Chapter 22

Drink

Aragorn had noticed that his Steward seemed somewhat elusive throughout the evening. Faramir had spent much time dutifully moving among the Lords of Gondor and somewhat more enthusiastically conversing with the men, particularly veterans from the War of the Ring, who he always ensured he spent time with when occasion gave him the chance. He appeared at the meal and sat quietly next to his wife. He had focused his attention on Eowyn, ensuring she was comfortable and well fed while eating little himself. He had also taken in good grace the ribaldry from his drunk, and getting drunker by the second, brother-by-law, preferring merely to smile at Eomer's comments rather than engage in the banter as he had earlier.

The King had noticed that during the teasing, Faramir's eyes often sought his own. He knew Faramir was a practised master at hiding his own feelings in the face of far greater criticism than Eomer was good-naturedly throwing at him this night and he wondered what emotion was churning beneath the Steward's calm exterior.

After the meal Aragorn found himself talking to a number of Lords and he was not surprised to find, on managing to extricate himself from them, that his Steward was no where to be seen. The party was by this time in full swing and the singing and story telling was about to start. Aragorn checked the Queen and his children were safe and then went off to look for Faramir.

He found the Steward away from the crowd, sitting alone on the banks of the river. It was a full moon and the silver light was mirrored in the fast flowing water, causing the reflection to dance on the surface. Faramir had his back to the King and was staring into the water as Aragorn approached.

"You have the soul of a poet," Aragorn said, when he was still some distance away as he did not want to surprise the younger man.

Faramir sighed deeply. "Tis a beautiful Ithilien night," he said, his voice dreamy and soft.

Aragorn sat on the trunk beside him. "Aye, that it is," he agreed. "It reminds me of that night almost a year ago, when I came to ask you to retake your position as Steward and you with characteristic stubbornness refused me. So much has changed since then."

"And so little," Faramir said.

Aragorn eyed him, waiting for further comment but there was none. "You are missing the celebration," he said. "Eowyn was about to sing as I left."

"I have not the heart to party this night," Faramir replied.

"How was Emyn Arnen?"

Faramir sighed again. "Better than I feared but worse than I hoped. We will rebuild soon enough, it is the lives lost that we cannot replace. On a night such as this I remember those who are lost."

"And it disquiets you that others can drink, enjoy and be merry on such a night?"

"I see no glory in battle," Faramir said softly, face pale in the moonlight. "I do not seek the battlefield nor the comradeship that attends it, I never have. I fight only because I have to."

Aragorn reached out a comforting hand and squeezed the Steward's shoulder. "I have told you many times you are my rock, Faramir. No other man will ever come close to touching the bond there is between us. I will continue to keep telling you that as it seems you need to keep hearing it."

Faramir turned to regard his King. "Is my weakness so easily read?"

Aragorn chuckled. "It is no weakness and I must be improving with practise for there is nothing easy about reading the thoughts that hide behind your concealing steely eyes. Even the best of us feel lost, lose our confidence, and need approval sometimes. Eomer is a good friend and a powerful ally, he is very different from you and yet that does not mean that I value one of you above the other. You complement each other extremely well."

The Steward sighed. "A war is coming and a new generation will have to face the paralysing fear. Boys who were only just born the last time the horns of Gondor blew. Boys who will seek triumph and honour but will find only sorrow and guilt, pain and death. Fathers will lose sons just as sons lose fathers. And brothers…. " Faramir shook his head. "I have seen too many fall, lost too many to find the heart to celebrate as the others tonight. I do not disapprove of their merriment but I cannot find it in my soul to join them."

Aragorn patted him on the back. "You could have stayed in Minas Tirith," he said gently.

Faramir's head snapped upwards. "No," he said. "I do not ask that I should be spared the fight just because I do not relish it as Eomer does. I will take my place on the field as my duty dictates but it is not the battle or the thought of a glorious death that attracts me."

"And you will fight just as valiantly as any blood lusting Rohirrim warrior," Aragorn said. "For it is to protect Gondor and her people that you fight. And that, in the end, is surely purer than any personal desire for glory. I understand your need, Faramir, for it is the same as mine. We are not so very different, my Steward."

He smiled as Faramir nodded. They sat quietly for some time, Aragorn removing his pipe and smoking contentedly. Both men were comfortable in the silence disturbed only by the sounds of nature close to them and the distant rowdiness of the party.

Finally Faramir snorted. "I suppose we had better go back. Eowyn will kill me if I miss her singing and you Sire will be in great demand, I am sure."

They stood and were making their way back through the trees when both sets of Ranger instincts heard unfamiliar sounds to their left. Faramir stiffened, thoughts of the recent attack on his home rushing back into his mind, his hand went for his sword hilt. Surely not here? Not with the army so close and sentries placed, he thought.

The King indicated to the left and made a circling motion with his hand. Faramir nodded and the two most powerful men in Gondor crouched in the mud and crawled in opposite directions to encircle the bushes where the strange noise was coming from.

Faramir could see Aragorn's shape through the ferns as he waited in position at the other side of the bush. As the King signalled they both leapt forward, swords held high to be greeted by a sight neither of them expected.

Sitting in the bowl made by the roots of a large tree were two boys. They were close to each other and the limited space between them was fully occupied by a massive barrel of ale that dwarfed the pair of them. It was dark in the wood but the boys had thoughtfully brought a lantern along with them. Its weak light was bright enough for the two fathers to ascertain their features.

"Ciri!" Faramir groaned in annoyance.

"Eldarion!" Aragorn shouted in surprise.

"Hello, Father!" both boys giggled in unison.

Faramir fumbled to replace his sword in its scabbard but Aragorn simply gaped. Realising his King was in a state of shock unused to seeing his son involved in such mischief and thus unable to function properly, Faramir bent down and lifted his own son up to his feet by the scruff of his neck. The alcohol fumes on Cirion's breath were overpowering.

"What do you think you're doing, Ciri?" he asked. He had difficulty keeping his own amusement in check but fought valiantly to at least appear paternally perturbed by the situation.

Cirion giggled. "Bron bet us that we couldn't push this barrel up the hill to the party." His words slurred together and were interspersed with further giggles. "He won, we can't!"

Shaking his head slowly, Faramir propped his son against the tree and moved to where Eldarion sat, a bemused but happy look on his face. Somewhat more gently Faramir lifted him to his feet.

"Can you walk, my Prince?" he asked.

Aragorn had managed to pull himself from his shock. He reached forward and took hold of his son as Eldarion tottered, blinking his eyes as he tried to bring a swaying world into focus. He could not. Over the top of the boy's head the King and the Steward exchanged eye contact. Both looked away sharply as their faces unbidden began to smile.

"You didn't drink it all?" Faramir asked in disbelief as he grabbed hold of Cirion's shoulder.

Cirion's head was down to the floor ashamedly and so he missed the mirth that glittered deceptively in his father's eyes. Faramir was concentrating very hard on keeping his voice steady. The young boy burped loudly much to Eldarion's amusement. Both boys dissolved into fits of giggles.

"We only sought to lighten the load a little, Father!" Cirion slurred.

Aragorn shook his head fighting back a chuckle but Faramir was working hard at being angry, or at least appearing so.

"Cirion this is intolerable!" he said. "Not only are you drunk at eleven years old that must be some sort of family record, but you have also led astray the heir to the Kingdom of the West!"

"Uncle Eomer told me he first got drunk when he was eight!" Cirion argued back, his face flushed.

It was not the shrewdest of arguments particularly for his father on this night. However Faramir's response was dimmed somewhat by what happened next.

Eldarion's face had lost all of its colour. He staggered and turned towards his father's comforting arms. He burped loudly and promptly threw up down the King of Gondor and Arnor.

"Oh," breathed Cirion who was not too far-gone to believe he was in deep trouble.

Behind them coming down the path they heard voices. Elboron came into view, followed by Eomer, Pallando the wizard, Legolas and Gimli. They all came to a stop in front of the four figures. For a moment everyone was speechless as their eyes took in the scene. Then all five faces began to smirk.

"I wondered where they had got to," Elboron muttered weakly as he felt his father's stare fell on him.

Faramir had noted that Elboron's face was flushed too and his pupils dilated. He rolled his eyes as he said, "It seems Cirion is not the only one to over indulge this night." He let out his breath very slowly to ensure the laughter that was straining within him was not released.

"Elboron take Cirion home," he managed to articulate in an almost commanding voice. "I do not expect to see either of you again until you are sober!" Then he turned away quickly to hide the smile he could no longer hold in.

"But…" Cirion began.

Elboron took hold of his little brother's collar. "Come on Ciri!" he hissed. "Don't make it worse than it already is, you fool!" He pulled him stumbling up the path. As they moved away Elboron was heard to distinctly say, "You little idiot! At least when Uncle Eomer got me drunk for the first time it was in Edoras, far from Father's gaze!"

Eomer smiled innocently as he met Faramir's questioning gaze. The Steward's eyebrows had disappeared skyward. Behind them somebody let out a partly concealed guffaw. The King of Rohan turned his attention to Aragorn, who had taken a towel offered by the ever-helpful Legolas and was wiping both himself and his son down. The King's shoulders were shivering, his face red as he too fought to control his amusement.

Eldarion groaned again.

"Better out than in!" Eomer beamed glibly.

From behind the tree Gimli emerged with the offending barrel. He shook his head. "It's empty," he reported, unable to suppress his admiration.

"There will be sore heads in the morning," Legolas intoned softly.

The King of Rohan moved forward, "A full barrel between two small boys! I am proud of you, Prince," he said. "Tonight, you have become a man!" He patted Eldarion on the back.

It was not the best strategy as Eldarion was sick again. Well used to such episodes Eomer deftly stepped out the way, leaving Faramir to take the full force of the heir of Gondor's vomit.

Eomer guffawed. "Too slow, you old Gondorian stallion!" he laughed.

"There's trouble now," Gimli breathed.

The others gave a collective howl of laughter enable to control themselves any longer. The sound of their release echoed loudly through the trees. Faramir looked down at the proud white tree motif on his breast now covered in the until recently contents of Eldarion's stomach.

"That's top quality vomit that, son," Pallando beamed. "Royal stuff! Fit only for a King or his Steward!"

"I am honoured!" Faramir replied with a smirk as he recovered from the shock quickly.

"I think it is time I got you to bed, my son," Aragorn's firm voice cut through the nearing hysterical atmosphere. "It's been quite a night!"

He tossed the towel to his Steward, who began to wipe at his clothes somewhat half-heartedly and shook his head in resigned amusement. Then Aragorn picked up his son, whose balance had deserted him completely and started to stride back up the path. There was a certain swagger about his walk.

Eomer noted it. He moved to stand by Faramir. "See that?" he said. "You should be proud Faramir, at last Elessar's son begins to behave like a man. And it was your Ciri that did it, the blood of his mother is responsible, no doubt."

Faramir tried hard to fix Eomer with his hardest stare, the one he had been the target of from his father many times. "Brother, I love you dearly," he breathed. "But do not push it now, not if you wish to see the dawn!" And then he burst into laughter, to be quickly followed by the others.

Eomer's guffaw was as loud as thunder, as tears of delight ran down his face. Faramir's somewhat feeble threat washed off him like the rain. He threw his arm around the Steward's shoulders. "Come on my brother," he said. "I am thirsty, let us drink!"

"That's the most intelligent thing anyone has said all night," Gimli growled.

Pallando laughed. "Yes, I am feeling rather parched myself!" As he and the dwarf started back down the trail.

"Wait for me!" Eomer called as he disengaged from the Steward and staggered after them.

Legolas lingered, his beautiful elven eyes glistening with amusement in the darkness. His voice, however, was soft with concern as he asked, "Are you all right, Faramir?"

The Steward snorted ruefully. "You know how much I like parties, Legolas," he groaned sarcastically. "And this one has been more memorable than most."

"Cirion is young," the elf counselled.

"Aye," Faramir agreed. "And he will be lucky if he gets much older, once I have finished with him."

Legolas smiled as he detected the lack of real malice in the other's words.

"You do not have need of a page do you, Legolas?" Faramir asked as they began to follow the others up the path. "Only I think I have one surplus to requirements."

"Alas, good Steward, I do not."

"Well if you hear of anyone who does, let me know," Faramir stopped at the edge of the firelight. "I cannot go back like this," he said, looking down at his muddy, vomit stained clothing in disgust.

"Go home, Faramir," Legolas said.

Faramir hesitated. "But Eowyn…" he began.

"Do not fret over your good Lady," Legolas said. "Is she not among friends here? I shall personally watch over her, as only an elf can and deliver her safely home to you once she has had her fill."

Faramir knew he was deserting his duty but he suddenly felt numbingly tired. He could not face the froth and the hilarity, not to mention his brother-by-law again this night. "Thank you, Legolas," he said. "I appreciate your aid."

Legolas smiled widely. "The pleasure will be all mine, I assure you," he said sweetly.

As Faramir made his way back to his home to confront his boys, he could not help but chuckle to himself at this latest escapade of Cirion's. The boy was incorrigible it was true and already a match for his Horse Lord Uncle. Faramir was thankful that the King had been able to see the funny side and he hoped that Queen Arwen would be as forgiving when she saw the state her only son was brought home in. He also hoped that Cirion had learnt for the experience and the thick head he would suffer in the morning would make him think twice about such behaviour in the future. Somehow Faramir doubted it though and a part of him rejoiced that his second son could be so free from constraint and concern. Faramir sighed as he reached the door to his home. Fathers and sons he thought once more, pleased that the course of Cirion's life did not mirror his own.

As the boy's father, Faramir knew he should think of a suitable punishment but he still found the whole episode too amusing. Reminding himself that the army would leave on the morrow, and both Cirion and Eldarion would see what it was to be a soldier he decided against a severe punishment. They were young and alive and free for the moment, he did not want to deny them that, for they would lose such liberty soon enough.

However, he thought ruefully as the stench of vomit hit his nose, Cirion did not need to know of his decision just yet. So assuming the most severe expression he could muster in the circumstances, he entered his home.