Beloved readers—you'll have to cut me a little slack on this next chapter. It's not some of my best writing, as I've been a little sick this week. ^_^;; I wanted to get something out, though, so please forgive the neglect!
-----
The Stone and the Steward—Chapter Two
-----
"Hold still!"
"What are you doing back there?"
Faramir moved his head unexpectedly, and Éowyn accidentally clipped off a bit too much hair in the back as a result. She bit her lip in amusement. "It would not take so long if you had allowed me to do this weeks ago. Don't you want to look nice tonight? Stop turning your head!"
"If I didn't love you, I swear—"
"Caution, my lord," Éowyn interrupted, waving the scissors playfully before Faramir's pleading eyes. "You forget my brother is in the city. I've heard it said he is eager to see how my new husband is treating me."
Faramir considered this briefly. "A fine point. Have I extolled your many virtues lately?"
She laughed merrily, running her fingers thoughtfully through his loose curls. "Faramir, who usually cuts your hair?" she asked after a few moments of inspection.
"I do."
"No wonder. It's all uneven in the back." Éowyn cleverly did not disclose her addition to the unevenness, and once again, she wielded her scissors and began snipping away.
Faramir winced. "Are you sure you know what you're doing? You're not cutting it too short?"
"I used to cut Éomer's hair all the time."
"Is that so? Hmmm," he commented lowly. "In that case, perhaps I should take over."
She slapped the side of his head.
-----
The great City of Minas Tirith glowed ethereal white beneath the full moon. A thick blanket of stars winked down upon the upturned faces of the citizens, and their celestial beauty was unhindered, for there was not a cloud in the sky. The hour was late, but the City was awake. Sounds of music and rejoicing echoed throughout the streets.
A few noticed that the wind blew steadily from the east, as it had for most of the week, but no Shadow now loomed there, so it was not taken as an ill omen by most. When the White City chose to raise its banners in celebration, there was little that could ruin its joy—even the remembrance of dark times. The City's reconstruction after the damage done by the battle of the Pelennor Fields was at last complete. Thus King Elessar mandated a citywide celebration. Banners and proud white flags waved from every crevice of the great city. But nothing could match the splendor of Merethrond, the Great Hall of Feasts, where the King hosted his own personal gathering.
Faramir led his wife inside, his hand pulling at his newly shorn curls self-consciously as he greeted the other guests they passed. "Stop that," Éowyn scolded through a forced grin that she reserved for meeting new important people she probably would end up disliking. "They will think us simpletons."
"My goodness, how dreadful that would be," he said through his own forced smile.
Before Éowyn could respond, the King was upon them, dressed magnificently in robes of silver and black. "My friends!" he cried, embracing them both in turn. "Too long has it been since you have last visited Minas Tirith. Over a year, I should think!"
"You have our apologies for our extended absence," Faramir offered with a chuckle. "Setting up a new home is not as easy as it sounds."
"And how is fair Ithilien? Do you find it suits you, Éowyn?"
"It does, indeed," Éowyn said. "You must honor us with a visit, my lord."
King Elessar bowed graciously. "Arwen would be delighted to leave the City for a short while, I'm sure, as would I. She claims Minas Tirith hasn't a single tree within its gates save one."
"But there are plenty of trees, my lord!" Éowyn argued. "On every tunic and flag. Indeed, the City seems quite overwhelmed with them."
The King laughed, his keen eyes sparkling. "I do believe the Lady of Rohan thinks Gondor impractical, Lord Faramir."
"She would not be alone in that assessment," said a new voice. They turned to see the Queen, smiling and radiant as always. She took her husband's arm and added, "But as I greatly enjoy the company, a single flaw will be overlooked."
The Steward and his wife bowed to the Queen and were surprisingly honored when she returned the gesture. "If I may steal your wife away, Faramir?" she requested with a mischievous sparkle in her ageless eyes, "I have missed her dearly and long desired her company." After he gave his consent, the two women bid their husbands farewell and disappeared into the multitude.
Turning to the Steward, the King said, "Walk with me."
They exited the Hall out onto the Court of the Fountain. The White Tree was just beginning to flower as it woke from winter, and the courtyard was filled with the fragrance of its blossoms. Though the night was pleasant, Faramir remained slightly on edge from the previous night's events. Hearing voices and waking only to find he'd collapsed had left him understandably alarmed and more than a little embarrassed. He knew Éowyn was anxious for him, but as he insisted he was feeling quite well, she let the matter be. Faramir sighed deeply and absently straightened his gloves.
"How do you fare, my friend?" the King asked as they walked. "Perhaps it is the moonlight, but you appear quite pale."
The Steward's eyes fell to the ground. "I thank you for your concern. I admit that I feel a small amount of fatigue, but it is hardly anything to speak of."
Faramir barely restrained the urge to flinch when he felt the eyes of the King fall fully upon him. "I am glad you are in good health, my friend," the King said, "but I feel you do not speak the entire truth."
"It is justly said that Elessar discerns much." Faramir smiled sadly. "I cannot lie to my King. No, I am not entirely well. A small incident occurred last night. I awoke to find that I had collapsed on the floor, inexplicably having lost consciousness for a short while."
The King halted and turned toward the Steward with concern in his eyes. "Inexplicably? You do not know the reason for your illness?"
"My guess would be the fatigue I spoke of earlier."
The King gazed at him intently for a moment. After a moment, he nodded and said, "I will that you retire early this evening, Faramir. I need you at full strength when the Council reconvenes at week's end. You will speak to me if this happens again."
The Steward bowed low in silent response.
"Have you news of Ithilien? I hear rumors of small bands of orcs raiding travelers along the Anduin."
"You have heard correctly, my lord. The orcs we come across are usually starving and under poor command," Faramir said, falling into step with the King as they again began walking. "The hunger makes them vicious, but they are weak nonetheless. Still, they have begun to multiply along the southern borders."
"It is as I feared then. We can focus on strengthening our borders now that the City has been refortified. This will be discussed in full at the Council. Will you prepare a report to aid in deliberations?"
"With pleasure, my lord."
The King again seemed to study Faramir closely. "I will not lie to you, my friend. I sense much disquiet in you. May I speak plainly?"
"Of course."
"I have a few concerns about you staying in the home of your father."
Faramir felt his shoulders tense. He said nothing in response.
"I know it is tradition for the Steward to reside there," the King continued, "but I must ask if the arrangement suits you? It would be no trouble to have your things moved."
At length, the Steward found his voice. "Éowyn is comfortable there. She would not like to move, I think."
"You do not speak for yourself, Faramir."
He sighed deeply. "In all honesty, I have tried not to think of my father since arriving in the City. It is true that my father's home holds some things I remember as quite unpleasant, but I choose to ignore them. For the present."
King Elessar turned to the Steward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Think of your father, Faramir, for he would want you to. Honor his memory, but learn from his mistakes. I pray the wounds I sense you carry in your heart will heal in time. My offer to reside elsewhere still stands. I trust you will take advantage of it, should you need it."
With that, the King bowed to him and departed, leaving Faramir alone with his thoughts. The Steward closed his eyes, as if suddenly pained by something. The words of the King were potent—a gentle reprimand—and Faramir took them to heart. His silent reverie, however, lasted only a few moments before footsteps sounded behind him.
"Lord Faramir!" a mighty voiced called. "Who on earth cut your hair? It looks dreadful. I notice that you are absent from the celebration. You're not intimidated by my presence, are you?"
Faramir looked wearily at King Éomer, clad in formal armor and ominously gripping the handle of the sheathed sword round his waist. "That depends on what my wife has told you about me."
Éomer laughed and slapped Faramir heartily on the back. The young Steward winced in pain. "Come!" Éomer cried, oblivious to his strength. "You brood too much. We are brothers now! Let's have some ale. We have brought our finest from Meduseld to share with our friends here in Gondor." Here, Éomer leaned in and said to Faramir confidentially, "That's our official statement, but the real reason we brought it is because Gondor's strength lies not in its breweries."
"So I discovered from our hobbit friends," Faramir said with a smile. "I look forward to sampling your fine gift, but I must warn you that I am on orders from the King to retire early tonight. You must excuse me after we share our drink."
"Then let us partake of it at once, brother, so that you may do as he commands."
Éomer led Faramir back into the Great Hall and called loudly for the ale to be brought round. The two made a toast to the friendship between the two countries, and to Éowyn, whom they both adored. Faramir observed from Éomer's red cheeks that the drink in his glass was not his first of the evening.
Following his gaze, Faramir found with amusement that Éomer's eyes had fallen upon the face of Lothiriel, daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. "You eye my cousin, Éomer-king," the Steward said. "She is fair, is she not?"
"Your cousin?" Éomer reached blindly and gripped Faramir's shirt with urgency. "What is her name? Who is her father? Does she have an understanding with anyone? Why haven't you introduced us yet? Speak quickly!"
Faramir bled with laughter, thinking that a union between his cousin and brother-in-law would be very odd indeed, but strangely charming. "Come then, brother, and I will make sure these and other questions are answered to your satisfaction."
----
At length, Faramir bid his wife goodnight, for Éowyn seemed reluctant to leave the assembly. She was engaged in animated conversation with those who had come from Rohan to honor the alliance with Gondor, and Faramir was unwilling to steal her away from those she had missed so dearly.
Stepping out into the courtyard, Faramir breathed deeply of the night air. The words of his king echoed in his head, but remembering his father was more difficult than he could admit. There was simply too much hurt there—too much to work through. Casting gray eyes upon the Tower of Ecthelion, which lay directly before him, Faramir felt anger course through his veins, for he knew what lay at the top, in a secret room—the palantir, which had caused the madness and downfall of his father. It now belonged to the King, but long had it been in the possession of Denethor. Knowing what it did to his noble father, Faramir hated and resented the Anor-stone.
And yet...
Always in the back of his mind was the desire to look into it. To touch it—to see what it might tell him. Why he desired this, Faramir did not know, for he had heard the haunting rumors surrounding the stone. He knew what was seen when one looked into the palantir.
But he did not want to think about that.
Faramir closed his eyes, shutting the Tower of Ecthelion in all its glory from his mind, willing the horrible memories to take flight. When he opened them again, he saw something he did not expect.
A man stood before the window at the top of the tower, robed in black, silhouetted by the light of the glowing palantir from behind. The stone cast light like flames, licking at the walls and the bent figure of the man. Faramir's eyes widened in surprise at the sight, and for one gut-wrenching moment, he could have sworn it was the Lord Denethor was looking down upon him.
Faramir...
The voice! The same voice he'd heard last night in his study! Faramir blinked in bewilderment, but when his eyes opened, man in the tower window was nowhere to be seen. A breathless and confused Faramir searched hungrily for the departed figure and did not hear as someone approached him from behind.
"My Lord Steward?" a voice said. Faramir turned and saw that an armed guard had joined him. "Is everything all right?"
"A man. There was an old man in the window of the tower."
The guard's gaze flew to the tower. "Impossible! The entrance to the tower is guarded. Only the King and Steward are allowed within unaccompanied. And even then, there are few who know how to access the stairs to the top of the tower."
"I know what I saw," Faramir declared, a little heat tainting his words. "Go back to your post." Without a second thought, he set forth toward the entrance to the tower. Guards stood patiently still on both sides of the great doors; they moved to open them when Faramir approached, allowing the Steward passage.
As the guard from the Courtyard pointed out, the entrance to the secret room at the top of the tower was indeed known by few, but Faramir was clever and observant enough to have solved the mystery of its location long ago. In an instant, he was through the secret doorway and flying up the winding staircase. Coming at last to the top of the tower, Faramir drew out his sword.
But the room was empty...
Save for the palantir, resting peacefully on a cushioned stand.
All thoughts of the intruder fled from the Steward's mind. Faramir's eyes grew wide as he gazed upon the stone for the first time. Its depths were dark and quiet, completely unassuming. Desire stirred within him to look into the seemingly innocent stone. A single chair stood before it invitingly. He took a step towards it.
A shadow passed before him across the walls of the room, like a phantom. Faramir's eyes widened in horror, for he was still very much alone in the barren room.
Please, Faramir.
Again the phantom voice beckoned him. Shaking his head, Faramir gathered his wits and without a second thought, exited the room as quickly as he had entered it. He rushed from the tower and across the Courtyard, fleeing from the temptation of the stone and from whatever it was he had seen in the room.
He did not stop or even allow himself to think until he found himself back in his study. Shutting the door firmly behind him, Faramir found that he was terribly short of breath and trembling. Sinking to the floor by the window, he placed his head in his hands and tried to calm himself.
"My God," he breathed, his eyes wide. "Have I gone mad?"
-----
Please review! It encourages me to write faster. ;) faramirandeowyn@hotmail.com
A few notes: I know little of the actual layout of the secret room of the palantir, save that it lies at the top of the tower. Because of this, I did not try to describe where the entrance was. I simply don't know! If anyone has this information, I would love to find out.
