Unforsaken
Minas Tirith, 20 F.A.
It never ceased to amaze Aragorn that his Steward – one of the most learned and cultured men of his acquaintance, fluent in four languages and with a working knowledge of several more – had hardly ever crossed the borders of his country. Occasional visits to Rohan, of course, yes, and that memorable journey to the Morgul Vale that they had made together, but otherwise, Gondor had contained him his entire life.
"Would you have liked to travel?" Aragorn asked.
Faramir was sitting at his desk, sifting patiently through papers. "There was never the chance." He looked wistful. "I would have liked to have seen Rivendell."
"Let's go north one day," Aragorn said. "Let me show you Annúminas, in summer—"
"One day," Faramir said. "Although if the King is not in the City, the Steward should be."
"Nobody is indispensable."
"I am. Or so you have told me on numerous occasions. Was that not true?"
The papers moved from one side of the desk to the another. Aragorn tried again. "Why not come with me as far as Tharbad?"
"Tharbad?"
Faramir's hand hovered over the parchment he was reading. He was tempted, Aragorn could see; Boromir had passed that way on his quest. Would that be enough to pull him away from this desk?
"It's a long way," said Faramir.
"The road is in the best shape it has ever been. You'll be back before you know it."
Some more papers arrived. The Steward put down his pen and flexed his hand. "Very well."
Tharbad, 20 F.A.
At Tharbad, they saw first-hand the fruits of their labours. Many of the buildings were now made of stone. Boats went up and down the river; travellers up and down the road. They walked quietly round the settlement; two Rangers, passing through. Everywhere banners fluttered in the breeze: white horse; silver tree. The confluence of kingdoms and alliances.
They walked across the new wood bridge, stopping to look up the Greyflood at the old stone ruins that spanned the water like vast and ancient stepping stones. Swans flapped overhead. The docks were busy. They came to the northern bank and stood with old Gondor behind them, new Arnor rising ahead. Faramir, sighing, turned his face south. Aragorn guessed where his thoughts strayed: home, children, wife, work.
"I'll set out in the morning," the Steward said. "Go back through Edoras."
Before they left, Éowyn had drawn her liege-lord aside. Take your time, she said. Please.
"Why not come a little further?" Aragorn said. "Gondor can spare you, surely? It barely misses me when I'm away."
"I should be in the City…"
"Everything is in hand," Aragorn said. "Our wives are excellent women."
The Steward, laughing, surrendered. "Where to?"
Aragorn looked north. "Home."
Rivendell, 20 F.A.
The world outside was turning towards summer, but here leaves drifted, dust swirled, and distant voices echoed in halls that had once been full of light and song and laughter. Aragorn found Faramir standing in the library, holding a closed book between both hands.
"This is as far as Boromir went," he said. "But we will not go back by the road he took. We cannot."
No, thought Aragorn; there was no return that way, not to Lórien or beyond. "Come a little further with me," he urged.
Faramir shook his head. "No, no, I've been gone too long already—"
"Not far," he coaxed. "I have unfinished business, west of here, along the Road. I need…" He grasped for something that would bring this man with him. "I need a witness."
"A witness?" Faramir looked at him doubtfully. "Whatever for?"
"I have… an outstanding debt to settle. A promise to keep. A matter of honour."
The Steward closed his eyes. "How far?"
The East Road, 20 F.A.
The inn stood some way west of Rivendell, nestling at the side of the Road. Aragorn, opening the door, smelled fresh paint and cut grass and beer and pipeweed. Smiling, he led Faramir over to the counter. The lad there gave the two Rangers a warm welcome.
"Good to see you open again," said Strider.
The lad gasped. "You remember the old place?"
"Aye."
The lad gave a fond, faint smile. "Granddad would be pleased. He talked about the Rangers coming through."
"Aye, there was always a drop or two more," said Strider. "You know, the last time I came this way was not long after the place closed. Found a cask behind the counter. Swore I'd come back and pay for what we'd taken." He turned to Faramir, who passed him a bag of coins, which he placed in turn on the counter.
"Ah," said the lad, "there's no need for that!"
"Yes, there is," said Elessar. He nodded at his Steward, and pointed at a table over by the window. Faramir went and sat down. His expression lay somewhere on the border between exasperation and fury. "Was that it?"
"What?"
"Your unfinished business?"
"Yes."
The beer arrived. Aragorn gave it a loving smile.
"Sire," said the Steward, "have you dragged me across two kingdoms to watch you buy beer?"
"What better use is there for the money? And, no, I didn't drag you across two kingdoms to watch me buy beer. I dragged you across two kingdoms to see me pay for beer I took years ago. This," he tapped his mug, "is our reward." He pushed Faramir's mug towards him. "Drink up."
They drank. After a while, Faramir said, "Can I go home now?"
The King of the West lit his pipe and stretched back in his chair. "Give up, after you have come so far? Your wife would never forgive me. No." He raised his mug. "On to Annúminas!"
Altariel, 5th April 2019