Aragorn winced as Faramir smiled gently and spoke kindly, "I am sorry good mother. Berendil will be greatly missed, he was a fine warrior." He rode on wiping the old woman's spittle from his cheek.
She had wished Faramir dead; had demanded to know why her son had risked all and gained nothing, while Faramir risked nothing and gained all.
"Not the first to wonder why this worthless scion of the House of Hurin lives, while the worthy are called to the Halls of Mandos," Aragorn heard his Steward mutter to himself. "No not the first at all."
He reached across his mount and handed Faramir a handkerchief. Like the ranger-king who owned it, it was mostly clean. Faramir took it and thanked his liege. He finished cleaning his face and tucked the cloth inside his gauntlet. They rode on to the seventh circle in a silence strained with fear for what the future would hold for the ranger king and his reluctant steward.
Once they'd dismounted and stabled their horses, Aragorn began to brush down Brego. Now that he was King they may be able to keep him out of the wild, but they could not stop him from caring for his own horse. Aragorn watched as Faramir brushed over the same square foot of his mount for the fourth time, his eyes focused on a far away thought.
Damn Denethor, Aragorn swore, and not for the first time in his 87 years.
"Faramir," he called softly not wanting to startle the younger man. Faramir was often skittish at best, years of living under the shadow of Denethor's disapproval had left its mark.
Faramir jerked abruptly to the present, a flush spreading across his cheeks at being caught so distant from his duties.
"Yes, milord."
Aragorn sighed, "Faramir, please, you must get past this..this..fear of yours. Every time I say your name it does not mean I am going to berate you for some minor if not imagined misdeed on your part!"
Aragorn cursed himself as he realized that was exactly what he was doing. Faramir stared straight ahead at some distant point over his shoulder; his face pale and shoulders squared, shame that he had disappointed yet one more time writ large upon his features.
Aragorn closed his eyes for strength and opened them to find his Steward still staring at some imagined point.
"Faramir," he tried again, his voice softer still. He watched as Faramir swallowed hard.
He placed a callused hand alongside the others face and forced his Steward to look at him directly. Their eyes locked and Aragorn flinched at the depth of despair in Faramir's eyes.
"Mellon nin, please, you are precious to me and I would not have you afraid of me."
Faramir swallowed audibly this time and closed his eyes to prevent the tears from sliding down his cheeks.
"My lord," he began and coughed to clear his throat of the lump, "my Lord I am not afraid of you, I am afraid I will fail you as I have so many others. I know that I am but a poor second to Boromir and it is he who should be standing by your side. And if I..if I had been strong enough, I would have been able to convince my Father to send me in Boromir's stead. But he is my Father and as such the best judge of my flawed character. He knew I would fail and so refused to send me to Rivendell."
Aragorn drew in a sharp breath, "I do not accept that Faramir. You are not now, nor have you ever been a poor second to your brother. He was a fine man, an honorable man. You were and are a fine, honorable man. Without you by my side I would surely fail for I have not been bred and raised to this responsibility as you have. Your presence lightens my heart."
A strangled sob escaped Faramir as he read the truth in Aragorn's eyes. The hand against his face was so warm and comforting. Faramir closed his eyes again and reveled in the feel.
Aragorn nearly wept as he felt the almost imperceptible nuzzle against his hand. This unconscious gesture showing him as nothing else could the loneliness that filled Faramir's heart.
"Faramir," Aragorn said for the third time that day and frowned when he felt Faramir flinch ever so slightly.
Forcing himself to smile agreeably at the young man, Aragorn chuckled, "Think you that mayhap you should brush other parts of your horse, before you brush the hair from his hide?" He lowered his hand to Faramir's shoulder and gave it a companionable squeeze.
Faramir grinned sheepishly a small twinkle in his eye, "Well he is a piebald pony my lord," he said quietly.
Aragorn groaned, "Ohh gods,that was positively awful."
Faramir shrugged, "I have never claimed to be bard."
"If your jokes are that awful, I am terrified to you hear you sing," Aragorn joked, seeing a glimpse of the witty young man, Boromir had described so lovingly.
"I'll have you know that I am admired far and wide for my vocal talents. Why I have a veritable chorus of cats joining me when I choose to gift the night air with my singing."
Aragorn snickered, "Don't you mean 'caterwauling' or mayhap "wargling?" Aragorn broke into a full throated laugh, completely amused with himself.
Faramir sniffed disdainfully, "And some would say I am not funny."
Aragorn doubled-over and laughed the harder, "Do you mean to say punny? I find you very punny, just not p-hunny."
Faramir heard the over exaggerated p and h in funny and rolled his eyes. But it felt good to joke with his King. Almost as good as joking with Boromir. At the thought of his brother, Faramir retreated into himself again, the laughter in his eyes dying instantly.
Aragorn felt the immediate change in Faramir and went to try and bring the man out of his shell with another joke.
"Patience Estel. All that is wrong in the world cannot be righted in a day, no matter how much his majesty wishes it to be so." The wise words of his beloved echoed in his mind. Aragorn nodded and returned to brushing Brego. The silence was still strained, but this time with the burden of memories.