These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain
No other Sun has lightened up my heaven;
No other star has ever shone for me:
All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given -
All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. - Emily Bronte
"Easy, my lord, lie still!"
Faramir slowly opened his eyes to find Tarostar bending over him. He was lying on a bed and the lacings on his tunic and shirt had been loosened. For a brief instant, he felt confused.
Where was Aragorn? The King had tended him every time he was ill during the past three years. Then he remembered. The King was dead, never again would he see his compassionate grey eyes, feel his healing touch or spend long hours with him,deep in conversation or companionable silence.
The one who had been father, brother, friend, healer, mentor and King to him was no more. Faramir choked back a sob and struggled to maintain his composure in front of Tarostar. Were Aragorn here, he would have wept unashamedly but Aragorn was no more.
However could he survive without him? Surely too, the Queen would most likely die of grief? Arwen would have to be told that her beloved husband was dead and Faramir as Steward would have to be the one to tell her. Or maybe she already knew ?
His head swam alarmingly. He wished desperately that Eowyn were here. She would understand how he was feeling, as she had loved the King too.
He forced himself to sit up, propping himself on his elbows. Tarostar steadied him and held a cup of water to his lips.
"Alas for Gondor, her Hope is lost!" Faramir said bleakly. His iron composure belied his inner grief.
"He was a great man and will be much missed." Tarostar said quietly. He was aware, unlike many, of how deep the friendship between the King and Steward had been, having seen the King's anguish when Faramir was near death a few months before.
"I must go and inform the Queen." Faramir struggled to rise from the bed and became fully aware of his surroundings for the first time. This was the very room where Aragorn had revived him from the Black Breath. Hardly surprising, as it was the best room, set aside for those of high birth when they were unwell.
Tarostar shook his head; "You are in no fit state to go anywhere today, Lord Faramir, especially as the Queen does not appear to be in the City."
"She is at my home with Lady Eowyn," Faramir told him.
"Travelling so far is out the question, my lord!" Tarostar told him firmly, "You could not undertake such a journey after sustaining so great a shock. You need to rest. Would you prefer to stay here or return to your own apartments?"
Just then, a servant tapped on the door before entering He was bearing a steaming mug in his hand.
Tarostar took it from him, thanked him and dismissed him.
He then held the cup to Faramir's lips urging the Steward to sip the hot, sweet tea inside. He felt stronger once he had drained it, but there was no herb on Arda that could ease the grief in his heart.
"How did the King die?" he asked Tarostar, "I assume he fell in the river somehow and drowned? Would he have suffered?"
"I fear, I cannot tell you that yet, Lord Faramir," Tarostar replied, "Dead bodies can often reveal very little, I fear, especially given the condition of the King's. It will even be difficult to embalm, given the condition it is in and cannot be put on display for a lying in state I fear."
"The ceremonies will have to wait." Faramir said firmly, "Aragorn does not, I mean did not want any public gatherings for fear of spreading the fever. I must obey his wishes and I am sure the Queen will agree. I must inform the Council but shall make no public announcement until the fever epidemic has waned."
Tarostar nodded his approval, for had the decision been his to make, he would have made the same choices.
Faramir swung his legs off the bed and rather unsteadily rose to his feet.
"Will you rest in your apartments, my lord?" Tarostar asked.
"The Council must be informed and then I will take your advice," Faramir replied, brushing aside all the Chief Warden's objections and offers to accompany him.
The Steward summoned those of Council who could easily be found, and informed them of the King's death a calm manner, firmly resisting calls for an immediate public announcement followed by a state funeral.
Unable to trust himself to continue to maintain his composure at present, he curtly dismissed the Councillors after what must have been one of the shortest meetings in Gondor's long history.
Desperate to be alone, he then made his way back to the privacy of the room he had shared with Aragorn over the last few weeks.
He supposed he should have returned to his own apartments, but his rooms were cold ,no fires having been lit there over the past few weeks. Also, his personal possessions were all in the King's room and he felt too drained to trouble with organising their removal.
Fanciful though it might be, Faramir could still sense Aragorn's presence here and wanted to experience it while it yet lingered.
Alone at last, he threw himself on the bed and finally gave way to his grief, much as he had three years ago, when he had finally wept for his father and brother. Only this time, there were no comforting arms around him. How ashamed he had been then at mistaking Aragorn for his uncle and weeping in his arms! Now he would give the whole world to have him beside him again, if only for a brief moment to say a last farewell.
Aragorn had died long before his rightful time, alone with none even to bestow a farewell kiss of blessing, as the King had done for Boromir. Faramir found this last thought too much to bear and cried like a wounded animal, burying his face in the pillow so that the servants would not hear his raw anguish over the loss of one he loved so dearly.
He had no idea how much time elapsed as he was too distraught to notice the gathering darkness outside. When a servant knocked to ask if they should light the candles, he bade them go away.
Eventually worn out by grief, he fell into an uneasy sleep and again dreamed of the King. The dream was more disturbing this time as he could fancy he saw Aragorn's face more clearly and this time it was contorted with agony with bruises disfiguring the noble features.
He stared in horror; only for that vision to be replaced by a yet more hideous, though less vivid one of the disfigured and bloated corpse he had seen earlier that day. Then he clearly heard Aragorn's voice calling to him, 'Faramir, help me, mellon nin!'
The Steward awoke in a cold sweat .Not only had the nightmare been horrible but also unusually vivid. He had many psychic gifts but communing with the dead had never been amongst them, and even if it were, would not Aragorn be happy and peaceful in the afterlife? His own brushes with death had shown him there was nothing to fear beyond the circles of the world. A man such as the King had been, would most surely be rewarded with eternal bliss by the Valar. .
Alternately sleeping and waking, he was relieved when the sun creeping over the eastern horizon, heralded the approaching dawn at last. Even so, he viewed the rising sun with bitterness. With Aragorn's death, the sun had set forever in his life and over the future of Gondor. The return of the King had heralded such hope for so many, which would now never come to fruition. Eldarion was but a babe in arms, and any hopes for him achieving his father's greatness had been meant for a distant future.
Having fallen asleep fully dressed, Faramir forced himself to change and wash the tear stains from his face. He felt worse even, than when he had learned of his brother's death. Then, his visions had at least shown him his brother at peace and the encroaching enemy had left him little time for thought.
He began the day with a task he dreaded, fetching the Star of Elendil and Anduril from where Aragorn kept them. If the King still lived, he would never have dreamed of touching the legendary sword, even though he had once been given leave to hold it, which had more than sufficed to fulfil a dream. Now, as part of the King's regalia, he must take it to Arwen to keep for Eldarion along with the jewel to wear on his brow.
At his request, Aedred, one of the most experienced members of the Houses of Healing came to his apartments early that morning. Born in Rohan, Aedred had come to Gondor after the War of the Ring and proved himself exceptionally skilled in the healing arts.
When Aedred was shown in to his study, he looked distressed and shuffled his feet as he handed a large parcel to Faramir. "You will need to take the your King's clothes and rings to show to your Queen to identify him by, so gentle a lady could not view his body thus disfigured," Aedred informed him grimly. "I fear I have grave tidings for you. Master Tarostar and I believe that King Elessar was hit over the head before he entered the water and battered about the face. His jaw, nose and cheekbones are shattered. He must have been set upon by footpads intent on robbing him but fallen in the river before they could take his two valuable rings. Either that, or they recognised them and knew trying to sell them would betray their guilt"
Faramir looked at the healer aghast. "You mean that he did not drown then?" It sounded a foolish question even as he voiced it aloud, yet it seemed unthinkable that the greatest warrior of the age should have died at the hands of common robbers.
Aedred shook his head sadly. "There was no water in his lungs, so I fear that means that King Elessar was almost certainly murdered." he replied.
TBC
A/N A big thank you to all my reviewers. All your comments are much appreciated.
I don't think this site has any rules about labelling stories as AU or character death, unlike some others, so my readers will just have to wait and see what happens! Thank you all for deciding to stay. I feared I might frighten you all away in the last chapter!
Faramir recalls events in chapter 6 of "Facing the Darkness".