Chapter 1. Claim

Minas Tirith, 2 April 3019 T.A. 

Be careful what you wish for, it is said.  As a child I often dreamed that the shadow would depart, the king would return and the White Tree would bloom again.  I had not, however, given thoughts to where I would be or what I would do when the king did return.   

And so, one day I found myself the Steward of the realm, the latest in a long line of faithful rulers who had taken the oath to rule until the king returns, holding in my hands a letter from someone who claimed to be the returning king.  

I hailed him my lord and king on that fateful night in the Houses of Healing.  There were witnesses, worthy ones, though all understood that my exclamation was not to be taken as the formal reply of the Steward.  I remembered clearly what I had said, thought and felt at that moment.  The joy, the surge of love and trust; I did not deny or regret any of it.   

But—why is there always a but in anything glorious and wonderful? —I was a free man then.  I was Faramir, a Captain of Gondor, who had done his outmost to protect his city, who had endured darkness and walking deaths, who found a king of the West calling to him at the end of the perilous road.  I followed him and found my city standing; she had withstood the siege of Mordor.  If it was considered a weakness that I jumped for joy, so be it. 

Shortly afterwards, I found that the duty which had so long burdened my father had finally crushed him, and that duty was then mine to bear and fulfil.  That Captain of Gondor who had been overjoyed to find his king, he could continue following him and offer him his fealty.  Even that Steward’s son who was so fond of songs and tales, he could have debated endlessly with his father (as was their wont) over the heir of Elendil’s claim and accused his father of pride and of clinging to authority.  But the Steward? Could he, was he allowed to, air his fancy, his dream?  For the Steward, only the good of Gondor could prevail, and must prevail. 

I had no question on what my reply would be.  For my part I acknowledged Lord Aragorn as king, and I would welcome him as a king’s servant should.  But I had other questions, as I was the Steward, though only for a short while, and it was my duty to preserve Gondor’s interest.   

I accepted that Aragorn son of Arathorn is Elendil’s heir, but beyond that what did I know of him? Yes, there were his healing hands, there were the Eagles who pronounced his triumphant entry to the city. But would the king prove an able ruler? Would he be benevolent to my city, to my people?  

The steward was the king’s servant, but that did not mean I would welcome just anyone with Elendil’s blood in his veins to do as he pleased with my land and my people.   

Why did I keep thinking of the people as my people? Did I have the right? 

I thought, “What does the king know of the hopes and fears of the folk of Lossarnach, of Lamedon? Who is he, where has he lived?  What plans has he for Gondor?”  

Do you see that I, too, began to think of Gondor as my charge, after only a few days of being the Steward? 

And I was my father’s son.  How could I receive with joy someone, something, that he had rejected so utterly till the end?   

It is long now since you turned from your own way at my counsel... 

Since the white rod had been mine to hold, I had begun to understand my father a little better.  He must have started his office like I did, thinking only of the good of Gondor.  If I let my mind continue with all the questions, would I too become like him, thinking in arrogance that I alone knew what was best for Gondor? 

I sighed and returned my gaze to the letter.   

Such an important claim should be presented in person to the Council of Gondor. I would not enter the city unbidden.  Would a meeting at Osgiliath be agreeable, or would the Lord Steward prefer to meet at the Pelennor?  

It was thoughtful of him to ask my preference (did he perhaps think Osgiliath too painful a memory for me?), but I would not ask him, weary from the battles of the Pelennor and the Black Gate, to ride so far to Pelennor only to meet me.   

As for Osgiliath, well, dark memories came to me from time to time, not only at Osgiliath. And it would not be the first time I rode there after the battle. I had gone there to see the clearing, for many were busy at works there.   

We had repaired the boat-bridges damaged in the battle; some ferries were stationed there to allow people to travel and goods to be sent to Cair Andros; a guarded post with fresh horses we also kept there for coming and going between Minas Tirith and Cormallen. 

... 

The next day, I rode early in the morning with Húrin the Warden of the Keys and some guards.  

Aragorn rode from Cormallen with two of the lords of Gondor who had marched to Morannon for the last battle: Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and Angbor, Lord of Lamedon.  

Many of the Council of Gondor were absent; Gondor had the victory but it was dearly bought.  Forlong Lord of Lossarnach fell in the battle of Pelennor, as did Hirluin Lord of Pinnath Gelin.   

Haldad Lord of Lebennin fell at the Morannon. Halmir, his right-hand man, whom I had appointed as the next Lord of Lebennin, was wounded.  He was then still under the healers’ care in Cormallen, as was Lord Dervorin of Ringlo Vale.   

Lord Duinhir of Morthond remained at Cormallen.  He sent word to me asking to be excused from any council.  Both his sons perished in the Battle of the Pelennor, he was too deep in grief. 

That afternoon we all sat in one of the tents which had been set among the ruins of Osgiliath. Aragorn declared his claim firmly but not arrogantly.   

“I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the heir of Isildur, his descendant through an unbroken line of fathers and sons; and the heir of Anárion through the line of Fíriel daughter of Ondoher.  Long have I desired to return to Gondor.  Now is the time, and I am come as the king.” 

I answered him, for the Steward was the head of the Council of Gondor.   

“Should the Council of Gondor accept your claim, Lord Aragorn, you will be the King of both Gondor and Arnor.  Should this come into fulfilment, will you give us your word that you will not neglect the needs of Gondor?   

“I do not accuse you of lacking in your regard of Gondor—how can I, after you delivered her from the siege?  Yet it is only natural for every man to hold his land of birth the most important. 

“I do not presume to know much about Arnor, but I know that much rebuilding is needed there, much more than what Gondor needs.  But the greater need of Arnor does not diminish the importance of rebuilding in Gondor.   

“For many long years we have dwindled, spending all our efforts to defend what remains.  Now that the shadow has departed, should we not turn our thoughts to cleansing and rebuilding?  

“Too early, perhaps, to think of the scouring of Minas Ithil, but surely we can now turn our long-held dream of rebuilding Osgiliath into a certain plan?  My heart rejoices when I think that this ruin may one day be restored to its former glory, tall and beautiful, with its dome reaching to the stars.   

“We also need to make plans about Umbar.  Now that the Enemy is no longer there to support the Corsairs, Gondor shall rightfully regain it; are we not the descendants of the Sea-lords? And what of fair Ithilien, the garden of Gondor, now so desolate?  Surely we can begin the cleansing and planting there?” 

His face brightened when I mentioned Osgiliath. “The thought of Osgiliath restored to its former glory makes you rejoice,” he said.  

“I, too, long for it.  My forefathers built Osgiliath—is it a wonder that I long to see it restored?  You said that one holds the land of one’s birth the most important: that is true.   

“But I have not spent all my years in Arnor.  I was raised in Imladris, the Elven realm of the North.  It was only after I came of age that I spent some time in the company of the Dúnedain of the North.   

“Then I travelled far and wide to many lands, spent long years serving many lords, including the Lord of Gondor.   

“I give you my word that I hold Gondor as dear as Arnor, for both are the realms of Elendil, and I have spent many years in each realm, long enough to endear both to me.” 

For a moment no one spoke.  It was Angbor who broke the silence.   

“You served Gondor under the guise of Captain Thorongil,” he said.  “I only met you once and I was very young then, but I have not forgotten.” 

Aragorn nodded.  “I took the name of Thorongil when I served Thengel King and Steward Ecthelion.  It is an honour to be remembered by a valiant man, Lord Angbor.” 

He turned to me.  “Have I answered my lord Steward’s question?” 

He had, but I had other questions.   

“Captain Thorongil did many great deeds and his praise is still sung in Gondor.  But he left suddenly, at a time when Gondor needed him.  Would you enlighten us your reasons for doing so?” 

“It was not yet the time for me to claim the kingship,” said Aragorn.  “I left to travel to many lands, for I had much to learn.  And before I left Gondor, some people had begun to give me respect and love more than befitting a Captain.  Some might have remembered the line of Arnor and suspected my lineage.  The time was not ripe and I was loath to see Gondor torn by kin strife for the second time.” 

“I remember that time,” said Angbor.  “In Lamedon I heard the same whispers.  My father had the highest regard for Thorongil, but he was relieved when he left.  With the shadow at hand, kin strife was the last thing Gondor needed.  It was noble of you to leave, lord.” 

“We all have to do our duty,” Aragorn replied. 

I spoke again. “Should we accept your claim, we will lay down some conditions.”  I did not like to say this—it sounded too mercenary—but it was necessary. 

Aragorn nodded.  “Name them”. 

“First, to preserve the Council of Gondor with their role and duties as stated in the Law. The king may appoint council members; yet we entreat you to keep your appointment among the lords of Gondor.” 

He nodded again. “I have no intention of being a despot.  And my kinsmen will return to the North.  Gondor's affairs will be decided by Gondor; you need not worry.” 

“Second, about the treasury.”  I was reluctant to say this, but it was better to be thought a mercenary man, than fail to safeguard Gondor's prosperity.   

“I have searched in the Archives, yet I could not find a detailed account of how the treasuries of Gondor and Arnor stand in relation to each other.  From what I could find, it seems each has a separate treasury. In your reunited kingdom, we would like to keep it that way. We will, of course, maintain a close relation with Arnor as befitting our kinship and come to each other's succour in times of need.” 

But Gondor's coffers shall not be depleted for the rebuilding of Arnor.  I could not bring myself to say that. 

He looked at me intently. I was ready to see disappointment or irritation in his face, but he seemed almost amused. 

“I have no intention to empty Gondor's treasury to rebuild Annúminas, my good lords,” he said.  

“The Ruling Stewards seek the Council of Gondor’s approval on their spending plan; I will do the same.  Any other conditions?” 

Prince Imrahil spoke. “Lord Faramir would never say this, so it falls on me to do so.  Not a condition, but an entreaty.  The Stewards have ruled and guarded Gondor faithfully and ably for almost a thousand years.  There shall not be two rulers, of course.  But relying on the wisdom of the king, I trust you would treat Lord Faramir and his house with respect befitting their lineage and faithful service.” 

The other lords murmured their agreement.  I studiously kept my eyes on my lap; I could not bear to look at anyone. 

“I hold the House of Húrin in high regard,” I heard Aragorn's reply. “And I am not one who sees great men as rivals.” 

“If I may ask, Lord Aragorn,” Lord Húrin said next, “should Gondor repeat the answer we gave to Arvedui, what will you do?” 

He seemed taken aback and a trace of sadness passed over his countenance.   

But he replied evenly: “I have no wish to oppose the Council of Gondor.  Should that happen, I will devote myself to the rebuilding of Arnor.  I would like to maintain our tie of kinship, just as Arvedui and Eärnil did.” 

Nobody spoke for a while and I, too, had no more to say in front of everyone, so I concluded the council.  “The Council of Gondor has heard and will give our answer in due time,” I said.  Aragorn and I rose, and we all went out of the tent.  

... 

As I went out of the tent, to my surprise I saw Mithrandir outside, sitting on the grass near the river.  “I did not know you had come, Mithrandir,” I said as I sat beside him. “Why did you not join the council?” 

“I purposely set off slightly later than they did,” he said. “My task is done.  I would not meddle in what you and the Council of Gondor decide.” 

“Then did you come to see me? That is very kind of you.” 

He looked at me tenderly.  “How good it is to see you alive and thriving, Faramir!  I feared we might lose you, too, that night.” 

“I owe you and many others my life,” I replied. “The least I could do is to live well and thrive.” 

Then I asked him to tell me about Aragorn.  “Who is he? Where has he spent his life before now, why did he come only now? He did mention Thorongil, but I would like to hear more.” 

And so I listened to the eventful life story fitting to heroes and legends.  The untimely death of his father, the fostering at Rivendell, the disguise as the sell-sword Thorongil. The wanderings to uncharted places, the death of his mother.  He too had lost all his family, I thought, and was no stranger to hardship and loss.  

“Did you know that it was the Eagles that bring the tidings of victory to the city?” I asked after he finished his story.   

“They sang about the return of our king.  It was as if the Valar themselves made the claim for the heir of Isildur and warned any stiff-necked lords of Gondor who dared to deny him entry.” 

“Does it seem thus to you?  The Valar do not dictate the doings of the Eldar, much less the doings of Men.” 

“And what say you, Mithrandir, what counsel would you give me?” 

“What are your doubts, Faramir?” 

“I would not call them doubts.  I am just making certain, as a steward should, that I am releasing my charge to someone...” 

Here I stumbled for words. 

Someone worthy? Someone destined to be king? Someone who can restore Gondor to its glory?  Who am I to judge whether someone is worthy to be king?  And yet that is what I am called to do.   

“Someone who will be true to Gondor”, I finally said. 

He seemed to understand what I chose not to say. 

“One can never be certain of such things, Faramir.  Today I say to you, and I think you yourself know this, that the line of Elendil has returned to you.  Aragorn is a great man, capable of being a good ruler and restorer of glory.   

“But what will become of Gondor in years to come, under his rule, or under your rule, who can be certain of that?  Elendil the Tall was a great lord, but he perished in battle.  Eärnur was mighty in battle, but in his rashness, he left his kingdom bereft.   

“Aragorn is a great man, but who can say what his descendants will be like?  The same question applies to the Steward and any other rulers.  You, Faramir, are devoted to Gondor.  Who can be certain that your son, or grandson, will be as devoted?  Shall we say, then, that we will choose a worthy ruler every time the previous ruler departs?” 

“The stewardship was not hereditary in the beginning”, I pointed out.  “In the old days every king chose their own steward.  But it is unthinkable to do that with kings, and who are to be burdened with the choosing?  The Council?”  

“Or shall we, by some clever means, gather the opinion of everyone in the land?” I continued.  “Even if we could, that would present its own difficulties.  Lords would vie for power; the crown would become a prize and no longer a duty.” 

“Yes,” he said, “it is unthinkable for us now.  Let that course be taken by others in distant days, if ever the need arises.   

“As for you, my Lord Steward, do not wish to master all the tides, or to make Gondor future certain.  It is enough for each of us to do our part, in the years wherein we are set, preparing a good earth for those who live after to till.   

“If what seems good earth to you today proves to be otherwise for your descendants, fret not.  No one is ever asked to be all-knowing.” 

His words relieved me of some of my burdens.  I also recognized his gentle warning and accepted it. 

My thoughts turned to my father.  “Do you remember, Mithrandir, how Father said that it was long since I turned from my own way at his counsel?  I realize now that he was right.  Even now, I am welcoming someone he rejected utterly till his end.  Boromir would not have disappointed him so.” 

“Who knows? Boromir had come to respect Aragorn during our journey and had learned the peril of desiring power.  But does it matter?” 

“I suppose it does not.  At the end I would still go my own way, no matter what Father or Boromir would have chosen.” 

… 

As arranged, we spent that night at Osgiliath, for all were weary from battles and even with fresh horses, we deemed it better to ride the next day. 

As I sat outside my tent that night, gazing at the starlit river, my thoughts went not so much to the last battle at Osgiliath, as to the night I saw Boromir’s funeral boat passing me by.  I missed my brother. 

I turned as I heard footsteps approaching.  It was Aragorn. I stood up to meet him, but he gestured that he would like to sit with me. 

“Does your wound still give you pain, Lord Faramir?” he asked as we sat down. 

“Nay, it has healed.  I hope Peregrin, Frodo and Samwise are in the path of recovery as well?” 

“They are still asleep, but it is a healing sleep.  I hope they will wake in a few more days.” 

“And what about you, my lord? You appear unscathed, but surely you suffered some wounds?” 

“Some harmless wounds,” Aragorn replied, “and weariness, as no doubt we all feel.” 

“I grieve with you for your father and brother,” he said. 

Overcome by gratitude, words failed me.  Given his harrowing end, few had looked me in the eye and spoken sincerely of their grief for my father. 

“I thank you, my lord,” I finally said. “I mourn for your loss as well.  I heard of Lord Halbarad and other kinsmen from the North.” 

After a short pause he spoke again, “Now may it be my turn to ask you questions?” 

You may ask anything of me, my lord, I wished to say, and I would have said it had I not been the Steward.  Instead, I simply said yes. 

“Should the Council accept my claim, and should I ask you to remain as the Steward, not the Ruling Steward but my Steward, will you resent it?” 

“Why should I resent it?” 

“Most people may see it as being forced to serve someone who deposed you.” 

I smiled.  “But I am not most people,” I said.  “I see it for what it is: a steward surrendering his charge and continuing to serve his king.  It is a reason for pride and joy, not resentment. But what would the king need a steward for?” 

“You are the lore master, and you asked me this? The kings of old had their stewards, the Law laid down the duties of the Steward: chief councillor to the King, the King’s representative during his absence or sickness; when the King goes to war the Steward must remain in the City as the army commander … though in your case, I would like to have you by my side in battle. Perhaps we can do something about this rule.” 

I was not sure which brought me greater joy: his familiarity with the law and customs of Gondor, or his compliment on my qualities as a captain. 

“I come from a long line of Ruling Stewards.  Most people would not want to begin their rule with the shadow of the previous ruling line by their side.” 

“Ah,” he said, his eyes twinkling, “but I am not most people.” He smiled and I could not help smiling in return. 

It would be remiss of me not to point out to him, so I said, “I am sure you know that the stewardship was not hereditary to begin with.  The King is free to choose his Steward from any lords of Gondor.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Who could that be?” 

“Pardon, my lord?” 

“If I am to rid myself of the House of Húrin, since they have dared to usurp the ruling authority for hundreds of years, who would you recommend as my steward? You know the lords of Gondor better than I do.” 

“Ah. Let me think.  My cousins the lords of Dol Amroth are all valiant and true. Elphir is out of the question, since he will be the next Prince.  Erchirion is a great captain but has little patience for mundane matters which unfortunately a Steward must bear with.  Amrothos is more interested in numbers and books than in people. And they both know little of Gondor beyond Minas Tirith, Belfalas and Pelargir.  

“The lords of other fiefs, their care is mostly for their own land, they may not have the required understanding of Gondor as a whole.  And there are some who certainly should not be the Steward! I should not mention their names to you at this stage.” 

He nodded encouragingly, “Pompous asses, I gather?” 

“Indeed.  Arrogant enough without a new rank to inflate their pride.  There are other valiant men of high Númenorean descent in Minas Tirith, with some tutelage they could learn about the fiefs …”  

I suddenly realized that Aragorn was trying to suppress his mirth. 

“You are having your amusement at my expense,” I said, as I realized what he was doing.  “Very well, at the risk of being a fool who sings his own praise, I admit: if we talk about trainings and qualities, I seem to be most suitable to serve the king as his steward.” 

We both laughed.  

“Should the Council accept my claim, and should I choose another lord as my steward, what then would be your plan?” 

I had my answer ready, for I had thought that the King would have no need of a steward, and had planned my course accordingly.   

“I will continue serving you as a Captain of Gondor. If you release me from that duty as well, I will rebuild my ancestors’ house in Ithilien and dwell there with my books.  Or perhaps at the orchards in Lossarnach.” 

“That sounds a great pleasure,” he said.  Then he grew serious again. “But what a loss for Gondor! I am no fool; I would not lose you.  And the people would never forgive me if they thought I treated you less than you deserve.” 

For some time, neither of us spoke.  We both looked at the stars above. My thoughts again went to Boromir.  What did he and Aragorn speak of during their journey together? What did he think of Aragorn? 

His next question drew me back to the present. “Do you think you are capable of ruling Gondor, Lord Steward?” 

That was a question I had asked myself many times.  Meeting his gaze steadily, I answered, “Aye.”  

He did not seem surprised. “Why, then, did you not straightaway reject my claim?  Why take the trouble to adjust to a king?” 

“Because ability and right are two different matters,” I said. “Everyone has their own duty.  One may be able to do another’s duty, but that does not mean he should usurp another’s place and authority.   

“I believe I can rule Gondor well.  But I can never make the White Tree bloom, nor can I make my hands the hands of a healer.  I will not deny Gondor her king.” 

Aragorn regarded me intently, and I caught a wistful expression on his face.  He did not speak, but I could sense that he allowed me—invited me even—to read his heart.   

And as I looked at him I read many things: that he viewed the kingship as his duty; that it saddened him that his return had caused distress to such a staunch steward as my father; that he earnestly wished he could have come sooner during the siege; and finally, that the past was gone, but at least the present and the future are salvaged, and would I build that future together with him? 

Who could have said nay? 

I had resolved to be guided by my duty and reason, not by feelings or fancies. I had wished to accept him as my king because it was the right course for Gondor and my duty to do so, not because I loved him.   

Yet how sorely tempted I was, to kneel then and there and pledge myself to him! 

We were silent, for no words were needed. 

Then he chanted softly and I soon joined him. 

Gondor! Gondor, between the Mountains and the Sea! 

West Wind blew there; the light upon the Silver Tree 

Fell like bright rain in gardens of the Kings of old. 

O proud walls! White towers! O winged crown and throne of gold! 

O Gondor, Gondor! Shall Men behold the Silver Tree, 

Or West Wind blow again between the Mountains and the Sea? 

*The verse in italic was the one sung by Aragorn when the glimpse of the White Mountains made him reveal his deep affection for Gondor (The Two Towers, Book Three, Chapter Two: The Riders of Rohan). 

… 

Chapter 2.  Council 

Minas Tirith, 5 April 3019 T.A. 

“My lords, this is my first council as the Steward.  As is customary, the first matter to be discussed is the war and our defence.  I am glad to announce that we are victorious.” 

There were chuckles around the table.  Having lived without hope for so many years, we all still could not believe the turn of the tide.  

I continued, “There will be other battles with the remnants of the Enemy’s forces, but the war has been won.” 

“The victory was dearly bought and we will not forget the fallen.  When the Host of the West returns, we will gather in the Great Hall to remember those who have fallen: soldiers, lieutenants, captains, Lords Forlong, Hirluin, Duilin and Derufin, Haldad, and the late Lord Steward Denethor.” 

A heavy silence followed the mention of my father.  I continued, “We all know the late Steward did not die well, but he devoted all his life for Gondor, and that is what we will honour and remember.” 

We then discussed the matter of weregild.  We agreed to pay a princely sum to Rohan, and another to the Dunedain of the North (not exactly a princely sum, but still noble). 

“The next matter is the claim of Lord Aragorn to the crown of Gondor”. 

There was little debate on this.  The Prince of Dol Amroth declared that he had considered Aragorn his liege lord after the Battle of the Pelennor.  He added, “Yet I am ever behind you and for you, my Lord Steward. If you choose to reject this claim, Dol Amroth will stand with you.” 

The lords of Lamedon, Lebennin, and Anfalas could not be more enthusiastic to welcome the king.  The king who even the Dead had obeyed, who had freed them from the corsairs, healed their wounded, who would not wish to follow him?  They were rather wary over what changes the king might bring, but all in all they were happy to welcome him. 

Old Angbor made sure I knew it was not because he thought less of me, bless his kind heart.  

“I have full confidence in your ability to rule Gondor, Faramir, but we would do well to welcome the King who has clearly returned,” he said. 

The new lord of Lossarnach was concerned about having a stranger from the North rule over Gondor (over Gondor’s wealth, to be precise).  When we mentioned the condition we put forth concerning the separate treasuries of Gondor and Arnor, he was rather mollified.  “As long as our wealth remains within our land,” he said.  Lossarnach was a rich region. 

“Lord Aragorn understands that,” Prince Imrahil said.  “And our Lord Treasurer has ever guarded our coffers wisely.”   

Like a dragon hoarding his gold, Father used to grumble. 

Old Lord Meneldil, who had held the position since the early days of my father’s rule, grunted his assent. 

“Though there may be time,” I pointed out, “after we settle the needs of Gondor, to contribute to the rebuilding of our kinsmen’s land in Arnor.” 

Lord Meneldil gave another grunt, as if to say, we shall see about that. 

Some were reluctant to accept Lord Aragorn, or indeed any king.  We did not lose so many of our kin in battle, only to hand over the kingdom to a stranger from the North, they said.  We had done well enough without a king for so long, why should we change that?   

Hirgalad of Pinnath Gellin proposed to repeat the answer of Pelendur to Arvedui, because “as your father often said, Lord Faramir, the crown of Gondor belongs to the House of Anárion”.   

When Prince Imrahil reminded him that Aragorn was both the heir of Isildur and of Anárion, Hirgalad countered that the female line was not recognised by the Law of Gondor.  He did not fail to mention that my father would never have accepted Isildur’s heir’s claim.  

I nodded and replied: “You are right, Lord Hirgalad.  My father the late steward would not have accepted this claim.  But I will accept it, and we all have heard that most of the Council agree with this.” 

“You will defy your father’s wish, then,” Hirgalad said, frowning.  “I cannot say you are obliged to obey his wish, after what he did to you in the last Council, but do not make your decision merely out of defiance.” 

 What he did to you ... was that how the Council would remember it? 

The council chamber had become completely silent.  Hirgalad seemed to regret his words and were going to speak again, but I raised my hand to forestall him. 

“I am the Steward of Gondor, Lord Hirgalad.  I make my decisions based on what is best for Gondor, as far as I can see it.  I did consider the late Steward’s wishes, for he was a wise ruler, but they need not dictate my decision.” 

“As to what he did in the last Council, if by that you mean his decision to send some of our forces to defend Osgiliath, that was what he, the Steward, thought best for Gondor’s defence.  Let us all respect that decision.  The decision was not without merit, and it was in keeping with Gondor’s overall defence strategy. 

“But you said what he did to me, so I think you referred to the bitter words that I and my father exchanged.  About that, I believe I am entitled, as every man of Gondor is, to keep that private matter to myself and not to speak more of it here.” 

Hirgalad bowed and did not say more. 

We were about to take a vote, when suddenly the scribe raised his hand, asking for a permission to speak. 

At a nod from me, he said, “Forgive me, my lords, it is not my place to speak, I am here only to record the council, but...,” He turned to me.  “But, what will happen to you, my lord, if the King returns?” 

Looking at his concerned face, I thought, a compliment does not come higher than this. 

“Lord Faramir should remain the chief councillor to the King,” Angbor said.  “I thought Prince Imrahil mentioned this in Osgiliath?” 

“Hinted at it,” said the Prince.  “I hope it was clear enough? I could not say it outright, that would have displeased Lord Faramir.” 

“In our reply, we should add another condition: that Lord Faramir should retain a position as the chief councillor to the King.”  That was Lord Húrin. 

“And remain the Captain General,” said the Captain of the First Company of the Guard of Minas Tirith. 

“If this heir of Elendil is as wise as you painted him, he should have done that without us suggesting it.  If he turns out not to be as wise, well, is that not what we are here for?” That was Lord Meneldil. 

I was deeply moved by their regard for me, and I told them as much.  I rejected their proposal to add another condition to the King, of course. 

Lest I should become too proud, the next to speak was Lord Hador of Anorien.  

“Or perhaps, the Lord Steward has reached an understanding with the Lord Aragorn?  Otherwise, how would one so calmly surrender his position?” This insinuation was rude, but not entirely unreasonable.  

I fixed him with a steady gaze until he looked away.  “Lord Aragorn and I understand each other well enough,” I said dryly. “But it seems the word you had in mind was not ‘understanding’, but ‘negotiation’, Lord Hador?  I did not negotiate with the Lord Aragorn, and never will.” 

After we counted the votes, I rose and announced, “The Council of Gondor will accept the claim of Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir of Elendil, to the crown of Gondor.” 

The Council agreed to send a letter to Aragorn that we await his entry to Minas Tirith as our king.  I myself wrote the letter.  

Thus my childhood dream was fulfilled: the shadow departed and the king returned.  I had lived to see it.  I felt a great joy, like a child finally given something long desired.  Yet, at the same time, I wondered whether I had done ill.   

I had done what I could, in the short time I was given, to know the King, and I liked what I found.  I presented his claim fairly to the Council of Gondor and we had accepted it.   

Iaccepted him as my King; did I do it for the right reason?  Ever your desire is to appear lordly and generous as a king of old, gracious, gentle…  

Had I squandered my charge for my feelings and fancies, for my desire to appear lordly and generous? 

… 

After the messenger left with the letter to be sent to the King, I left my study and walked into the adjoining chamber.  It was in this chamber, I had been told, that my father spent long agonizing hours at my side, waiting for a word which never came.  Waiting for a word, from me.   

I sat in the chair where he used to sit.  I closed my eyes, and in my heart, I uttered my apology to my father, as I would have said to him had he been alive.   

I had no doubt that I made the right decisions concerning the Ring and the King.  But I knew my father’s wishes on these matters were different from mine.  I could imagine why, in his circumstances, he had such wishes, and it pained me that I could not obey his wishes.   

He was my father and my lord, and I loved him. His wish was my command, until the command clashed with my conscience and I chose the latter. 

… 

Here follows a copy of letters of Erchirion son of Imrahil of Dol Amroth and Faramir son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. 

Minas Tirith, 5 April 3019 T. A. 

Dear Erchirion, 

I thank you for your most generous words.  I keep them in my heart, in that private arsenal I draw strength from when the dark shadow comes to disturb my mind.  To know that one is loved is a sure weapon against despair. 

What an interesting account you wrote about how the Enemy departed!  The tales of the Third Age will not seem out of place even if you put them side-by-side with the tales of the Silmarils. 

Your father told me you and Amrothos are fully healed, I am glad to hear that.  I, too, have been discharged from the Houses of Healing and have taken up my duties.   

How fare you, cousin?  What do you feel in these days without the Shadow?  It feels ungrateful to be anything but deliriously happy, considering our turn of fate, yet perhaps people who had long endured the shadow of darkness need some time to adjust to the bright sunlight. 

I find myself easily moved these days. Well, more easily than usual, I know you think I am too easily moved even in normal days.  

Yesterday I read Falastur’s Poems on Beleriand, and I felt sad as I read the lines, “why did he bear neither sceptre nor crown?” That is not even one of my favourite poems.  And the other day I read “mightier in defeat was he / than all kings else in victory” and suddenly I wept. 

There were times that I felt light-hearted, that everything was right with the world, and it felt strange.   

I do not feel so light-hearted all the time, of course. Lord Aragorn has formally made his claim; I and some Council members met with him three days ago among the ruins of Osgiliath.  

This matter weighs my heart and mind.  My concerns are not what reply I would give—if it were up to me, I would have given him my fealty before he left for Mordor—but what my reasons are to accept the claim.   

Doing the right deed for the wrong reason is almost as bad as doing the wrong deed, and perhaps more perilous.   

Am I eager to accept him because he is Elendil’s heir and Gondor deserves to have a king?  Or because I let my fancy, my dream of seeing the White Tree in bloom, prevail over my duty and judgement? Or worse still, because I wish to be seen as a generous, high-hearted Steward who willingly stepped aside to make way for the King?  

Nobody would ask me this question, but I have to satisfy myself.  And I wish to satisfy the people, both living and those to come, and I do care what the Annals of the Stewards will record of the last Steward’s conduct when the King returned to Gondor.   

So much for being indifferent to glory! 

This morning the lords and Captains swore their fealty to me, and afterwards, I had my first council as the Steward. I must admit I enjoyed directing the course of the council as I think best, observing how each person behaved and reacted ... 

There was little debate about the claim and I was not surprised. Hands of a healer, victory in battle, command over even the Dead, direct lineage from both Isildur and Anárion, what more could a people asked of their ruler? Well, most would say benevolence, wisdom, and good administration. 

Benevolence and wisdom are satisfied, from what I have perceived in my meetings with him.  As for good administration, we shall see.  But on this matter, he will have the Council and a myriad of aides. 

Lord Aragorn treats me with respect and kindness. He seems to think highly of me, though what observations could he have to form that opinion?  Perhaps some among the Host have spoken of me.   

For my part, I offer him my love and allegiance, though for now I do restrain myself, lest anyone should think I am securing my position in his court. 

Fortunately, I have more practical matters to occupy me: clearing the Pelennor, Cair Andros, and Osgiliath from the wreckage of battles; repairing the Rammas; going through the scouts’ report and deciding when it is safe for the people to return to the City; surveying the destroyed farmlands and deciding whether to relax the food ration (not yet, in case you are wondering); arranging pensions for the widows and families of the fallen; poring over the accounts of past crowning ceremonies with the scribes; going through the balance books with Lord Meneldil; the list goes on. 

Despite all these matters which keep me busy, I feel lonely.  I am learning to be content, after all, who did not lose a loved one in this war? And everyone has been very kind to me.   

Yet I do miss Boromir.  Sometimes I feel it acutely, like that day when I learned that a certain old lord has indeed been avoiding me for the simple reason that he did not wish to bow to me.  When I found out about this, I thought, wait till I tell Boromir!   

Boromir would have urged me to deliberately walk past this lord’s house many times a day.  Except that if Boromir were here, the proud lord would not have had to bow to me, of course. 

Sometimes I even miss Father, despite everything.  And I am grieving.  Grief for our last parting, for how things turned out and for his sad departure.  But that is a subject for another letter, or perhaps when we sit together under a tree or by the fireplace.  I am not ready to speak of Father. 

Forgive me for my rudeness: look at this long letter, talking about myself. Let me make a small amend by sharing something of interest: 

Among the details in the chronicles and annals of Númenor and Gondor which have become my daily readings recently (not that I am complaining), there was a mention of an interesting chess move which apparently was recognised in Númenor, but somehow was not passed down to our days.   

It is a move of “bringing the king to safety”, which consists of moving the king and a rook at the same time.  The king moves two squares toward a rook, and the rook moves to the square that the king passed over, standing guard there.   

Have you ever heard of something like this?  Moving two pieces at once seems quite irregular, though I like the idea of having a special move to protect the king.   

I leave it to you and Amrothos to debate this; I am sending you a chess board with this letter. 

May the stars shine upon you, dear brother, and may we soon meet again. 

... 

Cormallen Field, 7 April 3019 T.A. 

My dear cousin, 

I shook my head several times as I read your letter.  Some healers in Dol Amroth are interested to study the mind rather than the body.  Studying you would be most instructive for them.  

Knowing how your intricate mind works, I can imagine your distress: if you choose to reject Lord Aragorn’s claim, you will accuse yourself of clinging to power and authority, though I note that you did not accuse Pelendur of such guilt. 

Yet if you choose to accept the claim, you will hold yourself guilty of giving up so easily the charge which your forefathers had jealously guarded.  

And since from all accounts I heard Lord Aragorn values you highly, you will add to your list of crimes the guilt of allowing the king’s friendship to cloud your judgment. 

If you remain as the King’s Steward, you will hold yourself accountable for serving someone whom your father opposed, merely because this someone treats you with civility.  

Would you feel better if Lord Aragorn treated you with suspicion or contempt? That would mean having a king who is not a good judge of character, certainly not good for Gondor! 

If you choose not to serve the king, you will feel guilty for letting your pride and filial obligation prevail over your duty to Gondor.  

At this juncture, my dear foolish cousin, the only path which might bring you peace—nay, not peace, but at least some respite from guilt—would be this: to be stripped of all your ranks and lands, to live a life of hardship in some forsaken corner of the realm, where you might see from afar Minas Tirith in her glory.  

You spoke of feeling strange these days, as you have not experienced before. May I point out to you that this strange feeling has a name?  I would call it unbridled joy—something foreign to you.  Well, perhaps joy with a hint of grief at the background, much like the excellent bittersweet wine you sent us last week.  And may I suggest you embrace it? Let others treat you as you deserve, dear Faramir. 

As for your grief, I grieve with you, though I do not presume to know what you feel.  Take as long as you need to grieve.  And I pray you, do not speak again of learning to be content in your loneliness, it breaks my heart. 

I cannot wait to return to Minas Tirith, that I may tell you how foolish yet honourable and wonderful you are.  Do not do anything foolish, or foolishly honourable, in the meantime. 

I thank you for the chess board.  Amrothos and I accept it as an amend for the absence of wine in your parcel.  The irregular chess move you described seems a natural progression from the king’s leap, do you not think so? Some conditions must be met to allow this move. We can figure them out in our next game. 

… 

I need not say much about what happened next, for much had been written elsewhere concerning the crowning of the King.  I surrendered the rod to Aragorn; he gave me back not only the rod, but also friendship, respect and love more than one could deserve, and a princedom added for good measure.   

Do you know what I felt when the King showed me the sapling of the White Tree?  I felt as someone who finally releases his breath, and only then realizes he has been holding his breath for some time.  I had a peaceful sleep that night; perhaps the last time I slept so was when I was a child. 

In the following days, did I ever have any worries?  Yea, surely.  But regrets I have none.  And after some years, I laid my worries to rest.   

For the White Tree blossomed, Gondor prospered, and Ithilien was restored, and I saw them not from afar.  They were within my reach and my care still, beautiful and glorious.  This time, there was no but. 

Ithilien, Fo.A. 47. 

Copied and shortened from my journal and letters, as a birthday present for my grandson Barahir, who loves lore and tales. 

Faramir son of Denethor. 

… 

Notes: 

In our present Age, the lines “more might in defeat was he / than all men else in victory” are part of The Ballad of the White Horse, written by G.K. Chesterton.  I imagined that a poet in the First or Second Age might have written similar lines about the death of Fingolfin, the High King of the Noldor. 

The line “why did he bear neither sceptre nor crown?” comes from a Christmas hymn composed by John Rutter in our present Age.  I imagined that a poet in the First or Second Age might have written a similar line about the death of Finrod Felagund, a king who gave up his crown for mere mortals.