Faramir knew he would meet Aragorn, but he hoped at least Isildor's heir would wait until he was fully recovered and could be presented as the Captain of the Rangers of Ithilian in his full potential.
With the threat of Mordor looming ever closer he knew nothing would be put off for the sake of his own vanity.
"Faramir, son of Denethor, Captain of the Rangers of Ithilian, Steward of Gondor."
He had never thought he would be called by the title of his father.
Swallowing down the bile that crept into his mouth as he fought nausea from the pain, he stepped through the grand double doors swinging open and into the Great Hall.
Gandalf stood among the small groups of men as they murmured in clusters. Less than a quarter even glanced up as he entered. But Gandalf looked his way and his eyes twinkled from beneath his eyebrows. Near him stood a dwarf, an elf, and a man Faramir knew could only be Aragorn.
Faramir approached him, keeping his posture as straight as he could manage, and inclined his head.
"Forgive me, King Aragorn, if I could bow I certainly would. Wounds constrain me."
"Of course," said Aragorn. There was a guarded manner Faramir sensed in his eyes and tone.
Faramir swallowed. "Thank you for the care you showed me in the Houses of Healing. One told me you saved my life."
The king shifted uncomfortably. "Of course. A brave warrior as yourself deserves all the care I can provide. Gandalf requested I aide you," he added.
And Faramir knew it was the wizard's suggestion that had spurred Aragorn to provide the care.
"So, Faramir, I am glad to meet you," Aragorn continued. "You showed great bravery in your attempt to recapture western Osgiliath, though some may have seen it as a fool's battle." Aragorn's guarded tone remained and it worried Faramir, who abruptly realized how this king must view him in lieu of his father's behavior.
"Indeed, sire, my father, the late steward Denethor, went mad. He trusted in a foolish hope and sent many good men to their deaths, I regret to say. On his behalf, I apologize." He bowed his head.
"You show a strong character," Aragorn said. "But it is not your fault, and you need not apologize. I had the good pleasure of knowing your brother, Boromir. I was there when he died, valiantly defending two hobbits."
"Merry and Pippin," Faramir finished. "Thank you for honoring him." Then, knowing that Aragorn had likely seen or been told of Boromir's attempt to take the Ring from Frodo, he added, "My brother was a brave man, but also of a very strong will—much like my father. Though I mourn him still, since he was my closest friend and a good brother, I am glad he did not succeed in any ill will toward Frodo."
Aragorn bowed his head. "So am I. Master Faramir, I confess I pre-judged you to be like Boromir and perhaps your father—who though I did not know him directly, I saw the irresponsibility of his actions as steward of Gondor. And I mean no offense to him," he added, almost hastily as Faramir inclined his head with almost a sad smile.
"However," Aragorn continued, "I can see you are a man much closer to those I hold in great esteem, including Gandalf. I hope to rely on you in the future."
"I sincerely desire, my king, that I will be a most dependable servant for you," said Faramir, bowing his head again. "I swear to serve you until my death."
It felt almost inappropriate to go no lower, but already the mere discussion had begun to cause every breath to be pained and his face paled.
Aragorn turned to a discussion about how they should continue to restore Minas Tirith, yet also prepare for a battle that might be necessary. Sauron's Eye was still moving across Mordor.
"And until it ceases, I shall not rest," Aragorn told Gandalf.
"It does you credit," Gandalf said, smiling.
"Well, I'd like at least a little rest myself before all that," the dwarf harrumphed, pulling at his red beard.
"No doubt you will, Gimli," said Gandalf. "We could not prevent you for the world."
Aragorn turned to the elf to share in a smile but found him ignoring any humor. He was looking at Faramir and Faramir noticed it at the same time.
He locked eyes with the elf, who said kindly, "You are not well yet, Captain Faramir."
"You're right, Legolas!" Aragorn exclaimed. "Faramir, forgive me for not noticing. Your face is pale. You are free to return to the Houses of Healing. You are not needed at this moment."
Although the final sentence did burn Faramir with some anguish, he was beginning to feel faint and could scarcely say, "thank you," as he inclined his head again and moved backwards and away.
"Here, let me escort you," said a voice.
Faramir staggered as someone took his arm and held him by the waist. He stared into the face of a young man about his own age with blonde hair and darker eyebrows shading hazel eyes.
"Thank you," he said, grinning. "I think I am weaker than I supposed at first."
"I am Eomer of Rohan, Captain of the Riders of Rohan."
Faramir's eyes brightened as they exited the Hall. "Thank you for coming to the aid of Gondor! We are in Rohan's debt!"
Eomer smiled. "I am proud my uncle, Theoden, made the choice to aid the people of Minas Tirith. Though he gave his life doing so."
"I wish I could have met him," Faramir said. "I saw his niece, your sister perhaps, in the Houses of Healing."
"Eowyn, my sister, yes," replied Eomer. He sighed. "I have been too busy to visit her as often as I desire. When I found her on the battlefield and became aware of her disguise in coming to battle as a man, she seemed dead, and I do not know if I could have lived upon losing her."
"Although I have not had a sister, I can understand the care of siblings," Faramir said. "I can return to the Houses of Healing myself now—I am strong enough—but I hope, Eomer, that we will have time to speak and share stories in the future."
"I have heard of Faramir, Captain of the Rangers of Ithilian, for many years," the young captain said with a smile, bowing at the waist. "I am glad to have made your acquaintance. May your healing by speedy."
Faramir grinned and returned to his room feeling he had perhaps met a friend.
Two weeks passed and Faramir's strong body recovered well. The arrow wounds closed up, leaving a scar on his chest and between his lower ribs. The burns on his face and hands from his father's attempt to kill him left no scars except those etched upon his mind.
He heard rumors that Aragorn was amassing an army. Unsure why, his heart ached with a desire to be among them, fight for the king, prove himself worthy.
One Monday found Faramir making his way back to the Great Hall. He was uninvited, but hoped at least to slip in unnoticed and ask Gandalf if he could join as a soldier of Gondor, if not the Captain of the Rangers of Ithilian.
He made his way quickly down the low stone walkway, wearing only a simple tunic and draped in a green cloak and hood.
He opened the door cautiously, but his brow wrinkled in some concern as he did not hear voices of man, elf, or dwarf in the large room. As he slipped into the Hall, he saw his ears had not betrayed him.
The Hall was empty.
Or nearly so.
Leaning against the base of the statue of Isildor was Pippin, smoking a pipe with another hobbit who also bore a head of curly hair. They chatted together and blew smoke into the air.
Faramir, unnoticed, almost laughed. He shook his head, imagining how his father would rant and rave at the disrespect shown in the Great Hall.
He crept around behind the statue, listening for a short time to Pippin and his friend.
"—that Sam would decide to go with him."
"He's a bold fellow, Sam is," said Pippin. "If anyone went with Frodo, I'd have chosen him, too."
"It's not as if we haven't had adventures of our own," the other hobbit exclaimed. "Fighting myself in the battle of the Pelennor Fields I can't imagine anything's more dangerous than that!"
"Oh!" Pippin scoffed. "Imagine battling orcs as they break through the walls and then jumping straight onto a burning bier to save the life of a Denethor's son!"
"Pippin! You didn't tell me about that."
"I am forever grateful to you, Master Pippin," said Faramir, stepping out and in front of them with a smile.
Both hobbits choked on their pipes at the same time and Faramir laughed merrily.
"Faramir!" said Pippin when he had recovered, leaping to his feet. "You've recovered well and I'm happy to see it!"
"Thank you, little friend," said Faramir, patting him on the shoulder.
"I've got an extra pipe," said the other hobbit, holding one out. "Will you join us!"
"Gladly," he said, sitting down by them with a grunt. "What's your name?"
"Merry Brandybuck, if you please," he said with a bold smile and blowing out a puff of smoke.
"Ah, Merry. I should have guessed. And I am Faramir, brother of Boromir."
"Oh!" Merry exclaimed, eyes widening. "Pippin told me about you, indeed! But not that he saved you from burning to death!"
"I'm grateful to him," Faramir repeated, inclining his pipe toward the hobbit, who smiled back with pleasure. "And I am glad to see you again, Pippin. I wished to thank you for what you said to me many weeks ago. You said I had strength, only different than my brother and father. And I confess I have often mulled on it as I have been healing." Faramir heaved a sigh before continuing.
"My father had only one view of what made men strong, but he was wrong. And when I did not illustrate the same strength and stubbornness of Boromir, he gave up hoping in me. His future lay in Boromir as his heir, and when he died, my father wished I had died in his stead."
Pippin looked at the ground, his pipe forgotten as it rested in his hand. He had been there when Denethor had spoken those words to Faramir. After that the steward's son had allowed himself to be consigned to death in the futile attempt to retake Osgiliath.
"That's right cruel," said Merry.
Faramir's lips barely curled at the edges. "Indeed. But I do know this—something Gandalf hoped I would learn. He said as much the day I thought I left Minas Tirith for the last time. He said my father loved me."
"I'd think not after sayin' a thing like he did!" contradicted Merry.
"Not to mention trying to burn you alive!" shouted Pippin, quite shocked at Faramir holding onto this vain desire to have his father's love.
"No, but consider this," said Faramir, almost eagerly. And he proceeded to lay out before them the conclusion to which he had arrived after hours of dwelling on the subject while lying in bed. He had had nothing else to do after all except remember the trauma, the violence, the killing, the grief, and make peace with it.
Pippin and Merry's pipes both grew cold as they listened.
"Lord Denethor was certainly unstable in his mind, but I do believe when I was brought back dead, he realized he had destroyed his family. When he was informed, by Pippin, that I was still alive, he doubted. Then, upon looking out on Sauron's orc army as they flowed through the lower third of Minas Tirith, he lost all hope, though perhaps he would not have named it that. He could see no end where the enemy was defeated, no end where the orcs did not make it through up to the Great Hall itself to slaughter him and his barely living, only remaining son."
Faramir's voice, as he spoke, became very grave and earnest. "He determined that death that he inflicted himself was better than a death inflicted by the orcs. And to leave me to die by the orcs, killed by only one more arrow, or perhaps hacked to death by a dark blade, was a thought he could not bear either. Better to die with his son, together with his last child and heir, and thus show a final mercy to poor Faramir. He loved me too much to leave me for Sauron's army."
Merry swallowed in the silence as Faramir put off speaking. Finally, he said, "Don't you think perhaps, Faramir, don't you think maybe Denethor was simply truly mad? After all, why the burning? That seems a bit extreme, if I'm honest. And I am."
Faramir smiled sadly. "He was certainly mad enough for that, Merry. I can't claim I know his full reasoning, if I can even call it such. And perhaps you both think I am only a foolish boy attempting to convince himself of something he wishes were true, even using faulty evidence to prove it."
He laughed aloud when he saw their faces. "By your looks I can see I am right! Well, no fear! If I need to use this to persuade myself, so be it. It comforts me and I don't believe I am wrong, anyway. Whether I am or not, it makes no difference to anyone else. But consider this: if my father had truly hated me or had not loved me at all—had thought only of himself and never cared that he had a younger son—he would not have brought me with him into the burial hall, he would not have tried to burn himself alive with me. No, I think he loved me as a madman loves, but still, it was a kind of love."
The hobbits sat in silence with Faramir for a while.
"He did cry when your body was carried up to him," Pippin said after a long while.
Faramir sighed. "Thank you for listening to me, Pippin and Merry. I confess I had to get that off my chest and I apologize for having you sit through my lengthy speech likely neither of you needed to hear." His grin was ashamed.
Pippin nodded stoutly. "Of course I was glad to hear it, Faramir! At least it puts my mind to rest that you don't hate your father as I confess I do!"
Faramir chuckled in amazement. "Well...!"
And then Merry began to tell what had happened to him and how he had come to Minas Tirith. He told how miserable he had felt, forced to stay behind, and yet how one of the Riders of Rohan had lifted him up onto his horse.
"Only I found it wasn't his horse at all, but her horse! My lady Eowyn, dressed as a soldier—and wearing the helmet and arms better than many of the men, I think—and we went into battle together, me and her."
Merry spoke proudly as he continued to relate his adventures and how they were thrown from her horse and she faced the Witch King, leader of the Nazgul, to save King Theoden; how his mace shattered her wooden shield, breaking her arm.
"I felt so small compared to him," Merry admitted, "but he was about to kill her, so I ran forward anyway and stabbed my sword—a dagger, really," he explained to Faramir, "into the back of his knee."
"Good shot, that," said Pippin, eyes round as a bug's.
"Aye," agree Faramir, leaning forward.
"Well, something made my arm seize all the way up to my shoulder and I was thrown back and dropped the sword."
"How did Eowyn escape the King?" Faramir asked.
"Stabbed him in the face with her sword!" said Merry. He burst out laughing as if it were a great joke. "Imagine! With ease!" He grew serious. "But I don't remember much after that. We were separated and I was attacked by an orc. I suppose I must have killed him, but he did me up pretty well. And then you found me, Pippin."
Pippin was smiling, but there was sobriety in his eyes. "I was scared I wouldn't for the hours I searched for you," he said.
Without warning the doors to the Great Hall opened with a grumble and groan.
Faramir and the hobbits staggered backwards as Aragorn himself strode in, flanked by the elf Legolas, the dwarf Gimli, Gandalf and Eomer. They were followed by a number of other captains and leaders of men.
"Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, what are you two doing smoking in the Great Hall?" asked Gandalf, voice both bothered and amused.
Then he noticed Faramir, who bowed with some degree of awkwardness and wished he'd dressed better for an affair in the Great Hall, if he was going to be discovered like this anyway.
"Faramir," said Legolas. "I trust your wounds are healing."
"Almost fully healed," said Faramir, bowing again to prove it.
He tried too hard, and a stabbing pain ran through his body. Wincing visibly, he shuddered and drew himself upright again with a clenched jaw.
Aragorn laughed. "Faramir, friend, rest yourself, please. You need not go about pretending to be better than you are."
Faramir felt insulted, but only inclined his head. "Thank you for your pity."
Aragorn chuckled again, apologetically this time, and placed a hand on Faramir's shoulder. "What were you doing with the hobbits?"
"Reliving our adventures," Faramir said.
"They're quite interesting!" Pippin piped up.
"You'll have to tell me all another time," said Aragorn kindly to him. "We are discussing war now. And I would like for you and Merry to listen." He turned to Faramir and then the rest who had assembled.
"We are going to stand before the Black Gates of Mordor and attack Sauron's army of orcs. Sauron knows I am Isildor's heir and the sword that took off his finger and stole his life is in my possession. He is angry, but he does not fear. And we shall show him that we do not fear, either."
"He's most certainly built up an army five times the size of the one that attacked Minas Tirith in Mordor," protested Kiemir, a great captain in Gondor and a friend of Faramir's.
"We don't have the strength at this moment," another captain protested. "We are still recovering."
Aragorn tightened his lips. "There will come a day when I bring you all in for counsel. This is not that day. The decision has been made. We will attack Mordor."
"I am with you to the death," said Legolas.
"And I," Gimli added, shaking his fist.
"As am I," Faramir said.
The hobbits echoed him with Eomer and others.
Aragorn looked at Faramir. "You are not well enough to fight with us, Faramir. Another time I hope to ride with you and the Rangers of Ithilian, even as I am also a Ranger at heart, but now I wish for you to remain in Minas Tirith as steward in my absence."
Faramir's heart fell, but he did not give any indication of disappointment. "Of course, my king." He bowed, ignored the pain, and stepped back.
Aragorn shortly dismissed the captains to go prepare their companies. Eomer gave Faramir a gentle smack on the shoulder before heading out.
"You feel capable of handling the city, yes?" Aragorn asked his newly appointed steward. But he did not look at him and Faramir was uncertain he was being addressed for a moment.
"Oh, yes, sire!" he stammered. "Forgive me, yes. Mostly it will not be a task of governing as much as organizing the place to be cleaned up for your coronation upon your return."
Aragorn smiled. "If I do return, yes. Thank you."
Faramir took a deep breath and boldly took Aragorn's arm in his grasp. "Aragorn, you will return and rule. I knew Frodo and Sam for only a short time, but if anyone is able to accomplish what they must, it is them. I have a feeling this attack on Mordor is to create a diversion for Frodo and Sam."
Aragorn's eyes had unexpectedly filled with tears halfway through Faramir's encouragement.
"Yes," he said and turned away.
Faramir stepped back, wishing he knew what else troubled Aragorn.
"We only have hope," said Faramir. "And if we lose that, we lose everything," he added. "I know."
He felt Gandalf's gaze on him and looked into his blue eyes. A deep sorrow lay there.
The wizard also only had a faint faith in Frodo.
"I have sent Frodo to his death," Gandalf murmured.
"No," said Aragorn. "He will make it through."
From that Faramir knew Aragorn's sadness did not lie with Frodo, but elsewhere. With someone else he had lost all hope.