-/Pains in the Heart-
I don't own the characters, just the plot. Please don't sue me!
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Keep those reviews coming, flame me if you want, anything! Just review!
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---- Minas Tirith: The War Council ----
"... they cannot be restrained by the Rangers of Ithilien!" protested Belegaron. "They were sparse even before the coming of the Shadow."
"And how exactly would you know that?" sneered Nimaethor. "Do you remember those ancient days?"
"They are not so ancient as Gondor would like to believe," said Aragorn mildly, ending the argument ere it started. "The Shadow re-entered Mordor barely one lifetime of Men ago. I doubt not that there are men in this City who remember a time without it."
Aragorn cared deeply about the borders of his new Kingdom, but did not care for the manner in which this council was held. Every single one of these elders was selected for their connections, not qualification or experience. Sam Gamgee knew more about sailing than these men did about warfare.
Suddenly he jerked back in his chair in shock: a flash fear, and a vision of closed eyes had just flickered across his mind. Éowyn's eyes. Then it passed and he tried to rejoin the conversation. "Enough of this," said Aragorn. "I shall take a force to South Ithilien to head them off."
There was an awkward silence. The councillors looked uneasy. Belegaron, the oldest and 'wisest' of the assembled advisers, acted as spokesman for the group; with a wheezy cough, he said, "My liege, perhaps it would be unwise for you to leave so early in your reign."
Aragorn's face was completely unreadable. "As you wish," he said flatly. "Who then would you suggest?"
"Faramir son of Denethor would go," suggested another adviser, whose name Aragorn was unsure of. He was from the vale of the upper Gilrain. "The people love him, and it is part of his princedom."
"We shall continue this meeting when he is present," said Aragorn. He did not want to delegate such important tasks without Faramir's consent; also he had felt another stab of emotion - a different kind of fear; not shock, but foreboding. A sword shone in a crowded room, and then it was gone. He knew immediately what was happening, excused himself and hurried to the party.
--------
She was not there. The people seemed to be avoiding their King, and Aragorn did not understand why. What had happened to her while arrogant men wasted his time? He hastened then to Éowyn's chambers, but still could not find her. It was as he wandered the halls, on the point of calling her name, when Faramir suddenly erupted from a side-passage.
The Steward started when he saw Aragorn; his pupils contracted in a way Aragorn associated with fear. "My lord!" said Faramir, startled.
"Good evening, Faramir," frowned Aragorn; "have you seen the Lady Éowyn?"
Faramir just barely stifled a gasp. "I believe she has gone to see King Éomer."
"Thank you," nodded Aragorn uncertainly and he turned into a different passage. Something very odd had happened in his absence, but what? He doubled back. "Oh, and Faramir?"
Faramir froze. "Yes, my lord?"
"Come see me in my chambers in the morning. It is a matter of utmost importance, but I am weary tonight."
"Yes, my lord. Good night."
---- Minas Tirith: Faramir's Chambers ----
Breathless, Faramir made it to his rooms. What had come over him? Effectively committing treason and then acting like a sullen teenager... Éowyn was the only woman alive who could cost him his self-control. Though he felt nothing but remorse for giving in to temptation, he could not help but have enjoyed kissing her.
'But it won't happen again,' thought Faramir determinedly. 'No matter how hard it gets, I shall restrain myself - even if the pain kills me first.' The nasty voice in his brain added, 'and after, if you forget your vow.'
Éomer was quite bad enough, but Faramir shuddered to think of what would happen if Aragorn heard about his little outburst. He seemed suspicious already. Faramir was sure that none of the witnesses to his and Éomer's confrontation would speak, for fear of Éomer's wrath: if he was keeping silence, then so would they.
There was only one thing for it: he would have to leave Minas Tirith. No matter how long he was away in fair Ithilien, Faramir had always called the White City his home. He had been named Prince of Emyn Arnen now, and would have to abide there if he were to rule. It would be a good way of purging his soul of Éowyn, and finding a bride. The title of Steward would have to pass to one of his bloodline, or it would go to Dol Amroth on the coast, or even to Rohan - and the latter above all was to be avoided. Times had changed, but patriotism had not, and Gondor did not need a second Kinslaying.
The last of the Line of the Stewards had to perform his duty. He had to leave.
===================
I don't own the characters, just the plot. Please don't sue me!
--------------------------------------
Keep those reviews coming, flame me if you want, anything! Just review!
--------------------------------------
---- Minas Tirith: The War Council ----
"... they cannot be restrained by the Rangers of Ithilien!" protested Belegaron. "They were sparse even before the coming of the Shadow."
"And how exactly would you know that?" sneered Nimaethor. "Do you remember those ancient days?"
"They are not so ancient as Gondor would like to believe," said Aragorn mildly, ending the argument ere it started. "The Shadow re-entered Mordor barely one lifetime of Men ago. I doubt not that there are men in this City who remember a time without it."
Aragorn cared deeply about the borders of his new Kingdom, but did not care for the manner in which this council was held. Every single one of these elders was selected for their connections, not qualification or experience. Sam Gamgee knew more about sailing than these men did about warfare.
Suddenly he jerked back in his chair in shock: a flash fear, and a vision of closed eyes had just flickered across his mind. Éowyn's eyes. Then it passed and he tried to rejoin the conversation. "Enough of this," said Aragorn. "I shall take a force to South Ithilien to head them off."
There was an awkward silence. The councillors looked uneasy. Belegaron, the oldest and 'wisest' of the assembled advisers, acted as spokesman for the group; with a wheezy cough, he said, "My liege, perhaps it would be unwise for you to leave so early in your reign."
Aragorn's face was completely unreadable. "As you wish," he said flatly. "Who then would you suggest?"
"Faramir son of Denethor would go," suggested another adviser, whose name Aragorn was unsure of. He was from the vale of the upper Gilrain. "The people love him, and it is part of his princedom."
"We shall continue this meeting when he is present," said Aragorn. He did not want to delegate such important tasks without Faramir's consent; also he had felt another stab of emotion - a different kind of fear; not shock, but foreboding. A sword shone in a crowded room, and then it was gone. He knew immediately what was happening, excused himself and hurried to the party.
--------
She was not there. The people seemed to be avoiding their King, and Aragorn did not understand why. What had happened to her while arrogant men wasted his time? He hastened then to Éowyn's chambers, but still could not find her. It was as he wandered the halls, on the point of calling her name, when Faramir suddenly erupted from a side-passage.
The Steward started when he saw Aragorn; his pupils contracted in a way Aragorn associated with fear. "My lord!" said Faramir, startled.
"Good evening, Faramir," frowned Aragorn; "have you seen the Lady Éowyn?"
Faramir just barely stifled a gasp. "I believe she has gone to see King Éomer."
"Thank you," nodded Aragorn uncertainly and he turned into a different passage. Something very odd had happened in his absence, but what? He doubled back. "Oh, and Faramir?"
Faramir froze. "Yes, my lord?"
"Come see me in my chambers in the morning. It is a matter of utmost importance, but I am weary tonight."
"Yes, my lord. Good night."
---- Minas Tirith: Faramir's Chambers ----
Breathless, Faramir made it to his rooms. What had come over him? Effectively committing treason and then acting like a sullen teenager... Éowyn was the only woman alive who could cost him his self-control. Though he felt nothing but remorse for giving in to temptation, he could not help but have enjoyed kissing her.
'But it won't happen again,' thought Faramir determinedly. 'No matter how hard it gets, I shall restrain myself - even if the pain kills me first.' The nasty voice in his brain added, 'and after, if you forget your vow.'
Éomer was quite bad enough, but Faramir shuddered to think of what would happen if Aragorn heard about his little outburst. He seemed suspicious already. Faramir was sure that none of the witnesses to his and Éomer's confrontation would speak, for fear of Éomer's wrath: if he was keeping silence, then so would they.
There was only one thing for it: he would have to leave Minas Tirith. No matter how long he was away in fair Ithilien, Faramir had always called the White City his home. He had been named Prince of Emyn Arnen now, and would have to abide there if he were to rule. It would be a good way of purging his soul of Éowyn, and finding a bride. The title of Steward would have to pass to one of his bloodline, or it would go to Dol Amroth on the coast, or even to Rohan - and the latter above all was to be avoided. Times had changed, but patriotism had not, and Gondor did not need a second Kinslaying.
The last of the Line of the Stewards had to perform his duty. He had to leave.
===================