Chapter: The good and the bad
Again, a late update… I hope it was worth the wait.
Thank you so much for your patience.
Thank you so much for reading.
Enjoy.
His friends. His companions. Aragorn was glad and proud to have them by his side. They were the good. Their enemies the bad. From their point of view. From the point of view of Isildur' sword Narsil. His own and Andruil. He fought long today. He could not recall how many orcs fell by the blade of his sword. Then Gimli appeared next to him. Aragorn viewed him. The dwarf answered it. "I have lost count but do not tell the elf," his companion said.
"Never," he promised. Gimli exchanged one more look with him.
"Finally, my axe is of some use. The elf only carries his bow," his friend chuckled. At the same time a dagger was thrown at an orc next to the dwarf. Aragorn smiled. He knew to whom it belonged to. "A small weapon elf. The bow I liked more," stated Gimli with a stern gaze.
"You do? My friend, I do not believe you," replied Legolas.
"The elf may do it, one time in his life."
"After you," the prince declared with a smile.
"I have to remember these wise words of you. Very wise indeed," answered Gimli and then disappeared in the turmoil. Aragorn bowed his head and then turned around. A cave troll viewed him grimly and he drew Andruil. Men and orc made space for them. His opponent aimed at him with a mace. Aragorn barely evaded it and answered it with targeting his feet. Only a small scratch was it what remained. Oh Nin Mel. He closed his eyes, ready for the hit to come. However, it was blocked. He turned around. Boromir. His friend mustered equal strength to the troll. Aragorn hurried to his help. Together they held him back and suddenly the sun returned, transforming the troll into stone. The ring was destroyed. The shadow faded and the sun returned. He laughed and looked at his friend, who joined in. All around them, men celebrated their success. Pippin and Merry ran towards Boromir and threw themselves on him whereupon he flew to the ground. Aragorn did not stop smiling. Éomer stopped in front him and offered him his hand.
"Being the new regent of Rohan, I would kindly ask that our allegiance will be renewed. The last few years we have become too distant," the fair-haired man stated.
"Being soon High King of Arnor and Gondor, I will gladly accept and promise that this request will be fulfilled," he answered. Éomer bowed his head then returned to his men.
"As I witnessed you would have been in need of my axe after your sword was of no use against this troll," Gimli said while approaching side-to-side with Legolas.
"You should not compare this plain weapon with Andruil, a sword of linage, made for kings," countered the elf in his stead. "Plain but effective."
"Effective only in melee."
"Melees I prefer anyway."
Legolas smiled and the dwarf joined in. Boromir again, appeared next to him.
"You have been released?" he asked.
"Yes, but I had to promise them a second breakfast every day," returned his friend with a smile.
"My steward will arrange this."
"If you accept," he added. Since that day back in Lothlórien, he decided to make Boromir and Faramir his stewards should they agree. If not for them, if not for this fellowship, he would not stand here, looking at Mordor's defeat, his destiny fulfilled.
"My brother, my captain, my king. Why do I get this honour? However, I will gladly accept. I could not reject it. But what about my brother, if I may be so bold?"
"You may. I will make both of you my stewards."
Boromir smiled at him and bowed deeply.
"Elessar," he said and left to organize the return to their city. Yes, their city. Rivendell will remain forever in his heart but he belonged with his people from now on. He turned to search for Brego. It was time to stride through the gate of Minas Tirith as its king.
§
Faramir smiled when light returned to their all territories. Frodo and Sam were successful. Not a day too early. After shadow, war and pain laid upon every of their hearts, be it man or hobbit, elf or dwarf, beast or nature: suffering was over. Finally. After all this time, spent in sadness about the state of their country, his home, he cherished the change that would come in turns of the return of the king. Next to him Mablung smiled. "Do we ride back my lord?" the man asked.
"Yes, my friend. We will."
They mounted their horses and rode back to Minas Tirith where the returnees already waited. Boromir's eyes found him.
"Brother, how it comes to meet you here. I thought you were..."
"He dismissed from service and banned me from the city," he answered with a weak smile. Boromir shook his head, then his gaze rested on the gate.
"T'is behaviour, it troubles me. Not only he gave up my brother, now he denies entry to the city," the Captain General said.
"He locked the gate?" Faramir concluded which his brother affirmed.
"It´s good to see you again, young fellow," stated Gimli.
"Pleasure is mine," he answered, his gaze searching for Aragorn.
"I may not be welcomed by the steward but I will enter nonetheless," Elessar declared. He could see exhaustion but also renewed strength in his eyes. Their friend rode forward and knocked at the gate.
"Indeed, you are not welcome here and I won't let you enter my city again," Denethor answered from within. Faramir exchanged a view with Boromir and lowered his head.
"The steward even denies his sons entry," replied Aragorn. They received no answer. His brother now rode forward and halted next to Elessar.
"Father. I do not wish you to open, I expect you to open. It is treason if you don't. Be serious," Boromir said but the gate remained closed.
"I understand now why our allegiance weakened over the past years," mumbled Éomer and addressed to Faramir continued," Forgive me." He looked at him and slowly bowed his head then he too rode forward.
"My lord. Father. I know that you only wish the best for our city and that you only have that in mind," he paused. "Now, however, time has come to allow this man, our friend, our king," the last word he emphasized," to return to this city. Still, the gate remained close. Boromir once again knocked and Faramir knew that his patience was used up. Aragorn then caught his brother's arm.
"He won't open it by his will. I have to use force. I will break through with Brego," the man declared. Footsteps retreated from the inside.
"Aye. It should be easy to break through because we lost the strong one to the enemy," answered Boromir. The young ranger rode back and gave signs to the men at the gate to move away. Gladly they followed his request. Elessar successfully entered and rode into the city. All did. However, Faramir with unease in his heart. The steward would not be happy to see him. Yet, this did not prevent him to stand by Aragorn's side. He clasped the reins tighter and followed. Ready for the task that laid in front him.
§
He failed. His plan was not supposed to fail. Denethor sat on the throne, head low. They broke through the gate. He had to leave again. He will not give up what is his. Thorongil will not be king. The door opened and he looked up. His face turned grim. "Leave my city. You took my sons. You won't receive the throne," he declared. The Dúnedain remained calm and smiled at him weakly. "No," he mumbled because it had so much similarity with the one of his son.
"I understand, Denethor, son of Ecthelion, why you do not welcome me. Since ever, you disliked me. I did not. With your help Gondor grew, became what it is today. I thank you. I am in your debt. Now, what I ask of you is to move aside. I will not banish you nor punish you. Resign and no harm will come over you," the man said. Denethor slowly shook his head.
"I will not," he paused and rose from his throne. "I will not accept a ranger as king. I will not, Thorongil," he continued and halted in front of the Dúnedain. Had he smiled; he did no longer.
"So be it, Denethor, son of Ecthelion."
"So be it," the steward agreed and drew his sword. Thorongil could not parry and was wounded in his chest. "Estel," someone shouted and an arrow hit his sword arm. He fell to the ground. A fair-haired elf was kneeling next to the Dúnedain. "Aragorn," he said but the man was unconscious. Denethor closed his eyes. Now, he will not leave the city unharmed. Steps faded away. He was alone again. He smiled then silently wept. His sons will not forgive him.
§
Legolas carried Aragorn in his arms. All those to he passed moved aside as soon as they laid a glance on his friend. "Where is he now?" asked Éomer, sword in his hands.
"In the throne room," he answered.
Faramir, who followed behind, lowered his head and said," I will talk to him." The marshal turned to the ranger.
"I will join you," Éomer declared and Faramir nodded. Both left. He hurried to the houses of healing. Immediately, healers helped him to place Aragorn in a nearby chamber, when he opened his eyes and was about to rise. "Post, Estel," Legolas said and his eyes found his.
"Hannon gin," his friend mumbled and closed his eyes again.
"What happened elf? What did I miss?" asked Gimli who hurried into the chamber.
"We will talk outside," he replied and walked outside.
"I already said his weapon is not the best. If only he had had my axe..." the dwarf said. Legolas looked at him. "He would have needed my axe and I wasn't there..."
§
Éomer, together with Faramir stood at the entrance of the Citadel. "Your father's condition remembers me of the one of my uncle. Many years he was under influence of Saruman," he said. The younger one nodded absently.
"I agree. My father, however, ... I do not know if he is under anyone's influence. He was always... in this condition since my mother died."
The marshal lifted his sword, then returned it to its scabbard.
"Talk with the man as you said, friend and you will know. Maybe it will be sufficient. I will be close behind you to back you up, should it be needed." Faramir managed a weak smile.
"I thank you, Éomer." The Gondorian opened the door. There, next to the throne, laid Denethor, son of Ecthelion.
"Father," his son called. The man did not move. "Father," he called again.
"Son," the steward mumbled. Faramir kneeled next to him and helped the man into an upright position. Then he picked up the sword and leaned it next to the throne. Denethor regarded the floor and had lowered his head.
"What have you done?" Faramir said in a low voice. Steward and son were so much alike. The son, however, he favoured.
"This man... he should never have entered Gondor," Denethor replied. His friend looked past him, at the White Tree.
"I do not agree with you father. We can call ourselves lucky that the king returned to Minas Tirith. The tree ever was bald but it will bloom again." He turned around to his father again. "Soon, the scratch will no longer be visible." The steward returned his look and nodded. Then, he touched Faramir's face with his left hand, the other was wounded. The younger one took his hands in his own and exchanged a view with Éomer. He bowed his head and left to see after the king. The son, luckily had no need for his sword. Talk was sufficient.