Title: Dark Illusions
Summary: After an attempted assassination of Gondor's King, all of the evidence points to Faramir as the traitor. Aragorn is sure that it could not possibly be him, but as he cannot discover an alternative, the time for investigation is running out, and some of the court may decide to take matters into their own hands. But none of them know that their every action is being watched by a sinister enemy, determined to destroy the newly rebuilt kingdom forever.
Characters: Aragorn and Faramir, but Arwen, Éowyn, little Eldarion, and Faramir's son and daughter will make appearances, along with several others.
Rating: PG-13, but it may possibly go up.
WARNINGS: Violence, torment (mental and physical), brief childbirth, some disturbing imagery, sorcery, and treachery. Not all warnings apply to all chapters. I will post individual warnings for each chapter. As in all of my stories, this contains no slash, sex, or profanity.
Authour's Note: This is a rewrite of Secrets Between Friends with a totally different plotline. More original, hopefully.I hope you like it better.
Takes place nine months after the events in A Tale of Two Rangers. Prior knowledge of that story is not necessary to read and enjoy this one, but your reading experience could be greatly increased if you did read A Tale of Two Rangers.
WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Childbirth and guilt. Rated K+.
Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, its characters, and lands, are the property of Tolkien Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was written for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, not for profit.
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Chapter One- Children are a Gift
Behold, children are a gift of the LORD; The fruit of the womb is a reward.
-Psalm 127:3
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Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, sat on a bench outside of the Houses of Healing, chewing his fingernails like an anxious child. He would go between sitting and pacing the floor restlessly; anything to quell the anxiety inside of him.
Arwen was fine, he thought, Éowyn will be, too.
But he simply could not shake the anxiety. This troubled him, for he had a bit of foresight. But when he had questioned Aragorn about it, the King had shaken his head.
"No, Faramir," he had said, "I was the same way."
And so Faramir had tried to convince himself that everything was alright. It was hard, though, being able to hear Éowyn's cries of pain and unable to do anything to help.
"It is perfectly natural for a woman to give birth," Aragorn's voice came from behind him. "Do not worry so much, Faramir." He sat down next to his Steward.
Faramir sighed. "I fear I shall go mad soon!"
Aragorn gave him a squeeze on the shoulder. "I did not. And it probably will not be much longer. Eldarion's birth lasted nearly two days."
Faramir paled. "Two days?" he cried in dismay.
Aragorn laughed. "Don't worry. Hers will most likely not last so long."
Faramir groaned. This could go on for a day and a half more yet?
"You are such a prophet of doom, Aragorn," he shook his head. "Now I am even more agitated."
"Be of good cheer, Faramir," Aragorn sat next to him. "Soon you will know the joy of fatherhood. However, I do believe that childbirth causes the father as much mental anguish as it causes physical pain to the mother."
Faramir gave his King an exasperated look. "You are not helping," he said bluntly, standing and beginning to pace the stone street outside of the Houses of Healing, his step irregular, stumbling every so often on his wounded leg.
Aragorn winced as he watched. It had been over nine months since Faramir was injured like this. And he had not healed. The King turned away, unable to watch his struggles. It was his fault, anyway, that Faramir was handicapped. Faramir had sacrificed himself that Aragorn may go free after they were captured by Calemon and his rebel band.
Eventually, Faramir sat down again, a concerned expression on his face. "Is something wrong?" he asked, his brow knitting.
Aragorn shook his head, "No, Faramir. Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all."
Faramir, who knew he was not telling the truth, under any other circumstances would have persisted, but he did not now, for his mind was too occupied on Éowyn to think any more on Aragorn's strange behavior. He pressed his right hand to his forehead to relieve the headache and stress, and groaned softly.
"I cannot bear this anymore."
"Easy, mellon-nin," Aragorn sighed, touching Faramir's temples gently. He moved his fingers in small, light circles over them, barely touching the Steward's head. He felt the tension in Faramir's body release as Faramir's weight leaned against his shoulder. "All will be well."
Faramir gave a shuddering sigh, half of anxiety, and half of pleasure. Aragorn's touch was so gentle, so calming. Faramir had always marvelled at his King's abilities, and, though he did not know it, Aragorn admired his. "I hope so," he murmured.
"Nay, I know that it will be so," Aragorn whispered, his quiet, soothing voice close to Faramir's ear.
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A few hours passed, and silence descended upon the Houses. Faramir was nearly undone by fear, but Aragorn managed to keep him calm.
Then a new voice broke into the air, then another. The lusty crying of two infants.
Faramir's breathing came hard, and he stumbled to the door just as Ioreth pulled it open.
"Come and meet your daughter and son, Lord Faramir," she said, her aged face smiling at the Steward's distress. It was always this way. It had been this way for Denethor when Boromir and Faramir were born.
Faramir needed no urging, he was instantly inside. He limped over to the bedside, where Éowyn held the infants cradled in her arms, her flushed, sweaty face aglow with happiness.
"Min leof," Éowyn murmurred, her voice weak, but a beaming smile on her face. "Are they not beautiful?"
Faramir's mouth was agape. He awkwardly knelt down and placed his arm around his wife's shoulders, all the while looking at the tiny, fragile lives that he and Éowyn had created.
Éowyn laughed slightly. "You can touch them, Faramir," she chuckled. "They will not break. They are not made of glass."
Faramir flushed, slightly embarassed.
"Hold your son," Éowyn sat up with an effort and proffered one of the infants for Faramir to take.
Tentatively, the Steward took the bundle from his wife, and pushed back the sheet that covered the child's face. He was fair-skinned, with a shock of dark hair on the top of his head. He wriggled slightly, and a gurgle escaped his mouth. Faramir stared in awe, then grinned, turning back to Éowyn. "He is beautiful."
Éowyn laughed. "I do not think he would like to hear you say that. He would most likely prefer to be called handsome," She hid a girlish giggle as she saw Faramir blush. He was always so handsome when he did. "What do you think we should name him?"
"I do not know," Faramir sat on the bed next to her, his shoulder beginning to ache. "You should choose."
Éowyn shook her head. "He is your heir, Faramir. You decide."
Faramir thought about it for a moment. "Elboron," he decided, "For my brother."
Éowyn nodded, smiling sadly, knowing Faramir's pain. She too knew what it felt like to lose one who was nearly a brother to her. "I think he would like that," she said, softly.
Faramir nodded. "As do I. I wonder if he sees me now."
Just then, Elboron began to cry, and Faramir handed him back to Éowyn.
Éowyn soothed him, singing softly in Rohirric. Eventually, he quieted. "Sleep now, little Elboron," she whispered, kissing the infant's forehead gently. "Faramir, would you lay him in his cradle, please?"
Faramir nodded, once again taking his son and placing him gently into the small cradle next to Éowyn's bed. He smiled at him once more before returning to Éowyn, who held out the other child to him.
Faramir took her, once again amazed by how tiny and perfect she was. "You name her, Wynnie," he whispered. The little girl looked almost exactly like her brother, but her features were more delicate.
He turned to Éowyn, then smiled. She had fallen asleep, exhausted by the birth, which had lasted nearly eighteen hours. Suddenly, a yelp of pain escaped his lips. He looked down to see that his daughter's grey eyes, the mirror image of Éowyn's, had opened, and she had one tiny fist curled around a lock of Faramir's hair, and was tugging at it.
A short laugh came from the doorway.
Faramir turned as he gently tried to untangle his daughter's fingers from his hair, his face tight. "You were not invited to come in, Aragorn," he said, his voice accusatory, but his manner friendly.
"Well, I offer my most humble apologies. May I come in?"
Finally freeing the last bits of his hair, Faramir rolled his eyes. "You do not need to ask, Sire, for you are already here. But, yes, you can come and meet my children."
Éowyn began to stir. "What did you say, 'Mir?" she asked, blinking her eyes open. She was slightly surprised to see the King there. "Aragorn," she smiled. "I did not know you were here."
"Forgive me for intruding, lady," Aragorn dipped his head. "But I wished to see if Faramir's reaction was akin to mine when Eldarion was born."
"And was it?" Éowyn asked, her eyes glimmering with amusement.
Aragorn laughed softly. "Yes, and two times over. I never thought a man could go from perfectly agitated to perfectly overjoyed so quickly."
Éowyn smiled. "Was it so bad out there?" she asked, "You would think that the men were the ones doing the work, the way they behave," she snorted, then turned to Faramir. "Have you decided on a name for her, love?"
Faramir sighed. His wife was persistant if nothing else. He glanced at her, then at Aragorn.
"With your permission, Sire," he dipped his head, "I would like to name her Arawyn."
Aragorn looked surprised. Then he smiled. "You have my permission, Faramir. My full permission."
Faramir then turned to Éowyn. "Do you like that name?" he asked.
Éowyn nodded, smiling. "Yes, my love," she whispered as Faramir handed Arawyn to her. "It is a beautiful name."
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To Be Continued...
A/N: The events mentioned in this chapter took place in A Tale of Two Rangers.
Faramir's shoulder wound is from the Southron dart with which he was wounded on the Pelennor in The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien.
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My thanks to all who read this, I hope you enjoy this story as much or even more than the last one!
Novaer, mellyn-nin,
-Lúthien