Have fixed error regarding the House of the Steward in previous chapters. Happy reading!
-----
The Stone and the Steward—Chapter Five
-----
Faramir was terribly on edge.
The Council was to assemble in half an hour, and the Steward was less than happy with the report he clutched nervously in his gloved hand. In his mind, a child could have composed it better than him. He dearly loved his wife, but was it really necessary for her to turn him into a sniveling mess when he was supposed to be working on something important for the King and Council? Faramir unfolded his report and glanced over it for the hundredth time; he groaned and swore under his breath when he found that it had not miraculously transformed into something worth reading.
It did not help that he had not slept a wink the previous night. He was far too worried about nightmares and waking in strange rooms for sleep to come. He passed the night in his chambers, taking turns watching his slumbering wife and suspiciously eying the shadows in the back of the room he could swear were moving and breathing his name.
All in all, Faramir was not having a good week.
Several members of the Council had begun to trickle into the great hall at the base of the Tower. Faramir suddenly felt a great desire to be elsewhere; he had never liked these gatherings, particularly when Denethor had overseen them. Faramir's suggestions and decisions were often publicly criticized, for in the latter years, his father had considered him little more than "a wizard's pupil." In Denethor's mind, nothing good could come of that. Though many in the Council respected Mithrandir, there were also those who sided with his father. A tight smile crossed over Faramir's face as he wondered what the elderly men of the Council now thought of his new position as Steward.
After paying his respects to a few important individuals he could not afford to ignore, Faramir moved towards the Steward's chair, located beneath and to the side of the King's throne. His eyes took in the familiar chair, and his thoughts fell to the man who once occupied it daily. An acute headache began to pound in his temples as he did so. Was there nothing in the City that did not remind him of Denethor?
"It is strange, is it not?" a voice said from behind. Faramir turned to find King Éomer had joined him. "To look upon a throne once held by one you called Lord, only to find it is you who are now the Lord."
"Indeed, it is," Faramir responded, surprised when Éomer placed a hand on his shoulder, seemingly in comfort.
"When my uncle passed, I took his title as King with more ease than I was able to accept his throne. There is something about taking up his seat that never seemed quite right in my mind."
"I would not know. I have never sat in the Steward's chair."
Éomer seemed momentarily confused by this. Faramir quickly explained. "At the end of the War, there was so much to do in the City and beyond, I found myself only in this room rarely. Indeed, I have not been in Minas Tirith in over a year."
"Now that I think about it, I suppose I have never seen you seated there. I do remember, however, that Gimli was particularly fond of the Steward's chair. He sat in it and smoked as we debated the ride to the Black Gate."
"Did he?" Faramir said with a chuckle. "It was a good thing my father was not there to see. He would have had the dwarf's head."
Éomer seemed suddenly to become troubled at the mention of Denethor. He tightened his grip on Faramir's shoulder. "I suppose what I am trying to say about the throne of your father is that I know how it feels to take a position that was not originally meant for you. Receiving the throne of Rohan meant the death of my uncle and cousin. For you it was your father and brother. We are both unlikely successors. But as Gandalf would say, this lot has come to us for a purpose."
Faramir's gaze fell to the floor. "You are right, brother, and I thank you for reminding me of my old mentor's wisdom. How I miss Mithrandir and his council. I have wished for it greatly, particularly since returning to the City." He sighed deeply, but quickly straightened his shoulders when he noticed someone approached. "Is it time for the Council to begin already? Here is the King."
Indeed, King Elessar was upon them. The noble ruler approached Faramir and Éomer, and bows were exchanged. "We are again honored by your presence, Éomer-king."
"And I by your invitation. Rohan is pleased to participate in today's Council, and I hope you will include us in days to come. If you will excuse me, I will take my seat so that we may begin deliberations." Éomer bowed and again gripped Faramir in a brotherly fashion by the shoulder before leaving the Steward alone with the King.
"You have not slept," Elessar observed.
It was not a question, and Faramir felt unnerved by the King's grave eyes upon his face. He shook his head. "No, my lord."
"I suppose you did not have another dream then. Were there any strange occurrences during the night?"
"None."
"I am glad, for your sake," the King said, fiddling thoughtfully with a glove. "I, however, did dream last night, and at Council's end, I wish to meet with you to discuss it."
Faramir bowed. "Of course."
Together they turned towards the gathering crowd in the great hall. Most of the men present were quite ancient, and they delighted in their own crabbiness. A good majority were stuck in their ways and impossible to convince of anything. Most were highly suspicious of Denethor's death. Many were still unsure about the new King and his claim to the throne. But all bowed to their King nonetheless, for they believed above all else in honor and loyalty.
King Elessar sighed deeply, looking upon the noisy crowd with slight annoyance but also with deep affection. "You know, Lord Steward," he began, his eyes twinkling, "sometimes I wonder if you did not yield the throne to me so willingly because you did not want to rule Gondor yourself."
Faramir's features pulled into a tight smile. "Can you blame me? During my short time as Ruling Steward, I felt your Coronation would not arrive soon enough."
The King laughed and clapped Faramir on the back. "Come, take your seat and we will formally greet our guests."
Obediently, Faramir sat in the tall chair once possessed by his father. It was quite large, and suddenly, Faramir felt unnerved and intimidated by it—as though he was a small child under the scrutiny of disapproving faces. It was only then that Faramir understood Éomer's words concerning his uncle's throne. Faramir knew it would be long, indeed, before he felt as though the Steward's chair was truly his. He shifted uncomfortably and forced his eyes to focus on the slowly quieting assembly before him. Behind him, the King began to chant the opening blessing in a mighty voice.
The Council had begun.
-----
Deliberations were unbearably long and arduous to one who had not slept. Faramir felt a little dazed when the meeting was finally adjourned, for so painstakingly had he struggled to focus on all that was said, he felt almost unable to rise and follow the King when bidden at Council's end. His head pounded in time with their footsteps as they marched towards the King's study.
"I see you are quite weary," Elessar said when they arrived. "I will not keep you long."
"I am yours to command, my lord, weary or not."
The King gave a wry smile. "This from the man who demanded I order his execution only yesterday. I bet you wish I had reconsidered your offer after sitting through today's Council."
Faramir relaxed a bit at the King's light teasing. "The thought had crossed my mind."
Elessar chuckled as he poured them both some wine to revive their strength. Handing Faramir a goblet, he said, "Let us discuss this dream of mine, then, so that you may retire. Please—sit."
The Steward nodded warily, unsure of what he was about to hear and slightly afraid to find out. The moon shone through the window behind the King, chiseling his noble features into sharp, shadowed angles. Faramir suddenly felt as though he was staring into one of the faces of the statues in the great hall beneath the tower—faces that were cast in the images of Gondor's kings. Acutely feeling the honor of being in this venerable man's presence, Faramir sat up straight and listened carefully to what his King had to tell him.
The King seemed thoughtful as he lit his pipe. "I'll begin by saying that I have seen too much not to believe in the supernatural. I do not question what you say you have seen and heard, for I know you to be of sound mind. I admit, however, that I was quite anxious for you yesterday. Perhaps it was because of this that the dream came to me.
"In this dream, there was a great fire, and in the midst of the flames was a bright jewel. I saw your father watching the flames as well, and somehow I knew that the jewel was in his keeping—and that he loved it deeply.
"'Why have you placed this treasure in the fire?' I asked.
"'He has placed himself there,' answered Denethor.
"Not wanting this jewel to become burned and scarred, I wished to remove it from the flames, for I saw that its luster was beginning to fade. Your father stopped me.
"'Leave the jewel in the fire,' he said. 'It will not be consumed. He has much still to learn.'"
Eyes calmly fixed on Faramir's pale face, the King continued. "Given the meaning of your name and the fact that Denethor called the jewel 'he,' I can only assume he meant you."
At the King's words, Faramir became very uncomfortable, remembering all too well the words he had last heard the ghostly apparition of his father speak.
"You understand little, my son."
"He said I placed myself in the fire?" Faramir asked quietly. "Hardly surprising. I suppose it is my fault I found myself upon his Pyre."
The King shook his head. "I do not think that is what was meant. The jewel was amidst flames; Denethor was not. It was as if you had taken your father's place, and according to the dream, you placed yourself there. What do you make of that?"
"That I wish it had been me instead of him who had perished?" Faramir said softly.
Eyes shining with grave tenderness, the King smiled sadly at the Steward. "Try again."
Faramir's headache seemed to flair in protest as he sought to decipher what the King was trying to tell him. Closing his eyes against the pain, he seemed to see before him the dream that had just been described to him—the jewel…his father…the words exchanged. At length, something occurred to him he had not considered before. Faramir's eyes opened to find the King watching him patiently. Licking his lips, the Steward said, "I placed myself in the fire. The fire is what killed my father."
Again offering a sad smile, the King sat forward in his chair. His words were gentle and carefully chosen, though Faramir had already guessed their meaning before they were spoken. "I wonder, Faramir, if you do not carry the blame and weight of your father's death on your own shoulders?"
The Steward clenched his gloved hands thoughtfully. "It is true that there are certain…matters I wish had been different between my father and I."
The King raised an eyebrow. "Do you always speak so cryptically, Lord Faramir?"
Faramir glanced at the King wearily. "When I haven't completely thought through something? Always."
Elessar chuckled. "You have had several confrontations with the supernatural these past few days. I think it is high time you did a little confronting of your own—with your own thoughts and fears. You have not fully considered, I think, that perhaps the key to forgiving your father is to forgive yourself first. I am not judging who was at fault in your father's death—that decision is for you to make. You are a dear friend, Faramir, and an invaluable help to me. But I feel this matter with your father needs to be cleared up soon for you to continue prospering. I worry for you, my friend. This has eaten away at you far too long. Something tells me your father is thinking the exact same thing."
Tears swelled threateningly in Faramir's eyes, and he swallowed with difficulty. "I will try my best to do as you have requested, my lord."
"Then I can ask no more," the King responded warmly, rising from his chair. "I will send you on your way then, and pray you can find some peace in sleep tonight."
Head swimming with far too many thoughts, both pleasant and unpleasant, the pale Steward rose and bowed wearily. King Elessar watched as Faramir's shoulders seemed to fold in on themselves as he strode from the room. Despite his best wishes, the King knew in his heart peace was the last thing Faramir was to find this night.
------
To be continued.
I've recently opened a website dedicated to "the best" in Faramir fanfiction. Please visit, and while you're there, recommend a story/author to be added to the archives. ithilien.morningstar-rising.com/
Egads, but this chapter was hard to write! Faramir refused to quit brooding long enough for the plot to move on. Silly boy.
Please review--I need encouragement. This story has me pulling my hair out!
