Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, its characters, and lands, are the property of Tolkien Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was not written for profit, but for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others.

WARNINGS: None for this chapter. Rated K.

Chapter Two— Of Relaxation and Impending Doom

A fresh, stiff breeze blew out across the Pelennor fields. The day was overcast and cooler; a welcome relief from the heat of mid-August that had plagued the White City and her inhabitants for over a week now without relenting. There even seemed to be the slightest scent of rain on the air.

A thundering could be heard on the ground, growing louder and louder, until a pair of horses, one fiery chestnut, the other dark bay, raced past, neck to neck, both straining to get the leading place.

Aragorn twisted sharply in the saddle, and Roheryn responded instantly, making a turn and heading back to the city.

Faramir looked over his shoulder, seeing that Aragorn had already turned.

"Not yet!" he cried, "We weren't supposed to loop around until that rise over there!"

Aragorn flashed him a mischievous grin. "I am the King!" he shouted, as Faramir brought Feanor up behind him, "I can change the rules!"

Faramir groaned, leaning forward and releasing all pressure on his horse's reins, asking for another burst of speed.

Feanor lengthened his stride, but Roheryn was yet swifter than he, and bred for more endurance. There was little that he could do to catch up to Aragorn now.

A while before the city gates, Aragorn leaned back in the saddle, relaxing. Roheryn slowed his pace to a canter, then a trot, and then finally to an easy walk.

Faramir took the hint and slowed his horse as well. Feanor tossed his head, caught up in the excitement, and Faramir calmed the boisterous horse down. Soon he had also settled into a walk beside his King.

Aragorn, still breathing heavily, turned to him and grinned, clapping him on the shoulder.

"You've improved, Faramir," he said, "But I am afraid that I still beat you soundly."

Faramir snorted in mock indignation.

"'Twas only because you cheated," he retorted, putting on a serious face, though a glimmer of amusement was in his eyes.

"Me?" Aragorn asked incredulously, "Cheat? I think not. I merely blazed a new trail."

Faramir rolled his eyes.

"You are impossible!"

Aragorn grinned at this.

Faramir shook his head, releasing the reins to allow Feanor to crop at the lush grass. He winced a little as the horse stumbled and stopped, jarring his injured leg.

Aragorn frowned. He'd noticed the brief instant of pain that had crossed Faramir's face.

"How is your wound?" he asked.

Faramir turned to look at him. "Better, I think," he said, "It still hurts, but I think it has begun to heal. The exertion is doing some good for it, I think."

Aragorn nodded, smiling a bit. He'd been inviting his Steward on rides for this very reason. To strengthen the muscles in his wounded leg. He knew that, with an older, stiff wound like this, it was best to work it. Then it may have a chance of healing better.

"That is good," he said. "And your shoulder?"

Faramir shrugged it. "Stiff," he announced," But not really painful."

Aragorn nodded again. "Good. Perhaps getting you outside has done you some good," he teased.

Faramir smiled. He'd spent every moment, when he was not working, with Eowyn and his children for the past month. He missed the fresh air, yes, but he'd wanted to spend time with his family.

Which is perfectly natural, Aragorn- who couldn't get enough time with his own- thought to himself.

"Shall we return?" Faramir asked.

Aragorn nodded. "I think Roheryn and Feanor would appreciate a rest," he agreed.

They turned their mounts toward the city gates.

0o0o0o0

Arwen and Eowyn watched them approach from the balcony. Both were thinking the same thing.

"It is so good to see them being friends," Eowyn spoke first.

Arwen nodded in agreement. "I suppose, in a way, that venture was what they needed."

Eowyn sighed, "Though it did cost a lot. Faramir still struggles with his injured leg. Though I am infinitely glad that I still have him."

"How does he cope with it?" the Queen asked, "I haven't noticed that he is upset at all by it."

Eowyn shook her head. "No, not at all," she said, "He never mentions it. Of course, it is most likely akin to many other things. Faramir knows that he must just accept some things as a part of life."

Arwen nodded slowly. "Estel told me that he is trying everything he can," she said, "But nothing seems to heal him completely."

"Tell him he shouldn't worry," Eowyn touched her shoulder. "Faramir is infinitely grateful to Aragorn that he yet has his life. He may care about his leg, but not enough to cause me worry. In fact, I think he is more well now than before."

Arwen smiled. "I will remember that."

0o0o0o0

Aragorn ran the currycomb over Roheryn's withers, sighing in pleasure. He always groomed his own horse after a ride. It was simply habit, and now that he was King it would not change. He enjoyed the task, actually, and Roheryn did as well. Aragorn had had him since he was a colt, a gift from Arwen, and a strong bond had developed between horse and master.

Faramir, too, had chosen to groom Feanor, and Aragorn could hear his Steward's chuckle from across the aisle, followed by, "Stop that, Fei! I'll soon be bald between you and the twins!"

Aragorn shook his head. Faramir's horse was spirited, to say the least. Naughty would most likely be more correct. But he always obeyed Faramir's commands, though he may seem to be a green-broke yearling rather than a ten-year-old former warhorse.

"Having trouble?" he called over, cheerfully.

Faramir's head appeared over the stall door. "No," he said, "Feanor is just being himself."

He was grinning, and a spot of his windblown dark hair was tangled and sticking out in all directions where Feanor had been nuzzling it. He was dusty, with smears of dirt and horsehair across his brow where he'd wiped the sweat off with his hand.

Aragorn grinned back, knowing that he most likely did not look much better.

But it was so much nicer to be relaxed like this than to endure the rigors of court.

Faramir backed out of the stall and sat down on a barrel, drawing a small, silver-hilted dagger from his boot. He weighted it in his hand, twirling it a few times, before replacing it. After their ordeal in Ithilien, Faramir always kept the boot dagger with him. Just in case, on some occasion in the future, he may need it.

Aragorn gave Roheryn a final pat on the shoulder before exiting the stall.

"It is good to do things like that," he said, nodding in the general direction of the fields.

Faramir smiled. "Yes," he said, "'tis much nicer than all of the formality attached to ruling the land."

He leaned back against a stall door, closing his eyes.

"But I suppose that has its place as well," he said, "Beginning next week."

Aragorn grimaced. The Great Council was meeting again, as it did once a year, to determine important matters. Sure, there were other councils during the year, but none as important as this.

Or as burdensome, Aragorn thought ruefully.

He despised this council, which usually turned into a series of petty arguments between the various lords of Gondor. And it was tedious as well, for him especially, because the atmosphere was a combination of looking up to him and, because he had only recently taken up his position as King, watching him. Both to learn of his ways, and, for some of them, he knew, though they would never admit it to his face, to find fault in him.

Of course, he couldn't blame them. After being ruled by the Stewards for hundreds of years, it was entirely new to Gondor's people to be ruled by a King. Many of them had rejoiced, but there were a few that were a little unsure of this Northerner who had come and taken his place on the throne.

"Yes," he said, "The Great Council. More like a Great Bother."

Faramir was nodding, sharing his King's opinion on the Council.

"Yes, but it must be done. If only there were less arguing and more intelligent debate."

Aragorn turned to him. Faramir had grown up in the court, and was most likely far more used to it than he. Also, Faramir was a scholar, well-versed in all matters concerning Gondor, and many other things as well. He knew that Faramir could be rather fond of debate, just so long as it was logical.

"I should wish that you would head the council," he said, "You are most certainly the more intellectual of us two."

Faramir laughed at the mere possibility. "I? Head a Council?" he asked, "I should think not. I do not wish for that position of authority. Besides, as King, the task falls automatically to you."

Aragorn shrugged.

"It never hurts to ask," he said.

Faramir chuckled, rising to his feet. "Come," he laughed. "I am sure Arwen and Eowyn are awaiting our return. And then we have the Council to prepare for."

Aragorn gave him a look, but rose and followed him out anyway.

"You do not need to bring that up prematurely."

0o0o0o0

To Be Continued…

A/N: I hope this'll be better. More original at least.

No review replies, cause I lost track of them.

No question, because I can't think of any more.

And I think that's it for now.

Novaer!

~Luthien~