Ch 7 Best laid plans of mice and men…

“Have you heard? Lord Faramir will be going to Emyn Arnen instead of staying in the Houses of Healing!” was the whisper of gossip sweeping through the streets of Minas Tirith.

“Is he not wounded? I heard it ‘twas almost to death.”

“Aye, ‘tis true. Mayhap the King has decided his Steward should return to Ithilien. The only reason for that is the Lord Faramir is dying and does not want to pass in Minas Tirith.”

“How do you know this? It would seem you have ears that hear what most others do not.”

“Pshaw! I have a friend who has a friend in the Houses of Healing. She only passes on what is true.”

“Would not the Steward stay in Minas Tirith? Why should he journey to his home in Ithilien?”

“Aye, he would were he the ruling steward. With the return of the King, he need not stay. Lord Faramir would still be returned here for entombment with the rest of his ancestors.”

“I heard the king will be going to be with Lord Faramir when he passes. The Lady Éowyn has already gone ahead to prepare for the arrival.”

Three days later, a closed carriage rumbled through the White City. It continued on to the Houses of Healing, where it was drawn up to the doors. As the guards stood watch, a figure, cloaked and hooded, was escorted to the open door. Just as the figure was entering the carriage, the hood slipped back, exposing the face of Lord Faramir. All could see the flush of fever on his cheeks, while dark circles shown under his eyes, which were dull and listless. A grimace of pain seemed to sweep across his face.

“Tsk, it is not seemly he should ride out,” was the considered opinion of the good folk of Minas Tirith. “King Elessar does not do right by his Steward.”

“I heard ‘twas the Lord Imrahil who insisted Lord Faramir return to Emyn Arnen.”

Faramir was helped into the carriage, and slowly the carriage, with its passenger, was driven through the circles of Minas Tirith. As they did when Faramir led his Rangers to the final defense of Osgiliath, flowers were strewn in front of the carriage. There was no sound save the clop of the horses’ hooves and a sob here and there. The perfume from the flowers spread throughout the circles.

Inside the carriage, Faramir again went over the plan Éowyn had set out. He could only hope that the Haradrim would hear the gossip and would fall into the trap that was so painstakingly set. He hoped that he had put on a convincing act. He resisted the urge to wipe the paint off, wondering how on Arda the King’s Players wore it.

Earlier, in The Black Hart, Râsual listened to the gossip. His heart was inflamed. How dare Faramir die without hearing from Râsual himself why blood feud had been declared! It was not enough for someone else to tell the tale. It would have to come from himself, and only him.

Râsual watched as the Prince of Ithilien entered the carriage. He saw the signs of fever, noticing the signs of death upon the face of his foe. He paused, then decided he must act before it would be too late. Suiting thoughts to action, he went to the stable and retrieved his steed and tack.

He followed the carriage as it rolled across the Pelennor Fields. As it approached the Anduin, he turned aside. Riding upstream, he found a safe place to ford the great river.

Having forded the river, Râsual continued towards a copse of thick brush surrounding several tall trees. Here, then, would be the place to confront Captain Faramir.