These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain
"He knows not to what end he rides; yet if he knew, he would still go on." - Tolkien – 'The Return of the King'.
"This way! I thought you might get lost as the entrance is so well hidden!" Aedred said.
Faramir visibly sighed with relief. For one dreadful moment, he feared that the healers had betrayed him.
"You look exhausted! Come, you can rest now, Tarostar has let it be known that he has given you a powerful sleeping draught that will not wear off until at least noon. Did your mission go well?"
"I have stored all the supplies that you and Tarostar so generously provided," Faramir told him, unable to suppress a yawn.
"We are glad to be able to help you, Lord Faramir," Aedred assured him, as he guided him back through the rocky passage. The way back, although uphill seemed far shorter that it had been before, and after what seemed only a few minutes, Faramir was back in his room. Aedred thoughtfully provided a light breakfast of bread and fruit for him washed down with a herbal tea.
While Faramir ate, he took his nightshirt from the pillow and straightened the covers, then left him to undress.
Although exhausted, Faramir feared he would never sleep, his mind spun with endless uncertainties, possibilities and a dreadful fear that all his efforts would ultimately be in vain.
He almost dreaded to sleep, as his dreams of Aragorn calling to him, became ever more vivid and terrifying. He had tried to reach out to him, but either lacked the ability or sufficient experience to do so. Even now, a corner of mind still held a nagging doubt that it was all wishful thinking on both his part and the Queen's.
"Wake up, Lord Faramir!" Tarostar's voice roused him from yet another dark dream.
He sat up, blinking at the bright sunlight streaming into the room. "Where? What?" he asked sleepily.
"Your ear infection is quite cured, Lord Faramir and you can go home today!" Tarostar announced breezily, with a finger to his lips and a conspiratorial wink.
"Thank you so much, Master Tarostar!" the Steward answered sincerely.
"May the Valar bless you and keep you in good health!" the healer replied, wondering if he would ever see Faramir again.
The Steward spent the next two days trying to think of the right things to say and do to ingratiate himself with Lord Lamedon, something that was totally alien to his nature yet needed to be done in order to discover the truth. Even if Aragorn were dead, he could at least try to bring the murderers to justice, though there was no penalty that the law could impose, that would ever serve as recompense for the loss of such a man as he.
He made a statement before the Council, announcing he would be away for a short time and leaving Imrahil in charge, his uncle bearing the highest rank.
He had to force himself to look contemptuously at the man he had loved since early childhood. He was forced to turn away from the open disgust in his uncle's eyes. Tarostar had promised to tell the Prince of Dol Amroth that Faramir was perfectly sane, which had surely shattered Imrahil's last shreds of hope that his nephew was no traitor.
He feared now that he was going to his own death at the hands of those who had killed his King. This was far worse than preparing for battle, as then he would be surrounded by loyal comrades and death, if it came would be swift and honourable. If only he could have seen Eowyn and his daughter for one last time!
He found himself going through Aragorn's possessions, trying to capture the essence of their owner. When he discovered a tunic, which still bore the lingering scent of athelas, the fragrance which reminded him of the King, he buried his face in it and wept.
Faramir had decided against taking his beloved Iavas to Lord Lamedon's mansion, for if what he was planning to do proved to be a suicide mission, or even if they were pursued, he did not want to risk the beautiful chestnut mare.
Instead, he decided to ride Zachus, an unremarkable but sturdy and reliable bay gelding that his father had given him. Zachus had been sent from Rohan as a colt for Denethor, but had proved a disappointment to the Steward, as the bay was far from elegant, closely resembling a carthorse and skittish in crowds. Faramir had only decided to keep him, as he feared him ending up in the hands of someone who might ill treat him for he had a soft spot for the good natured horse.
He set out on the appointed day with the servant Lord Lamedon had sent, claiming disappointment that Iavas had a loose shoe and he had to arrive on an inferior horse.
"Never you mind, my lord," said the servant, "Lord Lamedon will lend you a fine mount for stay. He has some of the best horseflesh in all of Gondor!"
To Faramir's relief the man was not talkative, though as part of his plan, he made a few seemingly casual remarks, about how much better things had been in Denethor's day, when they passed places still in various states of disrepair.
Although they were headed in the same direction, that Faramir had taken two nights before, this time the route lay through open countryside rather than woodland. The Steward pretended complete ignorance of the area, which was plausible enough, as he had rarely been invited to house parties unlike his much more gregarious older brother. Boromir had revelled in the atmosphere that usually prevailed with liberal consumption of alcohol and easy availability of women. Faramir was the more like his father in that wise, adhering strictly to the Numenorean ideals of sobriety and sexual abstinence outside marriage.
Lord Lamedon's mansion, more than lived up to its name, as it more closely resembled a palace, being a vast structure built of white stone and decorated with turrets.
As he rode through the gates, Faramir wondered if he were walking into a trap and wished fervently that he could somehow have managed to bring troops and conceal them.
The Steward was shown inside and greeted effusively by his host.
"Greetings, Lord Faramir!" he said, "Welcome to my humble abode! I am so glad that you could come, especially as I heard tidings you were unwell."
"The thought of your lordship's hospitality hastened my recovery!" Faramir replied .
"You come alone?" Lord Lamedon's expression was suddenly wary.
"Of course my lord, for what have I to fear now that Northern upstart is no more! I know you care only for the welfare of my House and to see my brother's heiress given her due!"
Lord Lamedon stepped aside and whispered a question to Faramir's escort. The reply obviously satisfied him, as his smile became warmer and he embraced the Steward and kissed him on the brow. Faramir fought hard to repress a shudder as he returned the greeting. That he might be embracing Aragorn's murderer, was not a pleasant thought.
"My servant tells me that you speak the truth, Lord Faramir," his host smiled.
Once any question over his veracity would have horrified Faramir. Now, he merely nodded politely.
"I will not ask you to unpack as due to the epidemic our company is small "said Lord Lamedon,".We are going to stay with Lord Devorin of Ringlo Vale in his Hunting Lodge instead. This house is rather large for entertaining just a few guests and many of my friends are sick with the fever at present. You will be amongst good friends. Do, please call me Fosco!"
Faramir realised that this was all part of a test to see whether he would come alone and was genuinely on their side.
"I would be delighted, Fosco. Maybe we will find good sport at Lord Devorin's Lodge." he said warmly, "Not that I will be able to wield a bow like I used to after our late unlamented King's ill treatment of me!
"You shall have the best healers to attend you in future, My Lord Faramir, rather than an Elven trained charlatan!" Lord Lamedon gushed," Maybe then you will recover your former strength?"
"Indeed, I may!" Faramir replied. "As I have not had the honour of visiting your home before, I would be most grateful if you could show me its splendours?"
"I would be delighted to, Lord Faramir!" Fosco replied, preceding to take Faramir on a lengthy and detailed tour of endless rooms.
The Steward pretended polite interest, not all of which was feigned, as the architecture was truly magnificent. He kept looking for any sign of Aragorn but found none.
When Lord Lamedon even showed him the cellars and boasted of his fine collection of wines, his spirits sank. They was no way in which Aragorn could be concealed here, unless it were in some secret room he had no idea how to enter.
"Send up several more bottles of my best wine!" he told the servant, who showed them round the cellars, "Lord Faramir must see just what my hospitality has to offer!"
A bell was rung soon after to announce dinner.
Faramir discovered that Lord Lamedon's dining hall was more in the style of Rohan than of Gondor, as no cutlery was used apart from the daggers they carried, while the dogs roamed freely, picking up scraps off the straw covered floor.
The meal was a lavish affair with enough food for double the number present, and far too much wine, which flowed very freely. He pretended to imbibe freely, while spilling a good deal surreptitiously on the floor drenching the bones that the dogs scavenged for amongst the straw
Faramir looked round the table for familiar faces, wondering if Hanna would be there or any of the other lords he suspected, but apart from Lady Lamedon, the only others present, appeared to be wealthy tenant farmers.
"Tell me, Lord Faramir, what caused your change of heart regarding the King?" Fosco asked, once he considered the wine would have loosened Faramir's tongue.
"He made me do all the hard work while he took the glory for it." Faramir replied, slurring his speech slightly "I also disliked seeing how much influence his Elven wife and friends had over honest men of Gondor. Then the final straw came when he had me sent to prison and beaten when his friend, Eomer of Rohan attacked me. The man he had hanged was a mere scapegoat for his perfidy! I cannot even eat properly since my dreadful ordeal as I suffered such injuries!" That lie at least gave him an excuse for his lack of appetite, as he tossed another chicken leg to the dogs at his feet.
"You will rejoice then, Lord Faramir, that the scoundrel has what he deserves at last, as I am sure you will be pleased to know!" Lord Lamedon smirked.
"Indeed!" Faramir tried to look indifferent though inwardly his heart pounded, unsure what the remark might mean.
The meal over, everyone appeared too drunk to do anything, which gave Faramir a chance to ponder the situation. From what he remembered of the map, which he dared not bring with him, Devorin's Hunting Lodge was only a few miles away.
With only an hour or so left before sunset, the party finally set off along a rough and narrow track, which wound steeply through forest, broken only by the occasional field where scrawny cows, marked with Devorin's distinctive brand, foraged for the meagre winter grazing. Two armed Guards wearing Lord Lamedon's livery led the way and the party proceeded at a slow and cautious pace.
Faramir's heart was in his mouth as they neared their destination. He could sense that the mystery of Aragorn's disappearance was finally going to be solved. He was certain now that the invitation had been a test to see whether he would turn up unescorted or not as bidden. He wondered whether the Guards were for Lord Lamedon's protection or to stop him trying to escape.
TBC
A very grateful thank you to all my readers for your kind and much appreciated comments. I have almost reached 300 reviews already and the most exciting part (I hope) is yet to come.
Faramir is hiding his distaste for the chicken by throwing it to the dogs,but in real life chicken bones should never be given to cats or dogs as they splinter easily and could injure your pet.Thanks to Raksha for pointing this out.