Author's Note: Hello and welcome to chapter three of "To Whatever End". I do apologize for the delay in updating, but unfortunately I've been rather distracted with final exams. However, the good news is I am finally wrapping up my fall semester so I will have over a month free to write. I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read the last chapter and those that reviewed, Sarahbarr17, That Tath, Light Saber Muffins, bubblymuggle4, Kyoluva731, and JWritten. Thank you all so much and I do hope you enjoy chapter three.
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece. However, I do own all OCs mentioned herein.
Chapter Three
Faramir tried to refrain from drumming his fingers on his knee, but the habit was horribly ingrained and the twitch returned to his hands, making his knuckles quiver. Of course, the King Elessar was the epitome of composure, the picture of self-control as he sat across from Faramir, hands tucked inconspicuously beneath his chin. His lord's stillness, however, only heightened the Steward's frustration and with a defeated sigh, he rose to his feet and stumbled over to the open window.
"Forgive me, my king, but there has been a complication."
Elessar cleared his throat a little and inclined his head. "Go on."
"Please understand, sire," Faramir babbled, "that I want nothing more than to go to Rohan. It would be an honor, sire, a great honor to act as your diplomat, to speak in your name. And I am overwhelmed, sire, by the very offer."
A moment's pause. Plump raindrops splashed against the stone casement and Faramir ignored the water now pelting the sleeve of his state robes. The King's study was deceptively dark this time of day, with the fire low in the hearth and all the windows shuttered save one.
Shadows fell over the ornate desk that housed the King's seal and a dozen or so important missives that all required his signature at once. There was something overwhelming about the chamber, Faramir decided and he was happy now for his position as Steward, which was quite dwarfed by the King's duty.
Elessar leaned forward in his chair, a lock of chestnut hair dangling over his brow. "You won't go to Rohan, then," he said and to Faramir's surprise, appeared greatly disappointed. "Or perhaps I have been hasty and come to the wrong conclusion…I do hope."
And in that moment, Faramir himself felt the crushing weight of displeasure, along with the searing sting of guilt. He wanted to go to Rohan, yes, he yearned to. But Niriel had nearly fallen into hysterics when he informed her of the planned journey and she wept that after all these years, he would not even be in the city for the birth of his child.
Faramir had managed to calm her just before Mithien went dashing for the smelling salts, though as he had drifted off to sleep that night, his mind was plagued with irritation and harried were his dreams.
"Sire," Faramir began but did not know what to say. Any mention of his situation would bring about questions, no doubt and he would be forced to reveal the lack of martial bliss in his life. However, he did feel as though he owed the King some sort of explanation. The man had put his faith in him and now Faramir had proven himself unreliable.
"Sire, it is against my will," he said at last.
The King cocked his head, inquisitiveness seeping into his already keen eyes. "Against your will, my Steward? Does some rogue hold you hostage?"
Faramir cringed. Was the King jesting or did annoyance infuse his tone? He could not tell. "No, sire. I am a free man, well, mostly. But…but I am wed to a woman is oft in poor health, delicate my brother used to call her, like an eggshell. She cannot tolerate much, very little, in fact and I-"
"And you do not wish to leave her?" Their was appreciation in the King's eyes now and he smiled a little, one hand falling upon the polished top of the desk.
Again, Faramir felt himself wince. Should he lie to his liege lord? Could he lie?
"No, my lord, it is not that," he continued, feeling suddenly breathless. "Niriel withstood our previous partings well enough, but I fear….as it is…she is with child, my lord."
Elessar nodded and laughter ruptured his stoic bearing. "How wondrous! I am so very pleased for you, my Steward. This child is your first, yes?"
"Indeed, my lord," Faramir replied. The rain was steady now and he was obliged to latch the shutters over the window. "But Niriel has a daughter of her own already, widowed she was. This babe will be my first, however."
"I understand now your hesitation." Elessar stood and rounded his desk, one hand extended in warm congratulations. Faramir accepted the King's hand nervously, his own palm slick compared to Elessar's dry flesh. "Certainly you wish to stay by your wife's side."
With difficulty, Faramir swallowed away his rising guilt. No, he would much rather be in Rohan during the nine months. And then yes, he would of course return for the birth. He was not an utterly desolate man, after all and he did desperately want a child.
"You falter, my Steward." The King released his hand. "Why such trepidation?"
Faramir forced himself to look into the man's eyes. "It was my lady wife who was against my going, sire." And oh he felt like a wretch then, a horrid villain and he glanced away.
The King was silent and Faramir hated the stillness. It enveloped him. Of course, the King would not understand ,for he possessed the foreign happiness Faramir had only dreamed of. And Niriel and he were fair liars. The pantomime of there life was perfect. No one suspected…no one knew.
The King inhaled, moved back to his chair and sat, left Faramir standing there, swamped by his shame.
He felt exposed, revealed and wondered what the King thought now. Would he trust a Steward that would readily desert his wife, a man who wished to flee a life restricted by awkwardness and uncertainty?
Faramir chewed at the inside of his cheek. Perhaps he should have said nothing at all.
But then Elessar smiled, a gracious grin that lifted Faramir's heart at once.
"You have little cause to be shamed, my Steward," he said, "and do not think understanding eludes me."
"As it does most men," Faramir replied, his words a dull bleat that warred with the patter of rain outside.
"Which is why I opposed a marriage with Rohan. But you should not worry. I daresay, your existence has been fretful enough, dear Faramir. I sympathize, however, I do not commiserate."
Faramir managed to smile wryly and seated himself once more. "I beg of you, sire, do not think that my…opposition to my lady stems from dislike, quite the opposite. Yes, there the problem lies, we are opposites at heart and she wilts beneath any joy we might have. Young were we on our wedding day and she is still but a child. I do so pity her."
"As do I," Elessar agreed, "though pity does little, I should think. And I should be a scoundrel to tear you from her. You see, my Steward, even a King hesitates to cross the agitated lady wife." He chuckled a little. "Though perhaps the matter might be smoothed over. You may venture to Rohan for two months or less, if she is so distraught."
"A mild word distraught is, my lord," Faramir said grimly, remembering his wife's displeasure the night before.
The King inclined his head, now taking his turn and tapping his fingers on the desktop. "You win my admiration, Faramir, for I sense your care, your tenderness still after long years of failure. Not even the most love struck husband is so considerate. You demean yourself harshly and unfairly, I think."
Faramir felt a sudden warmth in his chest, a wave that for a moment stole away the tension and made him calm. "A man can only try," he said softly. "And try I have."
"And yet it is wrong to forsake the hope of happiness now," the King continued and he was grave for a moment, lines of thought pressed into his brow. "A child might yet bring you joy-"
But he could not finish, for a page had run up to the door and was pounding upon it.
"Enter."
Both Faramir and the King were attentive, though neither of them anticipated the bothered healer that was admitted. Faramir recognized the young man by face and nodded his head in quiet greeting. Yet the pale, dark-eyed fellow could only pant, clutching at a stitch in his side as raindrops still slid down his cheeks.
"My King, your deepest pardon. My lord Steward, I am sent as a messenger from the Houses. Your wife, they say, your wife…you are to come at once. I was told of little-no ill as it may be-but you are to come at once."
The fierceness of the healer's tone sent Faramir springing to his feet. Memories of other haunted occurrences when Niriel had fallen deathly ill and retched blood rang through his mind.
He glanced once at the King, opened his mouth to beg for leave but found his lord at his heels, ushering both healer and Steward out of the chamber.
"Haste serves us well on this occasion," he said in a measured voice. "Come, let us go quickly now."
Faramir was admitted at once into a small chamber nestled within the herb-scented halls of the Houses of Healing. The room was not unfamiliar to him, a place where Niriel often went when her cough worsened or when the healers thought her health too poor. The King had been good enough to remain outside, although Faramir was grateful for the steady company his sovereign provided. He always hated his ventures to the Houses, marred with fresh worry as they were and seemingly perilous. But to his surprise, he found Niriel standing now, hands crossed over her middle, head held high. She was attended by Ioreth.
Faramir felt his mouth drop open. His wife was not pale, no, but flushed…and angry.
He had never seen her vexed before.
Relief drenched him at first. So she wasn't ill again. But then what? Keen irritation made him fidget and he cleared his throat.
It was Ioreth who noticed his presence first and she stood, head bowed in matronly respect.
"Oh my lord, I had not expected your arrival so soon. What did my apprentice tell you, I wonder? So white you are! Do come in though, do come."
Niriel sputtered when she saw him and withdrew.
"He was not to be sent for," she mumbled. "So said I. Ioreth, why have you betrayed me?"
"For your health, my lady." And now Ioreth was beckoning him, bidding him sit in a small chair while she shuffled over to Niriel and pulled her away from the open windows. "And little good it does you to stand where the wind reaches. Ah, reckless youth. Will you never learn?"
Niriel blushed even more and Faramir sank into the chair, dumbfounded.
"Is something not amiss?" he asked in a voice that was harsher than intended. "I was at council with the King."
Both Ioreth and Niriel stared at him.
"See," his wife mewed. "You see the trouble you've caused me Ioreth, oh, I begged you to let it be."
But Ioreth was adamant and she tossed her head, grey veil flapping like a dove's wing. "My lady heeds no reason," she told them both, her tone matter-of-fact, motherly. "Please, my lord Steward, tell me of this Rohan business."
"Oh!" Niriel had her hands over her face now and she walked away, her back to them.
Faramir choked back a sigh. "I do believe I can guess at the quandary."
Niriel's shoulders shook and when she spoke, her voice was strained. "My lord, I did not mean for…oh…I beg…please…do not be mad."
"Well, I certainly am," Ioreth huffed. Faramir allowed her indignity, having long become used to her presence which was more often than not found in his wife's company. "You've aged me ten years this morn alone."
Niriel did not reply and Faramir felt his frustration slip away.
"It matters not," he lied. "And I am not angered. But what is all this? I had feared, yes, I feared some dark occurrence."
"Stubbornness, my lord." Ioreth nodded at Niriel. "She insists that she go to Rohan with you."
Faramir felt his heart drop into his stomach. "Oh?"
"Yes and I have advised her against it." Ioreth now had her hands on her hips, her pleasant face sharp with annoyance. "But she has given me a time of it, quite a time. She will go, she says. Nay, think I. The journey alone will be a trial and certainly, she will find little comfort in the halls of the horsemen, little comfort indeed when the cough rattles her."
Faramir touched his tongue to his lips. So he had been called to settle his wife once more, to smooth over any vexation and keep her calm. But Niriel seemed unreachable now, her shoulders drawn together in a defensive stance he knew all to well. And then suddenly she turned around, slowly, and in a voice that pinched his heart, begged that he might let her go.
"I shouldn't wish to be alone," she finished and tears, ah, there were cursed tears in her eyes.
Faramir was undone.
His fingers kneaded his temple, strove to chase away the pain of an oncoming headache.
"Niriel," he began, but the door opened. The King entered.
"Your pardon, mother Ioreth," he said, his soft voice quelling the commotion that arose at his arrival.
Niriel looked as though she might faint.
"My king." Both women dropped into curtsies, but the King waved away the formality.
"My dear lady, I am so glad to see you well." And now he was stepping forward, reaching for Niriel's tiny hand. She recoiled, her eyes wide, panicked.
Faramir found his feet. "Sire, I do apologize for the interruption of our council, I-"
But the King was watching his wife intently, his hand closed over hers and a smile lifting his lips. "If I might ask, my lady, without seeming so very improper, do you often go out of doors?"
Niriel, now a mute in her terror, shook her head.
Ioreth recovered from her shock first and interceded.
"It is not permitted, my lord," she said. "The wind goes straight into her lungs and there it festers."
"Hmm." The King nodded gravely. "And that is ill?"
Ioreth blanched. "Indeed!"
Niriel looked ready to swoon and gently, Faramir stepped forward, guiding her into a chair.
"My lord, I do beg your pardon."
But the King was chuckling. "Mother Ioreth, you shall hate me yet, I fear. For it is my opinion that the lady be out of doors. Often. And perhaps now the air of Gondor has grown stale for her. Perhaps she should go to Rohan. Ah, it is a wild, windy land, but clear, clean. She might breathe better then, I think."
Now it was Ioreth turn to act the mute and Faramir himself was silent, though understanding came to him quickly.
The King needed him in Rohan. It was the only way, the only way he might go without Niriel being troubled and so falling ill once more.
"Sire," his wife breathed. She had a hand on her breast. "Do you think it may be so?"
The King continued to smile merrily, though now he looked at Faramir, his eyes dark with sincerity.
"Indeed, my lady," he replied, nodding by way of apology.
Faramir shook his head carelessly. All was forgiven.
As the King entered the courtyard just outside his private apartments, he paused to adjust his tunic and shake the scent of healing herbs from his hair. Arwen, fastidiously curious as she was, would likely jump to a conclusion before he could account for his absence. And knowing his dear wife, her guess would be right and Elessar did not quite know how to explain his Steward's predicament.
Elves, creatures assuredly made for love, had little understanding of state marriages. The King's own knowledge of the subject was rather limited, as it was and he disliked the thought of putting poor Faramir to shame just now.
He stood for a moment then and let his lungs seep in the rain-kissed air that fell upon the city walls. The stones were wet, shining like little gems beneath his booted feet. Elessar smiled, remembering the jewel his own lady had bestowed on him when…
"The King's hands are indeed those of a healer's, but does he intend to steal the livelihood of his learned brothers?" A clear, merry voice sounded in the courtyard, it's echo akin to the peal of a dainty bell.
The King could not withhold a smile. Arwen strolled sedately towards him, skirts strewn at her feet, not lifted, catching every errant raindrop. She was a lady of the forest indeed, one accustomed to friendly leaves and twigs and thick moss.
He raised a brow. "It is said the curiosity killed the cat."
"And I am no feline," she purred, taking his arm. "But while I am about it, what brought you to the Houses, my lord? I do hope you did not abandon your poor Steward, he is a kindly man-a warm ally, I would think."
"Ever you are thoughtful," Elessar quipped. "But let us move indoors. My chatter is not pleasant and I should hate for gossip to abound."
Arwen's eyes flickered, rays of Elven wisdom at play with her inherently youthful mirth. "Yes." And she allowed herself to be led within until they stood together in a quiet corridor.
The King leaned upon a smooth pillar and wiped the fresh dew from his brow with a sigh. "I have of late come from the Houses, it is true, Arwen. But I was there with Lord Faramir himself. His wife was in great need."
"Oh?" Her brow creased ever so slightly. "I have heard she is sickly."
"And keen your ears are. With child she is, their first."
Arwen touched a quivering finger to her mouth. "A babe? Oh, such a blessing! Yes, a blessing indeed!" And she laughed then, a sprightly sound that ignored age and years of worrisome woe.
The King cringed. Yes, children-or elflings as they might be-were quite a gift and Arwen herself had little experience with them amongst her own kind, though often she expressed her maternal yearning. But for some reason, Elessar could find little reason to be happy.
"There is turmoil which I dare not speak on," he murmured. "A rather defined gap between husband and wife, I fear. They are strangers still and their marriage was the work of state."
"Folly." Arwen crossed her arms over her breast. "Sheer folly. For what is wedlock without love? Why, it defies the very word!"
"Foreign are these ways to me as well," the King agreed, "but I beg you to understand or at least try. Things lie differently in Gondor."
"Evidently." Arwen's lips puckered. "And oh, the sorrow for Lord Faramir and his wife. But ah, where is my mind? Did you not say he was to go Rohan?"
The King hesitated. "Yes and I fear I have done them both a wrong. Whatever their situation, husband and wife should not be separated during the time of child bearing and she is sickly as it is…part of me fears her delicate condition will get the worst of her. I suggested they go together."
"I must scold you then," Arwen huffed, tapping him lightly on the wrist. "If she is weak, then why send her so far away?"
"Another matter you would not understand."
Unfortunately, the King realized his error after he had spoken. Arwen wrinkled her nose in annoyance.
"You belittle me, sire?" she asked, but their was amusement in her voice.
"Never." And he kissed the tip of one of her leaf-shaped ears. "There is some reason in my thought, I believe. Rohan might do her well. I have heard, yes, I have heard amongst some Men learned in healing that sicknesses of the lungs might be cleared by clean air. And Faramir's wife would certainly find such comforting breezes in Rohan. You see, I am not the fool you married."
"Pity." Arwen pouted playfully. "I shall miss him. Let us hope, however, that your Steward and his lady find some deeper healing than that of the lungs in Rohan. Do I dare suggest that such a notion was also behind your reasoning?"
The King did not answer, but let the knowing twinkle in his eyes tell all.
Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading. Please take the time to review and share your thoughts with me. Chapter Four-Eowyn's long-awaited entrance-will be posted soon. Have a great week!