Numerous big fires illuminated far-stretching meadows bordering with woods. Loud cheers of pure joy flew far into to dark night, reaching where the light of the feast-fires couldn't. This time, it was fire of the victory, not of the destruction. Sauron had been defeated and numerous races of Middle-earth embraced with fierce expectations the freedom.
Aragorn smiled to himself while watching his small hobbit-friends on the other side of the large fire.
After long days of terror, heavy fear on their faces had been replaced by a new hope. Pippin and Merry entertained the other participators of the feast with merry tales, drawing all interest.
Aragorn was thankful for that, relishing the offered small piece of privacy.
With slow, small paces, he moved without notice away into the shadows. The threatening darkness of the near wood swallowed him.
As he walked away the light of the fire was diminishing until it only occasionally flickered between the tall trunks. Here and there Aragorn could recognise sung, or rather shouted words of merry songs. With each step all this was fading away.
The air was brisk. Aragorn inhaled deeply the mixed scent of leaves and wet soil. Silently he carefuly chose his way on the slippery ground.
Between the tops of the trees he could catch a glimpse of the skies. The two-days lasting rain finally stopped and the clouds were wandering, making space for flickering stars.
Large raindrops glistened in their silver rays as if the trees cried pearls.
A soft fresh wind was playing with Aragorn's hair, singing with the trees its strange melody. He could see several small animals eyeing him from the night. Wandering in the inviting darkness, he relished the blessing silence.
The thick wood started to thin and trees reluctantly stepped aside.
Walking under the cover of the last trees, Aragorn spotted a hidden tiny meadow within a wood enfolded in the darkness.
A fallen trunk laid across it.
Something moved. Aragorn looked keenly upon the fallen tree and reconised a lonely figure leaning on it.
It was a man turned with his side to Aragorn, shoulder-long locks were falling along the cheeks hiding stranger's face.
The clouds swam away, the shadows lifted and suddenly the whole meadow glimmered in the silvery rays of moon. Aragorn recognised the man as Faramir.
The Steward was half sitting on the trunk, bent a little. The locks of blonde hair were hiding the clear-cut features of the handsome face.
Aragorn made a step forward and entered the meadow. A stick under his boot cracked. Faramir's hand shot to the hilt of the sword as he stood up abruptly. When he recognised the intruder he sat back wearily.
"My king..." It wasn't welcoming, nor avoiding. The shoulders sank back again.
The young man of Gondor suddenly looked weary and old.
His eyes looking somewhere into the darkness of the wood, he resembled so much his fallen brother Boromir and yet was so different...
Aragorn sat down at the trunk, with his back to Faramir, gazing into the darkness just like the man at his side. Neither of them spoke.
The silence was stretching, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
Aragorn felt something was burdening the young man heavily, so he sat back, patiently listening to the silence.
The damp air was slowly creeping into his clothes touching his skin.
He couldn't move, he didn't want to move. If he did, the silent bond of agreement could disappear.
The stars shone unusually bright, the night would be cold.
"It's difficult...."
Aragorn nearly missed the flustered words, he turned head to Faramir, but there was nothing more coming. The steward fell silent again. Aragorn heard the man's silent breathing. An owl somewhere deep in the night revealed its existence, a star fell.
"I'd never believe it hurts so much to lose those you hate....and love. I am nothing but a shell. Too much was lost. There is nothing left for anyone to take."
The words hung between them frozen in the cold air together with the silence. Aragorn was relieved he couldn't see Faramir's face. The words weren't self-pity, the Steward meant every syllable. Aragorn slowly turned. Faramir sat still, gazing into the night. Elessar wanted to say something wise, to bring comfort, yet his throat was dry. He opened mouth...
"Here you are!!!"
The ranger turned shocked to the source of unexpected disturbance- a hobbit.
Pippin stood under a large tree, gazing straight at Aragorn. Hobbit's eyes were big with concern. Aragorn felt his heart quicken in anger, but looking at his small merry friend, it was impossible to feel it.
"I am glad I've found you, we were afraid something might have happened..." The hobbit stopped when he finally spotted Faramir and realised for the first time he might have interrupted something.
"Oh, lord Faramir, I didn't notice you at first," Pippin looked closer ,"is everything alright with you?"
Faramir smiled a small, nearly genuine smile. "Of course, Pippin. Let's get back to the others."
Without a word the Steward stood up, passed by Aragorn and disappeared into the darkness in the direction of the numerous fires.
Aragorn gazed at his back. He had a feeling, in the fleeting moment of shared understanding, he had been offered to see something what only rarely could be seen. Pain of a king. There was much more of it and if not for Pippin's disturbance he would have been allowed to see.
Aragorn looked at the Hobbit standing at his side. No, he couldn't be angry. It would be in vain. The fleeting moment had passed. Slipped between his fingers, the words stayed unspoken, no comfort was given.
***