced himself for another very tedious recitation. The children looked just as bored as he was. They were extremely good, though, and sat still, albeit with blank expressions. Only one little girl, who appeared to be the youngest in the class, was fidgeting and playing with her scarlet ribbon adorned dark pigtails.

“You’re not a King!” the little girl said suddenly.

A collective gasp echoed around the room. The teacher looked as if she might faint and feared to be executed any moment.

“Why do you think that? “ Aragorn asked the child mildly.

“Because you look like everyone else, and you don’t wear a crown,” said the child in a tone of utter conviction. “Everyone knows that kings wear crowns!”

Aragorn burst out laughing. “Do you have a father?” he asked the child when his mirth had subsided.

“Yes,” said the little girl.

“What does your adar do for a living?”

“He is a fisherman,” said the child proudly. “He catches lots of fish.”

“So does your adar bring his fishing nets home with him and carry them around at all times?” asked Aragorn.

“Of course not, that would be silly!” the little girl said scornfully. “He leaves his nets in his boat when he is not catching fish!”

“Just like I leave my crown at home when I am not having to carry out my official duties,” Aragorn smiled.

The child nodded sagely. “So what did your adar do?”

“He was the Chieftain of the Northern Kingdom, but he died when I was only two years old, and my mother and I went to live with the Elves. I have an idea. How would you like me to tell you a story about when I was young and the kind of lessons I had to learn?”

“Yes!” chorused the children enthusiastically.

“You had to learn lessons too?” asked the sceptical little girl.

Soon Aragorn was seated happily on the floor with several small children, including the little girl, perched on his lap, and the rest clustered around him listening intently to the King’s account of learning history from the great Glorfindel and the healing arts from Master Elrond, son of Eärendil the Mariner. He told them too of his life as a Ranger and some light hearted tales of the Hobbits. He was just about to start telling them about the Ents, thinking that trees that spoke and moved would appeal to the young, when Faramir entered the room.

After enduring an hour of Quenya poetry, the Steward had come in search of his lord. Faramir was amazed to hear joyful childish laughter coming from the room. The children and their teacher were so engrossed in the King’s stories that they did not even notice him come in.

“I think it is time for me to leave,” said Aragorn, catching sight of Faramir by the door.

The children groaned loudly.

“I promise I will visit your school again next time I come to visit your town,” said Aragorn. “Maybe I can bring my little boy to meet you all.”

King and Steward returned to their lodging in good spirits. It seemed that the visit to Belfalas was going well.

Chapter Five

The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been or will be made from this story.

For he that is least among you all, the same shall be great. The Bible -Luke 9-48

With grateful thanks to Virtuella.

Our people would be honoured if you were to tour our town,” said the reeve as Aragorn and Faramir emerged from the school in Belfalas.

“We should enjoy that,” Aragorn said politely.

“Tonight there will be a banquet in your honour,” the reeve continued. “Our fishermen have supplied the best of their catch. We have many varieties of sea fish as well as crab and lobster for your lordships to enjoy.”

Aragorn smiled. He was especially partial to seafood. “Your words make us hungry!” he said. “My wife will be sorry that she missed such delights.”

“Éowyn is still suspicious of seafood!” Faramir whispered as soon as the two men were alone. “I, too, am looking forward to the banquet. I wish our ladies were beside us, though.”

“So do I, but our children need them more at present,” said Aragorn. “Eldarion is running everywhere at present. Arwen fears his nurse could not catch up with him in time if there were any danger.”

“I wonder how many new words Elestelle will have learned while we are away?” Faramir mused rather wistfully.

“No doubt she will greet you with a nursery song sung in Quenya!” Aragorn teased.

“She is only not quite three yet, but I think she is exceptionally gifted,” Faramir replied. “Of course, I am not impartial!”

“She is clever and advanced for her age,” Aragorn responded. “I wonder what Arwen and Eldarion are doing as we speak?”

“Éowyn will be playing in the garden with Elestelle and Elbeth, I imagine,” said Faramir, as they followed the reeve to their lodging.

000

King and Steward, together with their guards and the leading townsfolk processed along winding roads. Many people came out to greet them, some appeared simply curious, while others gaped open-mouthed. Aragorn and Faramir surmised that many of the country folk had little idea of who they were. A few older men, obviously veterans of the war, cheered the King and Steward. Aragorn thought he recognised one or two men who had ridden to the Black Gate with him and paused to speak them.

They rounded a bend in the road. Suddenly, a little girl, holding the hand of a youth of about seventeen summers, came forward to offer a posy of flowers to Aragorn. He reined in Roheryn rather sharply to take the blossoms from her. The great horse stumbled as a mighty hoof caught in a pothole. Aragorn kept his seat, but Roheryn’s flaying hooves caught the youth, who fell backwards with a cry, clutching his arm. Aragorn immediately dismounted, telling a guard to keep hold of Roheryn’s bridle.

“Are you hurt, lad?” he asked the boy anxiously.

“My arm!” the youth groaned.

“You need not concern yourself with these peasants, my lord,” said the reeve. He eyed the boy with obvious distaste.

Aragorn was already kneeling in the dust beside the young man and feeling the injured arm. “I fear your arm is broken,” the King pronounced.

“I will see a healer is summoned, my lord,” said the reeve looking aghast at Aragorn. “The banquet awaits us, my lord.”

“I am a healer,” said Aragorn in a tone that brokered no argument. “I feel responsible for this lad’s accident, and must endeavour to put things right as best I may. Where do you live, lad?” he asked the boy.

The youth cried out with pain.

“We dwell in the cottages yonder with our mother,” said the little girl, finding her voice. She pointed across a field to where a row of small cottages stood. “Mardil is my brother.”

“We will take Mardil home then,” said Aragorn. Faramir dismounted and helped Aragorn to gently lift the youth and set him astride Roheryn. The reeve raised his eyebrows in horror at the King and Steward’s actions.

I fear the feast will have to wait until I have tended this young man,” he told the reeve. “I would be grateful if you would ride ahead and tell the guests that we shall be delayed.”

“And you shall ride with me,” said Faramir to the little girl. “My horse is called Iavas. What is your name?”

“I’m Finnraen,” said the little girl. She looked fearfully at her brother. “Is Mardil going to die? My daddy died.”

“The King will heal your brother,” said Faramir confidently, lifting the child onto his mare and mounting behind her.

The riders soon reached Mardil’s dwelling. At the sound of the approaching horsemen, a thin, shabbily dressed woman came outside. She cried out in dismay when Aragorn and a guard lifted her whey-faced son down from his horse and carefully carried him within. “What has happened?” she cried as Aragorn laid the boy down on the bed. Faramir followed close behind with the little girl while the guards waited outside.

“Your son has broken his arm, Mistress,” said Aragorn, dismissing the guard to wait outside.

“The nice men brought us home after the horse kicked Mardil,” Finnraen added.

“Who are you, master?” asked the woman, hugging her little girl tightly.

“A healer,” Aragorn answered simply. “Can you set water to boil, please?”

The natural authority in Aragorn’s tone made her do as she was bidden without question.

Aragorn hurried back outside to fetch the satchel of healing supplies he always carried with him. After asking the woman for a cup, he measured out a dose of poppy juice and gave it to Mardil. “I need to cut off your shirt to examine your arm properly,” he told the lad once he had drunk the pain killing draught.

“ Must you? I have no other!” said the boy in dismay.

“I should be able to mend it if you cut carefully, sir,” said his mother.

“That is soon remedied,” said Faramir, going outside and returning almost immediately with his pack. He rummaged inside it and drew out a clean shirt. “This might be somewhat large, mistress, but it should suffice until we can find a better shirt for your son.”

Mardil’s mother fingered the garment in wonder. ”But this is fine linen, fit for a lord!” she exclaimed.

“No matter, so long as it clothes your son,” said Faramir.

Mardil weakly nodded his agreement as Aragorn took up his dagger and cut the shirt from his body. The boy groaned when the King gently felt his arm. “It is a clean break, which should heal well,” the King pronounced. ”It needs setting though, which I fear will not be pleasant. Have you a neighbour who could look after your daughter, mistress?” He threw some crushed bark from his healing supplies into the pot of water boiling on the fire as he spoke.

“My neighbour would mind her,” said the woman.” Go, Finnraen, and stay with Mistress Elwyn until I call you.”

The little girl hesitated, casting a worried look at her brother.

“Do as mother says,” said Mardil firmly. “I will fare well enough with mother and the healer.” He had regained a little colour as the poppy juice took effect.

As soon as the child had gone, Aragorn checked Mardil’s heartbeat. Once satisfied the boy was strong enough for the gruelling procedure, he asked Faramir and the boy’s mother to hold the lad down while he set the broken bone. He worked swiftly and skilfully, but Mardil was left groaning in agony with sweat pouring from his brow. ”Easy now, lad, the worst is over now,” said Aragorn, tucking the blankets around him and starting to rub the back of his neck, using an Elven healing skill.I am only sorry you should have to suffer this.”

“It was an accident and not your fault,” said Mardil. “Will it heal quickly?”

“Do not concern yourself about anything other than getting well,” said Aragorn. He took the pot from the fire and put it on the hearth to cool. Inside was a thick syrup. “I am going to wrap your arm in a cloth and cover it with this paste,” said the King. “It will set hard to allow the bone to knit. When it falls off in about two months, you will be healed.”

“Two months!” said Mardil in dismay. “My family will starve if I cannot work, my lord!”

Faramir reached inside his tunic and withdrew his purse. He took out several coins and handed them to Mardil’s mother. She gazed at them in astonishment. ”I cannot take these! This is more than we earn in a year! You must be lords of great wealth!”

“Take it!” Faramir said calmly. “It is the least we can do. Your son would not lie injured had we not come to this town.”

Mardil groaned again. Aragorn knelt beside the bed holding his hands a few inches over above Mardil’s arm, his features fixed in intense concentration. The boy sighed as the pain eased and closed his eyes. Aragorn then bandaged the arm and coated it with the sticky paste.

Mardil’s mother stared at him with growing recognition. “ You are visiting this town? You have the hands that heal? My lord...you cannot be?” she gasped, sinking to her knees.

“He is the King, mother,” said Mardil sleepily. “His horse shied and kicked my arm when Finnraen gave him some flowers.”

“The King, here in my cottage tending my son?” said Mardil’s mother, turning pale.

“It was my responsibility, mistress,” said Aragorn gravely. “Rise and be at ease. We will take our leave now. If you have need of me before I depart on the morrow, please send me word. I believe your son will heal completely within a few weeks, but if he should not, send word to me and I will see that Mardil is treated in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. Farewell!” With that he left the cottage, together with Faramir.

“Well, I never!” said Mardil’s mother.” Whoever would have thought the King would care so much for folk like us?”

“We may not be able to depart tomorrow,” said Aragorn when they rode away towards the long overdue feast. ”It matters little, though, so long as I right the wrong I did to that boy!”

“Do not be so hard on yourself,” said Faramir. ”It was hardly your fault that Roheryn shied. You are the most responsible man that I know. You care deeply for your people.”

“I try, Faramir, I try,” said Aragorn gravely. ”What would I not give now for a simple supper by the fire, but again duty calls.” He glanced back over his shoulder to catch a last glimpse of the cottage before riding resolutely towards the feasting hall.

A/N I was inspired by an article I read about the cottonwood tree for Aragorn’s treatment.

http://www.fascinatingearth.com/stories/How_to_Fix_a_Broken_Arm.HTM

I am using artistic licence and assuming the Elves knew of some old world equivalent.

This is a longer version of a ficlet written for the prompt “Responsibility” at the AA Group.