These characters (with the exception of those of my own creation) are the property of the Tolkien Estate. This story has been written purely for pleasure and no profit has been nor will be made from it.

 

With grateful thanks to Raksha, without whose help; I fear this story would have turned out very badly. She advised me to take it in an entirely different direction and offered unlimited support and advice. Were this story, a baby, Raksha is the midwife who safely delivered it.

  

 

 

 

 Chapter One - Growing Dissent

January, Year 2 F.A

It was an exceptionally cold winter’s night. The men milled around the door waiting for the inn to open and a chance to sip a warming mug of ale, while huddled around a blazing fire.

The door opened but instead of admitting his customers, the innkeeper came out on to the lane.

“Sorry lads, the inn’s closed,” he told the waiting throng.

“We’ll have to go to the next one then,” one of the men said grumpily. “On a night like this too!”

“You’ll find all the inns closed by order of the King,” the innkeeper informed them. ”You’d be better off going home.”

“What? Why?” The wave of anger was almost palpable. ”He can’t do that!”

“Yes, he can and he has done," the innkeeper replied, “because of the fever, I was told. Some hare brained notion about it being more catching in crowded places!”

“What nonsense!” The speaker was obviously a casualty of the recent war. He had only one leg and walked with a crutch. “I’ve seen many lands while I was in the army and anyone could tell you that fevers are caused by the influence of the moon. Why, even a child knows that!”

“Things were never like this in the Steward’s day!” his companion, a fat man with a red face, remarked. “He had his faults did Lord Denethor, but he’d have never closed the taverns!"

“Why doesn’t his son do something then?” the man with the crutch demanded. “He’s the Steward now, Lord Faramir, isn’t he?”

“He dare not,” The red-faced man said gloomily. “I’ve heard the King beats him, and even had him put in prison!”

“I thought that was Lord Denethor?” the one legged man said, sounding puzzled.

“No, he was the one who tried to burn him alive!” the red-faced man replied impatiently. “He would never have sent him to prison, though, not his own son!”

The others joined in, each eagerly voicing their own opinions on the matter.

“Now be off with you!” the innkeeper shouted above the rising murmur of voices. “I’ll hear naught against the King. He is providing me with enough to live on while my tavern is closed and he cured my wife of the fever.”

Still muttering, the crowd slowly dispersed into the frosty night.

***

The mood in the Council Chamber was grim.  Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien read out a report, which reported no progress in controlling the spread of the fever. Mercifully, it was still confined to the city and surrounding villages, and there were no reports of it having spread to other parts of the country.

King Aragorn Elessar Telcontar rose to his feet.  “I am hoping that the new measures I have implemented will help to control the spread of the contagion,” he announced. “As from yesterday, I have ordered the closure of the taverns, indoor markets and all other crowded assemblies."

Fontos, Lord of Lossarnach, rose to his feet. “My Lord King, I fear that by so doing, you will have a rebellion on your hands!”

“That is a lesser risk than half the populace stricken with fever,” Aragorn said calmly. “I am recompensing all those who will have their livelihoods threatened as result.”

“And what of us?” The Lord of Lamedon sprang to his feet, bristling with anger. “Many of the inns are owned by the nobility. We rent them to the tavern keepers who give us a share of their profits.”

“They might starve, my lord, though you most certainly would not!” Aragorn retorted. Starvation looked to be the least likely cause of death for the portly noble.

“I must protest, sire!” the Lord of Lebennin said angrily. “All the new laws you have passed favour the poor. We are now forced to allow them to glean in our fields and gather firewood from our forests, as well as permitting them to take our rabbits to stuff their bellies with!”

“The taxes you have levied to pay for the City reconstruction are most unfair,” the Lord of Ringlo Vale added. “Lord Denethor would never have done such a thing!”

“You must be in dire straits indeed then, my lord,” commented the Prince of Dol Amroth wryly. ”It is but a small percentage of your vast revenues.”

“I will not be a king who lets my people starve, while the nobles grow fat off the land.” Aragorn said coldly. He sat down again. To those who knew him, he looked drawn and weary. “It is an exceptionally hard winter this year and the poor are suffering because of it.”

“It was said in olden times that if plague and famine fell upon the land it was because of some fault in the king,” the Lord of Lamedon said in meaningful tone.

Aragorn’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I hope you do not mean what I think you do, my lord, or you come close to speaking treason!”

“I was merely recalling the old lore, sire. I did not say there was any truth in it," the Lord of Lamedon said smoothly. He quickly lowered his eyes, unable to meet Aragorn’s flint like gaze.

“Is there any other business before the Council is dismissed?” Faramir asked, eager to change the subject.

“I have news of grave import to all,” the Lord of Lamedon began. He paused for dramatic effect. “The Steward’s heir has been found!”

“I was not aware that Lady Elestelle was lost,” Faramir said dryly.

“I meant Lord Boromir’s heir," the Lord of Lamedon announced. “As the elder son, his heir takes precedence. The late Lord Boromir’s widow, Lady Hanna and her daughter Lady Elbeth are under my protection. They came to me in dire need and asked for my help.”

Aragorn and Faramir shot started glances at each other at this unexpected turn of events.

“My nephew had an heir?” the Prince of Dol Amroth exclaimed in wonder. “But why should she appeal to you for protection, rather than the King?”

“King Elessar does not have a good record with his Stewards. Or maybe, you have forgotten that Lord Denethor committed suicide on the day King Elessar arrived, while his successor, Lord Faramir was unjustly beaten and imprisoned but a few months past? Our Lord King did not even punish the miscreants with the full weight of the law,” the Lord of Lossarnach remarked acidly.

“That is most unreasonable, I must protest!” the Prince of Dol Amroth interjected.

Aragorn glared and looked uncomfortable. Faramir was about to open his mouth to protest. The Lord of Lamedon continued before either of them regained their composure.

“I see that these tidings disturb you, my lords,” the Lord of Lamedon continued. “I thought they might, as I have heard a most tragic story of injustice done to the widow and her daughter. Most gravely, it concerned you, my Lord Elessar! Lady Hanna claims that you took her child from her and had her locked away in the lunatic asylum.”

A collective murmur of shock echoed round the Council Chamber.

“I had the lady confined there after she tried to kill me and my Steward.” Aragorn said icily. “As for her child, she appeared to be illegitimate. My Steward and I found a good woman and her husband to care for her. We have paid for her upkeep until her mother escaped from the asylum and vanished with her.”

“Why was she not tried for treason if she attacked you, sire?” the Lord of Lebennin enquired.

“Because the poor woman had obviously lost her wits and I had no desire to see her executed.” Aragorn replied.

“Or maybe there was another reason?” The Lord of Lamedon handed a document to Aragorn with a flourish.

Aragorn studied it then handed it to Faramir. It was certificate of marriage.

“I beg to differ, sire,” the Lord of Lamedon continued. ”Lady Hanna appears as sane as you or I. You wanted her silenced, since it was well known that Lord Boromir had no wish for the return of a King from the North any more than Lord Denethor did.”

“Mind your words, my lord, for I may not be as lenient with you as I was with Hanna!” Aragorn was white with fury.

“The King saved Elbeth’s life. That is not the action of a man who considered her a threat. As for myself, I was mindful of protecting my late brother’s reputation.  I suspected Elbeth might be his child born outside wedlock. Hanna was a serving maid, hardly a suitable bride for the heir to the Stewardship, as my poor brother then was.” Faramir looked even more furious than the King, were that possible.

“My apologies, it not my desire to offend your most esteemed lordships. I spoke only out of my desire to protect this most unfortunate widow and her child, a hint of sarcasm breaking through the false contrition in his voice. ”This marriage document proves that Lady Elbeth is Lord Boromir’s legitimate heir. Lady Hanna told me that Lord Boromir was a frequent guest of Lord Duilin of Morthond and they met at his Hunting Lodge and fell in love. One night after the men had been drinking, overcome with desire, Lord Boromir wished to lie with her and consummate the union. However, the lady was mindful of her virtue and refused him, saying she would lie with no man out of wedlock. Lord Boromir promptly said he would marry her and did so then and there in front of witnesses.”

“I could not imagine my brother acting thus,” Faramir said coldly, “Both witnesses, Forlong of Lossarnach and Duilin of Morthond are conveniently dead. Therefore, there is no way of proving this marriage. Both fell in the war you well know.”

“As did many good men,” Dervorin, Lord of Ringlo Vale commented sounding more annoyed than grieved.

“I have a suggestion,” the Lord of Lebennin announced. “You have a son, King Elessar, Lord Boromir left a daughter. If they were to marry, the Houses of Húrin and Telcontar would be united and Lord Boromir’s daughter would then receive the honour due to her.”

 Chapter Two

 

To sleep, perchance to dream - Shakespeare -Hamlet.3.1

“Surely you jest, my lords?” Aragorn replied. “Prince Eldarion is not yet six months old and Lady Elbeth is still but a child. The suggestion of their marriage is quite absurd.”

“Where are Prince Eldarion and the Queen, by the way?” the Lord of Lossarnach enquired. “They have not been seen in public for weeks now.”

A murmur of agreement echoed round the chamber.

“I shall not expose my wife and heir to the dangers of the fever,” Aragorn answered. “You may rest assured, my lords, that they are safe and well.”

“To marry Prince Eldarion to Lady Elbeth would secure the future of the Royal Line by restoring the House of Húrin to a station worthy of their lineage,” the Lord of Lamedon persisted.

Faramir frowned, wondering why the Council would recognise succession through female lines when it suited them. A long ago Steward had died childless and they had appointed his sister’s grandson to succeed him. Yet Arvedui’s claim to the throne had been rejected even though he was married to King Ondoher’s sole surviving heir. He concluded it was best to remain silent, lest these impudent lords start to next question Aragorn’s legitimacy to rule!

“The idea is outrageous, to marry children to each other! Neither my wife nor myself would ever permit such a marriage,” Aragorn protested. He was beginning to lose patience.

 “Infant marriages are not unheard of,” said Dervorin, the Lord of Ringlo Vale, “Consider how it would please the people, my lord. An heir from such a union would actually be a child of Gondor. And you my Lord Steward, would you not see your brother’s memory honoured?”

“Naturally I would have Boromir’s child treated with all due respect,” said Faramir. ”It gladdens my heart she is safe and well but…”

“Such a marriage is completely out of the question!” Aragorn finally erupted in anger. “It is not an easy task being King, so my son should at least choose his own Queen and helpmeet. Would you, my Lord of Lossarnach, have your infant son locked in a loveless marriage? Would you, my Lords see your grandchildren thus bound? I would never countenance a union for my son with a girl from a family of such instability either. I will see the child is well provided for and treated with due respect, but that is all she is entitled to. As for Hanna, she must return to the asylum. That is my final word on the subject.”

Faramir flushed with anger. “My father lost his wits in the service of Gondor,” he raged. “Do you, my lord, consider me unstable too?”

“Your mother was the sister of the esteemed Prince of Dol Amroth, as sane a man as I have ever known,” Aragorn replied. “I will have no more talk of this matter. The Council is dismissed.”

“But, sire, will you not at least consider the advantages of the marriage?” the Lord of Lossarnach ventured to suggest.

Aragorn rose to his feet, his hand gripping the hilt of Andúril. “I have told you my decision. I never wish to hear this matter raised again!” he roared. “You do not fool me, my lords! I know full well that you resent the extra burden of taxation to help the poor survive the winter, but that you should stoop so low, as to attempt to use my infant son as your tool, beggars all belief! Now be gone!”

One by one, the lords filed out of the Council Chamber until only Aragorn and Faramir remained. Grey with weariness, Aragorn slumped in his seat now that there was none save his Steward to see him.

Faramir anxiously hastened to his lord’s side. “You were up most of the night again, tending the sick,” he chided. “You cannot go on like this! You will damage your health.”

“I am so sorry, Faramir I did not mean to hurt your feelings earlier.” Aragorn said softly, all too aware that his Steward was still smarting from the earlier exchange. “I am so weary today. The lords were past bearing in their conduct.”

”You should arrest them for their insolence,” Faramir said sternly. “My father would not have hesitated. If only Angbor, the old Lord of Lamedon were still alive and Furlong of Lossarnach. Alas, that the flower of Gondor’s nobility were lost in the war!”

“The rebellious nobles will pay for their scheming, once this contagion is over and I can concentrate on something other than healing the sick, “ Aragorn assured his friend. “I shall insist then that Elbeth is removed from the clutches of that snake. Please do not hold your anger against me. I did not for a moment mean that you were unstable, only that Hanna’s child could be. More than that, Eldarion needs to choose a bride he knows will love and support him as Arwen does me. I will tell you this, though, should it come to pass that he and your daughter were to love each other, they would have my blessing. I would be most happy if our children were to wed.”

Faramir bent over to kiss his King on the brow in token of reconciliation. “You do me great honour!” he said. “I could never be angry with you for long, mellon nîn.”

“I am truly blessed to have both you as my Steward and Arwen as my Queen,” Aragorn mused, thinking of the first time he had met Faramir and been immediately hailed as King by him. He had sensed even then that they were kindred souls. “The Valar smiled on me to grant me such a Steward to ease my burden as King.”

“No less than they blessed me by replacing my father with you as my liege lord!” Faramir replied, helping Aragorn rise to his feet. “Come, my friend, you need to rest and eat. The heavy burdens you bear will seem less onerous then.

Taking his Steward’s proffered arm, Aragorn made his way out of the Council Chamber. Once they were in public view, he straightened up and walked tall and noble as ever, so that none might guess his weariness and despondency.

***

Faramir had been one of the first to be stricken with the fever, perhaps because he was still regaining his strength after his ordeal in prison. Aragorn had devotedly nursed his Steward back to health. This time he made a swift recovery, the only sign now that he had ever suffered from it, being a slight cough in the early mornings. He was now working harder than ever, so that Aragorn would have more time to tend the sick. The King brushed aside fears for his own danger of infection. He remembered catching this kind of fever while he was in the North and knew it very rarely infected the same person twice.

The contagion had begun a few days after the execution of Mahrod, who was responsible for Faramir’s severe injuries when imprisoned. Crowds had flocked to see him hanged, amongst them, his wife Alis and her child. Alis and several others from the Pelennor townlands were the first to fall ill. They had been fortunate and recovered, but others were not so lucky. More and more cases were reported in the City, until the Houses of Healing could hardly cope with all the sick and dying.

This fever was especially unpleasant causing fevers and chills, sneezing, loss of appetite, a severe cough and sometimes breathing difficulties. It all too often proved fatal, especially for the elderly and very young.

Faramir and Éowyn had moved to their new home in Ithilien the week before Faramir fell ill. He had sent a message that she should remain there with Elestelle until the danger of infection had passed. Aragorn and Arwen also decided that Arwen and Eldarion should stay with Éowyn while the contagion raged. While Arwen, born Peredhel and still stronger than most mortals, was immune from such dangers, Eldarion was not. The heir to the throne was far too precious to be put at risk. Much as Aragorn and Arwen hated to be apart, they considered the greater good and the welfare of their child before any personal feelings.

Aragorn decided to keep the Queen's location secret to protect her from visitors who might carry the infection to his son. He was mindful also of the panic it might cause, if it were widely known that the situation was bad enough to warrant sending the Queen and the heir to safety. So far, no cases of the fever had been reported beyond Minas Tirith and the outlying villages. Aragorn was desperately trying to keep it from spreading throughout Gondor.

Before she left, taking with her many loving messages from Faramir to Éowyn and a promise to look after her, Arwen had asked Faramir to share Aragorn’s room and take care of him, lest he overtax himself and neglect his own health. He was insisting on daily using his healing gifts to help care for the sick in the Houses of Healing.

The Queen had confided to him, that after so many years in the wilds, Aragorn found it difficult to sleep alone within the stone walls of the Citadel and would even have preferred to be under a hedge with the stars overhead for company.

Although comfortable enough in his own rooms, Faramir was happy to oblige. He enjoyed Aragorn’s companionship. He was even willing to endure his snoring while they shared the King’s room, the same room, where Aragorn had cared for his Steward only a few months before.

To begin with, Faramir had found the task allocated to him far from arduous as both men had simple tastes, preferring to disperse with a valet unless required to wear elaborate robes for state occasions. Both too were sound sleepers and at ease in each other’s company.

Most of the time, Faramir was hardly aware of the King’s presence at all. When Faramir went to sleep, Aragorn would still be at the Houses of Healing. Often he would have left again at dawn the next day.

However, as the weeks went by and the fever raged unabated, Aragorn became increasingly exhausted and withdrawn. Faramir’s companionship became his main source of support. He was grateful to Arwen for suggesting he avail himself of the comfort of having his friend at his side while she could not be.

One morning Faramir had awoken to find the King still wearing his boots, having fallen asleep on top of the covers of the vast bed, too exhausted to undress, eat, or drink.

Chapter Three – So much to be consoled as to console

O Master, grant that I may never seek
So much to be consoled as to console,
To be understood as to understand,
To be loved as to love with all my soul –

Prayer of Saint Francis

From that day on, Faramir had stayed awake until Aragorn returned to ensure that he was properly cared for. The Steward now insisted that a supply of the restorative Elven cordial, miruvor, was always kept in the room.

He ordered the servants to keep a supply of nourishing broth and warm water constantly at hand, as well as laying out a nightshirt and clean underwear for their lord.

Aragorn suffered from nightmares, in which he would awaken in a state of obvious distress, recalling the faces of children he could not save. Faramir soothed his lord as best he could, telling him that no one could have done more.

Last night had been especially distressing. Aragorn had returned in the small hours exhausted and distraught over the death of a baby boy of about Eldarion's age. He had arrived just two or three minutes before the infant had breathed his last in his mother’s arms.

“I could do nothing to help him. He looked so like my son,” the King sighed, slumping dejectedly across the vast bed.

“You need to rest,” Faramir soothed. “You cannot save everyone, alas. Think of the hundreds you have cured these past weeks! Come, have some broth! Food will make you feel better.”

“I cannot eat,” Aragorn protested. “Let me be!”

“Come on now,” coaxed Faramir. “You need to keep your strength up. I can see you are losing weight. You must eat or I shall spoon feed you!”

“You sound just like Éowyn!” Aragorn replied, managing a weak smile.

Faramir eventually cajoled him to eat him the nourishing broth of venison and vegetables, which the kitchens had sent up. Aragorn just lay there limp and drained, making no move to help himself, when Faramir unlaced his boots and outer tunic.

“Come on,” the Steward coaxed. “I promised your lady that I would not let you fall asleep before you had bathed and changed into your nightshirt. She was most insistent that you should not revert to your ranger ways.” 

He had hoped that mentioning the Queen would cheer his lord, but it proved to no avail.

“I am so weary,” Aragorn whispered. He kicked off his boots, but made no move to finish undressing. Instead, he sat with his face buried in his hands.

Faramir had impulsively reached out and drawn his friend close, knowing he was in need of comfort but would never ask for any. Aragorn considered that he should always be the one to offer solace and never seek to ask for any in return. Tonight, he welcomed Faramir’s comforting presence.

“I failed,” Aragorn murmured, burying his head against the Steward's shoulder. “It could have been my son lying there dying, I should have tried harder and I…” Completely exhausted, he could say no more.

“You have not failed! You are the noblest of men, who does your best and cares for your people deeply, sometimes so much so that you neglect yourself. You miss Arwen and your child, but you were unselfish enough to send them out of danger. That you tried to save that baby is proof enough of just how much you care! You cannot, must not risk yourself, when all your people have need of you,” Faramir said, all the while rubbing soothing circles across Aragorn’s back, wishing as he did so, that he had his King’s healing powers. Nevertheless, his touch seemed to soothe his friend.

“What would I do without you?” Aragorn mused, slowly starting to relax. “If you had not already had the fever, I should have had to send you away too. You are such a solace to me! I have neglected you, I fear. I cannot even remember when I last treated your arm.”

“I am glad that I had the contagion. Not that you would have persuaded me to go.  I am not the heir and I am needed here!” Faramir replied, raising a glass of the restorative cordial, miruvor, to the King’s lips. “As for my arm, it is better. I only continued with the treatments as I enjoyed the elven treatments so much!”

“You would inherit were Eldarion and I to die,” Aragorn reminded him, smiling faintly at Faramir’s confession, although he had guessed the truth already.

“I hope you live a very long time and have many more children. A few weeks as ruling Steward were quite enough for me,” Faramir said firmly.

He sat silently with his arm still around his friend’s shoulders. Aragorn laid his head against his Steward’s, allowing their thoughts to mingle. Their similar Númenorean lineage and strong friendship greatly enhanced the mental gifts they both possessed. Both found their Thought Bond a great source of comfort through which they could strengthen and support each other. The strong spiritual connection they shared, had grown even closer during these weeks spent together.

What had begun as a desperate final attempt on Aragorn’s part to save Faramir’s life, had now become mutually beneficial and the more they shared thoughts, the deeper the bond became. Sometimes, Faramir could sense Aragorn’s thoughts when he was in another room, or even another part of the City. He had more than once surprised the King, by meeting him, clutching the very document he was returning to collect.

Faramir could clearly perceive the sorrow and despondency that Aragorn felt, while the King could sense the genuine compassion and concern emanating from Faramir. It was deeply comforting to be so close to another in thought; that was, until Faramir started to sense some sort of danger surrounding the King. He tried to dismiss his fears as no more than his concern over Aragorn’s despondent mood.

“I sense such darkness!” Aragorn sighed, uncertain whether the visions came from his own mind or Faramir’s.

“Try to rest. I am here beside you. You should go out into the countryside for a few days to refresh yourself, maybe visit Arwen and Eldarion?” Faramir counselled, smoothing back the King’s mane of unruly dark hair. He tried to contain his own sense of foreboding. He told himself that it was just the shadow of the contagion hanging over the City. This winter had been the coldest and harshest he could ever remember.

“Maybe I will ride outside the City gates for a while tomorrow. I dare not go near my wife and child lest I carry the contagion on my clothing, much as I yearn to see them.”

“I miss Éowyn and Elestelle too. She was just starting to smile at me when they said goodbye,” Faramir sighed, while all the time trying to share encouraging thoughts with Aragorn. The King had driven himself relentlessly for weeks now, spending hours every day engaged in draining healing sessions.

Even one of his Númenorean lineage did not have unlimited reserves of energy. Faramir tried to help him by taking on double his share of paperwork, poring for hours over State documents until his head ached.  

He knew from personal experience, that every time Aragorn gave of himself when healing, it left him weakened and drained. Such a gift was never meant to be used day after day without rest. Maybe that was what was alarming him so, the terrible fear that Aragorn would go too far in trying to help others, to the extent of sacrificing his own life. Faramir shuddered, recalling how near the King had come to death in saving his own life but a few months ago.

“I would only go that far to save you, Arwen or my son,” Aragorn reassured him, reading his thoughts.

“A king’s life is worth more than a steward’s!” Faramir chided gently. Aragorn’s self sacrificing goodness never failed to overwhelm him.

“A loyal friend’s life is a prize beyond all measure,” Aragorn replied.

“You have my loyalty without needing to take such risks!” the Steward protested.

“I know and that knowledge that makes any risk worthwhile,” Aragorn replied. “If only the rest of my Council were as trustworthy as you!”

“They dislike change, but I am certain they will come to love and respect you in time,” Faramir replied. “They feared my father and that guaranteed their obedience, though at what cost, I know not. Now we should both try to rest, it will be dawn soon.”

He blew out the candle and lay back against the pillows, his hand still resting on Aragorn’s shoulder.

Faramir forced himself to stay awake until he could hear Aragorn snoring. For once, the sound did not annoy him.

The Steward had once thought Aragorn invulnerable until their ordeal at the Hunting Lodge had shown him that he was not. It pained him to see such a strong man drained by total exhaustion.

**

The next morning Aragorn had attended the Council Meeting, the fact his features were grey with weariness the only sign that anything was amiss. Otherwise, he appeared to be his kingly, confident self.

Faramir insisted that the King rest afterwards. After only a few hours, though the Warden had summoned him again to help the severely ill in the Houses of Healing.

The King’s spirits seemed much restored. He had parted from Faramir with a smile on his face, determined that today he would succour more of his people.

When night fell, Faramir prepared for bed as usual, shedding his formal clothing in favour of a linen nightshirt and drawers. He sat up, reading State documents by candlelight, determined to stay awake until Aragorn returned.

The events of the day ran through his mind, while he debated how best the insolent lords could be disciplined. Unfortunately, they were cunning enough, to stop short of speaking outright treason. It was outrageous enough that any should dare suggest marrying Eldarion to Elbeth. How Faramir wished that he had adopted his niece when he had had the chance! On that thought, the rigours of the day, preceded by a near sleepless night overcame him, and he knew no more.

The Steward’s slumber was restless and filled with dark dreams. He awoke just before dawn, chiding himself angrily for sleeping when he should be ensuring the King had was provided with food and drink and whatever support he could offer.

To his alarm, when he glanced across the bed, Aragorn was not there.  Faramir immediately checked the dressing room, thinking that rather than risk disturbing his Steward, the King had slept there, but the room was empty.

Immediately, he sent a message to Tarostar, the Warden of the Houses of Healing.

Tarostar sent a messenger with the reply that Aragorn had left at about two o’clock in the morning after a prolonged and successful battle to save the life of a young brother and sister.

Faramir was by now greatly alarmed. He feared that Aragorn had collapsed with exhaustion and was lying unconscious in some alleyway. The King had always refused his Steward’s pleas to take a guard with him, saying he was perfectly safe in his own City. He believed it was unreasonable to expect the guard to wait around for him, maybe all night long, when he could be better employed elsewhere.

Immediately, Faramir sent out the guard to carry out a through search of the City. The King was nowhere to be found.

After spending hours organising a Search, Faramir summoned the Council to inform them of Aragorn’s disappearance. Power automatically reverted to the Steward at such times.

He watched the faces of the lords carefully when he made the announcement. Apart from a look of concern flitting across his Uncle Imrahil's face, the nobles remained impassive.

Faramir spent the evening signing a pile of official documents. When he finally went to bed, he was certain he would be unable to sleep, being so anxious for his lord’s safety.

Instead, he immediately fell into an exhausted slumber, where he dreamed vividly of Aragorn calling out to him for help.

Faramir sat up, drenched in a cold sweat and wincing at the pain in his back, which had not hurt so much since he had been flogged.

This was most strange, as thanks to the elven treatments that Aragorn had persuaded him to undergo, his stripes were completely healed, with not even any painful scar tissue remaining.

Puzzled, he pulled down his nightshirt and felt the painful area carefully only to discover his skin was smooth and unblemished. Within minutes, the throbbing had subsided to a more bearable dull ache.

Faramir found himself reaching for the miruvor and taking a large gulp. Eventually he fell asleep again, hoping that the dawn would bring some tidings of his friend.

Chapter Four – The Foreboding of Evil

I would far rather be ignorant than wise in the foreboding of evil.  –                        

Aeschylus (525–456 B.C.)

When Faramir awoke, his back felt more stiff and painful than ever. Yet, that was as nothing, compared to how worried and helpless he felt.

Aragorn was missing and most likely in grave danger. He, Faramir should have been able to prevent it. Why had he not been more insistent about Aragorn being accompanied by a guard? If the King had refused to listen, he could always have ordered one to follow him unobserved, difficult though that would have been, to remain unseen by a former ranger like Aragorn. Faramir felt so angry with himself. Maybe he should have insisted that Aragorn rest for a few days? Yet, the King had seemed much restored in health and spirits by the time he had left for the Houses of Healing again.

Displaying the iron self control he had mastered over the years spent dealing with his father's moods, Faramir insisted the search continue, while he dealt with affairs of state. He wished he could search every nook and cranny himself. Instead, he ordered the guards to enquire at every house on the route to the Houses of Healing, search every level of the City, paying especial attention to deserted buildings and alleyways. He was determined to leave no stone unturned in the hunt to find Aragorn.

His task was made all the harder by the contagion. He dared not risk causing a panic that might cause people to congregate together and spread the contagion. With this in mind, the guards were ordered to be extremely careful in their dealings with the populace and tell them as little as possible.

Several days passed with no sign of the King. Aragorn appeared to have vanished from the face of Arda, though he continued to haunt Faramir’s dreams nightly.

Faramir kept suffering too from mysterious pains, so severe he struggled not to cry out. He could find no bruise or wound and they would abate as suddenly as they came. He found himself more than once, feeling for wounds that were not there. He kept applying Aragorn’s salves to perfectly healthy skin. They failed to work their magic without the King’s healing touch. He actually began to feel grateful that he was so accustomed to pain that it hindered him very little in dealing with daily tasks.

The Steward knew that Arwen should be told of her husband’s disappearance; yet he hesitated. Aragorn had forbidden anyone to go near her and Eldarion, while there was still danger of infection. He would not take kindly to having his order disobeyed, an order Faramir respected even more, as it also concerned Éowyn and Elestelle’s safety.

Although he, like Aragorn himself, posed no threat of infection, he would not be expected to travel without an escort. Aragorn had also told him that infections could be carried on clothing, so he was unwilling to take so great a risk.

Given the strong mental bond between himself and Aragorn, he felt certain that if Aragorn were dead, he would know immediately. Aragorn had warned him that it would be like losing part of his own soul.

Faramir still cherished the fragile hope that Aragorn would be found safe and well. Maybe, he had impulsively gone to recuperate in the wilds for a few days, or been consumed with a longing he could not contain to visit Arwen and Eldarion. He could after all, change his clothing before seeing them to minimise risk of infection. It was very strange, though that he had not told Faramir of his plan. Most worryingly of all, Roheryn was still in his stable. However, Aragorn might have taken another, less easily recognised horse, if he had wanted to ride out incognito. No horses of any description had been reported missing, though it was well nigh impossible to account for every horse wintering in the fields outside the City.

The Council were becoming restless and demanding explanations for the King’s absence, explanations that Faramir was unable to provide them with.

If the servants’ chatter were to be relied upon, it seemed that all manner of rumours were sweeping the City: that the King had abandoned them all to go and live with the Elves, he had gone hunting, the Dark Lord had returned and kidnapped him, or that he had grown weary of Gondor and returned North whence he came.

Sternly, Faramir bade them desist from such gossip and slander, only wishing that he had some truthful explanation to offer in their stead.

On the fifth day, Faramir was trying to work in his study. He was finding it harder to concentrate with every day that passed since Aragorn’s disappearance. He became painfully aware how much Aragorn’s presence had lightened each and every day and made the workload so much easier to bear. It were as if the sun had disappeared behind a permanent cloud, leaving only grey gloom in its wake.

He was startled by a knock on the door. “Enter!” he called, expecting it to be his secretary with more documents for him to sign.

Instead, it was one of the apprentice healers from the Houses. “The Warden requests your presence at the Houses immediately, my Lord Steward,” the young man said.

“Did he say why?” Faramir’s heart was in his mouth. Did this mean Aragorn had been found, but that he was injured? He prayed desperately that it was nothing too serious.

“He did not say, my lord. Only that it is imperative that you come at once.”

A cold feeling of dread assailed the Steward. If Aragorn had been found with some minor injury, Tarostar would most surely say so. Maybe it was nothing to do with Aragorn at all, but merely some fresh news of the progress of the fever?

Faramir pulled on his cloak; lingering for an instant to touch the fastening brooch, that Aragorn had given him only a few weeks before. It featured the entwined arms of their houses to signify their close friendship.  Faramir prized it as amongst the dearest of his possessions. Since the King’s disappearance, he had clung to it like a talisman to connect him with his lord.

The journey although short, seemed to Faramir one of the longest he had ever taken.

A grim faced Tarostar greeted him together with an uncharacteristically silent Ioreth. The expressions on their faces almost made speech superfluous.

“This is a sad day for us all, my lord,” a red eyed Tarostar told Faramir. “A farmer, whose fields adjoin the Anduin, was mending his fences this morning and discovered a body floating in the river. He called for the guards who brought it here. From the general appearance, clothing and jewellery. There seems to be little doubt that it is King Elessar’s. We need you, my lord, to make a formal identification.”

Faramir felt as if a dagger made of ice had been plunged through his heart. Only his supreme self-control prevented him from swooning.

Tarostar placed a comforting hand on Faramir’s arm. “I know this must be distressing for you, my lord,” he said. “It is for me too, though I did not have the privilege of knowing him as well as you did. Not only was he a good King, but the greatest and most compassionate healer I have ever known.”

“Take me to him, please.” Faramir’s tone was expressionless. He felt numb and was hardly aware of where Tarostar was leading him. In the background, he could hear Ioreth weeping

The Healer led him to a room at the back of the Houses, well away from where patients were treated. It was sparsely furnished apart from a chair and a table, on which reposed a sheet-shrouded object.  

The room was liberally scented with herbs, but they did little to disguise the overwhelming stench of decomposition.

Tarostar led the unresisting Faramir over to the table and hesitated for a moment, his hand on the sheet.

Faramir nodded, unable to trust himself to speak.

The Healer slowly pulled back the sheet to reveal the bloated and disfigured corpse. The head was battered almost beyond recognition, but the strands of matted and tangled hair were black streaked with silver, just like Aragorn’s, as was the size and shape of the body.

The clothes were unmistakably those Aragorn was wearing when he disappeared, one of the tunics he favoured embroidered with the white tree, black breeches and fine leather boots. The Ring of Barahir adorned one bloated finger, as did the elven pledge ring, identical to one Faramir wore to mark his true union with Éowyn.

The stench in the room had become well nigh unbearable and Faramir felt increasingly faint as he looked down at the hideous sight.

Although he had seen many disfigured corpses during his time as a soldier, this was his King and more than that; his best friend who had become the loving father he had never been blessed with. How could he have died like some common vagrant? It was too much to bear.

Overwhelmed by grief, Faramir found himself struggling to breathe. His legs went from under him and everything went black as he sank to the ground.

Chapter Four – All my life’s bliss

No other Sun has lightened up my heaven;
No other star has ever shone for me:
All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given -
All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. - Emily Bronte

“Easy, my lord, lie still!”

Faramir slowly opened his eyes to find Tarostar bending over him. He was lying on a bed and his tunic and shirt had been loosened. For a brief instant, he felt confused.

Where was Aragorn? The King had tended him every time he was ill during the past three years. Then he remembered. The King was dead. Never again, would he see his compassionate grey eyes, feel Aragorn’s healing touch, spend hours deep in conversation or companionable silence with him.

The one who had been father, brother, friend, healer, mentor, and King to him was dead. Faramir choked back a sob and struggled to maintain his composure in front of Tarostar. Were Aragorn here, he would have wept unashamedly, but Aragorn was no more.

However could he continue to exist without him? Surely too, the Queen would most likely die of grief? Arwen would have to be told that her beloved husband was dead.  Faramir's duty as Steward demanded that he to be the one to tell her. Or or maybe she already sensed the grim tidings?

His head swam alarmingly. He wished desperately that Éowyn were here. But could she, or anyone else understand the utter desolation he was feeling? He forced himself to sit up, propping himself on his elbows. Tarostar steadied him and held a cup of water to his lips.

“Alas for Gondor, her Hope is lost!” Faramir said bleakly. His iron composure belied his inner anguish.

“He was indeed a great man and will be much missed,” Tarostar said quietly. He was aware, unlike many, of how deep the friendship between the King and Steward had been, having seen the King’s distress when Faramir was near to death a few months before.

“I must go and inform the Queen,” Faramir struggled to rise from the bed. He became fully aware of his surroundings for the first time. This was the very room where Aragorn had revived him from the Black Breath. He ought not to have been surprised, since it was the best room in the Houses, set aside for those of high birth when they were unwell.

Tarostar shook his head; “You are in no fit state to go anywhere today, Lord Faramir, especially as the Queen does not appear to be within the confines of the City.”

“She is at my home with Lady Éowyn,” Faramir told him.

“Travelling so far is out the question, my lord,” Tarostar told him firmly, “You could not undertake such a journey after sustaining so great a shock. You need to rest. Would you prefer to stay here, or return to your own apartments?”

Just then, a servant tapped on the door and entered. He was bearing a steaming mug in his hand.

Tarostar held the cup to Faramir’s lips, urging the Steward to sip the hot, sweet medicinal tea inside.

Faramir felt stronger once he had drained it, but there was no herb on Arda that could ease the grief in his heart. “How did the King die?” he asked. “I assume he must have fallen in the river somehow? Would he have suffered greatly?”

“I fear, I cannot tell you that, Lord Faramir,” Tarostar replied. “Dead bodies often reveal very little, especially, after being in the river for several days. It will even be difficult to embalm, given the condition it is in, and cannot be put on display for a lying in state, I fear.”

“The ceremonies will have to wait,” Faramir said firmly, “The King does not, I mean, did not want any public gatherings for fear of spreading the fever. I must obey his wishes.  I am sure the Queen will agree. I must inform the Council, but shall make no other announcement until the contagion has waned. We do not want crowds to gather and spread contagion.”

Tarostar nodded his approval, had the decision been his to make, he would have made the same choices.

Faramir swung his legs off the bed, then rather unsteadily rose to his feet.

“Will you rest in your apartments, my lord?” Tarostar asked.

“The Council must be informed and then I will take your advice,” Faramir replied, brushing aside the Chief Warden’s objections and offer to accompany him.

***

The Steward summoned those of Council who could easily be found, and informed them of the King’s death in a calm manner, firmly resisting their calls for an immediate public announcement followed by a state funeral.

Unable to trust himself to continue to maintain his composure at present, he curtly dismissed the Councillors, after what must have been, one of the shortest meetings in Gondor’s long history.

Desperate to be alone, he then made his way back to the privacy of the room that he had shared with Aragorn over the last few weeks.

He supposed he should have returned to his own apartments, but his rooms were cold and damp, no fires having been lit there for some time. Also, his personal possessions were all in the King’s room and he felt too drained to organise their removal.

Fanciful though it might be, Faramir could still sense Aragorn’s presence here; and wanted to experience it while it yet lingered.

Alone at last, he threw himself on the bed and finally gave way to his grief. It was all too like that dreadful day three years ago, when he had finally wept for his father and brother. Only this time, there were no comforting arms around him. How ashamed he had been then at mistaking Aragorn for his uncle and weeping in his arms! Now he would give the whole world to have him beside him again, if only for a brief moment to say a last farewell.

Aragorn had died long before his rightful time; alone with none even to bestow a farewell kiss of blessing, as the King had done for Boromir. Faramir found this last thought too much to bear and howled like a wounded animal. He buried his face in the pillow so that none might hear his raw anguish over the loss of one he loved so dearly.

He had no idea how much time elapsed, being too distraught to notice the gathering darkness outside. When a servant knocked to ask if she should light the candles, he bade her go away.

Eventually, worn out by grief, he fell into an uneasy sleep. Again he dreamed of the King. This dream was more disturbing for he saw Aragorn’s face more clearly. It was contorted with agony with many bruises disfiguring the noble features. Faramir stared in horror: only for the vision to be replaced by one yet more hideous, though less vivid, of the disfigured and bloated corpse he had seen earlier that day. Then he clearly heard Aragorn’s voice calling to him, ‘Faramir, help me, ion nîn!’

The Steward awoke in a cold sweat. Not only had his nightmare been distressing, but it was also unusually vivid. He had many fey gifts. However, communing with the dead had never been amongst them, and even if it were, would not Aragorn be happy and peaceful in the afterlife? His own brushes with death had shown him there was nothing to fear beyond the circles of the world. A good man, such as the King had been, would most surely be rewarded with eternal bliss by the One.

Hovering between uneasy sleep and wakefulness, he was relieved when a gleam of light in the eastern horizon heralded the approaching dawn at last. Even so, he viewed the rising sun with bitterness. With Aragorn’s death, the sun had set forever in his life and over the future of Gondor. The return of the King had heralded such hope for so many, which would now never come to fruition. Eldarion was but a babe in arms: any hopes for him achieving his father’s greatness had been meant for a distant future.

Having fallen asleep fully dressed, Faramir forced himself to change and wash the tear stains from his face. He felt worse even, than when he had learned of his brother’s death. Then, his visions had at least shown him his brother at peace. The encroaching enemy had left him little time for thought.

He began the day with a task he dreaded, fetching the Star of Elendil and Andúril from where Aragorn kept them. If the King still lived, he would never have dreamed of touching the legendary sword. He had once been given leave to hold it, which had more than sufficed to fulfil a dream. Now, as part of the King’s regalia, he must take it to Arwen to keep for Eldarion along with the jewel, which had adorned Aragorn’s noble brow.

At his request, Aedred, one of the most experienced Healers, came to his apartments early that morning. Born in Rohan, Aedred had come to Gondor after the War of the Ring and proved himself exceptionally skilled in the healing arts.

When Aedred was shown in to the Steward’s study, he too looked distressed. He uneasily shuffled his feet as he handed a large parcel to Faramir. “You will need to take the your King’s clothes and rings to show to your Queen to identify him by; so gentle a lady could not view his body thus disfigured,” Aedred informed the Steward grimly. “I fear I have grave tidings for you, my lord. Master Tarostar and I believe that King Elessar was hit over the head before he entered the water and battered about the face. His jaw, nose and cheekbones are shattered. He must have been set upon by footpads intent on robbing him, but fallen in the river before they could take his two valuable rings. Either that, or they recognised them and knew trying to sell them would betray their guilt.”

Faramir looked at the healer aghast. “You mean that he did not drown then?” It sounded a foolish question even as he voiced it aloud; yet, it seemed unthinkable that the greatest warrior of the age should have died at the hands of common robbers.

Aedred shook his head sadly. “There was no water in his lungs, so I fear that means that King Elessar was almost certainly murdered,” he replied.

Chapter Six – Sad stories of the death of kings

For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings!
How some have been deposed, some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed,
Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed—
All murdered; for within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court,

William Shakespeare (1564–1616), King Richard II (III, ii).

Faramir gave a sharp intake of breath. Cold fury was kindled in his grief dulled eyes. ”Those who did this monstrous deed must be caught and punished,” he said in a tone of voice that Aedred had never heard the gentle natured Steward use before.

“To kill a king is indeed the most monstrous of crimes!” Aedred agreed. “Not only is Prince Eldarion bereft of his father, but the whole of Gondor is left without her rightful sire.”

The healer’s well meant comment brought a lump to the Steward’s throat. Aragorn had indeed been as a true father to him, the most caring of sires, who had freely given him all the love that his own father had lavished solely upon Boromir.

”Did the King suffer much do you think?” Fearful that his emotions would overwhelm him, Faramir abruptly changed the subject. He was unable to prevent his tone from sounding almost pleading.

Aedred hesitated for a moment. “If the blow to the head caused him to lose consciousness at once, he would not have felt anything,” he said at last. “We can only hope it happened thus.”

Faramir closed his eyes for a moment, but gave no other sign of emotion. “Did you learn anything else from the body?” he enquired.

“Only that it belonged to healthy male who was about forty years old. I know the King’s Númenorean heritage would make him only appear to be that age,” Aedred replied, stroking his blonde beard thoughtfully. “He was well nourished and healthy. The body was too badly damaged to show any scars, or even if he were bruised while still alive. Of the King’s state of health, I knew very little. There was once when he collapsed, I tried to tend to him, but he recovered before I had much chance to examine him.

Knowing that could only have been when Aragorn had saved his life, after he was beaten in prison but a few months before, Faramir gripped the edge of the desk tightly. He wondered bleakly if Aragorn would have been stronger to resist attack if he had expended less of his precious life energy on him.

“Now, my lord, if you would excuse me, I have many fever victims needing my help in the Houses of Healing,” Aedred remarked, sensing Faramir’s wish to be alone.

“Of course, the King would not have wished otherwise,” Faramir replied, grateful for the healer’s tact. “I must be on my way too, to tell the Queen that her husband is dead.”

“I offer my condolences to the poor lady and pledge my support to King Eldarion. Éomer King will be most distressed when he hears these grievous tidings. He thought very highly of King Elessar, I know.” Aedred said gravely. Dipping his head, as a sign of respect to the effective ruler of Gondor, he then turned and left the room.

Knowing he should examine the King's effects before giving them to Aragorn's widow, Faramir pulled the parcels towards him. The jewellery was in a separate smaller parcel on top of the clothing. He opened that first, tipping the Ring of Barahir, and Aragorn’s Elven pledge ring out on to the palm of his hand.

Of Aragorn’s Ring of State, there was no sign. It was a most unusual ring, which bore an ingenious Elvish device to prevent any but the King from using it. The stone had to be turned in a certain way before the seal was usable. Maybe Aragorn had taken it off before going to the Houses of Healing? If so, where was it? There was no sign of it in Aragorn’s rooms. On the other hand, perhaps the thieves had taken it, not knowing its significance? The Elessar was missing too, but that was hardly surprising, as any thief would realise how valuable it was, though its true worth was revealed only in the hands of the King.

Faramir turned his attention to the clothes with a shudder. He could hardly bear to handle them. Only a few days before, they had covered his King, who was now reduced to a bloated corpse, currently undergoing the grisly attentions of the embalmers.

The familiar garments were badly stained and torn but still instantly recognisable, the black velvet tunic, embroidered with the White Tree of Gondor. Aragorn had several of these, which he always wore in public. Each had a slightly different design, which was embroidered by Arwen’s skilful hands. The linen shirt was also embroidered with a tiny white tree over the left breast. The plain black breeches were made of fine quality wool, while the drawers were of plain white linen.

The boots still dripped water over Faramir’s desk, though attempts had obviously been made to dry them out without causing them to disintegrate.

For safekeeping, and maybe also as an attempt to feel closer to the man he had both loved and revered, Faramir placed the two rings on a chain he wore round his neck, adding them to the gold charm of a horse Éowyn had given him on his last birthday.

Wrapping the pathetic remnants of clothing again, Faramir started to weep afresh. Blowing his nose determinedly, he bade a servant summon an escort to ride out with him. He slowly made his way to the stables.

As he had done ever since the day Aragorn disappeared, he paused at Roheryn’s stall to give him a titbit and rub his soft muzzle while whispering soft words to him.

The proud stallion would need exercising soon and he would have to ask the Queen if should he ride him or not. If only Éowyn were here, for she was truly gifted with horses. He could tell that Roheryn was missing his master and wondered if he somehow knew he was dead, and that soon he would walk riderless in his funeral procession.

Sighing, he gave Roheryn a final pat and then told the stable boy to move him to the more spacious stables outside the city gates, hoping that maybe he would pine less for his master there.

He then saddled Iavas, who occupied the next stall, waving aside the stable boy. He preferred to do it himself. The beautiful chestnut mare, that Éomer had gifted him on his wedding day, was his pride and joy. He found it soothing to perform such everyday tasks on her. Once mounted, he rode out into the yard to await the escort who were already gathering.

Since the battle that had almost killed him, Faramir had not ridden to battle, though he remained as third in command of Gondor’s forces after the King and his Uncle. He liked to keep a keen eye on the men who served the King and himself. These soldiers were young, little more than lads, who had taken the places of their elders slain in the war. That was, apart from the one, who was their Captain, Anborn, who had been one of his rangers in Ithilien.

The group set off, the cheerful winter sunshine seeming to mock their melancholy errand. Faramir was surprised at how his spirits lifted once they left the City behind and began the gallop across the Pelennor.

Such was the mental bond between the King and himself; he had always assumed that if anything happened to Aragorn, he would know at the very instant it did. He felt deeply ashamed that he had not known the King was dead, until he was shown the corpse of his beloved friend.

How he had cherished the gift of being able to share thoughts with Aragorn! He had been denied the opportunity to enjoy the gift of his Race for so long. Now he would never again the beauty of that unique closeness. Even if Elestelle had the ability, it would require a unique bond, as well as him remaining alive until she reached maturity. Faramir felt certain that once the full impact of Aragorn’s loss sunk in, surely his heart would break. He had been warned that Thought Bonding was perilous, for unless those who shared it had formed several such bonds, the soul of the survivor would be damaged beyond repair, should the bond be broken

Already, Faramir felt desperately lonely without the King. Much as he loved and desired Éowyn, they had very little in common, apart their deep love for each other and their daughter. Faramir had loved both his wife and Aragorn equally, albeit in very different ways. He had felt complete with Éowyn as his cherished wife and the mother of his child, while Aragorn had become both father and brother to him. Éowyn and Aragorn had made him feel whole for the first time in his life.

Faramir loved books, Elvish lore, Númenorean history, and Gondor, while Éowyn was interested in none of those, whereas Aragorn was. She was as outgoing, as her husband was shy and reserved. Éowyn preferred to go riding while Faramir sat reading. She found books boring and would much rather practise sword fighting, which he only did out of duty.

They had learned to tolerate and even celebrate their differences. Éowyn too had loved and respected the King. She had been delighted that Aragorn had given her husband the intellectual companionship that she could not, whereas Aragorn had delighted in the way that Éowyn encouraged her husband to take more exercise and not keep brooding until he tied himself in knots over obscure problems with no answers. Éowyn’s keen tongue and sense of humour had kept Faramir from retreating inside his shell.

Éowyn had always found the Númenorean mental gifts somewhat disconcerting. Although it was only chance, that had prevented her inheriting the same gifts from her grandmother, she was extremely thankful she had not and already told Faramir that she wondered how she would react if Elestelle grew up to have visions, see the future and read thoughts. She was content enough for Faramir to exercise his mental powers with Aragorn, but hoped their daughter would not have what her mother regarded as a dubious ability.

Faramir was jolted out of his reverie by a strong sensation that they were being followed. He sensed danger, much as he had done the last night of Aragorn’s life when he had held his exhausted friend in his arms.

He knew the lords of the Council were curious concerning the whereabouts of the Queen and Eldarion. When he had left the Council Chamber after announcing Aragorn’s death, they had clamoured after him with questions, to which he had replied that the Queen must be left to grieve in peace, and that she would return for the funeral. He had no wish for half the Council to turn up on his doorstep.

They were now approaching a thickly wooded copse. Faramir led his men into the dense woodland, following the path though the skeletal winter foliage, until they came to a thicket of evergreens.

He called Anborn to one side, while evaluating the horses the men rode, looking for a similar chestnut to Iavas. These were all fairly docile horses from the Royal Mews, available to any soldier who needed a mount. To his relief, he recognised Chessie amongst them, a mare of far less breeding but near identical colouring to his mare.

“I think we are being followed,” he told Anborn. “I need you to change your cloak and tunic for mine, for we are of similar build and colouring. Exchange mounts with the man riding Chessie, as she could pass for Iavas. You take your men in another direction to throw off the pursuers."

“Yes sir, I fear for the poor Queen and her babe, or the new King, as I should say.” Anborn was already divesting himself of his outer garments.

“The fever is a grave threat to us all,” Faramir replied evasively, doing likewise but first removing the brooch Aragorn had given him, which he used as fasten for his cloak. He gave Anborn back his own pin.

“I wasn’t thinking of the fever, begging your pardon, sir,” Anborn replied. ”These are dangerous times for a young babe to hold the throne, though I pledge my loyalty to King Eldarion unreservedly. Be careful, Lord Faramir, since you obviously plan to go on alone. You are the actual ruler of our beloved land until the young King comes of age.”

“That is for the Council to decide.” Faramir said shortly, “Now ride out of here in a close group. If we truly have pursuers, they will not notice one missing for a while.”

Waiting, concealed in the thicket for a few minutes while they left, a sudden and terrible thought struck Faramir. What if Aragorn's death had not been the work of mindless thugs but a carefully targeted assassination? Why had he not thought of it before? It seemed even the lowliest soldiers who knew nothing of the facts were fearful for Eldarion’s safety.

He had been so wrapped in his own grief that he had failed to realise that Arwen and Eldarion could be in grave danger. How long would it take before the assassins, if such they were, realised that they were staying at his home? That would mean Éowyn and Elestelle were in danger too!

Satisfying himself that there were no pursuers currently in sight, he rode like the wind for Emyn Arnen.

Chapter Seven –I would not live halved

For I wondered that others, subject to death did live, since he whom I loved, as if he should never die, was dead; and I wondered yet more that myself, who was to him a second self, could live, he being dead. Well said one of his friend, “Thou half of my soul;” for I felt that my soul and his soul were “one soul in two bodies:” and therefore was my life a horror to me, because I would not live halved - St Augustine.

On arriving at his home, Faramir went straight to the stables. He handed Iavas’ reins to a stable boy, telling him to rub down the exhausted mare.

Keeping his distance from the servants, he despatched a groom to the house to fetch him a complete change of clothing, telling him to speak to the Housekeeper rather than Lady Éowyn. He knew his wife would come rushing out to greet him. Much as he yearned to see her, he dared not risk spreading the infection by touching her before he bathed and changed.

The man quickly returned, clutching a bundle of clean garments Faramir then requested a pail of water. He went into the stables and closed the door behind him. Finding a deserted stall, he removed all his clothes and sponged himself down with the icy water and rinsed his jewellery. Shivering, he quickly donned the fresh garments.

The Steward wondered however he could find the words, to tell Arwen that her husband was dead. It had always been hard enough, to tell the wife or mother of one of his rangers, that their kinsman was dead.  However, they were not Elves, liable to fade from grief, neither were their loved ones men of the quality of Aragorn, nor had he loved any of his men as father, brother and king.

Éowyn was outside tending her herb garden, when Faramir strode into sight. She ran at once to meet him. From the expression on his face, she realised at once that something was wrong.

“Faramir, whatever has happened?” she exclaimed, “I wondered if you might come.  Arwen has sensed something was wrong. Dark dreams have troubled her these past nights.”

“It is Aragorn,” Faramir said bleakly, drawing his wife close.

Éowyn paled. “Has he caught the fever? Is he very ill? Maybe I could help him or the Queen could?”

Sadly, Faramir shook his head.

“No, he cannot be …” Éowyn could not bring herself to say the words.

Faramir nodded, biting back the lump that was forming in his throat. Éowyn held him tightly. Faramir allowed himself to weep in the comfort of her loving embrace. He sobbed for a few moments before continuing, “I fear so. His corpse was taken from the Anduin yesterday morning,”

“No!” Éowyn exclaimed, ”It cannot be!”

Faramir nodded, too overcome to speak. He clutched Éowyn so tightly that she could hardly breathe. “I fear it is all too true, I saw his body,” he said at last. “He had been set upon by footpads and battered about the face until he could only be recognised from his clothing and rings. That such a man should die like this! It is too cruel!”

It was Éowyn ’s turn to weep now. “If only I had recognised his true worth sooner, and been nicer to him,” she sobbed. “He was the noblest and greatest of men. Poor, poor Arwen!”

Just then, the Queen emerged from the house, carrying Eldarion in her arms.

Faramir reluctantly pulled away from Éowyn’s embrace and struggled valiantly to compose himself. He swiftly fell on one knee before the beautiful Elf.

“What is wrong?” she asked, noting Faramir’s reddened eyes and tear stained cheeks.

“My lady, my lord,” He kissed her hand and did the same to Eldarion’s infant fingers, “I think it best that we go inside, if you will permit?”

Arwen shuddered at his tone and the formality of his address. She led the way indoors to Faramir and Éowyn’s comfortably furnished sitting room. Still holding Eldarion in her arms, she settled herself on the couch, gesturing Faramir to do likewise.

“My lady, I fear I bring ill tidings I scarcely know how to tell you.” Instead of sitting, Faramir again knelt at her feet.

“It concerns Estel does it not? Has he been injured?”

“Far worse I fear, my lady. It breaks my heart to tell you this, but he is dead.”

Arwen turned pale and almost dropped Eldarion. Éowyn hastily caught the baby with one hand and steadied the Queen with the other. She sat down beside her.

“No, I do not believe it!” Arwen protested.

“I fear it is the truth. I saw his body with mine own eyes and bring these tokens for you to identify him by.” Faramir rose to his feet and placed the parcel containing Aragorn’s clothes on a table in the centre of the room. He then unfastened the chain from his neck and placed Aragorn’s rings and the Star of Elendil in her hands and laid Andúril at her feet.

She turned the rings over, hardly seeming to see them and gave a small cry, shaking her head. “No, despite this, it cannot be! He has been calling to me in my dreams. I was about to send a trusted man to Minas Tirith to find out what was wrong.”

A shiver ran down Faramir’s spine. “The same thing has befallen me, my lady, I fear after such an untimely death, our poor lord cannot rest easy in the circles beyond the world. I pledge myself to your service and King Eldarion’s as I did to his. If by my life or death I can serve you, I will.” Again he knelt.

Arwen placed her hand under Faramir’s chin, jerking his head to meet her eyes. “I do not doubt your loyalty. Tell me though, Faramir, the body you saw, are you certain it was Estel. Did you see his face clearly?”

Faramir swallowed hard, “No my Lady I did not. It pains me to tell you this, but the King’s features were unrecognisable after being in the river. Master Aedred, from the Houses of Healing, told me he was battered about the face, most likely whoever robbed him. However, there is no doubt that it is Aragorn’s body. Here are the clothes that he was wearing and his rings that he would never willingly surrender to another.”

“Do you feel as if half of your soul has been torn away?” Arwen asked suddenly.

“No, which surprises me, but my heart is heavy with grief. Maybe as his wife, only you will know that sorrow?”

“And yet I do not!” Arwen gestured Faramir to rise. “We were both thought bonded to him and we would both feel our souls in torment if he were dead. You shared thoughts with him alone, you not?”

“Yes, my lady. I did not even know for certain if I had the ability until the King showed me how to use it.”

“Then if he were dead, you most likely would be too!” Arwen retorted, “Unless your protestations of devotion to him were nothing but a lie!”

“Indeed no, my lady, I loved him most dearly. He was father, brother and lord to me. He saved my life and I owed him everything.” Faramir looked deeply hurt by the accusation.

“You may sit down. Faramir. I tell you that Estel is still alive!”

Faramir sat, shaking his head sadly.  He had expected a terrible outpouring of grief from the Queen, or even that she might swoon, but not this stubborn refusal to face the truth.

“What happened? When did you last see him?” the Queen demanded.

 “The King worked so hard to help the fever victims that he became exhausted and distressed.  I believe that was how ruffians could have overpowered so great a warrior. If only, I had insisted that he take a guard with him!” Faramir began, “As you asked me to share his room, I tried as best I could to care for him.” He glanced uneasily at Éowyn, wondering if how vulnerable Aragorn had become should be for Arwen’s ears alone.

She moved from her place beside the Queen and nodded to Faramir. “I ought to see if Elestelle needs feeding. Her nurse sometimes neglects to call me until she becomes upset. I will be back in a moment,” she said leaving the room.

Faramir continued “It was just a week ago now when the King was sorely distressed. He had been unable to save a baby from the fever and it grieved his heart. He could hardly eat and was too weary to prepare for bed. I could only hold him and try to speak encouraging words. I had never seen him so sorrowful before. We shared thoughts and I tried to raise his spirits by suggesting that he visit you. I begged him to rest the next day, but he would not listen. He left to tend the sick once more and I never saw him again. I know I should have come to you before, but I feared to carry the infection. I kept vainly hoping, that he had gone to recuperate in the wilds. If only, he could have been with you that last night, he was missing you greatly.”

“I am glad he had your comfort before he was taken,” Arwen replied, making Faramir hope that the dreadful truth had finally sunk in. ”But how could you have shared thoughts the night before he died yet feel your soul is torn asunder? It cannot be; unless he meant nothing to you at all! Do you not know why Aragorn waited so long, before creating the Thought Bond with you? Because he knew, you would most likely die before him, and hesitated to risk feeling such pain as he did when Gilraen and Halbarad died. Only his bond with me saved his heart from breaking. He also knew, should your souls bond strongly, if he were to die first, before you could bond with your daughter, you would die with him.”

Arwen’s eyes flashed. Faramir took a step backward, uncertain how to react.

“My lady, I swear to you that I loved and admired Aragorn more than any other man that lives. I would most gladly have given my own life to save his. I miss him more than any words can describe. Every night, I dream about him. I expect that my heart will break once the numbness and shock I feel now abate.”

Arwen suddenly swept to her feet. Faramir realised at that moment, how little he knew her. This was the first time he had been alone with her for more than a moment. He had always liked and respected her, and never quite lost his awe of her as one of the Eldar. Yet, he had regarded her merely as Aragorn’s wife, and his Queen, a beautiful, wise and gentle being, but at times almost insipid in character, especially compared with Éowyn.

Now, as she advanced towards him and placed her hands either side of his face, she seemed to suddenly grow taller. He was reminded that she was daughter and granddaughter of the most powerful Elves that had dwelt on Middle- earth in the latter Ages.

He could feel her sifting through his thoughts, a painful and unpleasant sensation, which made his head throb. It was nothing like the gentle and mutual thought sharing he had experienced with Aragorn. He felt as if she was literally tearing thoughts from his brain.

Chapter Eight – Look friends, don’t you see it?

Mild und leise wie er lächelt,
wie das Auge
hold er öffnet
seht ihr's Freunde?
Seht ihr's nicht?

(Softly and gently, how he smiles, as sweetly he opens his eyes, look friends, don’t you see it?)

Wagner – Tristan and Isolde.

Finally, Arwen released Faramir. He staggered to the couch, collapsing there hunched; his throbbing head between his hands. He could not have felt more uncomfortably exposed had she torn all the clothing from his body and left him naked to her gaze.

Almost immediately, the Queen came to sit beside him, again the gentle Elf that he thought he knew.

“I am sorry,” Arwen reached out her hand and lightly touched his forehead, causing the pain to vanish as suddenly as it had appeared. “I know now how much you love him, differently, of course than I do, but just as deeply and sincerely. You told me no lie. I have seen the depths of Estel’s love and grief towards you. I needed to know, if your devotion is equal to that he bears you, since you truly believe that he is dead.”

“Please look at his clothes, my lady,” Faramir said wearily, hoping she would finally realise the cruel truth, once she had inspected the parcel’s pathetic contents. What the Queen was saying made little sense to him. He could only surmise that she had hoped to somehow prove that he was lying to her.

He unwrapped the parcel for her and sat with his head bowed while she touched each tattered garment. Arwen showed no sign of emotion until she came to the linen drawers. “These are not Estel’s,” she said firmly. “They are the same size and quality that he wears, but there is no white tree embroidered upon them.”

Faramir remembered when he had gone swimming with Aragorn and Legolas. Some goats had eaten their clothing and had taken a bite out of the King’s drawers while he was actually wearing them, much to Aragorn’s indignation. He had complained about ‘his White Tree’ being eaten.

“Was the embroidery just above the knee?” the Steward asked Arwen.

“Yes, I have stitched the device on all his linens. These are not Estel’s, but must have belonged to the poor wretch whose body you saw! It was not footpads to blame, I fear, but someone who covets the throne of Gondor and who wants us to think that Estel is dead.”

“It might well be true, my lady, that the murderers planned to kill the King, but I fear it was his body that I saw,” Faramir insisted, with increasing desperation, wondering how he could convince her to accept the harsh truth.

Tell me what did you see in your dreams, Faramir?” Arwen asked, in abrupt change of subject.

“They were but phantoms of a troubled mind, my lady,” Faramir replied, not wishing to further encourage her stubborn refusal to accept Aragorn’s death.

“Tell me!”

He had little choice but to comply when she lifted her hands as if she planned to wrest more thoughts from his brain.

“I saw Aragorn’s face. He was bloodied and bruised and was begging me to aid him,” Faramir replied. “He was in some dark place which I could not see. Obviously, I was seeing him just before he died. It preys on my mind that I was not there to aid him when he needed me.”

Arwen shook her head vehemently “That is no dream, but a vision! Listen to what your heart tells you. I have seen exactly the same, night after night, every day for almost a week. These are no mere dreams. Now tell me everything that has been happening since I left Minas Tirith.”

Feeling on somewhat safer ground here, Faramir did as he was bidden, telling her of the people grumbling at Aragorn’s methods to prevent the fever spreading. He told her too of the Council, some of whose members had never accepted the King and  complained ceaselessly about his reforms He explained how some lords had been trying to bring the old regime back in one form or another, by every means possible, ranging from questioning whether an Elf could truly bear a mortal’s child, to most recently trying to contrive a marriage between Eldarion and Elbeth.

Arwen knew some of these facts but her expression darkened.

The Steward concluded by saying, “I fear now, my lady, that you too, might be in danger. There was an attempt to follow me here. I fortunately succeeded in throwing off the pursuers. At first I thought them simply curious about your whereabouts, but it seems that something more sinister may be at work.”

“That is precisely what I suspected,” said Arwen grimly. ”They have captured my husband and are planning to use this Elbeth to gain power through a marriage to my son!”

Faramir rubbed his eyes, trying hard to concentrate on what to say or do next, but found grief and weariness were making it difficult to do so, or indeed to even take in all the implications of what Arwen was saying. Could it be possible that his King still lived? Was there some sinister plot against the Royal Family or was it just wishful thinking, rather than the cruel real