Aragorn wasn't sure when precisely he'd set his face in his knees, nor for how long he'd sat there muttering the same words again and again- "You cannot take him. You cannot have him-" but it couldn't have been very long, after all, it wouldn't have taken him long at all to treat Faramir's injuries, and his adoptive father was the greater healer between them.
Arwen brushed her hands through her hair as she stood over him in the hall in front of the kitchen door. "They're done," she said as he looked up at her.
It took him a moment to realize what she meant and he scrambled to his feet just as the door swung open once more and Elrond stood, imposing as always, in the door frame.
They stood in silence for a ten count and then Elrond took Aragorn's face in his hands, examining him closely.
Aragorn had to resist the urge to step away, but even then his foot moved, an involuntary sign of his discomfort.
"What were you muttering, Aragorn?" Elrond demanded not unkindly, but very sternly.
The king knew from experience that it was an indication of his father's worry. "It is nothing," he said, unable to keep his heart rate from spiking.
"No," Elrond said, his sternness bordering on foul temper. "It is not," he corrected. "Do not think you can brush me off so easily, Estel, I raised you." His grip tightened so that Aragorn had to keep his face up. Elrond searched his eyes, and for the first time in a long while, Estel was able to identify the expression hidden behind the pursed lips and lowered eyebrows. His father was worried about him.
"Just an ill dream," Aragorn said evasively. He had never had a reason to be afraid of Elrond, who had never once mistreated him, but after the rift had opened between them over Arwen, he had felt very keenly the raw power lying just beneath the Elven Lord's skin, hiding in his eyes and under his voice.
"I think not," Elrond said, his voice hardening. "But we will speak of this later." He released Aragorn, but it was not abrupt. There was a gentleness in his hands that spoke of paternal affection and left Aragorn feeling very raw and small, like a child once more, silently berating himself for feeling disappointed that the exchange had ended so quickly. "Lord Faramir cannot write, wield a sword, nor ride a horse until his injuries are fully healed or he will cause scarring that will permanently damage his abilities and range of motion. I trust that you will see to his care?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
The king managed to nod. "Of course. He is dear to me."
Elrond allowed Aragorn a rare smile. "I know," he started. "And I can see why. He is nothing like his father."
It was meant to be a compliment, but something about the statement irritated Aragorn, and he wasn't even completely sure what it was himself. "He can hear you," he said, instead of contradicting the Elven Lord.
Elrond's smile widened and gained the hint of an expression Estel was more accustomed to seeing on Elladan or Elrohir. "I know," he said levelly. "I was counting on it."
Aragorn glanced into the kitchen and then gently pushed his way past the Elven lord to get to Faramir, who was still sitting on the bench, face flushed.
"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," the steward said hurriedly.
Aragorn put a hand on his shoulder when he drew close enough. "I don't hold you at fault. You have very good ears. That also means you heard that you cannot work until you are healed?"
Faramir' dropped his head, only just remembering not to catch his face in his hands, and nodded despondently. "Yes, my king."
"I'll get you a scribe," Aragorn started, uncertain of how to make the situation any better. He knew Faramir felt unsafe when he wasn't being productive, and he had every right to after his struggles.
They had not managed to persuade him to give the name of his tormentor, and Aragorn rather suspected that the villain responsible for the scars on Faramir's back was still around- scars Faramir still refused to let him see or treat.
Of course, Denethor had given the orders, but the king rather doubted the weasel had faced the grizzly task himself. Denethor had always preferred to let other people do his dirty work, and that had been true since Aragorn was known as Thorongil.
A thought alit in his brain like a butterfly descending upon a flower and he knelt, looking up at Faramir's downturned face.
He might feel safer with a known ally around. "I'll call for Imrahil, as well. None of the work will be neglected."
This did not have the effect Aragorn had hoped for.
A look of anguish passed over Faramir's face- there was some relief mingling with it, but it was a look of pain, nonetheless.
"What's wrong?" Aragorn asked immediately, but the Steward only shook his head.
"I am sorry," he said, his face shifting to a well-practiced mask of neutrality. "It is only the pain."
Aragorn felt his brow knit without his permission to do so and slowly took Faramir's hands. "Please?" he said gently.
There was a long pause.
"I don't want to be a source of so much trouble," Faramir admitted at last. "This will take him from his home, and I do not know for how long, and yet it will ensure that none are left without supplies or support from my… missteps."
"Faramir," Aragorn said gently. "The kettle breaking was not your fault." It did not escape the king's notice that his steward seemed to be implying he was the sole caretaker of certain military supply chains, and his absence either could or had resulted in disaster before. He made up his mind to look into Faramir's duties a little more closely and distribute what ought to already have been doled out to other hands for completion.
Faramir nodded, but didn't look any closer to believing it.
"Well," Aragorn started again. "It seems you have the day to yourself. Perhaps we ought to write Lady Eowyn and let her know that you are free from your duties?" he suggested.
"No, please do not, my lord. She need not worry about my sorry state, and I- I would rather she not see me this way." He looked down at his bandaged hands and his shoulders fell. "I am afraid I could scarcely grip a spoon."
Aragorn had to keep himself from frowning; his steward was in very poor spirits indeed. "Come," he said. "Let us watch the sun rise." He pulled Faramir to his feet by one unburned elbow and kept his grip there, a light and reassuring touch as he led his steward outside.
"Thank you," Faramir said quietly as they sat on one of the benches in the courtyard, facing out over the city.
The red glow to the east seemed not like the approaching dawn, but the fires of Mordor rekindled.
"I'm sure you didn't ask me out here just to sit in silence," Faramir ventured at last, his eyes firmly held to the glowing horizon.
Did he see the echoes of the war behind the Ephel Duath as well? Or did he only see the coming light piercing through the shadow as dawn should be?
"If silence is what you need, then it is no burden," Aragorn returned quietly. "Or we could speak of little things, if they will lighten your heart."
"I- I am unsure. Have I changed at all?" he asked, shoulders slumped. "Or am I the same man who rode sleepless into a storm? I do not wish to be a burden."
"You are the same man, Faramir," Estel said quietly. "You do not have to be a new being to change, my friend. Your path is rough hewn, paved with many terrible fears, and I do not grudge you either the caution to move slowly, or the stumbling that comes of such uneven territory. Even still, I have seen your progress. You were always a good man, Faramir. My only hope is that you will not suffer alone now that you have-" he hesitated. "Many people who cherish you."
Faramir nodded again but made no response and the silence stretched on between them.
"What troubles you so?" Aragorn asked, praying he hadn't made his friend feel worse.
"Something I heard. My lord, you called me your son…" the steward looked over, his eyes full of pain. His voice trailed off, and he quickly looked away again. "I apologize, I shouldn't have brought it up."
"You are much younger than me, Faramir," Aragorn said cautiously. He had been foolish to speak so hastily, and without regard to the younger man's own feelings. "I forget sometimes that I do not look my age."
Faramir nodded his understanding but a new expression passed briefly over his face.
Was that… disappointment?
At least the look of anguish had passed as well; Aragorn couldn't stand to see Faramir in so much pain.
The king took a breath to inquire on the pain from his injuries, but the steward spoke again.
"I also heard you outside the door. What tormented you so?" he asked, worry creasing his brow.
"In ill dream," Aragorn started to say, but shook his head.
Faramir had already heard the half explanation he'd offered to Lord Elrond, and he'd heard that Lord Elrond hadn't been even remotely satisfied by it.
"Perhaps an omen," the king had to admit. "But it may just be a dream. It was, either way, a vision that shook me."
"Are you alright?" Faramir asked. "You could still take this day to set down your duties if you need time to recover."
Aragorn felt his eyebrows lift incredulously and struggled to take command over his face once more; Faramir always managed to say the exact right thing to break his careful self control. "I think it may have to wait, though I am only postponing it for now. I will have my rest, but after you are well, I think."
"May I… May I ask the nature of this foul dream?" Faramir asked, leaning forward to set his uninjured elbow against his leg, resting his chin on the back of a very carefully positioned hand.
"I do not think I have the strength to speak it," Aragorn said. "It would be one thing if this dream were merely a fear that seeing you alive could dispel, but thinking on it inspires in me a rage that-" he felt his stomach turn over just thinking about Denethor. "If I let myself clench my teeth, I may break them. If I close my fist I shall draw blood from my own palms. I have not the strength to face such unbridled hatred in myself just yet." He paused and glanced over at Faramir. "Not at you," he added hurriedly, seeing the fear in his steward's eyes. "Never at you."
The relief on Faramir's face was obvious. "I feel a little better knowing that," he said, turning again to look at the now pink and gold sky over Mordor. "It is going to be a lovely morning, I think."
"Mmm. Indeed," Aragorn agreed.
They sat a little longer in silence until the sound of footsteps in the courtyard drew both their attention over to Lady Arwen, who was crossing the almost luminescent white stone toward them, a tray of food in hand.
Silently, she handed them both plates and took up a spot by her husband to eat her own share.
Aragorn watched Faramir carefully.
Arwen had made toast with butter, spinach and a cooked egg over the top, melted with a mild cheese. Other than being a marvel of both simplicity and savor, it was food that needed no utensils.
Faramir could eat his breakfast without help, holding it in his fingertips; he would not have to close his injured hands.
" Melnye le, " Aragorn told his wife approvingly. " Hanon le. "*
In response she leaned close and kissed his forehead before taking a dainty bite of her own food.
To the Lord Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth,
I am sorry to send for you under such poor circumstances. I would have liked for us to meet a third time in glad tidings, but it seems our lot so far to be only drawn together in times of trouble. I assure you I shall remedy this and send for you solely to do so in good circumstance, as soon as I am able.
In the meanwhile, I am afraid I must inform you that Faramir is injured, and while his injuries are mild and shall leave no scarring, he has been banned from the holding of a pen. I have of course assigned a scribe to him, but for matters of greater subtlety, I am afraid I require your services in Minas Tirith.
His hands were burned in an accident in the kitchen. I am at least pleased that the burns are shallow and will leave no permanent scarring. Faramir is otherwise in good health and is recovering well from both this and his last bout of misfortune.
Concerning that, I would like to speak with you in person. I have a growing suspicion there is something dark at work in this castle, and I would like your thoughts on the matter, though I may be seeing ghosts where there is, in truth, but a passing breeze.
I very much look forward to the days when we both have time to spare on trivial matters, pleasantries and good company, as I would like to know you better, and I thank you for your aid in these matters.
Faramir treasures you, and feels your absence keenly, so I must conclude that you are a man worth knowing indeed, even apart from my own knowledge of your character.
Warm regards,
Aragorn Telcontar, King of Gondor and Arnor.
Aragorn set the paper down again for the third time and sighed, wondering if this letter was suitable, or if perhaps he had woven too jocular a tone into the beginning of it. He certainly did not feel like being so jolly as he sounded in the inked words on the page, but he did not want to alarm the Prince of Dol Amroth by making Faramir sound more injured than he was.
All told, the burns were fairly shallow. They certainly could have been worse, but Aragorn could not rid himself of his dread; there would be more to come, he was sure of it. A pressure seemed to be building in his chest. He wanted to take up his sword against whatever force was causing Faramir such misfortune, and he rather suspected it was Denethor, but he knew there was nothing to strike at… though it would not be the first time he had faced down a spirit, if in fact he was correct about the circumstances.
He closed the letter, determined to spend no more time worrying over it, and slipped it into an envelope, penning the name and address of its recipient onto the yellowed paper.
With white sealing wax, and the crest of Gondor stamped into it, the letter was ready to send.
Arwen pulled it out of his fingers before he could stand and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek, her braid falling over his shoulder as she leaned close. "It will be alright," she assured him. "Once Imrahil is here, I shall take you out of these smothering walls."
He nodded and ground his palms into his eyes.
It would take a day and a half for the letter to reach Dol Amroth, assuming the messenger rode hard, which meant Imrahil would be there in perhaps a week at most. He may have to stay for two or three weeks as Faramir recovered.
"Now," Arwen continued talking, startling him from his thoughts. "My father is waiting for you. I persuaded him that he ought to be more gentle with you, so you should encourage that in him," she said reasonably, as if she were merely asking him to pass her something she could not reach, and not asking him to face one of the most powerful beings still in Middle Earth.
He winced. "He sent you to get me, then?"
"He knows when you're avoiding him, and I think he wants to check on you," she said.
"You're perfectly capable of that on your own," Aragorn countered.
"Not to his satisfaction," she said evenly. "He's not going to let you out of this one, and neither am I."
He looked at her, lost for words. He wanted to protest and wriggle out of it somehow, but Arwen's face held only concern for him. "Why?" he managed.
"Because, Estel, I am worried about you. You have not slept properly in over a month. These nightmares cannot be natural," she said, placing her hand against his cheek. Her skin was cool and soft, a reassuring and calming touch against his face. "I have found nothing lingering over you, but my father is more skilled than I in old ways and medicines. If I am wrong, he will find it."
Aragorn managed a smile. "I shall endure, my love," he assured her. "So I am to be my father's patient once more?" he asked, getting to his face.
"It is a bit different this time," she said. "You're not grievously injured in some foolish scheme my brothers have orchestrated."
"Foolish?" Aragorn asked as she took his hand, leading him out of his study. He had fond memories of many of those schemes, even when they did end in injury. Although, for many of them he had been little more than a child, and they had gone orc-hunting more than a few times after he'd turned twelve. "Well," he conceded at last. "Not all of them were foolish."
*Translation from Quenya: "I love you." and "Thank you."