Chapter 34

Delivery

"Cirion did what?"

Elboron recalled with an indulgent smile his father's habitual but no less astonished reaction two nights passed when, after wakening and asking for news of how the battle had fared, he had been informed of his second son's altercation with the troll. Faramir had lost what little colour he had regained and Elboron had feared he was about to relapse but the Steward had controlled his emotion with his iron will. Finally he shook his head in resignation.

"Pity the troll!" he had muttered after checking that Cirion had survived.

Elboron now sat in the Steward's tent between the two cots currently occupied by his charges; to his left Cirion lay his covers thrown off as usual but sleeping quietly and to his right was his father, his sleep had been punctuated by dreams but at this moment he too appeared to be sleeping soundly. Elboron looked from one familiar face and back again. The likeness of father to son was uncanny, made more so that the new wound on Faramir's face from the uruk blade matched the older scar on his son's cheek. Sitting there regarding them, Elboron had the definite sensation that Cirion was simply a younger, smaller version of his father.

Elboron let out a long sigh. It was three long days since the battle. Exhausting days that had been spent clearing the field, honouring the dead and caring for the wounded. Elboron had spent most of the time caring for his father and brother who were both thankfully over the worst.

Faramir had risen from his bed the day after the battle against the advice of the healers, Pallando and the King. He had insisted on joining King Elssar when he met with Shiraf and the other Easterling chiefs that remained to discuss the terms of the peace. Also in that audience had been Pallando, who had agreed to go back to the east to support Shiraf in his attempts to bring order to the shattered society. It had been agreed that Alatar, a shadow of his former self, wracked by remorse and guilt, would accompany his friend too. The Blue Wizards would return to their adopted home to heal both themselves and their people.

Elboron had worried that his father had not the strength to be involved in such diplomacy, but conversely the mental exercise seemed to invigorate the Steward. His eyes although still veiled by pain were as bright as ever Elboron remembered. Faramir had tired quickly, however, and they had managed to persuade him back to his bed for frequent naps throughout the days which was why he was there now.

Cirion was supposed to be immobile too but he showed that he had inherited his father's stubbornness as well as his looks by refusing to stay in bed. Three times, Elboron had to scour the camp to find where his wayward brother had wandered off to. Cirion had developed an ungainly but most effective hopping technique on his good leg and was able to cover an amazing amount of ground. Pallando who was overseeing the boy's healing had joked that he would have to tether him like a colt to keep him in one place. Elboron thought that such measures would not subdue his brother's excitement or energy – he was more animated than ever!

In the drowsy soporific silence of the tent Elboron's thoughts returned to the day before. He had spent hours searching the camp for his brother and had almost given up when he wondered into the corral area where the horses were kept. Elboron had been about to pass by, aware that he had been absent for some time and his father may well need him, when he had heard his brother's excited chatter drifting on the light breeze towards him. Elboron had followed the prattling voice as it lead him around the paddock to an area that had been hastily cordoned off.

Elboron had hesitated at the scene that came into view. The King of Rohan was kneeling in the straw, his arms covered up to the elbow with blood and fluids. Next to him, in a similar state and standing enrapt was Prince Eldarion. Behind both, sitting quite comfortably on the fence, his massively bandaged leg swinging slightly in the air and his bandaged arm propped on the fence pole, sat Cirion.

All three figures were looking away from where Elboron stood at the horse in front of them. It was Steelsheen, who Eomer had liberated with great aplomb from the enemy camp and brought back triumphantly the day before. Elboron began to move forward once more, curious as to what could hold the engrossed attention of at least two of the most obvious fidgets he knew.

He let out a gasp of pleasure when the reason came into view, beside its mother a beautiful newly born foal was standing on wobbling, weak legs.

"I delivered him!" Cirion boasted loudly when he saw his brother approaching.

"You did not!" argued Eldarion.

Eomer let out a snort as Elboron raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Well, almost," Cirion admitted sheepishly. "I gave helpful hints."

"Helpful hints?" Elboron questioned, his eyes on the King of Rohan.

Eomer snorted again. "They were invaluable, believe me," he rumbled, wiping his ensanguined hands down his shirt.

"See!" cried Cirion missing the irony completely, as ever. Eldarion shook his head and looked down at his shuffling feet, smirking.

Elboron smiled at the scene. "Thank you for your safe hands, uncle," he ventured.

Eomer growled again. "As ever, Rohan comes to Gondor's aid," he said but his eyes glistened with humour and his big features broadened into a wide smile.

All of them looked back at the foal that was now thrusting its head into its mother's belly, eager to find the teat.

"A colt?" Elboron asked.

Eomer nodded.

"Mother will be pleased."

"Aye, she will," Eomer agreed. "'Tis good it is birthed now before we start the long journey homeward."

"Can I name him?" Cirion asked.

"No," Eomer snapped. "We risk ending up with another Daisy!"

Eldarion laughed but Cirion pouted. "That was him, not me!" He said in a hurt voice and indicating his brother.

Elboron shrugged. "I was very young," he said. "Besides, it's a nice name."

Eomer shook his head. "Save it for your girl children. It is no name for a warhorse of Rohan."

Cirion let out a loud guffaw which changed into a pained shriek as he lost his balance and fell backwards off the fence. Elboron and his uncle exchanged a glance before rushing forward with Eldarion to look over the fence into the paddock beyond. Cirion sat in a heap on the ground, his injured arm and leg thankfully cushioned from the impact by their bandaging. He was however, doing a very good impression of a beetle stranded on its back.

"Awh," he moaned.

"Are you all right, Ciri?" Elboron asked trying to stifle his amusement.

"He is fine," Eomer said, not even trying to conceal his mirth. "See, he fell on a soft landing."

The look on Cirion's face turned from pain to disgust. His nose wrinkled and he let out a rude noise as he realised he was sitting in a pile of horse dung!

"Help me up!" he pleaded, stretching his good arm out towards them.

Eomer rolled his eyes. "I am the King of Rohan," he said haughtily. "I do not involve myself with manure!"

Elboron laughed as he said, "And I must get back to attend the Steward, brother."

Cirion's pleading eyes fell on the Prince. "Darion?"

Eldarion's expression was hard. He looked away as if considering the request deeply. "Well . . ." he said finally.

"Please, Darion!" Cirion pleaded, waving his good arm about ineffectively.

Eldarion sighed. "Who helped deliver the colt?" he asked.

Cirion snorted angrily.

"I do not hear you, Cirion, son of Faramir!" Eldarion said. Behind him both Eomer and Elboron sniggered like little boys.

Finally and through his most intense pout, Cirion said, "You did."

Eldarion cocked his head. "Did you say something, Hurin boy?"

"You did!"

"Louder. I did what?"

"You helped deliver my mother's colt."

Eldarion beamed. "I am so glad we got that cleared up," he said reaching forward to pull the younger boy back onto his good leg and out of the dung. "What have we been feeding those horses?" he continued. "That is the most full-bodied smell I have ever smelt!"

Elboron was pulled back from his amusing memory of the day before by a knock on the tent post outside and the sound of someone clearing their throat gruffly. Instantly Faramir's eyes flashed open, his hand reaching to his side in search of his sword hilt.

"Peace, father," Elboron muttered as he reached out a calming hand.

Faramir relaxed noticeably. He sat up biting back the pain that rushed from his leg outwards to the rest of his body.

"Lord Steward," the voice came from outside the tent.

"You are supposed to be resting," Elboron whispered. "I shall ask whoever it is to come back later."

Faramir grimaced but shook his head. "Don't fuss, Bron," he muttered. "You are worse than your mother!"

He eased his legs over the side of the cot and down gingerly onto the floor. "Help me, please." he asked, reaching out a hand.

Elboron sighed but helped his father across the tent to sit in a camp chair. Faramir took a number of deep breaths, each one deeper and more controlled than the last.

"Enter," he said finally.

Elboron was somewhat surprised to see Lord Ingold enter the tent and bow stiffly toward his father.

"Greetings, Steward," he said in his brusque voice. "I was sorry to hear of your injury. I trust you are mending well?"

"Greetings, Lord Ingold," Faramir responded with a slight incline of his head. "I am well. Please take a seat. To what do I owe your presence?"

The lord looked rather uncomfortable but sat in the chair that Faramir had indicated. "I come for two reasons," he began, purposefully not meeting the Steward's intense stare.

Faramir nodded slowly and Elboron had the definite impression that his father had expected this visit.

"Firstly," Ingold continued, "I feel I owe you an apology. I questioned your honour and your loyalty to Gondor in a most public way. I have seen what you did on the battlefield, how you and your men suffered. There is no doubt in your loyalty, Lord Faramir. I was wrong to disbelieve you and I ask your forgiveness for doing so."

Faramir took in a deep breath and exhaled very slowly. "I have always been loyal to Gondor," he said finally. "However I think I understand a little of the pain that moved you to speak so in the Council. I remember your two sons, they were brave and honourable, a credit to you. I share your grief that they are lost and in such a manner. What father would not understand such pain?"

Ingold nodded. "Never-the-less," he continued, "I was wrong to blame you for what I suffered. Will you forgive me?" The lord's eyes were wide and beseeching in the dimness of the tent.

Faramir nodded slowly. "By need and duty, Ingold, we are both soldiers. I know that you fought as valiantly for Gondor as any man. If suffering as a soldier has taught me ought it is that life is precious and taken away from us all too soon. I do not intend to spend the time I have left dwelling on old hurt and battles long fought. Of course I forgive you for I know you have ever been loyal to Gondor and ever will be."

Ingold smiled. "I am glad. Thank you, Lord Steward for your clemency. Your attitude makes my second request at least possible."

Faramir nodded. "Go on," he prompted when the lord hesitated as if searching for his words.

"It is no secret that I was not born to inherit Pinnath Gelin," he began finally. "Rather like yourself Lord Steward I was a second son and only inherited the lordship when my brother, Hirluin the Fair, fell on the Pelennor during the siege of the White City."

Faramir nodded. "Your brother was known to me, a great man of Gondor."

"Indeed," agreed Ingold. "And when he fell without issue the lordship and the lands fell to me. For many years I have dwelt content in the knowledge that such a fate will not befall Pinnath Gelin when I die, since I was blessed with two brave, strong sons; Herion and Huor. Alas now my sons are gone and I am an old man who finds that instead of growing old in my dotage I must now fret about who will come after me."

"It is a sad story, Ingold." Faramir said. "But do you not have wider family to consider?"

Ingold shook his head slowly. "Where once my family were many, now we are all but spent. Our blood has been spilled, our sons lost in serving Gondor. Now all are gone to the halls of our ancestors. I am the last of my line." Ingold paused and shook his head slowly. "If I had died on the field three days past there would have been no-one left to inherit. My lands and my wealth would have gone back to be absorded in to the State and you Lord Steward would have become responsible for administering them. I have had long to consider this and though I would not begrudge the state of Gondor, I would not die a happy man if I knew I was to be the last Lord of Pinnath Gelin. So I came to thinking on how I could ensure this was not the case." He hesitated again and licked his lips nervously as he glanced up at Faramir's sympathetic stare.

"You are quite correct, Lord Faramir, we are both old soldiers and we know the ways of war," he continued. "I genuinely believe that it was my time to die on the field three days past. That I did not I take as a pure luck but I am pragmatic enough to use it as a chance to ensure the destiny of my lordship, to make sure there will be one after I am gone. To my shame I was saved in the field by two boys, high born they were, but boys none the less."

"I know what happened," Faramir said. "There was no shame in it, Ingold. A cave troll is a worthy opponent and you were badly injured."

"Since they are the reason I still walk this earth, I wish to thank both boys," Ingold said.

"That is not necessary," Faramir said. "That you all survived to tell the tale is enough."

Ingold shook his head. "Not for me," he said. "I want to do more and I have thought long and hard. Prince Eldarion will be King one day, he will inherit all of Arnor and Gondor. What import will my small lordship be to him? We have spoken the Prince and I. He knows of my gratitude and he and his father have given their blessing to what I propose."

"Which is?" Faramir's thigh was beginning to stiffen and he moved his leg gently to ease the pain. He felt hot and he really wished this audience ended. Still he realised it was important to Ingold and he had a duty to listen.

"The one who really saved me. The one who put his body on the line and suffers still because of it was your son, Cirion. I know you are his father and you love him very much, I would never seek to impinge on your relationship but he is your second son. His future is not mapped out for him like that of your heir." Ingold stopped again, glancing briefly to Elboron.

There was complete silence in the tent for an instant before Ingold drew in a long breath and said, "If you would allow it, I would name him as my heir!"

"Eru!" The curse split through the shocked silence. It came from the unruly head of hair that was propped up looking at them from the second cot. How long Cirion had been awake no one knew but Elboron made a mental note that may have been the longest period of time his brother had been silent in his whole life!

"Language, Cirion!" Faramir snapped.

"Sorry, father," Cirion responded, not sounding in the least bit contrite but very excited instead.

Faramir let out a long sigh. "I understand your concern, Ingold. What man does not worry about what he will leave behind when he passes on. But have you thoroughly thought this out?"

"Soince the battle and my brush with death I have thought of naught else, Steward," Ingold disclosed. "It is what I would have."

Faramir steepled his fingers and pursed his lips. His face was grave as he said firmly, "I cannot give my blessing." He ignored the howl of protest that came from his son and continued, "Not yet anyway. It is too big a step to make at this stage. However I do have a further proposal which may be acceptable."

"Go on." It was Ingold's turn to prompt.

"My son is but eleven years of age and though he is a source of immense pride for his mother and me, he yet has much growing up to do. He has spent three years at the Military Academy in Minas Tirth and for some time I have endeavoured to find him a suitable position as a page to continue his education. I have had no luck in securing him a position. I therefore propose that Cirion become your page, Ingold. Then he will continue his education in the appropriate manner, for I trust that he will learn the very highest of standards from you, and also you will both come to know each other better. Should this become a successful and mutually beneficial relationship, I will have no objections to you naming Cirion as your heir when he comes of age. However, I do think it only fair to allow you to live with him for some time, Ingold, before you make your final decision. Is this acceptable to you?"

Ingold smiled. "Indeed it is, Lord Faramir!"

Faramir was about to ask his son of his opinion on the matter but the excited howl of pure joy that escaped Ciron's lips and echoed throughout the camp was answer enough.

The two lords stood and formally clasped hands on the bargain. Then Ingold growled and stepped further forward to embrace the Steward.

"Thank you, thank you," he repeated. "You have made an old lord of Gondor most happy!"

"Just one more thing," Faramir said as he drew away. All eyes were on him. "No more trolls at least until the boy is thirteen!"

Ingold laughed heartily and winked at Cirion. "You heard your father! Thirteen it is before the troll hunting starts in earnest!"

Some time later there was a further knock at the tent pole. Elboron went to see who it was and returned holding a letter.

"It is for you, father," he said.

Faramir sensed the disquiet in his son and understood the reason for it when he saw the familiar writing. It belonged to Eowyn and was shakier and more spidery than usual. He took in a gulp, stood clumsily and limped to the door of the tent.

"What is it?" Cirion asked.

"Shush," Elboron responded. "Let him be."

Faramir moved around the back of the tent away from all eyes, and opened the letter.

29 May 4015

My Love

I send a third galloper to you in such short time. Forgive my indulgence with your men but I pray I must send you word. I dispatch Tobir with this message and it is my hope he will meet you and Ranir on the road as you journey back to me. If that is not so, Tobir has promised to ride all the way to the army to bring you news.

Our daughter is come. She was almost five weeks early and was so small that she lingered on the very edge of life for two days. So close I feared to write to you but no matter, now she strengthens with every hour and the doctor informs me the worst is passed. She is so petite and beautiful, like a delicate flower and yet she was already shown that she has the spirit of a warrior. She did not give up the fight and clung to life so dearly that I was reminded of her father's stubbornness. Now she waits, as we all do, for you to come home.

I kiss you

Eowyn

That was all. Faramir stared at the letter for a long time and as he did so he felt a terrific longing grow inside him. How he wanted to see his wife, to touch her soft skin, to hear her melodious voice. He drew in a haggard breath as the letter went out of focus for his moistening eyes. He understood more from what Eowyn had not said than what she had. They had suffered his wife and child and he had not been there to support them through their pain. His yearning was a sudden intense pain snatching away his breath, tearing at his conscience and telling him what he must do.

He had dwelt too long away from her. She was the better part of him, and only together were they whole. He had spent too much time in the grim world of men, he had forgotten her softness, her passion, her love and how he needed it now.

"Eowyn," he whispered. "I am coming home." He sent the message borne on wings of love back over the miles to Emyn Arnen. And though he knew he imagined it, he fancied that at that moment she caught his thought on the soft summer breeze and knew he was coming home to her.

And so it was that the Steward of Gondor, accompanied by his two sons, riding a horse borrowed from his brother by law and against the advise of his King, Pallando the Blue and all of the healers in the camp set out that very day, riding hard and fast, heedless of pain and fatigue to return to the fair woods of Ithilien and the healing strength that waited for him there.

THE END