The new grass was warm under his back as Aragorn was awakened by the rays of Arnor slipping down to him through the young leaves on the trees he rested under. It took him a few moments to process the significance of that fact as he sat up slowly. Hearing the crowds a bit away at his left reminded him though. He dragged a hand through his hair, realizing that he hadn't meant to fall asleep at all, and though the sun was not risen high, he was meant to be back in his pavilion and should be ready to walk out and meet his doom.
He looked up at the horse who stood dozing nearby. "Treasonous creature," Aragorn muttered, pulling himself up and dusting off. Aragorn let his gaze wander northward where the trees thickened. Dense forests were a deterrent to many, but Aragorn tended to look at things differently and saw deep cover, sanctuary, refuge.
"Your heart is divided," a voice said behind him.
Aragorn did not turn at first, then only hesitantly. It sounded like Gandalf was about to take him to task over not being ready yet. "Those trees call me," he said quietly. "For the first time in my life I can actually hear them, just as Legolas and El' and El' and every other Elf I've ever met. I can hear them, as surely as I hear you."
"And what do they say?" Gandalf inquired.
"They say they would shelter me, guard me… hide me."
"Ask them, then, what they would do for the people of Gondor."
"If the people of Gondor would learn that trees are not just decorations…," Aragorn flared, then immediately settled, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Gandalf looked grave and gruff, but softened and opened his arms to the "young" man. Aragorn practically fell into them.
"Did you think all your trials would end with Sauron's downfall?" Gandalf asked.
"Yes, of course I did, I thought that was the point of -" Aragorn could feel Gandalf shake his head.
"You have lived for nearly nine score years - all but not at all – and, according to your bloodline, you have some way to go before you may lay down your burdens. But now is a change, for though you had spent many of your years wandering alone, now you shall have the aid of others who love you dearly."
"I am homesick, Gandalf," Aragorn whispered against the Wizard's shoulder.
"Oh, do not presume to tell me that I have never seen that in you before!" Gandalf chided laughingly, hugging the weary man tighter. "Only, home shall be coming to you before too long and your transition shall be eased."
"My joints ache and protest that I rest, enough sleeping on the ground and swinging about five pounds of steel for hours on end. My mind tells me that I can do more good upon a throne than I ever could wandering aimlessly. But my heart… I love the earth I have walked and the things that only the earth can know. To be parted from these things is my greatest fear."
"A man must heed his heart if he is to do right, Estel, you know that. But one cannot discount the wisdom of the mind either."
Aragorn turned his head away, terrified of his decision.
It had been nearly half of an hour that Faramir and Boromir were sitting there on their horses in their fine robes, eyes trained on the biggest pavilion and marking no movement. Faramir was reciting Elven chants in his head in a desperate attempt to keep himself from utter panic.
"I always thought your father to be an early riser," Boromir said softly, noticing that Faramir seemed tense. Faramir jumped, startled even by Boromir's muted tone. "Far', relax, everything will be all right. I've never seen you this anxious." Boromir was starting to get a bit worried about his younger brother, it took a lot to perturb the quiet Ranger and only once had Boromir seen any evidence of such disquiet in Faramir, after that battle in Osgiliath just before they set out for Imladris.
"We can be so different, you and I," Faramir whispered. "Boromir, there is something you need to know…."
Boromir turned slowly toward Faramir, judging by those words, he was likely not going to be very comfortable with whatever his little brother needed to tell him.
Faramir took a deep, calming breath and said, "Last night when we rode out… I told you to leave that horse out there for a reason, Bor'."
Terror suddenly filled Boromir's eyes, if he read his little brother's meaning correctly, this was worse than the Balrog in Moria. Leaning toward his brother in entreaty, Boromir all but begged, "Faramir, please, please… just do not say that he is…."
Faramir closed his eyes, sighed, and in a mere breath started to say, "I cannot -"
Just then, the tent flaps were opened and out stepped the twin sons of Elrond. Faramir felt his heart beating in his chest like the hammers of the smiths of Eregion as his uncles stood solemn as sentinels, holding the tent flaps.
After an interminable moment, out stepped, to Faramir and Boromir's collective alarm, Gandalf.
Faramir had the sinking feeling that the Wizard had come forth to announce that the would-be King was no where to be found. Faramir's fingers were tightening on the horse's left reign, about to signal her to turn about and walk back to the City, when Gandalf in his gleaming white robes stepped aside and there appeared the most regal, stately, and majestic looking Mortal Man Faramir had ever beheld. Tears rose up as he heard the deafening roar of the 7 levels behind him cheering in utter jubilation.
Boromir beside him laughed and was smiling broadly. "Little bugger, you really had me scared! Come, let's go bid good day to the King."
Faramir sensed that this just might be a good day for everyone but the King. He hoped that his presence at his father's side would help to allay that.
Faramir and Boromir both advanced a bit farther before both dismounted and turned and, in view of the citizens of Minas Tirith and the gathered envoys and armies of neighboring lands, as well as the soon-to-be King, Boromir held aloft the White Rod of the Stewardship. This was a man used to projecting his voice in order to be heard by a great number of people and as silence fell over the City, Boromir said in a voice only such a robust man could effect, "My friends and countrymen, people of Gondor and lands beyond, this is a day such that has not been seen by any of those among us. And many are those who we wish were still here to share this moment with us." For a moment Boromir was silent before resuming. "For 8 and 20 years, in one way or another, have I been in service to this land, and been Captain General for the best part of those years. The traditions of our people would now have me set aside those years and hold not a sword, but a rod of rule. Yet there are those who can serve Gondor better than I in that capacity, and I hold that it is my duty to see to it that Gondor has only the finest, and best for the task. Thus, at this time, I wish to make it known that it is my desire to abdicate the Office of the Steward to Lord Faramir, this, in mean repayment of my debt to him for saving my life. Faramir has move than proven his merit, time and time again."
Again Boromir lifted up the White Rod, and the people of Gondor cheered their approval as he passed it over to Faramir. The brothers embraced and Faramir carried on from there. It was a little more difficult for him to project his voice as well as Boromir did, for Faramir had always been soft spoken, an Elven habit he obtained growing up in Imladris which served him very well in Ithilien. "Good people," he said, "the whole of Middle-earth has arrived at a cross-roads many of us have doubted ever to behold. I accept the incredible honor gifted me by Lord Boromir and do swear to make every good, helpful, and just use of this Office. But before you all now stands a choice. Gondor stands today as a statue, tall, proud, full of glory and proof of her maker's ability and wisdom and strength. But this statue has not a head and Gondor is incomplete. Today, here on this field, comes one to complete this magnificent opus. If you approve of my holding this scepter, then I have but one request: approve more so of one whose worth in wisdom, strength, justice, mercy, and love, is invaluable." Faramir turned toward his father and knelt. By response and as a sign of their suffrages, so too did all the people assembled.
Aragorn walked forward, stilling his nerves as best he could and not really knowing what was expected of him in that moment. He rested a hand on Faramir's shoulder and whispered in a cracking voice, "hannon le, ion-nîn…" before raising up his hands toward the city of people and canting, "Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar, tenn' Ambar-metta!"
The people rose and cheered wildly until Faramir again addressed them, saying, "For 1000 years Gondor has been without a crowned head. That ends this day! And since it is not at all possible now to follow the rituals as they were once written down regarding the passing of the Crown of Gondor from the hands of the previous King, today we shall set a new precedent." Faramir and Boromir again mounted up as Aragorn's horse and banner were brought over by the twins. Aragorn mounted and when Elladan handed him his standard, Aragorn passed it to Boromir, who lowered his head in gratitude and admiration.
With Boromir to his left and Faramir to his right, the three rode the short distance to the Gates, which were opened wide, to yet another cheer. The armies following the King's entourage would have some wait to get into the City! As the three men dismounted in the small space that the crowd allowed them, Faramir held out his hand toward the elderly woman who held the large lebethron box. His other hand he held out toward his father. Aragorn had no idea what exactly his inventive son was up to.
Faramir unlatched the box and the woman lifted out the weighty Crown of Eärnur. Shyly and blushing, the crone stretched up toward Aragorn, who quickly knelt once he understood what was going on and bowed his head. Inventive son indeed, and cunning! Aragorn was humbled and awed by this simple ceremony. The weight of the thing was immense, but now Aragorn felt more able than ever to truly hold up his head.
It was slow (and noisy!) going up through the circles to the feast that awaited up in the Citadel. Halfway through, just outside of the Merry Widow, Faramir halted his horse and dismounted. Again, Aragorn did not have any foreknowledge of what was going on, but he followed suit, trusting Faramir implicitly. This time he was lead over to where a child stood with another cask of lebethron wood, bearing the same motif as the one which Boromir was now carrying again (and relieved to have it back). The boy took out a scepter from its exquisite lining, holding it with reverence as if it belonged to Lord Manwë himself. Aragorn was again overwhelmed by the powerful statement this uncomplicated rite held. As he knelt and accepted the rod of rule from the little one, he bowed his head and whispered to the child, "I swear that I shall care for Gondor to the best of my ability, though I know not what that is."
To his surprise, the elated child reached out and gave his King the sort of uninhibited hug that only a trusting child could. "Happy birthday, your majesty," the little boy said excitedly, and Aragorn's tears broke free along with his laughter – if the child only knew how fitting that was!
Once the Citadel was, at long last, achieved, and those crowds gathered there waded through, Boromir suggested that the father and son take a moment to recuperate before going headlong into the feast in the Merethrond. The King's House was ready to welcome the first King of Gondor in 1000 years and in the King's private apartments they could escape from the fawning assembly. Aragorn quietly agreed that he could do with a few moments of peace and to shed some of the more ceremonial (and therefore, in his mind, utterly useless) aspects of the costume he was in.
Boromir led the way and once away from the pressing throng, handed the "keys to the kingdom" over to Aragorn, saying, "now it's all official!" Aragorn offered a weary smile by return and Boromir told them he would let the family be alone for a while until the rest of those invited for the feast had first made it to the hall, and then grown impatient for the guest of honor.
"I would sooner have you stay with us here, Boromir," Aragorn said sincerely, "you are most certainly our family as well." Boromir looked at Aragorn for a long, discerning moment before he bowed deeply in gratitude. Aragorn smiled and grasped the shoulder of the younger man and said, "I want you to take that seriously, this is your home, Boromir, and my coming should not change anything about that. It is I who am grateful to you. Now, come, rest a while with us, you deserve it as much as anyone does."
Aragorn was tempted to explain that Boromir was in fact a half-nephew to him, but he decided that it could wait, perhaps forever. Aragorn suspected that it would be more valuable to the proud warrior if he would simply regard Boromir as he did his own son; he knew enough about Boromir's childhood to know that, while Imrahil was a wonderful uncle to his sister's son, Boromir had really lost his father at the age of five; when he returned to Minas Tirith 15 years later, all that was left was a paternal Lord Steward. Aragorn couldn't help but feel at least partially responsible for that.
Boromir, for his part, accepted the invitation favorably and decided that as thanks he would let the matter of the Dunlending in the prison go for a day or two, even though he had dearly wanted Aragorn to rule on that immediately after taking up the crown.
hannon le, ion-nin - thank you, my son
Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar, tenn' Ambar-metta - Elendil's words at the 'founding' of Gondor, "Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world!"