By some strange working of what had to be the Valar alone, word of Boromir's presence in the city, let alone his condition, had actually not gotten around Minas Tirith. It was taken for granted that he had been lost on his way home from Rivendell, and Faramir, though he was in no condition to do anything about it, was being called the Steward of Gondor because of a very surprising, if not hotly debated, "last" writing of Boromir's. There were even those who claimed that Faramir must have forced Boromir's hand, literally, in writing the document the very day before they rushed off to some Elven land in the north… a land from which Faramir returned from unscathed to his command, but from which Boromir never returned.
Fortunately, the people who believed such things only thought that they were important to Gondor. While most others of the lower levels of the City did not know that Boromir had in fact returned, they thought that he had made a sound choice in naming his heir. Since the lord had no children, they believed it made sense for him to call upon the one who was nearest to him, even if Faramir was not of the same blood. Most people were growing a little sick of the House of Anárion and all of its inaction over the years. Some were growing restless with the Stewardship that seemed to be getting closer and closer to making a claim on the Throne with each passing generation.
Then yet again, there were those who were anxious that no one even knew what House Faramir was of, though he was visibly of Númenórean decent. They thought that Imrahil was the better choice to succeed as Steward of Gondor and were pleased that the banner of Dol Amroth was flown from the Citadel the day after the battle.
Of course, many also distrusted Imrahil's intentions, saying that he intended to make a permanent claim on the Stewardship, thereby shifting the power south. The Prince of Dol Amroth had always been the second most powerful man in Gondor, and now many believed he aimed to become the most powerful.
Over all of this furor, there was the rumor that the King had come back and had worked through the night curing men of impossible injuries and ailments. The select few who knew that Boromir was alive and in the city said nothing, for much the same reason that those who knew the extent of Aragorn's identity said nothing, if all was to go ill in the end, none wanted to get up the hopes of so many. Gondor, in effect, had its entire system of government shaken and disorganized in a single day. There was enough confusion in Gondor to last into the next age and the City was actually more vulnerable than more secure now that the battle was over.
Once back in his pavilion, Aragorn dropped like a rock in water and slept the entire day. He was outside the City and just a Ranger again. Had anyone wanted to bother him, they would have been met by a stubborn Elf and a downrightly obdurate Dwarf who both knew exactly how little restful sleep Aragorn had taken in weeks.
Faramir was also able to get a quite rest that day. The Houses of Healing had been anything but relaxing the night before, but things seemed to become less pressing with day, thanks in large part to Aragorn's work. Many who were able to be healed were taken care of and sent back to their homes, some were even able to return to the ranks. Many others had not lived to see the sunrise, leaving a much more manageable number of patients needing constant care. It was still much more than the Houses had ever dealt with before and most rooms were still overflowing, but at least now things were relatively under control.
When Aragorn finally woke, evening was drawing on. For a change the smell of dinner actually overpowered the smell of death, even if it was camp food, and Aragorn felt rather hungry. Pulling on a cloak and wandering out from the pavilion Aragorn was drawn toward the camp of the Rohirrim. As he gradually began to wake properly, something in his mind was signaling him to be cautious though his thinking was so foggy at the moment he couldn't really reason why. It wasn't until he was in sight of the cooking pit that it came back to him that he had an unfavorable experience with Rohirric cuisine not so long ago. It caused his appetite to diminish slightly but he was still hungry and knew that he needed to eat something.
Spying Legolas not too far away he waved him over and asked, hopefully, if there was anything safe to eat available. To his surprise, Legolas said that the soup prepared was edible, at least for Mortal beings. Aragorn had not even noticed that Gimli had been dozing beside the tent flap with an empty bowl beside him. It lifted his spirits to have been able to get a proper sleep and now a proper dinner. The soup was not only warming but filling and rich in taste.
Apparently Éomer had acquired his father's cooking skills more so than his sister, whose idea of a camp stew was some along the line of hot water and hay with a bit of clover tossed in for bitterness. Éomund was known to command the best fed éored in the Mark and he usually did the cooking himself. It was something that Aragorn remembered well from days long since past and as he ate he sat thinking about all he had seen in his life. He had seen 87… 88 years, in actual fact. So many had come and gone in that time. Aragorn decided to stop thinking so deeply. He had been feeling rather good before he started thinking of how old he was. It was unclear to him whether the sight of Elladan and Elrohir, Legolas and Gimli, and Gandalf made him feel better about his own age or not.
Aragorn looked toward the City and noted that the sun was dipping down behind Mount Mindolluin. Minas Tirith was cast about in shadows, this time of a natural manner, and Aragorn slipped away from the camp without being seen and went into the City covertly; using his old knowledge of the place to move through shadowed alleys, he only needed to make his presence known at the gates. One early May morning from nearly 36 years ago came to mind and upon reaching the sixth circle, Aragorn kept to the alleys as he approached the Houses of Healing and found the back door he had used in escaping with his newborn son. As he sneaked into Faramir's room, the irony struck him that whereas once he had carried his son away from here and struggled to keep him alive and well, now he had come into the City to fight for his son's life.
Faramir was sleeping lightly when Aragorn slipped in from a "servant's entrance" and when his father stroked his hair gently he opened his eyes and looked up at his dearly loved father.
"How are you feeling?" Aragorn whispered.
Faramir shrugged. "I am glad to be alive, more than anything," he said drowsily, "but I feel quite tired still. I feel as though I could sleep for days."
Aragorn smiled. He knew how much his son hated feeling tired and being forced to take the rest he really needed. Faramir was accepting and understood healing well enough to know that rest was usually the best medicine, it was the rest part of that he had trouble enduring. "And so you should. I envy you, you shall rest and recover. I have more yet to be done." He stopped for a moment considering his next words. There had never been secrets between him and his son (with the exception of that one), and yet he wondered if it would a wise use of this short time they had together to talk of the march planned on the Black Gates.
Faramir was not one to be put off easily, though. He could see the conflict in his father's eyes. "I would sooner you tell me, ada," he said quietly. "Whatever it is, I could easier bear to hear it from you and hear the truth, than to hear some butchered tale from some loquacious nurse. I have already heard someone speaking of my brother as dead out in the hallway, when I had just been assured that he was well."
Aragorn sighed. "I do not think that the general population is aware that Boromir is even in the City. A nurse from Dol Amroth told me that he was dressed as a Ranger when she found him here, no one recognized him in the state he was in."
"No, they would not have," Faramir grinned slightly. "Our grooming habits in Ithilien are rather secondary to staying alive. However, you and I both know enough about that."
"Boromir was sleeping soundly when I left him," Aragorn reassured his son. Somehow the topic had taken a convenient shift and Aragorn knew that he would need to talk with Faramir about Boromir's condition as well, so he let the topic of the march go by temporarily. "He was fortunate. His condition is a lot better than most around here. Faramir…." How to tell his son that he had sent his half-brother off to his death when he was not yet dead? Was this really easier than talking about that suicide mission?
Once again, though, Faramir demonstrated the innate understanding that he shared with his father. "I know why you sent him on. I did not think him alive either, had it not been for Damrod's thinking clearer than i…. Well, I know about the poison, how it slows the heartbeat dangerously. And I know that you did not know that he had it."
"I did not even detect a poison in his wound," Aragorn said unhappily.
Faramir gave a small shrug and simply said, "Saruman. His work was never as obvious as Sauron's."
Aragorn nodded. "My compliments to his healer, though. That wound was taken expert care of."
Faramir smiled shyly and said, "I learned from the best."
"That you did," Aragorn said smiling sadly. "I have wished so much that adar was here now."
"I did not mean daerada," Faramir clarified, looking directly into his father's eyes. "Daerada taught me much, but in a cave in Ithilien I did not exactly have the conveniences of Imladris at my disposal. Without your guidance, I would not be here today and nor would my brother. I also can see that more is weighing on you."
Aragorn shook his head. "I must have let you spend too much time with ada and the twins," he said teasingly.
"No, not quite," Faramir said, "we just spent too much time together for you to be able to hide what is troubling you."
"Aye, well, likewise, you cannot hide it from me when you are weary and need your rest," Aragorn said, almost trying to back out of the conversation, but he wanted desperately to spend this time with his son. It was too likely that this might be the last time they had together and…. Aragorn sat back in the chair beside the bed, staring into the fire in the fireplace. "We are going to march on the Morannon," he said cheerlessly. "The idea is that Sauron shall be so frightened of what a worthless Ranger and a raggle-taggle band of worn-out soldiers might do to his impenetrable fortress that he shall forget all about his Ring of Power, which could unmake the world, to make sure that I do not stride in and take over Barad-dûr for my own."
"Were I Sauron, I would be terrified," Faramir said humorlessly. "But I am not, I am your son, and I am proud."
In that moment father and son embraced tightly, for both knew how much was at stake and that in these days words were not said lightly. They knew also that this time was important and it could not be squandered. These were the sort of moments that were recalled by a dying man desperately seeking one last thought to ease his passing; these were the sort of moments recalled by those left behind desperately seeking any and all of those dear memories. Together Aragorn and Faramir talked long into the night, discussing many things from the earliest days of Faramir's life to what should happen into the future… should there be a future.
Before the sun rose in the twilight of the morning, Faramir had started slipping back into sleep. Aragorn kissed his sleepy son's brow, promising that he would come back after the sun set again. He refused to say that that visit would be for a goodbye, but he feared deeply that it would prove to be.
Instead of heading back to his pavilion, though, Aragorn decided to check in on Boromir. It was yet another one of his fears that he figured it would be best to face sooner than later; Boromir awake and lucid could be very angry indeed to see him, the man who had nearly sent him off to his death prematurely. Still, considering the chance he had of surviving very long beyond getting to Mordor's front door, he supposed it was really a moot point.
Once again Aragorn was walking through the highest level of Minas Tirith and again, unbidden, the thought came to him that if, by some very strange and inexplicable twist of his so-far ill-fate, all went well in the end, he could wind up calling this place home for the rest of his days. The thought of calling any place other than Imladris home frightened him, but he had long since learned to bury fear. Aragorn knew well that most things one fears never come to pass anyway.
Aragorn knocked softly at the door to Boromir's chambers. He was greeted by the young maid who had, in essence, saved his life. He smiled to see her, but she looked a bit nervous and curtseyed to him for a long moment. That made Aragorn rather uncomfortable and again the thought came to him that such things could be the rest of his life if he came back to Minas Tirith again. Still, he nodded to acknowledge her reverence and asked how Boromir was doing.
"He was just beginning to wake when you knocked, sire," the girl said timidly. "Lady Mithrellas is with him."
"Thank you," he said, going into the bedchamber. "I will stay with him for a time," he said softly to Mithrellas. "You should take some rest."
Mithrellas did not say anything, but looked into the eyes of the man she recalled as Thorongil and nodded, quietly leaving the room. Aragorn did not speak; he would leave that option to Boromir first. It was his way of testing the waters. Instead, he allowed his healer's instincts to guide him and, though he was potentially risking injuring, leaned in to check Boromir's pulse. What an irony that was.
Boromir did turn slightly at the touch. He had noticed someone leaving the room and figured that he was left alone. For the last hour, he had been faking sleep. He had woken from his rather extended nap (did he ever do anything else of late?) to the sound of voices, one he recognized immediately, his "aunt" Mithrellas. There was not much of a thought process at first, he was just "getting his bearings," as it were, but when he heard someone say, "I cannot even imagine that yew is kept in the Houses," a rush of recollection came back to him. He has asked that young girl to bring him yew extract, having heard that the stuff was poison. This had to mean that it hadn't worked.
Boromir heard someone else saying, "I never imagined I should be forgiven… but I just could not have lived with myself had I given him…." So, then, he had not even taken the stuff. He briefly wondered what it was he had taken, but it had mattered little to him at that point. Somehow, someway he had been denied eternal peace repeatedly. He guessed the Valar had been sparing him for some greater torture. Still, could there really be a greater torture for him than to have failed his father, his brother, even the King?
So lost in his thoughts it had been easy for Boromir to fake sleep, fooling the two women who stayed near. Ever time he heard Mithrellas speak he remembered his beautiful mother. He had even failed her memory, and that pierced him to the heart more than aught else. Surely, he could have apologized to any living person; perhaps he could even bear retribution until those wronged were satisfied, but to his mumma he could not apologize.
Someone had a firm but gentle hand on his wrist now, though, and figuring that he could not just pretend to sleep much longer anyway, he might as well get some answers… or give some, as was more likely. Dread flooded him when he saw the sharp grey eyes of the man who knew was the rightful King. Boromir was torn between pulling away and fleeing, as his initial instinct told him to, and facing Aragorn's sentence. Honor had been failing him left, right, and center lately, so he decided that he would force it into compliance at least this once, pitiful as he felt that was.
"My Lord," he said in a voice much weaker than he expected. He guessed those words were like a slap in the face to the man whose trust he had betrayed. Aragorn showed no sign of anger or offense though, and simply pressed a cup of cold water into Boromir's hand.
"You think you shall get out of it that easily?" Aragorn said lightly, in part teasing Boromir that just calling him his Lord did not really make it so just yet, though a part of him really did mean to take Boromir to task for being so stupid as to try to enlist an innocent person's help in taking his own life. "Me, I have yet another test to pass before I dare to claim that title. If I do not pass, if my luck runs out, you still have the unadulterated privilege of having the gilded albatross of highest rank shackled 'round your neck."
No, that symbolism was not lost on Boromir, who had grown up in Dol Amroth by the sea. "I can think of worse things to have 'round my neck," Boromir said with a tone that implied several things.
"Really? As I see it from here, your shame is doing you as much harm as a noose would, or an angry pair of hands, or even a Ring of Power." Aragorn told himself to stop there at the look on Boromir's face. He had accused his son and brother of mind reading and here he was doing it himself. Besides, he had not come to berate the man into getting back onto his own two feet; he had come to ask Boromir's pardon for what he saw as failing him in a potentially ultimate way. He had come to lay bare the shame that he had been eating at him, and yet here he saw this man in a much worse state of self-perceived ignominy than he himself was even when explaining about Faramir's birth to his beloved.
"I am sorry," he said sincerely. "I came here to bear my contrition to you, not to upbraid you for yours."
"You? What have you to apologize to me for? You did me no injury. You did not take in greed from my lifeless body a token that you knew held the fate of every man, woman, and child upon Arda."
"No, but I failed you personally, Boromir. You were gravely injured and my mind had assumed your death to the point that my fingertips could not feel your pulse. I have been told that there was some poison that I failed to detect in your wound that caused your heart rate to drop, but to me that is no excuse, I should have tried harder. That I now learn that there was a poison present and I overlooked it shames me also. I do not really expect your forgiveness for it, I accept your blame."
"That was what you said when you told me that my little brother is really related to me after all. You seem to take blame so easily, I wish I had such fortitude and honor in me." Boromir looked away again, his eyes focused on the bed sheet on the other side of him. "Did Fara' ever make it back here?" he asked quietly.
"Yes. He is doing well enough right now. He told me just tonight that he hopes to be able to leave the Houses long enough to visit you soon." Aragorn hoped that that would at least give Boromir something to look forward to.
"He should not waste his energy. Before we left I named him my heir, just in case. Stupid thing to do I guess, but I did not know he was already the heir to this place. It was a comfort to me to think that I could just go out quietly and let him have my place, he would be better at it anyway." Boromir sounded rather like he was talking to himself more than to Aragorn.
"Faramir is not my heir," Aragorn said calmly. "Not by any official record. It was my intent to let him make that choice on his own when he came of age. I never really got the chance to tell him that though, when I finally worked up the courage to tell him of our line he left before I knew it and came here." Aragorn was trying now to establish a link between him and Boromir, using Faramir as their common concern, as one man's loss had turned out to be the other man's gain.
"He truly has your determination, my little brother. He knew what I had done in Amon Hen and yet he kept me alive in his cave for days. When I finally came to, he held me blameless. Said that no one could withstand such a force as the Ring. He has a kind heart, but I wish he would not use it to sugarcoat things. Others were plainly able to resist it whereas I could not."
"Faramir was right, Boromir." It was not Aragorn who said it though. There in the doorway stood Gandalf, smiling widely. "I really believed we had lost you, though I suppose that is only fair, I did give that same scare to all of you. However, Faramir was very much right… as so are you. No one can withstand the Ring, and the more powerful the individual in question is, the less he is able to withstand it. You, however, had another disadvantage that quite few others had against them. You had seen his mind. I daresay that worked against you from the moment it occurred, if what Faramir tells me is accurate."
Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief. Gandalf could definitely do this better than he could and he was starting to feel a little tired again. The sun was up over the horizon already. Rising, he offered the bedside chair to the elderly Wizard. "I will leave you to wiser counsels than my own for now," he said to Boromir. "We both of us have a long way to go yet, my brother, and not all of the battles can be won by steel and dart. I will come by again after night, but I shall only stay a short time, for we will be leaving on the morrow to press Sauron in his own land. So cocky we have grown from one little victory with home field advantage," Aragorn grinned. "Take rest of heart and mind, my friend. Be assured that you are needed here." With that Aragorn drew his hood up again and disappeared into the shadows that were quickly melting away with the sun that, this day at least, rose even over the darkness of Mordor.
ooo
Well, this took me significantly longer than usual to update! The last week was just one thing after another. Nothing terrible, just a series of moderately stressful incidents that rather added up. It is my hope that having a full week off next week will see me making up for this unusal delay.
linda: More twists than a pretzel? I agree, i wish Aragorn could share Fara's room before he has to go off to Mordor (and whatever might happen there is anyone's guess). But somehow i do not think he would get a moment's rest anywhere inside the City.
Elenhin: The maid is indeed quite smart. She might have a future as a nurse in the Houses, she really knows her medicines. Funny thati don't even have a name for her though. Heh... now i come to think i really ought to post warnings. I have mentioned several quite poisonous herbals in some of my writings, i ought to tell people to avoid themasI do get all my information from a credible book on herbals. I say so all the time, but at least in this story, i just don't seem to be able to really do Boromir in. Not that that is a bad thing.
estelle: Quite welcome. I doubt i shall stop sharing any time soon, i do so enjoy the feedback :)
steelelf: Aye, i know. Like i said, i just can't seem to do it. I have let him live this long, so, well... I must be getting soft.