"What troubles you, my lord?" Eowyn stood beside the tall captain as he stared at the approaching army from high atop the battlements. Below, on the Pelennor Field, the people of Minas Tirith gathered to welcome their king.
Faramir stared down at the shield-maiden of Rohan and tried to find a smile for her, but he failed. All his thoughts were on the death of his brother and father, two people whom he barely knew, and whose passing had left a profound mark upon his life. He hardly knew how to answer her. "The King returns and there is no Steward to welcome him."
"You are the Steward, are you not?" Eowyn asked with surprise in her voice. Everyone in the healing house had spoken of the captain's valor and courage, along with Denethor's behavior towards his youngest son.
"I was raised in Dol Amroth, my lady, not the White City. I am hardly qualified to stand before Lord Aragorn and pass to him the crown of his ancestors." Faramir's eyes scanned the horizon and he saw, fluttering in the breeze, the white tree standard and his heart quailed. Would he return to Dol Amroth and live with his uncle or was he expected to remain in Minas Tirith and perform duties of which had neither knowledge nor skill? "Prince Imrahil is forced to act in my stead. See? There he rides now."
Eowyn shaded her eyes and watched as a blue and gold dressed man rode over the field to where the large army had stopped. Then she turned back to Faramir, observed his stern handsomeness, and smiled to herself. Like her, Faramir had passed through the dark shadows cast by the Nazgul and remained alive, though their recovery had been slow and thanks, all or in part, to Lord Aragorn. Tentatively, she reached out her hand and took his, squeezing his fingers gently.
Her palm touched his and her warm fingers entwined with his cold ones and Faramir stiffened. He did not wish to give her the wrong impression, but at the same time, he did not wish to turn her away. A friend was something he needed and would welcome, but he was uncertain if he could or should trust her. As for loving anyone or placing his heart and trust in another? That was impossible. His soul was raw and aching from Boromir's loss and his own reluctance to follow his heart rather than his principles. Gently, he withdrew his hand and returned his attention to the field below. "Is that your brother I see?"
Disappointed but hardly surprised, Eowyn let the slight pass. "Aye, that is the standard of the Eorlingas. I am glad that he returns safely to us at last."
"The Rohirrim will not be leaderless now." Faramir said inanely.
"I grow cold out here," said Eowyn quietly, as she realized that now the war was over, she would again be forced to return to her prison, as luxurious as it might be.
Faramir watched her leave and wondered at the coldness of his heart to refuse such a lovely and beautiful woman as Eowyn, shield maiden of the Rohirrim. Another man would be delighted to have the attentions of such a valorous woman. That man probably would never have tasted his own brother's illicit kisses, thought Faramir bitterly.
*~*
On the field below, Prince Imrahil performed his duty to Aragorn, giving over
to him the city of Minas Tirith. Since Faramir was indisposed and there was
no other, Imrahil, acting as the Keeper of the Keys, found himself in a strange
position as he listened to Aragorn say that he would not come into the White
City as a beggar or as a conqueror, but as a King, if that was as the people
desired. Nor would he accept his crown in the halls of kings, but he would
kneel, on the blood-soaked battlefield, and accept the accolades from Gandalf.
Imrahil accepted this news with aplomb, for he expected no less from one such
as Aragorn. Formalities over, Imrahil relaxed and withdrew to the lord's tent
with the remnants of the Nine Walkers and Eomer, King of the Eorlingas.
"What news of Lord Faramir?" Aragorn asked, settling himself in a comfortable camp chair with Gandalf on his right and Frodo on his left. Arranged around him, in order of rank, were Pippin, Eomer, Legolas, Gimli, and Merry.
Imrahil, seated before the uncrowned king, cleared his throat. "His physical wounds heal, my lord, but there is still a darkness about him. I believe he grieves. Partly this is my fault, and partly the fault lies with Denethor. Had the Steward not sent his youngest son away, and I not taken part in his duplicity, Faramir would not have found and lost his entire family within months."
"Not entirely," said Gandalf quietly. "You are his uncle."
"But not his father, or, for that matter, his brother." Imrahil answered.
Something in Imrahil's voice caught Aragorn's attention and he cocked his head to one side and studied the Prince of Dol Amroth with clouded eyes. While in Rivendell, Aragorn felt something between Boromir and Faramir, some struggle or other that sent Faramir fleeing the company and advice of the elves. Boromir's mood, too, had been strange as he alternated between grim determination and a hidden sorrow. At the time, Aragorn assumed the journey and the knowledge that he was bound to destroy what he thought was Gondor's salvation was to blame. Later, however, he felt the ring itself had twisted the mighty warrior. Aragorn had then felt the shadows surrounding Faramir as he was pulled back from death's door. As he studied Imrahil and read between the words spoken and unspoken, he found himself wondering. "He must have many doubts as to his role now that he knows the truth of his heritage. He cannot inherit in Dol Amroth for your sons supercede him. Here, in Gondor, there is no longer a need of a Steward, and even if there were, he could not feel any connection to Minas Tirith because he was sequestered so long from it."
Imrahil gave Aragorn a surprised look. "Indeed, this is all true, my lord. Although Lord Faramir has said little, I know my nephew well."
Again, there was a veiled meaning behind his words and again Aragorn studied Imrahil. Were his suspicions true, then? "His brother's death must be particularly hard. They met in Rivendell for the first time. Wasted time must weigh heavily." He saw Eomer shift and changed the subject. "And of the Lady Eowyn? Does she thrive?"
Imrahil smiled as he thought of Eowyn's quiet strength. "Aye, my lord, that she does. And paces the walls every day, her eyes scanning the horizon for her king and kin."
Eomer visibly relaxed and the conversation turned again, and the details of the terrible end of the Dark Lord was given in greater detail and the valor of the hobbits, Frodo and Sam, praised. Plans were made for the coronation and a date and time set when, again, Minas Tirith would have a king on the throne. Consideration was given to the dead heroes, as well, and discussions turned to the returning of Théoden to his home.
Darkness fell and the moon rose and at last Imrahil departed for the walled city. A makeshift gate had been hung and he passed through it unchallenged. He went immediately to the Houses of Healing and sought out his nephew to give him the news. He found Faramir sitting up in bed, his gaze turned towards the window, staring at the cold orb shining over the city. The captain drew his attention
"Lord Aragorn will be crowned in one week's time," Imrahil sat beside the bed and closely observed Faramir's reaction.
Regarding his uncle quietly, Faramir inclined his head to indicate his acceptance.
Imrahil continued. "It is his wish that you should be in attendance, as you are the sole heir and the last Steward. You need do nothing but stand before the people as he is crowned."
"And then what shall I do?"
Imrahil was not certain exactly what Faramir asked. The levels of innuendo were varied. Addressing the obvious seemed the best. "You must chose your own path, to stay and be a part of Gondor, in whatever capacity your station and deeds dictate, or you may chose to ignore your heritage and live as a common captain and soldier."
Settling back on the pillows, Faramir closed his eyes, thinking about how drastically his world had changed. He longed to sleep, but he feared sleep, for he would dream. His dreams gave him no peace. "I will let Lord Aragorn decide my fate." He said at last. "If it is his will that I remain and fulfill the duties of my ancestors, then I shall honor that tradition. If it is his will that the time of the Stewards is over, then I shall renounce all claims to the Stewardship."
Imrahil glowered at his nephew, fully believing that the younger man was taking the easiest path that he could find. This was completely out of character for the captain and Imrahil did not approve at all. "You must give him some indication of what you desire."
"I do not know what I desire," answered Faramir. "I am torn, uncle. For on the one hand, I would return to Dol Amroth and spend my days with the knights whom I love and respect above all other fighting men. Somehow, I have come to love Minas Tirith and Gondor and her people. I respect their King."
Seeing he would get nothing more definite from
the younger man, Imrahil bid Faramir good night. For his part, Faramir lay
awake far into the night, fighting sleep while weighing the different solutions
to his problems and wrestling with problems that had no solution.
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