Haladan clasped Faramir's arm, although he suspected a bow would have been more suitable. He did not, however, intend to make ripples over a thing so small.

"Haladan."

"Faramir." The man's grip was brief and strong. Faramir motioned to a low table set before the deep chairs ringing the fireplace. "The King indicated that you should begin, should he not be present. He should truly be only a moment, and he will join you."

The table, richly carved and burnished to a deep mahogany gloss, was laid with what Haladan considered somewhat more than a light repast—cold meats, lumps of yellow and white cheese, dark crusty bread, olives, small hothouse tomatoes, dried figs, and a flagon of the red wine in Faramir's glass. He eased around one of the chairs, chose a plate, and began to fill it. He more than suspected that eating before the King arrived would be considered deeply inappropriate, but if Arag—Elessar had conveyed such a message he meant it. Aragorn was not one to stand on such ceremony.

Elessar.

In truth, Haladan had hardly recognized his kinsman these past days, such grace and majesty had the man radiated since their victory over the great Enemy. He began to wonder how he had ever seen naught but the shabby Ranger who patrolled with them and fought in their midst for the past decades. And now that the great task was completed, perhaps indeed the chieftain he had known would disappear, leaving naught but a King he little recognized. The thought grieved him, and yet this was the day for which all the generations of his ancestors had longed. He would rejoice in the return of the King, whoever that King may turn out to be. Still, if Haladan was certain of anything, it was that the man would not tell him to eat and then be offended when he complied.

Also, he was hungry. He had broken his fast well before dawn.

He glanced up to gauge the Steward's reaction, but Faramir had only returned to his glass and was now watching him with polite interest. Haladan glanced back to the generous luncheon. "You will not eat as well?"

Faramir shook his head, smiling. "I have eaten already, two hours past. As I have been recently wounded and ill, the healers have been more strict with the timing of my meals than usual." He hesitated, then shrugged and moved forward to scoop up a handful of figs. "Although I don't suppose they will complain should I eat more than prescribed."

Haladan laughed softly. "Indeed, I have never heard a healer do so."

And these healers surely would not, given the obvious pallor and general air of fatigue about the young Steward. Haladan popped a tomato in his mouth, biting carefully in order not to spray its juice upon himself or his clothing, giving himself time to consider. Sympathies were due the man, and yet it was perhaps not his place. Still, rumors regarding Faramir's illness and the Steward Denethor's last hours were rife, confusing and contradicting but all rather grim. Faramir would know of the rumors, of course. He could not help but be aware that all in the city and soon likely in the entire kingdom were discussing his father's end—that everyone knew some version, many several versions, and few versions placed his recently deceased parent in a sympathetic light. It may be that a simple expression of condolence, genuinely offered, would be a relief.

A pang for his own father, so recently gone from him and now laid to rest far from the land of his birth, loosed his tongue before he could reconsider.

"I was grieved to hear of your father's passing."

Faramir blinked, recalling his mind from wherever it had wandered in the silence, and offered a brief nod. "I thank you."

"I have heard that he was canny and valiant both in counsel and upon the battlefield—truly a great foe of the Enemy."

The grey eyes were yet unreadable, but something about the younger man's carriage eased. A faint smile flitted across Faramir's face. "He was. Gondor was fortunate to have been blessed with his leadership in these dark times." Faramir drifted slowly then to sit in the chair nearest the fire. He swirled the rich red liquid in his glass, took a drink, and looked back to Haladan. "Yet I am not the only man here who has recently lost a father. I grieve for your own loss as well, Haladan son of Halbarad."

Haladan was surprised that the Steward knew of his father. "I thank you as well."

"The King loved him greatly." Faramir stretched out his legs, slowly, and leaned back in the chair, sighing a little as it took his weight. "He spoke of him during a brief moment of respite yesterday. Although it is perhaps not my place to repeat, I do not believe his words were spoken in confidence. He is much conflicted—he was greatly relieved to have your father at his side, yet he grieves to know that your father's loyalty required his life."

Faced as Haladan was about to be with this King he had followed for many years yet was about to truly meet for the first time, the Steward's words were … good to hear. His father had greatly loved Elessar as well.

No. His father had loved Aragorn. He would have loved Elessar Telcontar also, but had not been given that opportunity. It was good to know that the King—Elessar or Aragorn or whatever combination of the two would soon arrive through that door—for his part retained that love.

It wasn't that he doubted the King's nobility and loyalty. It wasn't even that he doubted the King's love. He was simply having … difficulty, in reconciling this scion of the Kings of Númenor, stern and glorious, who had taken up the throne and spent his days now dispensing justice and mercy to the people, with the man who had so often shared his family's food and fire and was going to make a fool of himself when Arag— Elessar.

Elessar. Why could he not remember?

Faramir was watching him, waiting for a response. Haladan gathered the scattered threads of his thought. It would not do to let his inner turmoil show, especially to one with more than enough inner turmoil of his own. "Our loyalty always requires our lives, whether that life is cut short upon the battlefield or lasts the full span of a Man's years. I wish that … that my father's had been longer, but he would have considered it well spent."

The Steward was silent for a long moment, then nodded. "Truly, I see that the King has chosen well."

Haladan looked around, sufficiently distracted from the whirl of his thoughts, wondering briefly how strong was the wine he had only just tasted. "Chosen?"

Faramir hesitated. "Ah. Perhaps I should not—"

The door opened behind them, and both Men rose in the presence of the King.