Visions of a faint orange light in the white tower had been plaguing Aragorn since telling Faramir of the scenes in the palantír. How had he forgotten Faramir's darkest memories of watching his own father fall to Sauron from peering into that stone? The tidal wave of Faramir's nausea and terror had nearly knocked Aragorn off of his feet. He had spent so much time lingering upon Éowyn's pain that he had not focused enough on the shadows in Faramir's memories.
Aragorn remembered Denethor in his youth, a proud man of strong will. He remembered the suspicion Denethor paid him in his disguise as Thorongil. Denethor was a man of incredible insight, but even then, Aragorn knew that Denethor walked along the edge of greatness and madness. He was a Steward for a time of war. A Steward capable of fighting back against the pressing shadow. And under Denethor, Gondor stood firm against it.
In spite of Éowyn's assurance, Aragorn lingered near the Steward's house, trying to figure out how to undo the hurt his words had brought. Trying to find the proper assurances to the young Steward that the terror of that faint orange light in the window would haunt him no longer. Aragorn held in his own emotions, because Éowyn was right. He needed to trust in her healing. He had underestimated her long enough. As if in response to his doubt, Aragorn was flooded with the sensation of Éowyn's love and care, mingling with Faramir's terror.
The deafening crack of wood on stone turned Aragorn's feet and he found himself running toward the Steward's house followed rapidly by Éomer.
"Oi!" Aragorn had called, to see a grinning Éowyn and a dumbstruck Faramir, Denethor's old chair in a million splinters, having been launched out the window.
"Brother, I think we will need to find the Steward a new chair," Éowyn called down, "This one appears to be broken beyond repair."
Aragorn did not need to ask to understand why she had done it. He could feel why. Faramir's darkness had evaporated in those few moments, replaced with utter disbelief and love. Éowyn really did understand what Faramir needed.
"...Just a chair?" Éomer called up, looking at the mess on the ground.
"Yes. Well, for today." Éowyn called back down.
Aragorn smiled, and he knew his smile was for them, but it was also for the relief of knowing that the wounds he had inflicted could be healed by Éowyn.
"I hope he likes horsehair." Éomer called up, and both men turned back toward the guest quarters.
"I swear to the Valar Aragorn, my sister is a true horse's arse," Éomer was muttering quietly, but there was amusement in his voice, "Keeping a spoon on her nose when you call… throwing chairs out windows… people will think she was raised in a barn."
Aragorn could not control his laughter at the disbelief that radiated from Éomer over Éowyn's decisions.
"She has instincts capable of healing the most wounded in the world," Aragorn replied, "In one decisive move, she not only undid a great harm I did to the Steward, she removed an heirloom of pain from his house."
"What harm did you do?" Éomer had raised his eyebrow and was studying Aragorn carefully.
"I'd forgotten that a deep cut done to Faramir had not yet healed, and re-opened the wound," Aragorn did not want to be more specific. I spoke about a palantír when Denethor's madness nearly doomed Middle Earth and his own son.
"Well, I am going to go and write a message to send for the finest horsehair in Rohan to be sent to Gondor. If we are going to replace Faramir's chair, I want it to forever be a reminder to my sister of the love and judgment of her brother," Éomer tried to sound stern, but Aragorn could hear the laughter in his voice. To have had a sibling that he could love as much as Éomer loved the Princess of Rohan…
Aragorn and Éomer parted ways with a curt but pleasant nod. Aragorn ran down through the city and out into the field to find his tent. He would move his scant belongings shortly, first he needed to find…
"Gandalf, a word?" Aragorn nearly collided with the white wizard, who looked up puzzlingly.
"Come to collect your supplies Estel?" Gandalf's gaze was so intense Aragorn felt as if he was peering into his very soul.
"Collecting supplies, and understanding," Aragorn replied, "Please come with me to my favorite garden, for this conversation requires privacy."
Gandalf did not break his gaze. The two walked quickly and silently, until Aragorn ducked into the small garden. Its fountain was tinkling joyfully, and there were no others there. Once he was sure of privacy, Aragorn finished his thought.
"I want to know the entire circumstances of Denethor's death," Aragorn probed.
"What brings about this interest?" Gandalf continued his intense study of Aragorn's eyes.
Aragorn wondered how much he should say. Should he reveal his connection to the three he drew from the shadows? Should he reveal just how desperately he needed Faramir to consent to remain Steward? Aragorn sighed. It was no use speaking half truths to wizards. Only whole truths would do.
"When I drew Faramir, Éowyn, and Merry from the shadow… I experienced every single one of the memories that brought them to their despair. I've seen every moment in their lives that pained them, and it haunts me." Aragorn started. Gandalf was going to say something, but Aragorn continued, "In addition to this, I now feel what they feel when I am near them, and they feel what I feel. All of this at first felt a curse, but now… there is some… comfort to it."
"Do they know?" Gandalf looked at Aragorn.
"Yes, they do. Faramir found a passage in Lord Elrond's The Elven Arts of Healing," Aragorn replied, then without prompting, could feel the smile shine on his face from the Steward's bathtime confrontation, "It did not describe the emotional connection, but that was quick to understand. All of us have spoken of this together, though I do not think that our conversations about these effects have ended."
Gandalf nodded. He was waiting for Aragorn to continue. To provide context for his question about Denethor's death.
"I ask about Denethor because… of the palantír," Aragorn did not want to share Faramir's nausea and reaction to the faint light in that high window, "Faramir found I am in possession of the palantír of Orthanc. He said that Denethor's last act before becoming truly mad was to gaze into the stone of Minas Tirith."
Gandalf's gaze turned suddenly from interest to sadness.
"The story is worse than even that Aragorn," Gandalf replied, "Lord Denethor let himself be burned with that stone. The stone of Minas Tirith has absorbed the last moments of Denethor's madness, and none but the strongest wills can turn it away from the fire that its last true master died in."
Aragorn shuddered. He could feel the fire around him. He was unable to move, to cry out for help, to defend himself. His mouth was filling with ash. There was blurry commotion around him and he could hear Denethor's voice screaming, and he knew. Somewhere inside, Faramir remembered the moments he almost died. Moments so tormented that they lay in the deepest and darkest chasms of Faramir's mind, but there they were, parts of the whole that Aragorn had experienced.
"He dreams of fire…" Aragorn knew. He did not know how he knew, but he knew.
"His dreams are memories of his father's last desperate moments in Arda," Gandalf confirmed, "And I believe from your look you just saw for yourself."
"Did Denethor truly claim that his son was stolen from him?" Aragorn felt cold and clammy from the sickness of that memory.
"...Yes." Gandalf's voice, so often so stern, was soft, gentle.
"Someone needs to tell him everything," Aragorn was firm, "Even this."
Gandalf nodded, "Keeping the truth from Faramir was never intended to be permanent. It was to save him in those moments when he was so close to succumbing to the shadow. We can tell him now."
"I want to tell him," Aragorn knew it must be him, but also wanted it to be, "I saw what he will see. I will feel what he feels."
"The memories you have of those moments are ones you have taken without leave," Gandalf replied, "Let Faramir decide who should tell him of those last moments."
Aragorn knew better than to disagree, but he was certain it should be him. Imrahil's party was looking to be harrowing. But something this heavy could not linger. Aragorn thought of the Minas Tirith palantír. And he knew what he must do.
"Please come with me to Rath Dínen," Aragorn pleaded, "I need to see for myself."
Gandalf nodded, and the two marched up, up, up, to the highest level of the city. Guards moved out of their way, some whispered when they thought he was not looking. The Steward's permission for the King to go as he pleased cleared his path to the tombs. Aragorn and Gandalf entered together, and Aragorn saw the gruesome sight of Denethor's demise himself. Inside the charred flesh sat the palantír he sought.
I must, Aragorn thought, and willed his hands forward. The palantír responded to his touch, swirling with faint orange light. Suddenly Aragorn was pulled away from the present and into the past. He looked out and saw trembling hands on either side of the stone. Blurs of white and black were just out of sight - Gandalf, Faramir, Pippin and Beregond? He tried to move the stone elsewhere, but it fought him. He could hear the voice of Denethor cackling in his mind and could feel the fire consume his flesh. He forced his mind out of the stone, falling backward from the effort.
"The stone is ruined," Aragorn tried to recover from his trembling, and could feel the cold sweat trickling down his brow, "It should be buried with Denethor, per Faramir's wish."
"Are you sure?" Gandalf asked
"It tried to trap me in that place. Denethor could not claim his son so he claimed the stone and any unwary enough to toy with it," Aragorn replied, he was firm. The madness of Denethor still swirling in his mind. Gandalf nodded, and both looked down at the stone, mourning the madness that had overtaken it.
This is what Faramir fears he will become, Aragorn thought grimly.
That was it. Faramir's hesitance to become Steward was in that stone. It was the curse of Denethor. It was the fear that he would slowly decay like his father had. Like his own brother had started to. Aragorn's job was to convince him that he would not be tainted by the office like his kin. That he would never have to carry the responsibility his forebears bore, and Aragorn would never let that type of hurt come to him. Aragorn could feel his love and protectiveness for the young Steward grow, for their connection had planted deep roots inside him.
Aragorn said his goodbye to the wizard, who headed into the city in search of Frodo. Aragorn walked briskly back down to finish clearing his tent. The will of Denethor's madness was intermingling with Faramir's pain, and Aragorn felt nauseous. He wanted to seek out the Steward, to talk with him. To ask if he'd put together that the fire dreams were memories. But instead he walked up and down the city blocks, bringing item by item into the guest apartment provided to him. Both Merry and Pippin were in the House of Healing with Frodo. Aragorn thought to join them, but his encounter with the palantír had paused those plans.
Step by step, pace by pace, item by item, Aragorn's mind cleared of the worst of Denethor's madness. Before he knew it, the light in the sky was waning. When he arrived back in his apartment, he looked around. This was it, the Ranger had come inside the walls. Aragorn looked around, then began using his feet to find a weak floorboard. Once he located one, he pried it up and placed the palantír inside. He wanted to keep it out of sight, and decided he would not use it again. Not until he could ask Elrond about the palantíri lore, to make sure that there would be no corrupting force capable of turning the Orthanc stone. That Denethor was able to drive the Minas Tirith stone to madness worried him.
Aragorn looked to his small pack of clothing, and chose something plain. He would go to the House of Healing to see Frodo, then he and the Hobbits could head to Imrahil's for the party. He had yet to meet Imrahil's children, who he was assured had inherited their father's good cheer. He looked forward to the small celebration, not hiding that he was to be King, but not feeling pressed by the expectations either. Small councils and good company were the right way to start his ascent, and he would hold onto his friends as his pedestal was raised ever higher. Aragorn sheathed his dagger under his tunic, turned to look at Anduril and Arwen's banner, then left to head down to the sixth level. The night was crisp, and smelled of new life, a New Dawn springing to life in blossoms. Beautiful, uplifting.
When Aragorn ducked into the House of Healing, the healers greeted him. His healing touch was less needed now, as the most dire cases had either found their way to healing or death. Aragorn headed into the back, and heard what he hoped to hear, boisterous laughter and chatter. The deep voice told him Gandalf was still amongst the Hobbits. At the alien happiness that overcame him, he knew that Merry was amongst them as well.
"Mind if I join this merry bunch?" Aragorn peaked his head into the room.
"Strider!" the voice was Sam's, who jumped off the bed that contained the quietest of the Hobbits, "Please yes, come in!"
"How are you Frodo," Aragorn looked at the small and thoughtful hero, eyes bright and yet somehow sad.
"Feeling much improved, thank you Strider," Frodo smiled, he was holding a mug of some liquid.
"What is in the cup?" Aragorn asked and immediately felt Merry's delight in his gut.
"Hot chocolate! Éowyn brought it over this afternoon!" Pippin interrupted, a grin across his entire face.
Aragorn smiled, thoughtful. Merry studied Aragorn as he smiled, and his smile became grander. Merry then grabbed an empty cup and poured some of the liquid into it, handing it to Aragorn. He looked at Gandalf, who just shrugged.
"Strider, please stop feeling so skeptical about the hot chocolate," Merry looked (and felt) incensed, "And drink up."
Gandalf and Pippin both let out a laugh, and Aragorn understood that Merry must have told Pippin about their emotional connection. Aragorn liked being around Merry, he had a lightness to him that lifted Aragorn's dark thoughts. Faramir's misery and Denethor's madness were evaporating away, and the presence of the Hobbits was accelerating the process. Aragorn raised the cup the insistent Hobbit had handed to him, and he drank. The shock of its pleasant bitterness and smooth sweetness enveloped him, and he felt his insides warm. The chocolate had a depth to it, and filled him with comfort. Merry grinned as Aragorn took a second sip.
"You do not need to say anything, for I can feel your delight," Merry said, "I just wish I could taste your drink!"
"It sounds like an ample supply of hot chocolate will need to become a part of my reign," Aragorn laughed.
"We've requested it from Prince Imrahil for his party, and he has consented!" Pippin exclaimed.
"That is good. Are you all going to come to the party?" Aragorn asked all in the room, but focused his gaze and hope on Gandalf and Frodo. He could feel his happiness when all nodded, and saw Merry wink at him. He knew Gimli and Legolas had also planned on attending, and it warmed him that nearly all of his friends - old and new - would be in the same place.
If only Arwen were also here, he thought sadly, drawing a look of concern from Merry. He could feel Merry probing his sadness. He would explain later.
Aragorn passed the rest of the afternoon comfortably amongst the Hobbits and Gandalf, each talking about the lands in the north that they now missed. The Hobbits wanted to see the Shire again, but something about Frodo's demeanor unsettled Aragorn, as if some part of him had faded away from Middle Earth. His discontent was shared by Merry and Gandalf. The ring had taken its toll on the little Hobbit, and yet, there he was, smiling and laughing amongst his friends and kin. It was a marvel that the burden of that evil thing had not sapped away those smiles, that laughter, and the hints of twinkle that came to his face at jokes made by Merry and Pippin. Sam and Frodo had become inseparable, and Aragorn could swear that Sam also was just the slightest bit faded himself. He was grateful that the brave little Hobbits had found their way to Faramir, and hoped that the gentle Ithilien Ranger had eased their journey.
"Look at the time!" it was Pippin, "Isn't it about time to make our way to Imrahil's?"
Pippin looked hopefully at Frodo, who had smiled brightly, "Please friends, a Hobbit could use a bit of privacy to change into appropriate attire and have a bath!"
"Oh my, we will go. Merry, Pippin, might I haunt your doorstep? Rumor has it one of you still has some Longbottom leaf," Gandalf darted up, and with a nod from the Hobbits, they took their leave.
"I am truly grateful to see you in such good health Frodo," Aragorn smiled into the wrinkles around his eyes.
"Thanks Strider, I will see you at the party." Frodo replied, "Sam and I will walk down together soon."
"I have a few patients I would like to check on," Aragorn replied, "So I will join your walk."
Aragorn would not say that he would never leave those two brave Hobbits walking through the city unguarded, but the insinuation was there.
"That is very kind," Frodo understood, "We will call upon you shortly then."
Aragorn nodded. Frodo had a smile upon his face, but in the waning light, Aragorn could see the shadows in the little Hobbit's face. And he knew that the faded presence of Frodo was but a ripple on a deeper pool of despair. Aragorn did not know how to help Frodo. Yet another thing I must confide to Arwen.
Aragorn left the Hobbits to their privacy, then went to the healers' station to grab athelas and head to some of the soldiers still suffering from fitful sleep. He had found that he could calm their nightmares simply by crushing a small bowl of athelas next to their beds, and stroking their brows. Aragorn's rounds did not take him long, and it brought him comfort to watch calm come onto the Gondorian and Rohirric soldiers' faces in response to his healing touch. As if on cue, two small figures appeared from the east corridor. Sam and Frodo looked elegant in clothes created specifically for them.
"We are ready Strider, lead the way!" Sam spoke, but Aragorn saw that Frodo looked apprehensive.
"Prince Imrahil has invited only a small group my brave Hobbits, and you needs just let me know and I will whisk you away back either to the House, or to the apartment the Steward has outfitted for you," Aragorn replied.
"Steward… Faramir?" Frodo asked.
"Yes," Aragorn smiled, catching the shy smile on the Hobbits' face, "He spoke highly of you. By his leave you are free to wander the city. When I am coronated, you will live by the same decree."
"I cannot wait to see Faramir again!" Sam exclaimed, and Frodo nodded. The high esteem of the Hobbits only acted to increase Aragorn's desperation to get Faramir to continue on as his Steward.
"I am sure he feels the same Sam. You've both met his fiancée Éowyn?" Aragorn asked as they headed up to the seventh level.
"Why yes, she is as lovely as an elf," Sam replied, "Merry told us all about her bravery. She was my healer yesterday and today as well, bringing us hot chocolate and checking on the last remnants of my burns."
"Despite her sorrow, she shines with her own light," Frodo added, "It was almost as if her sorrow kindled that light inside her."
Aragorn nearly stopped. He did not know anyone who could think of sorrow like that, yet it fit, almost too well. Éowyn's fire lit from a lifetime of despair. Faramir's gentleness was cultivated in a city of stone, the hardest of which was his own father's heart. The sturdiest trees often grew in the harshest climes. With those last thoughts, the three were at Imrahil's door. Sounds of laughter were heard inside, and Aragorn swelled knowing that the people on the other side of that door were those who would see him as the man, so he could be himself free of the expectations of his station.
Aragorn knocked, and the door opened quickly.
"You've made it!" Imrahil's voice was tremulous, "And to you, Sam and Frodo, it is wonderful to meet you. You are our most honored guests, but per very specific instructions of Merry and Pippin, we shall treat you as your brethren treat you."
Sam laughed at this, "I fear this may mean we will be the subject of pranks Mr. Frodo."
"Then let us arrive and see what they have in store," Frodo let out his own chuckle, and the two Hobbits rushed in.
"I'm afraid I have business for you Aragorn," Imrahil lowered his voice, "The Steward and the Princess of Rohan await you in my solar. Take this hallway and turn left."
Aragorn followed the instructions, hurrying his footsteps. He thought, hoped, that the conversation that was about to happen was Faramir's acceptance of the Stewardship. Aragorn had already decided what else he would do to pay back the House of Húrin for their faithful Stewardship that had saved Gondor, but he wanted to hear Faramir accept first. He would assure the young man that he had faith that Faramir would never become his father. And here was the moment. He looked less forward to telling Faramir the nature of his memories of fire.
Éowyn and Faramir were sitting speaking quietly to one another, but when he walked in, both looked at him. He could feel both the intensity of their gaze, and their steely resolve in his gut. Whatever the conversation was, it was clear that they were united in it. Aragorn shut the door, then strode over to sit in the chair with the Steward and the princess. The closer he got, the icier his gut became. Was Faramir about to say no?
"I can feel your worry Aragorn," Faramir started, the intensity of his gaze undiminished, "But this conversation, while serious, is optimistic."
Aragorn could feel the faint smile come to his face. He would dive in and assure the young man.
"Faramir, I just want you to know, I have all faith that you will never become your father," Aragorn started, stumbling over his own words, "I promise. I knew Denethor when he was about your age, and the two of you are night and day."
"I know Aragorn," Faramir interjected, "I witnessed his and my brother's mistakes, and will not repeat them."
Aragorn nodded. Something told him that the conversation he thought he was to have had taken a very different turn. He could feel Éowyn's light - her love, focused on Faramir too. She was willing him forward in his pain.
"I would like the palantír of Minas Tirith buried with my father," Faramir continued, stern, "And I will accept Stewardship, but you need to know the why, or at least, the part of it. I watched my father fade because of his use of that cursed stone. I watched the madness grow in his mind. I could feel his desperation. I experienced firsthand the consequences, but it also means that it is something I will never forget... Éowyn, Merry and I have also been blessed and cursed with a gift. I do not know if our intermingled emotions will continue forever, but I believe that if your own use of such a stone starts driving you toward madness, there are few who will notice before it is too late, and fewer still with the power to stop you," Faramir's voice was stone, "As your Steward, I will forever be close enough to you to stop you, and ultimately, to save you, and our people."
Aragorn's speech was stopped, so profound the shock of the confrontation. He wanted to interrupt, to explain that the stone Denethor used was a close kin to the one Sauron commanded, and that Sauron bent that stone toward coercing Denethor into taking the ring of power. But he remembered the woozy feeling he had that afternoon when the echo of Denethor's madness still imbued that stone had tried to trap his mind. Aragorn could feel tears rising in his eyes thinking about the thoughtful young man.
"The stone will be buried with your father, and by my command the tomb will never be opened," Aragorn's voice wavered, but he drew strength from Éowyn and Faramir's strength, "I accept your offer to remain Steward. I…"
Aragorn truly had lost the ability to speak. Faramir would sacrifice himself and his happiness because he believed his duty was to protect the realm, and accepted a Stewardship because he understood that he needed to stand up to a King should that King give in to madness, as his father had. Faramir set himself up to relive the very tragedy that nearly drove him into the shadow for his realm, and for his King. Aragorn could also feel Éowyn's iron will - sending love into Faramir and defiance toward Aragorn. She will forever dare me to challenge her, Aragorn realized, and I find myself revering her the more for knowing this truth.
"Your fire dreams Faramir…" it was Aragorn's turn for revelations and healing, "They are memories."
Aragorn's gut dropped in congress with Faramir's, and Éowyn pulled Faramir closer. Aragorn could feel her anger toward him, but also comfort for her beloved.
"How do you know?" Éowyn asked, eyes narrowed, hand stroking Faramir's neck.
"I went with Mithrandir this afternoon to Rath Dínen, and looked into Denethor's stone. It is an experience none will ever have again… and I saw… and felt… fire. And I could not move. There were voices around me," Aragorn was saying it softly, but as he spoke, he could feel the dream welling up inside of him, and knew Faramir was seeing the same vision. Suddenly he felt an overwhelming calm come over him, and realized that Éowyn had willed herself into his mind. Protecting him from the dark visions that he was sharing with Faramir.
"I know," Faramir held more tightly to Éowyn, "I think I always knew."
Aragorn's gut was ice, and he could feel the young Steward tremble.
"I- I'm sorry Faramir," Aragorn's words stumbled out, "I do not want you to choose to be Steward because you feel you need to stand as the final firewall to your King's descent into madness, and … I do not know how to assure you that my path with the palantír is not the same as Denethor's."
"You're right, you can't say that," the calm of Éowyn had broken, and was replaced with anger, "You can see all that has pained us Aragorn. And you expect our trust as you use the very vessel that disintegrated the formidable will of Denethor."
Aragorn had no answer. He was asking for the trust of two and offering little assurance. Éowyn even had reason to mistrust him. It was heartbreaking. Faramir's despair was nauseating, but Éowyn's defiance counterbalanced it.
"What.. can I do?" Aragorn asked.
Éowyn paused, surprised at his question, but then he felt her contemplation. She looked into the distance for a moment, then made eye contact. Aragorn swore he could see the light and the fire behind her eyes.
"Do you need to use such a stone in private?" Éowyn asked.
Yes, was what he wanted to answer, but was that true? Most assuredly not. He was speaking to two whom he had inadvertently violated the minds of, and was about to ask for privacy because he wanted to gaze upon his beloved Arwen alone. Éowyn seemed to read all that was going through his mind, and he noticed that Faramir's gaze was upon him too. Éowyn's love had pulled Faramir away from his fire visions.
"I suppose not," Aragorn admitted.
"Then, unless it is the most dire of emergencies, another should be in your presence as you use the stone," Éowyn's words were resolute, "One you trust, and one who will be able to decipher even the very first signs of your madness."
Aragorn realized Éowyn was not suggesting it always be Faramir. She was suggesting it could be Arwen too, or it could be her. Aragorn looked at her, and saw that Faramir shared her resolve.
"I watched my own father go mad over that stone," Faramir now spoke, "It took a long time. And though I know you as my King, I have known you but a month. You may be the blood of Elendil, but even the strongest of wills can be bent over time and with patience."
Faramir was right. And so was Éowyn.
"If there were no stone, would you still want to be Steward?" Aragorn asked, and hoped to hear Faramir's honesty.
"If this is the way I can best serve my people, yes," Faramir answered.
In that moment, Aragorn felt Éowyn's hope, and he realized she was his ally. A furtive looked passed between them.
"I will not lie, there is little I want more than to have you - both of you - by my side as my advisors," Aragorn spilled his heart, "Save for the arrival of my beloved Arwen."
"Would you consider the appointment of Éowyn as ambassador of Rohan?" Faramir asked, and Aragorn felt Éowyn's gut lurch, but then he could feel their joint hope.
They truly have been speaking of all of this, Aragorn realized. Éowyn. Princess of Rohan, Princess of Ithilien, Ambassador to Rohan.
"I could see none better, honestly," Aragorn answered, "It is yours should you want it… ...ambassadors?"
"An idea of Imrahil's," Faramir let the shyest of smiles come on his face, "Permanent envoys, with the power to speak for their Kings. Imrahil asked to be ambassador to Rohan, and there is no other so qualified as Éowyn for the role in Gondor."
Éowyn flushed, and Aragorn wanted to laugh. How foolish he had been to ever underestimate her, and now here she was, underestimating herself.
"If Éomer agrees, so do I. But still you have not given me an answer from your heart Faramir," Aragorn pleaded, "I would not trap you in a role that you did not want."
There it was, the fear. The panic. It was Faramir's. Aragorn did not want to say it yet, for fear that Faramir's apprehension was not just based on being walled inside the white city.
Faramir sighed, "I have told you that I will be Steward, because I see it as essential, for you, for me, for our realm. But that does not remove my desire to return to Ithilien."
"Is that your only concern?" Aragorn knew that the rising hope in his gut was exposing him. Both Éowyn and Faramir were studying him, knowing that there was motive to the question.
"Not my only…" Faramir answered carefully.
"I can assure you of two things Faramir," Aragorn answered, "The first is that I will forever call you my friend, and consider our connection more blessing than curse. Never will I let you fall as your father did."
"Neither will I," Éowyn interrupted, and pulled Faramir closer. Aragorn filled with their love.
"The second is…" Aragorn breathed in, gathering in his delight to say the next words, "Is that I feel I owe you and your family more than you can imagine for staying strong against the shadow even as Arnor fell. The House of Húrin deserves to return to their ancestral lands in Emyn Arnen, and they deserve the proper title with it. So Steward or no, my new Prince of Ithilien will return to those fair lands to tame them."
Aragorn felt a surge of surprise and joy. Faramir understood what he was saying. But Aragorn realized that the joy was not only Faramir's, but was shared amongst the three of them. It was pure and it was high. Aragorn wanted to close his eyes and linger in that moment.
"Prince of Ithilien," Faramir's eyes had started twinkling, "Min elskede, it appears that my title now matches yours."
Éowyn laughed and pulled Faramir in for a hug. Their joy overflowed, as did their love, and Aragorn bathed in it too. In that moment, the love between them was palpable. Faramir then stood and strode to Aragorn, then pulled him in for his own tight hug.
"Thank you," Faramir whispered, and he and Aragorn shared their tears of joy, "I would have accepted Stewardship whether you granted my request for Ithilien or no."
"And I would have made you prince whether you accepted my request that you remained Steward or no," Aragorn replied, and their tears streamed freely. A look over at Éowyn showed that their emotions had also caught her. "Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor, and Princess of Rohan and Ambassador of Rohan, thank you."
"Before we let these emotions overcome us, do not forget our deal," Éowyn had swallowed their joy, and came over to place her hand in Faramir's, "To build and keep trust Aragorn, your palantír."
Aragorn looked at the sternness and steadiness in Éowyn's eyes, and felt her protectiveness. Trust. He did not have theirs yet, and yet they had his. She had forgiven, but she was not ready to fall into the moment. He smiled. He would earn their trust, and perhaps the routine of gazing in a palantír only with a companion would protect him from the stone's power, even as he was sure he would always have the will to control it.
"Never will I use it out of your, Faramir, or Arwen's presence," Aragorn took Éowyn's hand, to seal the promise, "Until the day comes that all three of you agree that it is unneeded. And if that day should never come, so will I always keep one in my presence as I use it."
Faramir and Éowyn shared a look, and nodded. He could feel their relief, and he could feel the trust in him building the slightest bit in that moment.
"One more thing," Éowyn smiled at him now, and he could feel amusement and happiness return to her, "When you return my uncle to Rohan to be buried with his forebears, that is when Faramir and I will be married."
Aragorn nearly laughed at the resoluteness of her voice at such a small request. But he could feel both of their hope and fear, and he understood to them, nothing about their request was in jest. If any two on Middle Earth deserve their happiness and each other, it is these two. He knew the dark dreams that woke them in the night. Each day they delayed their wedding was a day that the nightmares that robbed their sleep chipped away at them. A wedding gave them the ability to heal and protect one another when the nightmares attacked their minds. He would not delay them even a second more than he had to. Rohan, Aragorn thought, the land giving away it's fairest jewel, and… its bravest warrior.
"Yes," Aragorn said, "I would not delay your bliss, nor your healing."
"This leaves only my need to speak to my brother," Éowyn whispered to them both, "Please don't yet say anything. Éomer would not be pleased to find that a conspiracy was hatched under his nose."
"Would he expect anything less from you min elskede?" the light Faramir sometimes shone was coming back as he looked upon Éowyn. Aragorn could feel Faramir's love swell.
"My lips are sealed until you've given me a sign they need not be," Aragorn said, "Though tonight seems a perfect time to celebrate the new Prince of Ithilien and continuing Steward of Gondor."
Aragorn's chest had filled with their combined joy. The outcome was more than he could have hoped for, even as he was so surprised by their concern about his use of the palantír. He watched his own father crumble because of that stone, Aragorn thought, and their concern is valid. He had been grateful Gandalf had been there with him when he tried to look into Denethor's stone.
He was no longer unbound. He had an entire realm under his care now. He could not do it alone, and every day he was reminded he had support. Gazing into the palantír was something that Aragorn the Ranger could risk, but to risk the mind of King Elessar was to risk the entirety of the realm. That he had advisors who understood that, even as he himself had not, was a blessing beyond Arda. Aragorn pulled both Faramir and Éowyn in for a hug.
"Thank you," Aragorn whispered to them both, "Now, let us go to the rest of our friends to celebrate this good news, and to toast to the bravery of Hobbits, who have given us the gift of the New Dawn. I should hope we have more talks like this one, and am blessed by the Valar to have advisors like you."
All turned to head into the courtyard to see the feast and friends that Imrahil had brought together. It was time to celebrate princes and ambassadors, weddings and bravery, but mostly, friends.