"Allow me once more to express my appreciation for your assistance today, my friends."
A warm early-summer breeze whispered through the dark green leaves of the Ithilien forest, pausing briefly to stir the hair and clothes of the curious group now reclining in leisure and enjoying a light repast upon one of the area's wide, grassy clearings. The day was growing late, and the waning afternoon sunshine drenching the glade cast their differences in stark contrast, and the wind could be forgiven its curiosity, for rarely had such a gathering ever been seen in Ithilien.
At the center of the group lounged Faramir, with Eowyn by his side, her own face wreathed in a wide smile as she ate some bread and cheese and listened to her companion speak. Behind her, and just as attentive, were two final figures whose appearances bespoke a countless host of contrasts.
One was tall and slender, clad in woodland greens and browns, every line of his form delineated with otherworldly elegance. The light of ancient wisdom glowed in his mild blue eyes, and the sun seemed to glow even more brightly against the silk-like golden hair that lay braided over his pointed ears and cascaded down his back. As he sat cross-legged on the grass, this lithesome being was holding his half-eaten bread in one hand and poring over some sheets of parchment paper, upon which were elegantly drawn the plans for a large house.
The personage sitting on a rock next to this ethereal being provided an opposite impression in almost every respect. His stature was broad and quite short, the top of his head barely reaching his taller friend's chest. Thick leather armor covered with wondrously worked metal covered his stout frame, and his face was all but hidden beneath a mountainous, coarse brown beard, portions of which were gathered in elaborately woven plaits. On the ground by his feet lay a sturdy-looking helmet of intricate design, doffed in the heat of the day. rather than eating as the others were, this imposing figure was calmly smoking a pipe, and seemed to be studying the woodland surroundings with a skeptical light in his brown eyes.
"I still fail to see," announced this small figure in a genial but curious tone, "why you both would prefer to build your home out in this drafty, dirty forest." His voice was deep and rough, spoken with a good-natured growl.
Faramir and Eowyn, smiling, while the taller figure's expression took on the aspect of slight pique and took a rather aggressive bite from his bread.
"They have but to say the word," he continued, emitting a large puff of pipe smoke for emphasis, "and we Dwarves will carve a home for them within the mountains that will be the envy of every noble in Gondor!"
The couple laughed and glanced at each other, sharing their amusement.
"I suppose they might be envious," allowed the taller figure in a smooth, melodious voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm, after swallowing his food, "assuming they could stop chattering from the cold and damp long enough to take note of their surroundings." He cast a sideways glance at the Dwarf that was not devoid of humor.
"Bah! Such concerns might trouble a frail Elf princeling such as yourself, Legolas," was the fond but dismissive response. "But I'd wager my beard you'd find more warmth before a roaring hearth of stone than among the cold mud and wet leaves of the woods."
The young Steward shook his head, still smiling. "I am sure it would be a most magnificent dwelling, Gimli," he said in a measured, gentle voice, "and from what I have read in my studies, there are few kingdoms indeed upon all of Arda that may rival the fabled, ancient halls of the Dwarf-lords."
Gimli gave the Elf a small, somewhat smug grin beneath his beard.
Then Faramir looked up into the trees, their leaves shimmering like emeralds in the sunlight, and a calm smile touched his lips. "But my heart, I fear, has long been given to the wild beauty of Ithilien, and it is here among the long-neglected hills and rivers of Emyn Arnen that I would make our home." Then he smiled again and turned to Eowyn, putting his arm around her shoulder. "With the consent of my Lady Eowyn, certainly!"
She laughed softly and took his hand. "Such consent she gladly gives," was the affectionate answer before she looked around. "It does not have the windswept openness of my native Rohan, it is true, but this land possesses a splendor of its own that still soothes my heart. And, I believe I know an excellent area for the stables and paddock!"
Faramir kissed her hand. "It shall be as you desire, my Lady," he promised, returning her wide smile before looking over at the Elf.
By now, the sun had set, and night was beginning to gently fall. Reluctantly, the party rose and began to prepare for the return journey to Minas Tirith.
As he strapped his saddlebags back onto his mount, Faramir could not resist glancing once more around the clearing. High above them wafted the music of the majestic trees as their leaves softly rustled in the evening breeze; along the edges of the forest, he could see the heather and wildflowers growing in untended carpets upon the ground. He sighed and leaned upon his horse for a moment, closing his eyes and inhaling the fragrance of the land, the warm air thick with the scents of wild roses, lilies, and hyacinths. From the depths of the forest, he could hear the night birds and crickets beginning their evening songs.
He stood still and listened, wondering that he was now able to do such things in Ithilien as stand and hear her nightly chorus. There had been scant opportunities to do so when the fair realm had been torn apart by war; now, as he allowed himself to be swallowed by her presence, it almost seemed possible to forget there had been a war, or that there was anywhere on Arda but Ithilien.
For a few moments he listened, then sighed again and opened his eyes. Three feet before him stood Eowyn, who was watching him with a gentle smile on her face.
He simply smiled back, unashamed. "It has been too long," he said in explanation.
In reply, she stepped forward and took his hand. "We are ready, but I did not want to disturb you," she said, her grasp warm. "You looked so content."
He straightened; it seemed to have grown even darker now. "Yes, I suppose I was," he said, drawing a breath as he looked around. Lightning bugs were now blinking from the shadows of the trees, dancing yellow stars against the blackness. He sighed once more and looked at her, returning her touch. "Wild as it is, Ithilien has always calmed my spirit, somehow."
She nodded and turned, resting her back upon his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. Together, they both watched the night continue to settle around them.
"There is no mystery to that, my husband, " she said quietly as they looked over the land, her hands placed over his where they clasped around her waist. "Minas Tirith has its beauty, but there are times when the soul yearns to share its breath with that of the earth."
Faramir nodded slightly, his face nuzzling her golden hair. "That is my thought as well," he murmured as he drew her closer to him. "It eases my heart to know that this land suits you, my love. I want so much for you to be happy here."
"I am sure I will be," she promised, leaning back into his embrace. "It has made me happy already, just to see the comfort it brings you." She settled herself and sighed. "And this place shall be a shelter for us, and our children, for as long as Gondor endures."
"Hmm," her husband said in response, a slight smile touching his lips as this future unfolded in his mind. Their children, and every generation thereafter, playing in peace beneath the ancient boughs, the wild lands gentled into the Garden of Gondor once more, and each child learning to love Ithilien as he did, so that it would never again be neglected.
"Faramir! My Lady!"
Legolas' shout brought him sharply out of the reverie, and he stood up, still clasping his wife to him as he turned and looked behind him. Legolas, already mounted, was riding towards them, Gimli hanging on behind him. Even in the gathering dusk, Faramir could see that the Elf's eyes were wide with urgency.
In a few seconds, the Elf reined in his horse, skidding to a stop only a few feet away.
"You must come at once," he exclaimed, "to the Morgul Road!"
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"You say the Haradrim leader gave you this?"
Faramir turned the small, heavy package over in his gloved hands, then glanced up. Before him, two armored soldiers of Gondor sat on the ground beside their horses, the men drinking from water-skins while their steeds gulped refreshment from a roadside trough. Both men and mounts were thoroughly exhausted and covered with dust.
The taller and darker of the two soldiers left off his drinking, catching his breath as his nodded. "Yes, sir, that's the truth," he said. "We met them down near the Poros Crossings. He didn't say what it was, but he said they'd be waiting on that road for an answer in a week. We've spent the whole day riding so we could fetch it to the King just as quick as we could."
He paused, his expression becoming regretful. "It's been a long ride and mighty hard on our horses." The warrior shook his head. "I don't think they can make it to the City."
Faramir nodded. "You all deserve a rest, from the looks of it," he replied, glancing over them both. "I shall deliver this to the King myself, and make certain he knows of your valiant effort."
The soldier blinked and nodded. "We'd both be very grateful for that, sir," he gasped. "Thank you, sir."
"The Elf and I can look after these two, lad," said Gimli. "You'd best get your lady home, and that message to Aragorn, as fast as you can."
In one quick movement, Faramir carefully placed the package into his saddlebag and looked up at Eowyn as he climbed into his saddle. She was beside him, already upon her horse.
"It appears another race is in order, my lady," he said, settling himself quickly and gathering the reins. She nodded, her urgent expression matching his own. Without another word between them, they spurred their horses forward towards the crossing over the river, leaving those behind to ponder the mysterious message, and what its contents might mean for the future of Gondor.
---------------------
The silence in the King's chamber was deafening.
As Faramir sat at a nearby table, watching Aragorn read the Haradrim's message, the only sound to be heard came from the hissing and popping of the fire in the room's large stone fireplace. Before that fire stood the King, who had not moved or spoken since unwrapping the message and reading its contents.
Weary after the hard ride made by himself and Eowyn, Faramir was content to sit quietly and await his sovereign's response. From time to time he took a swallow or two of the drink at his elbow, but otherwise, he sat, one hand on his hip, the fingers of the other wrapped about his chin and mouth, in an attitude of somber studiousness.
Faramir had learned from experience that his liege was not an easy man to read from mere observation alone. Aragorn had been a Ranger before ascending the throne, a man well accustomed to solitude and secrecy. As the long-lost heir of Isildur, he had been hunted by the forces of the Dark Lord, and had thus learned from the time of his youth how to hide his thoughts. As the crowned King, he had shed none of his private habits.
As long and as hard as he stared, Faramir knew he could hope to learn nothing from the expression on Aragorn's handsome, weathered face. He would simply have to wait.
Outside, night had fully fallen, the only illumination in the room now coming from the fireplace. Its glow danced over Aragorn's fine but simple clothing, touched his long curled raven locks with glints of fire, glittered in his hazel eyes. After reading the message several times over, the King looked up into the fire for several moments, deep in thought, then turned to Faramir.
The Steward found his sovereign's calm expression inscrutable. "Is the message to good purpose or ill, sire?" he finally inquired.
"To good purpose, I would say, my Steward," was the King's answer as he walked over to Faramir with measured steps, "though I trust there are some who may take it ill. How is your Haradric?"
Faramir pursed his lips a little as he considered the question. "My tutor claimed I had some skill at it," he allowed.
"Then pray read this aloud for me, if you would," replied Aragorn, handing him the roll of parchment. "Your talent with that tongue is doubtless greater than mine, and I wish to make certain I have read it aright before deciding what action to take."
With a bow, Faramir rose and obeyed the request, taking a few steps over to the fire and bending the paper towards its light to better read the florid letters. The missive was artfully inscribed upon a scroll of parchment, attached at both ends to a heavy brass roller.
"'To Aragorn Elessar, King of Gondor, greetings,'" he recited, going carefully over every word. "'I write this letter to you in the hopes that you will be agreeable to a meeting between us on behalf of my tribe, for the purpose of securing an agreement of peace..." Here Faramir's words trailed off in surprise, and he looked up at the King in astonishment for a moment before continuing with the letter. "...between the men of Harad and the men of Gondor. It is my desire to come to your city and speak to you. If it is possible, I would ask that the King of Rohan be present as well, as we have also met the men of that land upon the field of war. If this meets with your approval, kindly inform my messenger, and we shall proceed. It is the greatest hope of my heart that the war that has sundered our peoples should end. With honor to you, Mahrid Adir, Chieftain of the Seventh Tribe.'"
Once he had finished, Faramir could not help reading the letter over once or twice to himself, an expression of amazement upon his face. At length, he raised his eyes to where Aragorn stood by the fire, one hand to his lips in thought.
Coming out of his reverie, the King nodded to Faramir. "My thanks, Faramir, that was my understanding of the words as well," he said. "Now that we agree as to what they say, we have only to decide what to do about them."
"A unique dilemma, to be sure," the Steward remarked, still poring over the note. "To my knowledge, no Harad Chieftain has ever offered to discuss peace with Gondor since the recording of our history began."
"Hmm." Aragorn slowly walked over to chair by the fire and seated himself, still considering. "I regret that my experience with the Haradrim has been scant, at best. They seldom ventured as far north as my travels took me. Have you heard of this Mahrid Adir?"
"Oh, yes," was Faramir's firm reply as he took his former seat and placed the letter aside. "He is one of that region's most venerable leaders, a great warlord of cunning and skill. He was commanding troops of Haradrim in the days when my father began his rule as Steward; I recall hearing his name often from my father's lips, sometimes coupled with a colorful phrase or two." He smiled a little and shook his head, glancing over at the letter. "It seems remarkable that he should be the first to seek peace with Gondor, after fighting us for so long."
A pensive light came into Aragorn's eyes. "Perhaps he has simply grown weary of war," he suggested quietly, "and does not wish to continue fighting to extinction, as the other Haradrim tribes are doing."
"That would seem to be their aim," sighed Faramir, leaning forward and folding his hands. "It does not seem that a month goes by without some skirmish with Harad riders. As with the other former allies of Sauron, they are reluctant to accept his demise, or their defeat."
"A peace agreement with one of their most respected leaders may change that situation," offered Aragorn, rising from his seat and pacing before the fire. He was silent for a short time, marking out a few strides back and forth, before turning to his Steward.
"Summon the Council to convene tomorrow morning," he requested. "We shall draft a response agreeing to meet with the Haradrim, and settle the terms of the treaty."
Faramir rose. "As you will, Sire," he said with a nod," but...as a friend, I should warn you, there are those on the Council, and indeed among our people, who will not be agreeable to this. The Haradrim have been in league with the Dark Lord and our loathed enemies for centuries, and there are those who feel that extinction would be the preferred choice for their kind."
Aragorn contemplated this, then lifted his green eyes to gaze at his comrade. "And what is your opinion, my Lord Steward?"
There were a few moments of silence as Faramir formed his answer. At the end, he met his King's look steadily.
"I have lost many a dear friend to their blades and arrows, Sire," he admitted in a quiet voice, "and never would I advise a meeting such as this without the utmost caution. But if there is even a chance that this may lead to peace between our peoples, I would say we must seize it. There is no telling when it may come again."
Aragorn studied his face for a moment, then nodded slightly.
"Those are my thoughts precisely, my friend," he said with a sigh, squaring his shoulders as if preparing to shoulder the coming burden. "We can only hope the Council shares our views."