Chapter III – 'Are the stars thus changeable?'
When Aragorn woke the morning after the funeral, it was cold. The bitter wind had carried down snow from the peak of Mindolluin during the night, ushering in the first deep chill of winter. Arwen had had the servants start a fire in the grate the night before, but it was faded to ashes by now and its heat had dissipated. Aragorn's first thought was one that had never plagued him before: He was waking up in the bed that had once belonged to Faramir's dead father.
The notion disturbed him, and he rose quickly from the bed, leaving Arwen to sleep. His thoughts turned to focus on his quiet Steward and the memory of the day when Éowyn's life had slipped away. If there was one thing that Aragorn wished he could have done for his friend Faramir, he wished that he could have saved her. Faramir had watched too many of those closest to him die, and now his life was falling apart at the seams. There was not a single man or woman in Minas Tirith who could not see how he floundered in his grief, including the Lords of Gondor who questioned Aragorn as soon as the morning's council was called.
Faramir's seat to the King's right was painfully empty, and Aragorn thought with guilt that he should have checked to make sure that Faramir returned to the Citadel safely the night before. All the Lords arrived at the Council chambers, and Aragorn noticed that Elphir, too, was absent. Good, he thought. That meant that Elphir was probably with Faramir, which was better for him.
"I presume that the Steward will not be joining us, my liege?" asked Lord Dervorin tenderly when the Lords had all seated themselves. It was a simple question behind which lay a thousand others, and Aragorn shook his head instead of answering.
"Is he even fit to serve as Steward?" snipped Lord Glosfalath bluntly, folding his hands thoughtfully in front of him. "He is undeniably an emotional wreck. I do not believe that any leadership should be placed in his hands at this time."
"Lord Glosfalath!" Aragorn almost roared, bringing his fist down upon the table hard. The quiet whispers that had been flying about the room fell silent. "I will hear no such talk of my Steward in this Council! I will decide who is fit and unfit for the position! I suggest that you keep your cruel remarks to yourself!"
Lord Glosfalath blinked, his mouth gaping, astonished at the viciousness of Aragorn's response. "I…am sorry, my liege Elessar," he stammered. Aragorn nodded sharply and looked away, still fuming silently with anger. These cold-blooded lords would sooner usurp Faramir's position than mourn with him.
"However, my liege," Glosfalath continued haltingly. "You did insist that we must vote on the matter of South Gondor as soon as possible, and this is the last day that we shall be all together in Minas Tirith for this Council. How do you propose that we vote with two of our number not in attendance?"
"I have decided to exercise my right as King of Gondor and Arnor to overrule the Council and authorize the surrender of my lands without a vote." Aragorn paused for the expected outburst of surprise, frustration, disbelief, and anger.
"King Elessar, you cannot possibly hope to employ such a law without infuriating the Gondorians who inhabit Belfalas and South Ithilien!" cried Lord Orodreth.
"Elphir and Faramir, the lords of Belfalas and Ithilien, have already made their opinions on this matter quite clear," Aragorn replied evenly. "Though neither are present today, you heard both of them support me at the last Council held here. I have no fear of retaliation from their people."
"This should be a time of unification!" Glosfalath insisted. "You would lower the moral of Gondor further by submitting our lands to the Haradrim, in this time of strife and mourning? We have just lost our most beloved heroine—the White Lady of Rohan who slew the Witch-king of Angmar!—and through her, we have practically lost our Steward, as well…"
Incensed, Aragorn stood abruptly from the table. "Lord Glosfalath, I will not tolerate your criticism of the Steward of Gondor, Prince of Ithilien, and Lord of Emyn Arnen any longer! Nor will I accept blatant defiance of my decisions! Get out of my Council!" Glosfalath rose and swept from the room without another word, slamming shut the great oak door behind him.
Aragorn whirled and stormed through the door behind him that led to his adjoining office. He did not care whether or not the other lords dismissed themselves. Pacing in front of his desk, he tried to force himself to calm down. He knew that he should not have reacted so harshly, but his grief for his friend made him intolerant to the tetchy behaviors of the Council. He was used to having Faramir there to call them to order. Sometimes he wondered if they respected Faramir's presence more than his own.
"Isn't it funny, how we realize just how greatly we rely on a man only after he is no longer there…" Aragorn shook his head fiercely. "Why am I speaking of him as if he is dead?" The other half of his mind answered for him: Because his spirit died with Éowyn, and you know that it will take a miracle to get him back.
Aragorn leaned onto his desk and wept for his friend. The pain of Faramir's loss was so great that Aragorn would wish that he could have died in Éowyn's place if it would have saved Faramir from this grief. He wanted to deny that Faramir was an "emotional wreck" as Glosfalath had called him, but perhaps that was why he had gotten so angry with Glosfalath—he knew that it was true, even though he didn't want it to be.
Could they really blame Faramir? If Aragorn outlived Arwen—the Valar forbid it!—he would never be able to go on with his life. Faramir had already been forced to go on alone many times, and this time proved too much. Aragorn wanted to cry out that it wasn't fair! That Faramir should never have been made to carry the overwhelming burdens that life had forced upon him! I should have been anyone but Éowyn. Anyone but Faramir's dear wife.
The office was lonely and empty without his Steward to accompany him, with his dry humor and shy smile. Again, it struck Aragorn how much a part of his life Faramir had become, both as Steward to King and friend to friend.
Aragorn left the office behind and wandered aimlessly about the Citadel. When he heard voices, he slipped behind a column of stone or into a shadowed doorway until they passed and he could walk in solitude once again. The only person he stopped was one of the Citadel Guard who passed by, and he inquired as to Faramir's whereabouts and if the Steward had returned to the Citadel the night before. The guard answered, yes, he returned, but he had not been seen since and no one was quite sure where he was. Aragorn thanked the guard and let him go on his way. He was certain that Elphir was with Faramir, wherever he was.
The Citadel had never seemed so forlorn a place as it did to Aragorn that morning. His mind's eye brought to mind an image of the lovely Lady Éowyn, the woman who had captivated his imagination for a very brief while before his undying love for Arwen reminded him of where his loyalties lay.
"Éowyn…" he whispered slowly, stepping through the soft snow of the Citadel and watching his breath fog in the air. "'It is only a shadow and a thought that you love,' I told you. I could not give you what you sought…yet I was happy for you when Faramir plighted his troth to you. I believed you would both live out your days in Gondor to the happiness of all… Had I known then how things would come to pass, would I have done aught to save Faramir from the pain of your departure from this world? Could I have? Are the stars thus changeable?" He raised his face to the sky to see the last of the dawn stars beginning to wink out in the light of the newly risen sun. "Would that Lord Elrond were here… He would have known what to do…"
The sound of boots crunching on the snow alerted Aragorn to someone's approach, and he ducked beneath an overhanging of stone that jutted from the side of the White Tower of Ecthelion. It was a young man emerging from the Tower, and his eyes were on his dragging feet. Aragorn moved out into the open.
"Eldarion!"
The young Prince of Gondor turned about to face his father, weary from a very long night. It looked as if he had had no sleep at all since the funeral the day before. Aragorn searched his son's face concernedly, seeing the grief that darkened his eyes.
"How is Elboron?" Aragorn asked softly. "How did you leave him?"
"He is angry." Eldarion shook his head. "I cannot calm him. Nothing I say seems to soothe him. Indeed, it seems only to madden him further! He will listen to no one until Faramir speaks to him. He blames his father for this."
Aragorn started in surprise. "His father?"
"Yes. He says that he should not have been forced to leave during the birthing, and he blames Faramir for taking away his last chance to see his mother alive." Eldarion sighed and wiped his face, shivering in the wintry cold. "Also, he is furious with Faramir for ignoring him since her death… He has sworn that he will never forgive his father for being so heartless."
"Faramir's grief has broken his spirit! If he is being heartless, it is neither intentionally nor consciously!" cried Aragorn.
"I know that, Father," snapped Eldarion, "but try telling that to a sixteen-year-old who just lost his mother!"
Aragorn sighed. "I am sorry, Eldarion. I am so quick to defend Faramir that I…" He cleared his throat and moved to place a gently hand on his son's shoulder. "Listen. We must all work together to help the two of them. I don't want this tragedy to destroy Faramir's family. They're all going to need each other to get through this."
"I know that, Father, but do they?"
Author's Note: I don't believe in Aragorn-Éowyn pairings, but neither do I find it completely impossible that Aragorn may have fancied her for the briefest of moments. (No men are quite as loyal as to put every other woman in the known world out of their thoughts and imaginations. :P ) This scene where Aragorn contemplates Éowyn's affection for him is only to demonstrate the small connection that he did have with her, NOT to allude to some lasting infatuation between them.