Chapter 16

Faramir was late and today it wasn’t just one King he kept waiting. Éomer and Imrahil had both been invited to attend the routine working breakfast and Faramir knew that whatever they wished to discuss concerned him.

He had noticed them, during the previous evening’s festivities, conferring together and with Lord Beranin, though none had enlightened him as to the reason for their earnest deliberations. Faramir had been much engaged during the evening with entertaining Éowyn and introducing her to his cousins and to some of the nobles of the Court. With the wedding only a week away the guests for Dol Amroth and Rohan had arrived and last evening’s festivities were just the first of a series of entertainments organised by Arwen to celebrate the nuptials and to allow both families to become better acquainted.

Lord Corris had been in his element, supervising the organisation of the evening, ensuring that the catering and the entertainment went without a hitch. As the evening drew to a close Faramir sought out the faithful retainer and thanked him for his efforts.

 Faramir’s morning had begun as normal, Ferris had awakened him at dawn and he had presented himself to the Warden for his therapy. They chatted quietly as the Warden put him through his paces, exercising his arm and shoulder, pushing him to the edge of his tolerance and then massaging and manipulating his arm and hand. Faramir asked about the injured Landlord and was relieved to discover that, beyond expectation, the man had recovered sufficiently to be allowed home. They had nearly finished the cycle of treatment when they were interrupted by a page.

“I beg pardon, Sir, but you are needed up in the Citadel,” the lad gasped, addressing the Warden.

“Calm down, and tell me slowly.”

“The Chamberlain, Sir, he was late arriving in the Kitchens; I was sent to look for him. I found him in his room, Sir…he was still in bed, he couldn’t rise and he was pale and breathing funny.”

It took the Warden a few minutes to get organised, to fetch his bag and to delegate one of the healers to attend him. Faramir dressed and accompanied them up to the Citadel, leading them to the Chamberlain’s apartments, close to the Steward’s Quarters.

A fire burned brightly in the grate and the room was well lit, revealing the shabby but comfortable abode of a man at peace with himself; bookshelves lined the walls and a chess set beside a comfortable armchair spoke of a battle only half played-out.  Faramir sat in the chair and waited while the Warden and the healer attended to their patient. Even from a distance he could see the gravity of the situation and was saddened by the sudden frailty of the man he had known all his life. Leaving the healer to minister to the patient the Warden drew Faramir aside.

“I fear he has suffered an apoplectic fit, Sir. He is paralysed in his arm and leg and he is unable to speak, though I believe he can understand.”

“Can he recover,” asked Faramir.

“He is old and has suffered a severe attack. He may improve, though in all honesty I think it unlikely. He could survive weeks or months but I doubt he will regain any use in his limbs and he may suffer another attack at any time. I think it is best to prepare for the worst, Sir.” Faramir nodded his understanding.

“With your permission, Sir, we will nurse him here. I believe he will be more comfortable in his own surroundings and there is little that I can do for him besides keeping him comfortable. I will ensure that one of my staff is in constant attendance and I will attend him.”

“Thank you. If there is anything you need let me know. He has given his life’s service to serving the Steward’s and I would not have him go without in his hour of need.”

~~**~~

“My apologies Sire, King Éomer, Uncle. I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“Is something amiss, Faramir?” Aragorn asked, indicating that he should be seated.

“I am afraid Lord Corris has been taken ill, Sire. He is unlikely to recover. He has suffered a devastating apoplectic fit; he is paralysed and unable to speak. His assistant has taken over his duties for the time being; he is well trained but with the wedding only a week away….!”

“Ah, the wedding! It was on that subject that we wished to speak to you!” said the King.

 Faramir looked up and had difficulty reading the King’s expression. Faramir looked at the faces of his companions with alarm.

“What…is there a problem with the wedding?” He pushed his plate away and made to stand. Aragorn and Imrahil stayed him, each resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Peace, Faramir let me explain.”

He settled back into his chair, picking at the stitching of his glove as he waited for Aragorn to enlighten him.

“As you know, the tribunal has been more protracted than we anticipated. Lord Haralil and his chief crony Lord Darlon have used every tactic at their disposal to prolong and delay the proceedings. There is no way now that we will finish before the date set for the wedding.”

“So are you saying that we must delay the ceremony?”

“No.” Aragorn said fondly. “I would not do that to you, my friend. What I propose is that we adjourn the tribunal for three days to allow for the wedding celebrations. When the proceedings recommence I suggest that we sit in session morning and afternoon to get it finished as quickly as possible. It would mean you postponing your Bridal trip to Dol Amroth for a few days, possibly a couple of weeks; I would need you here to keep things running smoothly while I am tied up with the tribunal!”

“I see.” Relief flooded through Faramir and he picked up his mug with a shaky hand. “What say you Éomer?”

“It is not ideal and I would rather my Sister’s wedding was not overshadowed by this but I see no other solution….my suggestion of dealing with the two noble lords rather more directly behind the stables was rejected.” His jest broke the tension.

“Has anyone mentioned this to Éowyn?”

“No, Faramir, we voted that you were the best one to break the news to her,” said the King with a grin.

“Cowards, the lot of you!”

~~**~~

Two days before the wedding, Legolas and Gimli cornered Faramir in the royal apartments.

“I believe there is one tradition that we have not yet organised, Faramir!” said Legolas.

“And what might that be.” He had a sinking feeling that he knew to what they referred.

“I have been led to believe that it is expected that the groom’s friends help him to celebrate his last few hours of freedom with a little wine and song.”

“If you think for one moment that I would subject my safety and honour to the dubious delights of your merrymaking you are very sadly mistaken,” Faramir announced rather more loudly than he had intended, drawing the attention of the others in the room.

“I hardly think it wise to allow him to go off drinking with both my brother and you Legolas…given his previous record, who knows what manner of cat-fight may ensue!” laughed Éowyn, coming to his side and putting a protective and territorial arm around his shoulders.

“Yes, you can scarcely have a ‘stag’s night’ with the ‘Stag’ staying resolutely sober,” Aragorn pointed out. Faramir squirmed, not enjoying the direction this conversation was taking. Rather than allowing his friends to dominate the subject further he offered his own suggestion.

“I’m sure that the ladies have much to do tomorrow in preparation for the big day. I suggest that I take the rest of you for a ride out to a spot I know down by the river. We could catch our own lunch and enjoy the chance to be away from the city for a few hours.”

“Excellent idea, Faramir. I for one would enjoy a day away from this blasted tribunal. I have been stuck inside stone walls for far too long,” Aragorn said.

“How far is it?” asked Gimli. “I’m not sure my backside has recovered from the last ‘little ride’ on the back of yon Elf’s bony nag.”

“It’s a couple of hour’s hard ride but I’m sure if it’s too much for you the ladies will find you a gentler occupation….stringing garlands or making posies!” Faramir teased.

You are familiar with the swimming hole, aren’t you uncle?”

“Yes, your father showed me the place many years ago, before he was married, though I’m not sure I could find it again without assistance.”

“Then I will organise a small guard detail and we will leave at first light. You will join us Éomer?”

~~**~~

It was mid morning by the time they finally set off. They rode hard, heading south, parallel to the river. The miles passing swiftly beneath the flying hooves of their mounts as they raced and cajoled each other.

Noon found them at the water’s edge. The site Faramir had chosen was at a bend in the river. The water’s action had created a natural pool separated from the main channel by a rocky outcrop. The water in the cove was chest deep and the pool lined with soft sand. It made it an ideal swimming hole; a fact exploited by the youths of Ithilien for time out of mind. It was here that Boromir and Faramir had honed their swimming skills as boys, before the threat of the enemy had made the place too dangerous to visit.

With the guards camped near enough to provide protection but far enough away to ensure privacy the royal party set up a temporary camp. Gimli set a fire while Legolas challenged the two Kings to a fishing contest. Legolas won easily, his technique of spearing fish with an arrow far more efficient than the hook and line of the two monarchs. They ate their catch and swallowed it down with a flagon of wine that Gimli produced from his knapsack, toasting the health of the Faramir and Éowyn.

 After dozing in the warm afternoon sunshine all but Gimli stripped off to swim in the chill waters of the pool. Faramir, at a disadvantage because of the weakness of his arm, soon became chilled and retreated back to the warmth of the fire to dress and get warm. He watched the noisy horseplay, soon lost in memories of other care-free days at the water’s edge. He tried hard to hold on to happy memories but with his eyes closed he could hear and see Boromir in his mind and the reality of his loss rolled over him like a shrouding fog.

~~**~~

The ride back was leisurely; pleasantly fatigued by the day’s exertions none were eager to re-enter the cloistered, confining walls of the city.  Faramir allowed himself to drop back until only the rear guard were behind him; he didn’t want his mood to bring down the spirits of his companions, ashamed that on the eve of his wedding he had allowed grief to creep up on him and ambush his friend’s attempts to celebrate the approaching nuptials. Only Imrahil had sensed his nephew’s melancholy, he slowed his mount and waited for Faramir to draw up beside him. Faramir was so distracted that he failed to answer his first call.

“Faramir, are you all right?” Faramir pulled himself back to attention.

“Your pardon, uncle. You were saying!”

“I asked if you are all right.”

“I’m fine…just tired…” His attempt at reassurance could not fool his uncle and the prince reached over and took hold of the reins and brought the two horses to a standstill. He waved  half of the rear guard on, leaving just two troops to protect himself and the Steward. He handed Faramir a flask and waited while he drank his fill.

“Are you having second thoughts about the wedding?” he asked gently.

“NO, never that…Éowyn is my life.”

“Then can you not tell me what is troubling you. Are you worried about the ceremony? Is it not all settled?”

“Yes, all is organised, though…” Faramir lapsed into silence, leaving Imrahil confused.

“Uncle,  would you consider presiding over the ceremony tomorrow, to hear our vows?”

“But what about the King!... Faramir, consider what you ask. Won’t the King take it as a slight if you snub him in this way?  I would be honoured to preside over your wedding but I cannot allow you to jeopardise your position here as Steward.” Imrahil explained. “And what of Éowyn…have you discussed this with her?”

“I will speak to the King…and Éowyn. Please, uncle…you are the only family I have left!” Imrahil realised that he was getting closer to the real cause of Faramir’s distress.

“Faramir, you must discuss this with Aragorn this evening, I will accompany you and we will explain this to him together. Will you do that?” Faramir nodded his agreement.

 “Come then, let us be on our way and see if we can catch up with the others.”

With no official celebrations planned for the evening Faramir had a quiet supper alone in his chambers and spent an hour sitting with Lord Corris. Knowing that he could put off the meeting with the King no longer, he made his way to the Royal Apartments. Prince Imrahil was already there; they both greeted him warmly.

“Faramir?”

Faramir paced, not knowing how to begin to explain. Aragorn looked to Imrahil in bewilderment. Faramir stopped and turned to face them.

“Sire….I have asked, no…it is my wish that my Uncle presides over the ceremony tomorrow!” There was silence as the King digested this new state of affairs. Although he tried to disguise his reaction there was no hiding his hurt and disappointment.

“I see. If that is your wish I would not thwart your request but would you mind explaining why, at this late hour, you wish to upset arrangements long agreed between both Courts.”

“I’m sorry….it’s just…”  He looked around as if confused. He pulled his fist up hard against his chest to stifle the pain that robbed him of the ability to speak. He took a couple of deep and shaky breaths and stopped his restless pacing. His next words and actions took them both by surprise.  He stepped in front of the King and placed a hand on his shoulder, bringing them face to face.

“Aragorn I would ask you to do me the honour of being my groom’s man!”

Imrahil released a long-held breath and slumped back against the edge of the table. Aragorn’s eyes were locked to Faramir’s, seeing the grief and the uncertainty trapped within him; his own eyes bright. His own upset dropped away as he comprehended the enormity of the honour Faramir was asking of him; to stand at his side in Boromir’s place, to take the place of his beloved brother. He was stunned.

“Of course I will, Little Brother. I would be honoured.” He choked on his reply.

The endearment, so gentle and unexpected, unleashed the grief and the hurt and Faramir wept. He tried to leave, to hide his distress but before he got as far as the door two pairs of arms stayed and guided him; sitting by him offering the comfort of their presence until the storm of his grief abated.

“He should be here…he promised to always be here for me. He promised me…when we were young, he promised to stand by my side. He told me I was only to marry for love and not for duty and that my bride would have to convince him that she deserved my love. And now he will never know Éowyn or our children…and I miss him so much I can scarcely breathe,”  he gasped.

“We all miss him, Faramir and we will never forget him…but he would want you to be happy!” Imrahil squeezed Faramir’s hand. “And he will be by you side and in your heart as you make your vows. He loved you, Faramir and that love will never leave you.”

They sat long into the night, talking and remembering, until the fire burned low and the candles guttered and in their quiet companionship Faramir found a measure of tranquillity.

~~**~~

A select audience gathered in the shade of the White Tree. A flower-decked bower set on the greensward awaited the arrival of the bridal party. Faramir waited as patiently as his taut nerves allowed, flanked on one side by his uncle and on the other by Aragorn. Faramir fidgeted with his collar, pulling at the high-necked embroidered fabric in his agitation; Imrahil patted his arm and smiled his reassurance. Legolas and Gimli, standing off to one side with the Dol Amroth cousins, chatted quietly, engaging Faramir’s attention but for once abstaining from teasing. Lord Corris was carried out by two strong guardsmen and settled into a chair under a sheltering canopy. Tamir positioned himself behind Prince Imrahil, checking for the tenth time that the small table beside him contained all the necessary requirements for the ceremony.

On the stroke of midday a single trumpeter sounded a fanfare and the doors of the citadel opened to reveal the bridal party. With Arwen on one side and Éomer on the other, Éowyn slowly and gracefully descended the wide stone steps and crossed the lawn to take her place beneath the fragrant bower. Faramir watched her approach with wide-eyed wonderment. She was clothed in a gown of creamy-white satin, simple in design but stunning in effect, the only adornment a girdle of seed pearls and embroidery to accentuate her slender waist, her fair hair flowing like watered silk about her shoulders, her expression solemn but her eyes bright with joy.

Faramir appeared rooted to the spot, unable to persuade his feet into motion to take his place at her side. With a fond smile, Aragorn whispered to him and urged him forward; once in place the bridal couple turned to face each other. Imrahil began the ceremony.

“Friends, we are gathered together in this place to witness the solemnisation of the Marriage Vows between our two beloved kinsmen. To share in the joy and the celebration as they begin their lives together, to offer them our love and support as they move forward to face the future.”

Tamir lifted a length of silken rope and handed it to the Prince. Faramir raised his hands and held them out, palms together; Éowyn placed her hands around his, her own slender, delicate fingers capturing his larger, calloused hands within the safety of her loving embrace. Imrahil wrapped the bridal coil loosely around the joined hands and tied a symbolic knot.

“Faramir, it is with joy and love that I bind myself to you. From this day forward and for all the days of my life I will love and cherish you, supporting you in good times and in bad. You rescued me from darkest despair and brought me forward into the shining light of your regard. I give my heart into your keeping.” She raised their joined hands and set a soft kiss on his fingers.

Imrahil untied the bond and Faramir placed his hands around hers and gazed into her eyes as he waited for the knot to be retied.

“Éowyn, I call on our friends to witness the happiness that fills me today. I love you beyond thought or measure and that love grows with each passing hour. I will count each day blessed that I share with you. I vow to honour and protect you. I offer you my heart, my hand and my soul; you are my sunshine and my starlight. With you I am whole.”

As Imrahil untied and removed the cord, Tamir held out an embroidered cushion and the Prince lifted up a circlet of Mithril and Gold, set with a single stone of deepest Amethyst. He handed it to Faramir who set it upon Éowyn’s brow.

“Our marriage confers upon you the title of Princess of Ithilien; wear this token with honour but know that to me you will always be the Queen of my heart.”

The final rite of the ceremony followed. Imrahil held out a golden stirrup-cup of sweet wine; Éowyn and Faramir held one handle each and, twining arms, took a sip. Éowyn released her hold and the cup was shared by Faramir and Imrahil, when Faramir released his hold on the cup it passed to Arwen and then Éomer, onwards through the company in a circle of communion until it passed back to the bridal couple. The draining of the cup signalled the end of the ceremony.

Faramir wasted no time in sweeping Éowyn into his arms and kissing her with deep joy and passion until they were both breathless and dizzy. The tolling of the Citadel bell started a cascade of sound as the chimes of every bell in the city pealed in celebration, signalling the commencement of city-wide festivities that would run on into the small hours of the morning.

TBC