Chapter 20

Promises

"And so, my dear friend, war comes to Gondor once more." Faramir was standing in the beautiful glade a short walk from Emyn Arnen where Beregond had been buried after his body had been brought home from Mordor the previous autumn. The King and nobles of Gondor had laid the loyal captain of the White company to rest with great honour, but Faramir had been close to death from his own injuries in Minas Tirith and so had been unable to attend the ceremony. The Steward still felt a sense of guilt that he had not been there to see the promise he had given Beregond, as his friend died in his arms, fulfilled. He had therefore made a second vow to himself that he would attend the captain's grave whenever he was in Emyn Arnen.

A summer drizzle had been falling all morning but rather than the surrounding woods being dank and miserable, Faramir found it a welcome change to be in the cool of the forest instead of the lingering, energy sapping heat of Minas Tirith. Though he wore the hood of his cloak to cover his head, the damp did not bother him. He had been wet by the rains of Ilithien many times in his life, and on most occasions had found it an invigorating experience.

Instead, he focused on the mound in front of him, marked by a small headstone. He squatted next to it as he continued. "How I wish I had you with me to guard my back, Beregond. You were the most loyal companion I could have ever had."

Faramir stood up with a long sigh. A drop of rain landed on his nose and he rubbed it away absently, his mind still musing elsewhere. "Instead, I shall take your sons with mine and put them all in danger. Fathers and sons, my friend. I once found it hard to live up to my duty as a son, but now I know how much harder it is to be a father. I promise you, I will guard your sons as I watch over my own, and bring then home. Rest, Beregond and be at peace, for no one deserves it more than you!"

Faramir lingered a few minutes longer, drinking in the solitude of the grove for he knew once he left it there would be no peace until a war had been fought. Then he pulled his hood further over his head and walked quickly back towards Emyn Arnen.

They had arrived home almost a week before to be plunged into a world of turmoil and torment. Their family's once peaceful haven having been devastated by enemies who came unseen in the middle of the night and left almost as quickly, but caused havoc and pain while they remained.

There had been fatalities – two guardsmen, a farmer and a young stable boy had paid the ultimate price when the Easterlings came to call. There were also a number of injured people, their wounds ranging from severe injuries to a few cuts and burns. The burns had come predominantly from the fact that the Easterlings had fired a number of the wooden buildings in order to cover their escape. And that had caused further heartache especially for Eowyn because one of the buildings had been her stables that housed a number of the horses she had bred over the years. Thankfully as it was summer most of the herd had been out to pasture but a number of thoroughbred mares in foul had been lost, as had the stable boy who had tried to save them. The pride of Eowyn's herd, her own favourite mare, Steelsheen could not be found and she feared that the Easterlings had stolen her.

There was more personal pain for both the Steward and his Lady for their own home had been completely ransacked; furniture tossed aside, books thrown to the floor, wall coverings burnt, even the children's toys had been broken and squashed under foot. It was as if a wind of devastation had blown through their home and nothing had been safe. Initially Eowyn had been mortified by the loss and the damage. Faramir had cursed himself for allowing her to come with him to witness such destruction and in her current state. But his wife was born to endure and she had soon managed to overcome her misery, thrusting her limited energies into repairing and healing.

Faramir had found himself swept away in a torrent of responsibility. He had organised the funerals, spoken with the families of the dead, converted the great hall of his home, once it had been cleaned, into a place of healing and he had organised the start of the rebuilding of the houses that had been burnt. But always gnawing at the back of his mind had been the feeling of guilt that his home and people had been subject to such desecration and he had been unable to defend them.

He sent out many scouts throughout the surrounding forests and beyond for some sign of where the enemy had gone. But the only signs that were found seemed to indicate they had fled back to the east to where Faramir knew their army waited. He began to surmise that this had not been a true attack, something he was thankful for since it appeared that his home had been vulnerable and for that he blamed himself, refusing to listen to the argument that such an attack could not have been expected. He vowed he would never allow his people to be so exposed again.

Now as he walked back to the house, he thought again on what had attracted the Easterlings here. His suspicion was that they had come searching specifically for something, something of such import they would risk all. Although he was a rich man by any definition of the word, he realised that the thing that had called them, was the same as that which had pulled him to Mordor; Saruman's stone. He gulped, for though he now knew the stone could be used for good, he detested the loss of life and suffering that seemed to accompany it. The stone was now his and he carried it, set into the broach, in his pouch for safekeeping. It did not escape him that soon he would ride east and the stone would go with him, for he would not leave it to endanger others. Still it worried him somewhat that he was taking it to where the wizard, Alatar, waited.

"Father!" It was Elboron's voice, cutting through the sounds of rebuilding and tidying that had become louder as Faramir approached the settlement.

Faramir looked up to see his eldest son waiting patiently at the gates for him. "We wondered where you had gone," Elboron said as the Steward drew close.

Faramir sighed. "I needed time to think," he said.

Elboron reached out a supporting hand. "Have you slept at all since we came home?" he asked gently.

Faramir shrugged. "Sleeping does not get things done, and there is so much to do and so little time."

They turned to walk up towards the main house. "That is why I searched you out," Bron continued. "A messenger has arrived from the King, or I should really say Kings, because Uncle Eomer is here too."

Faramir stopped. "And?"

"They have arrived but bearing in mind our current predicament they have decided to make camp down the road by the river. They invite us all to their camp this evening."

Faramir grunted and turned away, running his hand through his hair. "Not one of your Uncle's parties?" he muttered.

Elboron rolled his eyes. "I fear so, Sir. Cirion has ridden down already to see. Apparently he wished to challenge Uncle to a bout of arm wrestling. You remember the last time they met?"

Faramir sighed wearily. "Yes I remember and so does my bicep! No doubt Ciri will expect me to step in and defend his honour again like before."

"As I recall, Father," Elboron ventured hesitantly. "Uncle beat you too."

Faramir snorted. "Rohirrim always cheat!" he muttered. "What does your Mother say?" he said ignoring his son's doubtful look and changing the subject.

"She is mortified," Elboron said.

"Why?" Faramir asked somewhat surprised.

"All her best dresses were destroyed – she has nothing to wear!"

Faramir chuckled. "I will make a Lady of Gondor of her yet!" he laughed.

Elboron joined in but then grew more serious. "Is it really the time for a celebration?" he asked.

"I would say for myself no, my son," Faramir replied as they commenced walking again. "But the Rohirric blood in you knows it is a tradition." He surveyed the strain on the faces of the people he passed before continuing, "Maybe, after all we have suffered over the last few days, it would be good for our people to feel some happiness again. Maybe we need the Rohirrim to remind us of the thrill of being alive."

They reached the door of their home and entered. As they did so a wave of excitement hit them. Everywhere it seemed people were rushing around to prepare themselves for the evening.

"Come on, Faramir!" Eowyn called for the top of the stairs. "The Queen is come too, and she has brought the rest of our family! They will stay here with me when you ride east. You must get ready!"

Only Elboron standing next to his Father was close enough to hear the soft groan that escaped the Steward and the muttered. "Maybe I'll just go back into the forest!" Before Faramir raised his voice and with a resigned wink to his son called back to his wife, "Coming my dear!"

The mouth watering scent of venison roasting over an open fire drifted tantalisingly across the forest of Ithilien as the residents of Emyn Arnen made their way through the trees down to the hastily constructed army camp. It had stopped raining but the path was still muddy and slippery. The hems of the pretty dresses the women had donned were already caked with dirt but no-one seemed to notice. The expectant air of excitement was enough to chase such cares away.

After his arrival from his talk with Beregond, Faramir had found himself at odds with his wife. She desperately wanted to attend the celebration but Faramir had pointed out she was still confined to her bed. Eowyn had pouted and they had argued for some time. She had finally won his consent by agreeing to be carried down to the camp in a litter.

Cirion had asked if he could ride along with her but been bluntly refused. He instead walked along at her side moaning about the mud and asking whether he had to clean his own boots.

Faramir turned to him and said, "You are my page, Cirion, not only do you have to clean your own boots but mine too. It will be a character building experience for you."

Cirion stuck his tongue out behind his father's back and Bron thumped him playfully.

"Really my Lord," Eowyn said. "I hardly think Cirion needs any more character, you complain about that which he already has!"

"So I don't have to clean them then?" Cirion asked.

"Yes, you do!" answered Faramir, Elboron and Eowyn in unison.

Eowyn and Faramir bowed formally before the King and Queen as they were greeted at their camp. However, the formality of the moment was swept aside as their smallest children along with the royal twins rushed forward and threw themselves at the newcomers. Eowyn gathered them all up to her as she sat on her litter her laughter joining that of the children.

Stronger and larger arms were suddenly embracing her and a voice boomed out, "Not dropped your latest foal yet then, Sister?"

Eowyn accepted the embrace of her big brother. "Eomer," she replied. "You say the nicest things!"

Eomer beamed. "You know I pride myself on my etiquette! Glad to see that the Gondorians walk while the daughter of Eorl rides. At last you knock your household into shape!" He moved to release her from his vice-like grip and turned to where her husband waited rather uneasily.

"Not one of your hugs," Faramir muttered but he was too late. The King of Rohan had enveloped him in his arms and the Steward thought his spine would surely snap.

"Faramir, my brother!" Eomer boomed. "You continue to astound me!"

Faramir stepped back, breathing heavily as Eomer released him. "How so?" he asked, knowing he was stepping into a trap but unable to think of a civil way out of it.

"That even an old lame Gondorian Stallion such as you can still stand to stud!"

"Eomer!" Eowyn snapped.

But Faramir appeared unmoved and smiled. "Less of the lame," he countered mildly, easily hiding his true feelings. "My King has healed my leg completely and besides, any stallion, even an old Gondorian one, would rise to the occasion when presented with such a mare."

"Faramir!" Eowyn snapped but her eyes were bright with mirth.

Eomer rolled his eyes. "She is quite the best Rohan has produced, is she not?"

"Indeed!" Faramir agreed.

"Has the King managed to strengthen your wrestling arm too?" Eomer muttered as he turned to Cirion. "For we may have need of it later, eh nephew?"

Cirion pulled a face. "I think not Uncle. You will not get past me this time!"

Eomer roared with laughter. "That's the spirit, Ciri!"

Eomer moved on to face Elboron who waited patiently behind his parents. He was treated to a bear hug of his own as his Uncle continued, "And what offspring that mare produces! Elboron, you grow more handsome each time I see you, truly you have inherited all that is fair in the Rohirrim. When will you take your place at my side for a charge?"

Elboron smiled. "It will be an honour I am not worthy of but one I cannot wait to fulfil, my uncle!"

Eomer beamed. "See it is soon!"

"Lady Lothiriel did not accompany you?" Faramir asked disappointment tinting his voice.

"She journeyed as far as Minas Tirith," Eomer replied. "But remained there with Imrahil to oversee the City."

"And my nephew?" Eowyn asked. "When will we finally get to meet him and see your beautiful daughters again?"

After two girls, Eomer and Lothiriel had finally been blessed with a son, Elfwine, only months earlier after many years of trying.

The pride was unmistakeable in Eomer's eyes as he finally had the heir he wished. "After we sort out this mess in the east," he promised.

Faramir, though he knew he should not and against his better judgement but with the comment about old lame Gondorian stallions still stinging his ears, could not resist the opening. "I am glad you finally listened to the tips I have given you, brother. It pains me to point it out but you are indebted to me, King of Rohan," he said smugly.

Eomer looked puzzled. "Tips?"

"On producing a son, of course!" Faramir said, "We know you Rohirrim prefer the clumsiness of heavy cavalry to the subtlety of archery, do we not? Finally you hit the correct target, you must have followed my advice."

Eomer's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to argue but King Elessar intervened.

"Come my guests," he said. "Let us eat!"

Eomer's eyes promising revenge continued to glare at Faramir. The Steward knew with all certainty he would be made to regret his indelicate remark at the King of Rohan's expense.

"I always pay my debts, Steward," Eomer spat. "You should know that by now!"

Faramir smiled weakly as Eomer turned to follow the King.

"Don't let him provoke you, Faramir!" Eowyn whispered. "You know what he is like. Don't let him bring you down to his level. You are better than that! No one will think any less of you."

Faramir nodded. "I know but he brings out the competitor in me."

"Faramir, you have nothing to prove," Eowyn soothed. "It is only Eomer's way."

She signalled for her litter to be moved and left her husband lurking at the edge of the gathering for long minutes, pondering exactly what it was that awoke old inadequacies in him when he met his brother-by-law. He liked and respected Eomer it was true but he did find himself being riled by the good-natured teasing. He hated the fact that Eomer, more than any other man he knew, had that effect on him. He solemnly promised himself that he would not raise to the bait any further.

But his promise was short-lived as Cirion rushed up to him. "There you are Father, I've been looking for you for ages!" he said breathlessly, his face flushed. "Uncle Eomer has beaten me three times in as many minutes. It's not fair; I wish I were bigger. He now says he is looking for someone who can regain Gondor's honour!"

Faramir groaned softly, the muscle in his right arm remembering the pain of their last torturous bout.

"Maybe later," he ventured. "After we eat."

"Uncle Eomer told me to get you straight away. He was most anxious to do it now." Cirion was bouncing with impatience. "The honour of Gondor is at stake!" He pressed.

Feeling like he had been out manoeuvred by the not as ingenuous as he pretended King of Rohan, Faramir nodded. He regretted his remark even more and he knew he was about to pay for it. Still he had no option but to face the King.

Faramir began to walk as the condemned man approaches his day of reckoning in the direction Cirion indicated.