Elboron woke in the night after no more than a couple hours rest. He could hear his father shifting about, stirring the fire up just a little bit to keep some warmth in the cool night air. As the embers glowed brighter again, Elboron saw that his father's eyes seemed sad. That could only mean that he had been thinking of nana and Findiel again.
Elboron had no memory of his mother or sister but what his father spoke of, though it was rare that he did so. More often he heard the hushed talk of the notoriously nosey populace of Minas Tirith; to listen to them speak, Faramir and Eowyn were a very strange pair and did not get along all that well, for Faramir had always been gentle and scholarly, whilst Eowyn… well, at best it was said, by the more polite citizenry, that she had tried to fit in, and at worst those more curt used words like unsophisticated, uncouth, temperamental, and impertinent.
On the other hand, Faramir himself had said independent, unconstrained by Gondorian society's views, sincere, and, above all, willing to go to all lengths for what she loved. It was clear to Elboron that his father had loved his mother, even though he did not hide the fact that they did not always agree. It seemed to Elboron that his father wished so that there might have been more time for them to nurture the love that was clearly between them, while getting passed their inherent differences. Faramir mourned the loss of that opportunity greatly, even twenty years on.
Elboron could not tell if he was more like to his father or his mother, and he often wondered what it would be like had his sister lived, but it was usually around that point that he told himself to think of more realistic matters. On that night, under the awe-inspiring stars of the north which he had never before seen, Elboron's thoughts turned to so many who had he never known. His uncle, Faramir's beloved older brother, Boromir, father of his older cousin Belthil, had loved a woman who ran from the city when she learned that she was carrying the child of the Steward's heir. Boromir was never to know of what became of her, or that he had sired a son, and it was still unknown just why Imloth had fled Minas Tirith. Elboron's grandmother had fared no better, wed to a man whom she did not love and some secret love that was to be taken to her grave with her, one desperate escape had borne her a second son, not of her husband's loins. Elboron could not help but wonder if such tragedies of love were cursed upon his family for all time.
Elboron saw his father nodding beside the fire and rose quietly. "Ada," he said softly, "come and sleep. You should have woken me, I will watch for a time."
Faramir smiled at his son's concern for him. "I think I have grown unused to doing this. When I was your age I could take the entire night's watch by myself and still walk 10 leagues the next day. Sit by me for a while?" Faramir asked, hoping his son would be of a mind to do so.
Without a second thought Elboron took up at his father's side and nestled his head on his father's shoulder, the arm that was wrapped immediately about his shoulders so familiar a feeling. For a long while father and son were quiet, both savoring the notion of the other being so close again. For months Faramir had been worried that his son was growing apart from him. They had been so dear to each other since Elboron's birth that it hurt Faramir so to think that maybe his child was outgrowing that, for he certainly hadn't outgrown it himself, despite the fact that he was nudging 60 years.
"Ada… are you ever disappointed that I did not become a soldier or a ranger like you did?" Elboron asked quietly.
Faramir sat up, surprised by the question. He wondered if perhaps this was what had been bothering his son all that time. "Never, ion-nin, have I ever been at all disappointed with you. I was thankful that you chose not a military life, though I would have supported you in any choice. It was not wholly my own decision that led me to command the Rangers in Ithilien, but as fortune had it, that was only 15 years of my life, and I have never been happier since I hung up my quiver. Never let any one tell you what choices you should make regarding your own life, my son."
Elboron looked into his father's eyes for a long while, as if trying to see to just what extent he meant that last statement. In his mind, Elboron was still unsure if his father's support would extend as far as he wished it might and even as he opened his mouth to elaborate, he found himself only able to embrace his father and say, "I love you, ada." Elboron meant deeply what he said, but he couldn't help feeling that now when he said it he was really trying to tell himself he couldn't let himself lose his father's love even for Harma's.
"And so, if she has half her hair in one braid from the crown, she is willing if you are." With a shrug Belthil concluded his dissertation on the braid codes used by the ladies who staffed the Merry Widow. He was certainly most well informed and Harma reckoned that he must have a rather interesting reputation, at least within the tavern itself.
"How d'you know all'at?" Harma slurred, quickly getting a little too drunk. He himself would often stop by the Widow in the evening for fresh, cool water and he would talk to the barmaids and walk them home if they asked. He never knew about the "braid code" though, but now that he'd been introduced to it, he guessed that was because he wasn't quite interested in what the codes referred to.
Belthil chuckled, just as drunk as Harma, and said, "I spend a lot of time here. Take after my father, I guess, only I'm not after… well, I like the ale here."
Over at the bar on the other side of the room, one of the women was keeping a cautious eye on the table far in the back.
"Níniel," hissed one of the other maids, "you have got to calm down! The General comes in all the time, you know that. Sure, he gets just as drunk as any of the other men, but he's all right."
"It's Harma I am worried about," Níniel said softly. "This is the second time he's come in here and gotten that drunk. He usually only comes for fresh water." What Níniel did not express was her concern about the group of men who had just entered the tavern – the same group who had left right after Harma did the last time he had too much to drink. She was thankful that the Captain-General was drinking with Harma and only hoped one wouldn't leave without the other.
Unfortunately, it was not the two in the back of the room that interested one of the recently entered group. "Nice cold ale," the off-duty soldier approaching the bar ordered from Níniel. "And something more as well…."
Níniel wrenched away when the man reached over the bar and she felt his hand grasp at her hip. "You know the code," she practically growled. She moved away quickly to fetch the ale, but the man followed her to the end of the bar and gripped her arm tightly.
"I know your code, but you do not know mine… yet," he whispered, hot, heavy breath most unwelcome against Níniel's ear. He had been careful to wait until the barkeeper disappeared into the back room of the tavern, for he knew that the owner of the establishment would not brook such behavior, even from soldiers. Níniel panicked and all she could think to do was empty the mug of ale in her hand – onto the misbehaving soldier. It did not have the effect she had hoped.
Harma had glanced at his nearly empty mug and was wondering if he should have another or just call it a night when he looked up and saw five faces he had begged the gods he would never be forced to look at again. He was trembling and beginning to feel sick inside when he saw one of them reaching over the bar at one of the girls he often walked home. He saw the man follow her to the open end of the bar and grab her, and without really being aware of what he was doing, Harma got up and stormed toward the bar. He grabbed the other man's shoulder to spin him around and wasted no time delivering a blow that would have the man's eye swelling shut in moments.
Belthil was stunned for a moment as he watched what had just happened, but recovered and moved in immediately when the off-duty soldier tried to retaliate (and failed due to his own state of shock). Belthil quickly pulled Harma away, quietly telling him to calm down, before rounding on the soldier who was holding himself up against the bar and fairly steaming. "And as to you," the General said lowly, "I expect I shall never see such behavior from one of my men again. Two weeks suspension! If I see this again, you won't be wearing that sigil," Belthil said pointing at the now-beer-soaked white tree embroidered on each uniform's breast.
"Two weeks? For fighting!" shouted the soldier, most unwisely.
"Six weeks, then, and not for fighting but for conduct unbecoming a soldier of Gondor and for attempting to strike a superior officer, as well as insubordination," Belthil said calmly. He might have been inebriated, but it would never be said that he could not hold his liquor.
"Superior officer? But I never laid a hand on you, Captain!" the soldier said, stunned that his Captain-General would falsely charge him with such a thing.
"I am not speaking of myself, soldier. You attempted to strike Captain Harma when he, very rightly, corrected you for assaulting this lady."
"Captain Harma?" the soldier seethed.
"You are dismissed, soldier," was Belthil's reply. "I want that uniform to be cleaned and turned in to the guard at the Citadel gate first thing in the morning. Six weeks." Belthil motioned for Harma to come along and together they headed out of the tavern. "I hate using insubordination like that, it's not the way I want to run the military, but sometimes, as in that case, there is nothing else for it," Belthil said to Harma. "I apologize for all that. And I feel like an ass not knowing that soldier's name, he has caused problems before though, if I remember correctly. I may have to mention this to the Queen if anything else occurs with that one, normally I would rather have my u… uhm… the Steward deal with it."
"I'm sorry I struck that man," Harma said, very quietly. "I was not within my rights -"
"You most assuredly were!" Belthil exclaimed. "And in fact, I thank you for being so keen as to notice what was going on. Anyway, I expect you are likely ready for bed anyway, used to all those early mornings in the stables."
Harma nodded, he was ready for bed, but little did Belthil know that a good number of his earliest mornings were in fact spent slipping out of Citadel with Elboron after a night spent in his bed. Oh, gods, but that thought was suddenly like taking just the sort of blow he'd landed back in the tavern. Harma swiped at his eyes as unexpected tears took him off guard. He was grateful that it was easier to hide at night.
"Good evening, gentlemen," said a man up the way.
"Master Damrod! Pleasant even'!" Belthil greeted the Ranger-turned-Healer.
Damrod nodded respectfully to the Captain-General. "And you, Captain Harma, how are you faring tonight lad?"
Harma swallowed his momentary sadness and put on a slight smile for Damrod. "Quite well, thanks to your care," he said. "And, really, it's only a temporary title. I shall be returning it, hopefully undamaged, as soon as I am instructed to do so."
"You will be a credit to the title, especially if Belthil and young Faramir are there with you. Well, you lads look as tired as I feel, so I won't hold you up. Take your rest, it's the best thing for you, aside, of course, from fresh water. Goodnight, gentlemen!" As Damrod parted company with the two younger men, he couldn't help but notice the sadness that still seemed to linger in Harma, as well as the fact that a candle was suddenly doused in an upper window of a home there on the sixth level when the three met just outside the home. The former Ranger wondered if it wasn't just his hyperactive sense of caution stirring up again.
ion-nin - my son
Apologies to my readers for the delay... life!