Chapter 6

All of Minas Tirith was celebrating as night fell.  The brief skirmish and victory from that afternoon had filled the soldiers and all the citizens with boundless energy.  Every establishment, from high-class taverns to seedy back alley pubs, was serving out free tankards of ale to any that had fought.  Drunken soldiers wobbling precariously atop their stools relived their own experiences on the outer wall, lying profusely on how they had leapt from the battlements to personally chase the enemy away.  Others embellished on how they had killed ten Uruk-hai with a single arrow in order to catch the fancy of any available women.  Laughter, cheers, and songs of victory filled the lower levels of the White City.  Everyone was celebrating.

The only place that remained somber was the Tower of Ecthelion. 

Faramir sat quietly upon the stones of the tower's peak.  His unfocused eyes were turned upward and those who did not pay him any mind would have thought he was merely admiring the stars as they began to shine.  But in truth, all the Steward saw were memories.  His fingers absentmindedly ghosted against the brooch at his neck.

*FLASHBACK*

He stared in amazement at the trinket in his hand.  A subtle blend of silver and gold braided together in a shining wreath around a flat disk of obsidian.  The white tree of Gondor was etched into the center, shining brightly amidst the black stone.  With tentative movements, Faramir lightly ran his fingers along the smooth edges before looking up with a small smile.

"Brother, I do not deserve such a refined gift."

Boromir gave him a broad smile and clapped his brother on the back. "But you do, Faramir.  Being promoted to Captain is no small accomplishment.  It is only fitting that the leader of the Ithilien rangers should have a symbol to match his station."

"Perhaps," Faramir looked thoughtfully at the brooch. "But it is much to fancy to wear out in the wild.  It would stand out like beacon amongst the Ithilien wilderness.  And I would hate to lose it in battle or have it caked with blood."

"Then wear it whenever you come home after your glorious victories," Boromir laughed as he took the brooch from his younger brother's hands. "Now come, I wish to see how it looks on you."

Rolling his eyes in mock exasperation, Faramir drew his forest green cloak across his shoulders.  He stood still and submitted to his older brother's will as Boromir carefully fastened the brooch into place.  When Boromir finished, he held his brother at arms length.

"It suits you."

Faramir tried to fight the color that was rising to his cheeks. "I still think that it is too fancy for me to wear."

"It is not.  It simply adds to your image of authority.  Now I expect you to wear this," He held up a hand to stop Faramir's protests. "I know you too well, little brother.  Whenever you are given a gift you are uncomfortable with, you hid it under that loose floorboard beneath your writing desk; and yes, I have gone into your room in our youth and found it.  This brooch is a symbol of our noble bloodline and you should wear it with pride."

"All right, brother.  I yield," Faramir laughed as he raised his hands in defeat. "I shall wear it whenever I come home from Ithilien, if only to please you."

Boromir sighed in exasperation. "Little brother, how many times must I tell you not to base your life around pleasing others?  You must please yourself first."

"I know, Boromir.  I only wish for you and Father to be proud of me."

"I can not speak for Father, but I can speak for myself.  Faramir, you are my brother.  I know what kind of person you are and I can see the man you will be in the future.  No matter who you are, no matter where you go, I will always be proud of you.  You will be just fine."

"Thank you, my brother.  I promise I will never let you down."

*END FLASHBACK*

I promise I will never let you down.

Faramir clutched the brooch in his fist until his knuckles turned white.  Try as he might, he could not stop the moisture that gathered in his eyes and began to gently trickle down his cheeks. 

"I let him down," He whispered. "I promised him that I would never let him down.  Alas that I could not keep this promise, for I have failed."

Angrily, he ran his free hand over his eyes, banishing the unshed tears. Boromir, what do you think of your little brother now?  The high and mighty Steward of Gondor, Prince of Ithilien, sitting here crying as he hides from the rest of the world.  You said that you would be proud of me, no matter what I do.  And yet even you could not be proud of this childish weakling who is undeserving of being your brother.  How could you be proud of me when I am not even proud of myself?

He was so wrapped up in his own guilt that Faramir failed to hear the sound of footsteps ascending the tower's stairs.  Nor did he notice the King of Gondor walk through the archway onto the Tower of Ecthelion's peak.

"Faramir?"

The Steward's head shot up in surprise at the voice.  Turning sharply, he saw his king looking directly at him with a surprised look on his face.  Faramir cringed inwardly as he felt his cheeks flush.  It was bad enough that he was crying like a helpless child, but to have his king witness his weakness was mortifying.  At that moment, Faramir wished the ground would swallow him up, or perhaps the wall he was leaning against would suddenly collapse and he could fall to his doom.

Hastily wiping his eyes with his sleeve, Faramir stood up and addressed his king. "Forgive me, Lord Elessar.  I did not hear your approach.  I shall take my leave now."

"Hold Faramir.  I must speak with you."

Faramir stopped and groaned inwardly.  Keeping his back to the king, he replied. "With all due respect, my liege, I would prefer to speak of matters of state at a later time when I am feeling less…emotional.  If it is not urgent, then I will speak to your counselors in a short while.  You need not trouble yourself with finding me."

"There is no need for such titles, Faramir.  We are friends, are we not?"

"We are, Elessar."

A tiny smile graced the king's face.  "That is better," His face turned serious again. "In truth I did not wish to speak of political matters.  I wanted to apologize."

Faramir turned around sharply.  That was the last thing he had expected to hear. "I do not understand.  You have nothing to apologize for."

"But I do.  It is my fault that those thieves desecrated your brother's tomb."

"Elessar…"

"No, Faramir.  Do not try to convince me otherwise.  I am to blame for everything.  The people speak almost reverently of my insight, yet I could not understand the clues that were placed directly before my eyes.  How could I not have understood your brother's warning?  I should have known that the House of Stewards would be vulnerable.  Yet I remained on the walls, directing an assault that hardly needed any leadership to win.  I have failed you, my people, and especially Boromir.  How could I have been so blind?"

"You are not to blame at all," Faramir cut him off. "If there is any to place the blame upon, then it is me.  Your vision was obscure.  It could have meant anything.  I was the one who Boromir spoke to directly.  I was the one told to guard my brother's remains and keep them from falling into enemy hands.  And yet I did not understand until it was too late.  The people value your insight, but that is because you have never failed them.  You were at the front line, directing the defenses as is your role as king.  I am the one who should have been guarding the House of Stewards.  I am the one who failed Boromir in the end."

Both men stared at each other for several long and silent minutes; as if daring the other to contradict their rightful share of the blame.  Aragorn's lips suddenly quirked into a half smile and a chuckle escaped him.  Faramir blinked in confusion.  What could his king and friend possibly find so amusing about this situation?

Aragorn shook his head. "Arwen was right."

"What?" Faramir was even more confused.

"I just remembered something Arwen said to me when I was growing up in Rivendell.  My brothers and I were always getting into trouble when we hunted Orcs and someone almost always came home with a few injuries.  The three of us would all feel so guilty that anyone got hurt and we would sometimes begin to quarrel over who was at fault.  Arwen used to joke about how rangers were obsessed with carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders.  If anything wrong occurred, a ranger would be the first one to claim the fault.  Apparently, she was right.  Here we are, two former rangers, and we are arguing over who is the guiltiest in this whole ordeal."

Faramir could not help but smile at this. "I believe she was right.  Boromir used to always berate me for thinking everything was my fault.  And here I always assumed it was because I did not think highly enough of myself."

"The joys of being a ranger," Aragorn chuckled.

Faramir chuckled as well. "The curse of being a ranger sounds more appropriate."

The king smiled sadly and grasped his steward's shoulder. "If there is one thing I have learned, it is that we can not change the past.  We can only live in the present and look to the future.  Boromir's remains have been taken.  Now we must find a way to bring them back and redeem ourselves."

"Agreed.  Though I must admit that I am exhausted.  Might I suggest that we begin to strategize our next move in the morning?"

Aragorn thought for a moment before a wicked grin spread over his face. "I have a better idea.  All of this blame and guilt has weighed both of us down.  One of the best ways to lose that weight for a short while is to pay a long visit to the wine cellars."

"You are suggesting that we get ourselves drunk?" Faramir raised an eyebrow at his smirking friend. "Then I suggest we do it now before your lovely queen finds us."

The pair was just exiting the tower when they heard the sounds of an argument coming down the hall.  As they moved closer, Aragorn and Faramir noticed that the argument was actually an angered Dwarf berating a certain Elf.

"A plague upon the stiff necks of Elves!  Why must you blame this whole fiasco upon yourself?  How many times must I remind you that none of this was your fault?"

"I should have known that those Men would send out a decoy.  In all my years of experience, I should have foreseen this deception and stayed behind to fight with you.  Instead I ran after a decoy like some novice, barely out of their majority.  I should have know."

"There was no way that you could have known!" Gimli roared. "Those Men were stronger, faster, and far more clever than any of us could have predicted.  We were all fooled!  As such, you can not take any blame.  No one is to blame for this.  I only wish that this logic could penetrate that mithril hard head of yours!"

"But there is blame, Master Gimli," Faramir said as he walked up. "And I am the one who deserves it all."

Aragorn stepped forward. "No, it is my fault."

"I should have understood Boromir's warning."

"I should have been thinking more clearly."

"I should have foreseen this."

"ENOUGH!" Gimli hollered loud enough to silent his three brooding companions.  "A plague upon all of your stiff necks!  It would appear that the Dwarf is the only one who has any common sense left!  Instead of arguing amongst yourselves on who should take the blame, would it not be more prudent to look for clues on the identities of our enemies and then think of a strategy to defeat them?"

"A wise decision, Master Dwarf," Aragorn nodded. "I suggest that we head back to the House of Stewards and search for clues.  Come, our enemies have not defeated us yet."

*          *          * 

Standing before his brother's desecrated tomb, Faramir could not hold back the guilt that threatened to overwhelm him.  Aragorn caught his eye and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder.  The silent comfort helped to calm his nerves.  It is not your fault.  You had no control over these circumstances.  Stop blaming yourself.

"Most interesting."

Faramir was shaken from his musings by the Dwarf who was inspecting the empty tomb along with the Elf prince. "What is most interesting, Master Gimli?"

"The lid is shattered, yet no stone has fallen into the tomb.  Surely if it were smashed open, there would be pieces within."

"Perhaps our enemies simply removed the lid and it shattered when hitting the ground," Aragorn suggested.

The Dwarf shook his head. "Nay.  These stones are strong and would not shatter as they have from hitting the ground.  Even then, the rubble would only be where it fell, not scattered about like this.  It is almost as though it was smashed open from the inside."

Aragorn sighed. "And so we are faced with more riddles."

"Or perhaps this riddle holds no significance at all," Legolas muttered. "I do not see how deducing the reason for the tomb being smashed will yield any clues on the identity of our enemies."

Faramir spoke up. "I must say that I agree with Legolas.  I do not believe that this investigation of the tomb and the way the rocks have settled will get us anywhere.  We are still in the dark."

"What we need here is some good, old-fashion, Dwarf logic," Gimli muttered thoughtfully.

Legolas shot the Dwarf a mocking glance. "What, find a hole and dig?"

Gimli glared at his Elven friend and was about to snarl a scathing remark when Aragorn stepped between them. "What we need right now is a plan.  We must find out who our enemies are, what they are planning, and how we can defeat them."

"Our enemies are strong and fast, much more than any of us thought possible," Gimli suggested.

"And they were not Men," Faramir added.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "How so?  I was under the assumption that they were Men."

Faramir shook his head. "You did not face them directly as I did, Elessar.  You did not feel the evil that radiated off of them, so cold and consuming.  You did not see their burning eyes that pierced my very soul."

"What madness do you speak of?" Gimli asked. "I was there and felt no such thing."

"You were too focused on the battle to notice, Master Dwarf; not that I would expect one of your kind to ever be so in tune with their surroundings," Legolas quipped before turning serious. "I saw no red eyes as Faramir did, but I could feel their evil as well.  I have not felt so dark a presence since we trod through the Paths of the Dead.  These Men were not simply strong and fast.  Their power was fueled by some form of ancient evil."

"Could Sauron have survived?" Faramir shuddered.

Aragorn immediately shook his head. "No.  The Dark Lord's life force was bound to The One Ring.  He was destroyed when it was cast into the flames with Gollum.  There was no way for him to have survived."

"But what of his minions?" Gimli pondered out loud. "Were they bound to Sauron as he was bound to the ring?"
"That I can not answer, Gimli," The king sighed. "for I do not know."

"Then we will have to find out," Faramir resolutely turned away from the rubble. "And I believe we all know where to start looking."

Aragorn nodded in understanding. "Isengard.  Boromir must have been trying to tell us that this evil comes from there. However, we can not go there just yet.  I sent a messenger to Rohan several days ago to ask for any news of Isengard.  I would rather wait and hear from Éomer before charging blindly into a situation we know nothing about."

"But we are wasting valuable time by being cautious!" Gimli growled. "At the speed those Men were moving, they could be half-way to Isengard by now!"

"We have no choice!" Aragorn snapped, but any further words were cut off when a soldier bearing the armor of the Rohirrim entered the House of Stewards.

"My lords, I bring word from Éomer King," The soldier bowed and held out a sealed piece of parchment.

Deliberately ignoring Gimli's smirk, Aragorn took the message and began to read. As he neared the end, the king frowned deeply.  The others looked on with curiosity, wondering what troubling news Éomer had sent.  With a sigh, Aragorn lowered the paper and turned to the others.

"It would seem that we are right.  Éomer reports disturbing activities within Isengard.  The Ents have been driven away and the walls have been rebuilt.  Orcs and Uruk-hai have begun to appear and they plunder tombs and grave sites throughout Rohan, removing bodies," He paused at the looks of horrified disgust from his companions. "Men in league with the Orcs have slipped past the Rohirrim guards.  These Men are like nothing they have ever seen before.  They are strong, fast, and stealthy; like nothing they have ever seen before.  These Men aid the dark forces in desecrating the tombs.  Two days ago, the tombs of the Rohirrim kings were raided.  Théoden's remains have been stolen."

"I do not think I can stand for any more ill news," Gimli sighed.

Faramir nodded. "Agreed, Master Gimli.  Is there nothing in that letter that is not laden with sorrow?"

"Actually, there is.  Though Éomer's riders were not able to recover Théoden's body, they did meet up with two Hobbits."

"Merry and Pippin?" Legolas questioned. "I knew that their annual visits were approaching.  However, it seems unlikely that they met up with the riders by chance."

"Indeed it was not," Aragorn agreed. "Apparently their escort was killed by one of the Dark Men from Isengard.  They met up with the Ents in Fangorn and were observing the changes at Isengard when they met up with the riders who were pursuing the grave robbers."

"I assume that there is more?" Faramir gestured to the letter in his king's hand.

"Yes.  Éomer believes that the situation at Isengard has become too volatile.  He has requested that a council of war be held.  What do you think, Faramir?"

The steward nodded. "Agreed.  We should hold this council somewhere between Rohan and Gondor.  That way no one has to wait for the other.  By your leave, king Elessar, I propose that this council be held at my estate in Ithilien."

"A wise decision, Lord Steward," The king nodded and turned to the Rohirrim who was still waiting. "Send word to your king that we shall meet in Ithilien."

The soldier bowed again and hurried off to mount his horse.  When he was gone, Aragorn turned back to Faramir. "We have much to prepare for, Faramir.  And I fear that a true confrontation with these Dark Men will occur all too soon."

"Then let us make the proper arrangements, Elessar.  For it appears that all roads lead to Isengard."

Author's Notes: I'm still waiting to hear whether Éowyn and Faramir's baby will be a boy or a girl. Send me your requests!  Perhaps the next chapter will get all of you thinking, seeing as how Éowyn will be back.  Coming up: The Council of Ithilien (man, that's corny).