Aragorn stretched out his legs, and watched as Faramir and Gandalf approached. The Gondorian's expression was decidedly neutral, and it was clearly only respect and affection for Gandalf that drew him. Aragorn had at first only considered him as a son of Denethor (and felt vague stirrings of pity on that count), despite the clear bright eyes that were obviously an inheritance from his mother. Now he remembered long-forgotton debates with Adrahil of Dol Amroth, whose pleasant, well-bred manners hid a keen and penetrating mind, as well as a wide streak of stubbornness. He had never been entirely certain how or why he always ended up in agreement with the wily Prince; and Faramir, as his performance at the Council had shown, was Adrahil's grandson as much as Ecthelion's. Aragorn sighed, and wondered if he could possibly win Faramir's allegiance; the clever young man could be as valuable an ally as he was dangerous a rival.
"Aragorn," said Gandalf, "I do not believe you have been formally introduced. This is my dear friend, Faramir, son of Denethor." And of Finduilas, thought Aragorn sourly, and smiled pleasantly at him. "Faramir, a very old friend of mine, Aragorn, son of Arathorn." Faramir inclined his head briefly. "Since you are both to accompany us for many miles, I thought it best that you should reconcile any differences of opinion you have, now."
Aragorn sighed. "Thank you, Gandalf."
"You're very welcome." The wizard sat down comfortably, drew out his pipe, and began smoking. Faramir seated himself, with the cautious expression of a man handling a tamed beast that might turn wild again at any moment.
"Lord Aragorn," he said, "you mean to claim the throne of Gondor?"
"Yes," said Aragorn; "and please, just Aragorn. I certainly intend to call you 'Faramir.' "
"Very well. If you don't mind my asking" (although clearly he couldn't care less if Aragorn minded his asking) "why?"
Aragorn blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"Why are you claiming the throne? There have been many heirs of Isildur before you, and doubtless will be many after. Why are you claiming the throne now, the time in which we least need any division among us?"
So that was the reason for Faramir's well-veiled antipathy. Aragorn almost laughed. "Faramir, there are many miles between here and Minas Tirith. I do not know what shall come to pass during that time; but I certainly do not intend to cause any political strife. I shall merely be a captain of the Dúnedain of the North, until such a time comes when it is—prudent to declare myself."
Something flickered in Faramir's eyes—respect? disdain? It was gone too quickly for Aragorn to read. But his expression lightened. "I see; although you have still not answered my question."
"Nor you, mine; at least not the intended one."
Faramir raised his eyebrows. "You asked if I wished for the House of Elendil to return to Gondor; I thought my answer fairly clear on that point."
"Let us speak plainly with one another, Faramir. You said you wished for the Silver Crown to return. Do you wish for me to wear it, as King?"
"No," said Faramir.
Well, thought Aragorn, that's certainly plain enough. "Do you have a particular objection to me, then?"
"No." Faramir glanced up, and Aragorn was suddenly able to perceive the troubled expression in his eyes. "You must understand, this is not only a matter between you and I. Denethor is my father; but first he is my lord, and I owe him my allegiance. My foremost loyalty, however, is to Gondor, not to any living man. I am certainly not about to defy the bonds of blood and fealty, much less the law made by my own forefather, for a stranger out of the North, whatever his lineage; but I will judge what is best for my people and my city, and act accordingly." He pressed his lips together. "If you are the best hope for Gondor, then you will have my allegiance; but I do not know yet—I do not know you yet."
Plain speaking indeed. Not that he blamed him; Aragorn had not thought of the matter in such clear terms, but there was no doubt that Faramir was in a distinctly unenviable position. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "I believe we understand each other now. I do not think we need to speak of this matter again; not until we come to Minas Tirith. You'll forgive me if I hope—and expect—that you make your decision by then."
Faramir smiled. "I shall." He turned to the wizard, who had been silently puffing smoke into the air. "Was there something else you wished to ask me, Mithrandir?"
Gandalf put his pipe down, beetling his brows at the young man. "It is nothing more than an old man's idle curiosity—" Aragorn snorted, and Faramir looked distinctly sceptical. "You said, at the Council, that you had guessed at some of what was meant. Tell me of these—guesses."
Faramir looked taken aback. "If you wish—but since I know now, I can't see how they can help." Aragorn was silent, but he thought he knew what the wizard was about. "The Sword that was broken; I thought the reference had to be Narsil, but I didn't understand at all what it meant. "The 'token,' Isildur's Bane; I did not know, and I had been on the road many miles before I remembered—" he stopped, frowning.
"Yes?" said Gandalf.
"I could not help but notice," said Faramir slowly, "that in all your visits to Minas Tirith, ever since I was a child, you always seemed most interested in Isildur—particularly in what happened after the Dark Lord was defeated." His voice quickened. "And so I looked for those tales, and it seemed—I could not be certain, all the documents were old and withered and I could not clearly read them; but it seemed that Isildur took something from the hand of the Unnamed, ere he went away from Gondor, never to be seen by mortal men again. That, I thought, was the answer to your questioning; but it was strange. It seemed as if the knowledge was both utterly trivial and terribly important, and I did not dare speak to anyone about it—I did not dare to so much as think about it. In a way, I forgot; it did not even occur to me, when the riddling words of our dream were debated among us, that Isildur's Bane might be this same thing, not until I was alone and far from any other speaking people. And even then, I did not realise—" He broke off, shook his head. "I thought it would be some fell weapon of the Dark Lord, perhaps; but even so, I did not expect that it would be so evil. I pity Frodo."
"As do we all," said Gandalf gently. "He is stronger than he looks, however; and already it has been in his possession for many years."
"Can anyone possess such a thing?"
"No." Gandalf sighed. "Let us speak of happier things. I understand you have already seen Elrond's library?"
Aragorn watched in amusement as Faramir flushed slightly. "A little of it. I wish I had more time; there is so much lore and knowledge there—I shan't be able to read half of it before we depart."
Aragorn hadn't gotten through a fraction of it in twenty years of residence; but he had not been a particularly devoted pupil of Elvish tragedies. He liked happy endings too much for that, he supposed. "Probably not," he agreed. "It's rather large."
"I know," Faramir said blissfully. Aragorn suppressed a laugh and turned to Gandalf.
"Perhaps you should introduce him to Glorfindel," he muttered. Gandalf chuckled, and stood up.
"I think I shall; but first, the rest of the Company. Faramir?"
With a distinctly long-suffering expression, Faramir rose. "I'm coming, Mithrandir . . . Are there many left?"
LazyChick23: Yes, this is part of the "Better Choice" cycle, with "Valiant Both Alike," "Those So Descended," and of course "Better Choice." Thanks for letting me know about the reviews; I didn't know I wasn't allowing anonymous reviewers.
Raksha
the Demon: Thanks, Raksha, for your support and ideas. This
story popped into my head the instant Nesta asked "what does
Faramir really think about Aragorn?" I'm glad you thought their
complicated relationship was set up adequately; I was a little uneasy
on that score. And of course Faramir would be thrilled about the library.
