The next two months in Minas Tirith had passed by more joyfully than most people had ever thought possible considering all the woes that seemed to emanate from the Citadel. It seemed now, though, that the long promised change had finally come.
Gondor had not only a King, but a Queen with an heir on the way, even if that fact was scarcely noticeable to the people of the kingdom, thanks in part to Arwen's seamstress. As Steward, Faramir was working efficiently and magnanimously to see to it that everyone had what they needed all around. The King's Counsel was working together for Gondor's well-being and improvement.
Individually, the occupants of the Citadel were doing just as well. Faramir's son was learning new words just as fast as he was growing, and a purely Númenórean trait it was for one so young, only just 7 months. Under Erestor's supervision, the younger Faramir was quickly becoming an apt assistant for the Steward. Belthil was excelling in his post in the Citadel Guard and was very pleased to be reunited with the messenger he had taken under his wing back in Pelargir, and all the more pleased to learn that he was training to assist his uncle in his office. The foliage planted and maintained by Legolas throughout the city was flourishing, and for the first time since the days of Eregion, Elf and Dwarf had worked side-by-side for the renewal of the city.
Everything was running smoothly. Which, of course, meant that something would have to change soon.
It was during the festival of the Mid-year, now with a added festivity as the anniversary of the King and Queen as well, that change began to hasten. Mid-year's night was a festival nearly as grand as the one from the year before, with fireworks once again courtesy of the newly returned White Wizard, who had quite characteristically made himself scarce since coming back with the funeral march two months ago.
That night, as revelers were making their winding ways home about the city in the hours before dawn, several of the wiser occupants of the Citadel had already found their beds for the night. There in the comfort of their guest chamber in the Citadel lay two Elves tangled in one another's arms, watching each other's eyes in the soft moon-like luminosity each cast.
"It has been one year exactly, mela," the dark-haired one whispered.
"I never would have imagined spending the last year here, like this," the fair one replied.
"Glor'," Erestor said softly, pulling himself closer into his lover's embrace, "let's go home. I have grown homesick."
"Ai, my little raven," Glorfindel cooed. "You are right, we do not belong here. Though i shall eternally remember this place fondly," he said, tenderly tucking a stray lock behind Erestor's pointed ear. After a passionate kiss to affirm his concurrence, Erestor nestled his head against Glor's shoulder and contentedly fell into dreams.
-
Dreams were prevalent in the Citadel that night. As Gondor's Steward saw his little one safely to sleep in his cradle, he laid down and opened his brother's book for the first time in a while. Faramir felt drawn to Boromir's thoughts and words that night, holidays seeming to have that effect on him. Boromir was always the life of any party and no celebration in Minas Tirith ever seemed quite complete without him.
Faramir was not aware that he had fallen asleep as he was reading until the sensation of intense heat closed in around him. It was so hot he was having difficulty breathing. Worse than that was the all-over weakness Faramir felt, he could not lift his head, even his eyelids were too heavy to try to see. Still the heat raged, from without and within at the same time. Valar! It was that accursed dream again. This time, though, it was clearer than ever before. Faramir felt incredibly weak, but his senses were not dulled. He heard every word exchanged:
"The houses of the dead are no places for the living...," Gandalf said.
"Since when has the Lord of Gondor been answerable to thee?" Denethor sneered back. "Or may i not command my own servants?"
"You may, but others may contest your will when it is turned to madness and evil. Where is your son?" Gandalf asked urgently.
Denethor carried on in lunacy about fire and ash but Faramir felt himself being gently lifted. He wondered if he was dying as his soaring fever invoked a reeling sensation in his head. He felt a whole new weakness spread over him as he felt his lips mouth the word "father," but it was not Denethor he called to. As the spinning ceased Faramir heard again the voice of Denethor.
"He calls for me!" Denethor cried.
"He calls, but you cannot come to him yet," Gandalf said sternly, his voice sounding very nearby now, and growing weary of this banter and knowing the urgency with which Faramir needed his true father's care. The swirling sense returned briefly to Faramir.
"He will not wake again... We should we not go to death side by side?" he heard Denethor say, and still his world would not stand still.
"Authority is not given... heathen kings... Dark Power... slaying themselves... pride... despair... murdering their kin to ease their own death." Faramir only heard Gandalf's voice in and out now and he could feel the heat rising sharply. If he had not felt incapacitated he would grabbed onto Gandalf for dear life, but all of his strength gave out and Faramir knew no more of the horror of that day in Rath Dinen, for what he knew was far more than enough.
Suddenly waking, Faramir sat up in his bed involuntarily, keeping his eyes tightly shut in fear of what he might see. He was in a cold sweat and trembling fiercely, his heart raced and he tried to catch his breath. There was a hand on his shoulder which he almost reflexively fought against until he realized that the presence of other person in the room was calming. Faramir opened his eyes to see Gandalf and of a sudden the man's tears broke loose.
"Mithrandir..." Faramir whispered tearfully. "He tried to kill me..."
-
Selections quoted from The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Book V, Chapter VII The Pyre of Denethor.
linda: Elboron is very sweet, just wait until he really starts talking. We may see some of that in this story, perhaps as en epilogue, or maybe in the next story as a preface.
Iblis: What Gwaithir knows will come to light in time. Honest! Yes, Arwen is definitely a good step-mum. She understands Faramir pretty well.
Elenhin: I can't say that the cloak necessarily induces fertility, but it is definitely imbued with some sort of Elf-magic. And, no, there is no escaping the hangover, at least not for Faramir. Aragorn is a little more used to it, but still. It must be incredibly good wine, though, because everyone keeps going back to it.
flowerbee: Yeah, Denethor is quite annoying, even just to write. Yet, not once has Faramir slipped into the past and actually referred toDenethor as his father (not that he brings the subject up that often). I think in Fara's mind, though he would continue to give him the duty owed to one's Lord, he stopped thinking of him as his father a long time ago. And really... only Saruman? I must be losing my touch!
Raska: Free of trouble, care, and angst-loving fan-fic writers? Well, there is only so much i can promise. We shall see abou the trouble and care... but the evil - i mean angst-loving - writers... i have no control over what others like myself foist upon our poor Faramir. :)