Fealty With Love

The Pelennor, the last day of April, 3019 T.A.

On the night before his coronation, in his pavilion upon the Pelennor, the man who would soon be King met the man who was to be his Steward. They had met only three times thus far, he and Faramir – once that first strange meeting in the dark valley and the sickroom; once in the Houses of Healing, when the Lord of Gondor had sworn his fealty to his King; and now this – a meeting both formal and familiar, a quiet, shrewd testing of the other's wit and wisdom. If Aragorn judged rightly, he believed the Steward content with all he found.

And yet plainly the other still had something he wanted to say, but had not yet found the means. Which of the many men he had been would he trust? Strider was too forthright, surely; Estel too private; Elessar too remote. No, he thought – he must only ever be Aragorn here.

The Steward rose from his chair, and stretched. There was a change about him, Aragorn thought; not simply that his body was returned to health, but that his spirit too was mended. What healing had come in these last weeks? It was as if some deep well of joy had been found within that might suddenly spring forth.

Faramir prowled the little space, coming to a halt by the flap of the tent. He twitched it open to look out, and then let it fall back into place. "I have asked the Lady Éowyn for her hand," he said, "and she has agreed."

Yes, he thought; yes, that would explain the difference… Good… Very good…

"Sire?"

"I am glad to hear this," he said, warmly. "Very glad."

Faramir nodded, slowly; he had more to say. Aragorn waited. It was for the other man to speak first. He knew – knew well, and regretted too – that he had made mistakes here. No errand in the South, he had said. He had been badly wrong.

"I know why she rode south," said the Steward, as if catching the thought. "I know too why, as we stood together on the walls of the Houses of Healing, her eyes often strayed eastwards." He contemplated his King. "As a great captain may seem to a young soldier, I said to her of you." He shrugged. "That is how it stands."

Cautiously, he considered this. They would be closest to him and his wife-to-be, over the coming years – years in which two kingdoms were to be restored. They would need them on their side. And yet still he worried. "You have known each other… How long? Six weeks?"

"Five."

Five weeks... To be young again, he thought… "Long enough to know each other?"

The Steward turned to look out into the night. He seemed to be waiting for someone, or something. "To watch one's lord and father sink ever further into despair? To be unable to stop the rot? To offer whatever aid lay within one's power, knowing it would be no use? And, more, to bend oneself, daily, year after year, to a duty so counter to one's self that in the end one longs only for extinction? Yes, sire – I believe we know each other very well."

And thus gently he was rebuked. Halbarad himself could not have done it so efficiently, although he would perhaps have been more blunt. I will like having this man at my side, he thought. He said: "You will live in Ithilien, of course?"

Suddenly, that fountain of happiness overflowed. The young man smiled – vividly, joyfully – as if some vision of the future had been summoned to his mind. "Yes," he said. "Ithilien will be our home."

Aragorn came to stand next to him. He felt, as he would for some time when he was near this man, that mingled sense of regret and relief – regret for the ones he had been too late to save; relief that he had come in time for this one. He placed his hand upon his shoulder – a gesture both formal and fatherly, one not of possession, but protection. "Need I say you have my blessing?"

"That is good to hear." Faramir looked at him, gravely. "We offer you all we are, sire, Éowyn and I. Use us kindly."

From beyond the tent came voices. "In here?""

"Ah!" said Faramir softly. "Here she comes. And with her brother…"

"You have not met him?"

"Not yet."

Again that hand upon the shoulder – the lightest, most confident of touches. "All will be well."

Altariel, 31st August 2018