I have redone chapters 1 & 2, and will be redoing chapter 3, then will concentrate on new chapters.

Do not go gentle into that good night

Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Dylan Thomas

Ch 1 Assassination

Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien watched the dust motes dance in the early morning light. He idly wondered what it would be like, to dance with wild abandonment in a sunbeam. He managed, barely, to wrest his attention back to the supplicants before the throne.

Faramir also noted that Elessar, King of Gondor, was shifting slightly on his throne.

As Elessar looked toward his steward, Faramir gave a slight nod and slipped out of the small door leading to the rear chambers. He had just remembered where and under what circumstances he had seen the current supplicant. He made his way to the archives. As he searched for the records of twelve years before, the archivist approached.

“May I assist you, My Lord Faramir?” he asked with a smile. The archivist had been a mentor for Faramir, and was glad his former pupil had finally gotten the recognition that was so richly deserved.

“Aye, Îlbal. I am looking for the land book of twelve years ago. Ah, here it is! Exactly what I need! See? Every time you are near, I find what I am searching for right where I am standing. I do not know how it is done.” This was an old jest that was ongoing. Îlbal merely laughed.

“Tis a talent, steward, that shall never be told. I merely think of your need, and it appears.” With a wink, and a slight bow, the archivist walked over to his desk. Faramir chuckled as his eyes sought the information he needed.

“Îlbal, I need to take this to King Elessar, with your permission,” said Faramir, keeping his finger in the book and walking over to the desk. “I will return it as soon as is possible.”

Îlbal smiled and nodded. “Very well, Lord Faramir.”

With a smile and a hand on the shoulder, Faramir took his leave.

Faramir returned to the throne room. With a bow, he walked to Aragorn. He showed the entry he had earlier marked. In a low voice that only the king could hear, he explained the significance of the entry.

The king raised an eyebrow, and exclaimed “Indeed! Well done, my friend! Perhaps you would be so kind as to acquaint Lord Huldán with your findings.” Only Faramir caught the quick wink Aragorn gave him.

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Faramir smiled as he bowed to the king. The silence was almost deafening. All were waiting to hear how the new king would rule.

Faramir walked slowly down the steps and stopped in front of Huldán. He sketched a small bow.

“Lord Huldán, twelve years ago you stood in that exact spot, and swore an oath that the lands you owned were not usable for crops. Therefore, you received a reduced tax on said lands. Is that not correct?”

Huldán swallowed nervously. He wondered what this upstart steward had in mind. He did not answer at first.

Elessar said, “Did you not hear the question, Lord Huldán? Our steward asked you a legitimate question. We are awaiting your answer.”

Finally, Lord Huldán grudgingly answered “Aye.” He glared at Faramir but the steward refused to back down.

“Very well,” replied Aragorn, “It is my understanding that you sold this land to a lad that has wed your daughter.”

As Faramir turned to speak to King Elessar, Huldán suddenly pulled a small dagger from his sleeve and drove it into Faramir’s abdomen. The steward, a shocked look on his face, went completely white, collapsing as guards took down his assailant.

“Aragorn!” gasped Faramir, striving to rise. He was growing cold, shock taking over.

A voice entered the cacophony of sounds assaulting his ears. “Faramir, stay with us! Try and stay awake, my friend.” The voice was that of Aragorn.

“I..will..try. Tired.” Even as he spoke, his vision was growing darker. He was fighting, trying to keep the darkness at bay. “Never..thought ..a small..dagger..could..hurt..so much,” he gasped. His back arched as a new wave of pain hit. He could not stop the low cry of pain that slipped out.

“I know, just stay with us.” He did not have the energy to open his eyes. He let out a sigh and welcomed the darkness as it washed over him.

Aragorn assisted in carrying the wounded man to the healing wing. Once there, the healers labored for some time, stitching the wound closed. The biggest obstacle they had to overcome was the bleeding, which would not stop. Finally, a healer was able to stem the hemorrhage. Faramir was unaware of the drama as it unfolded.

After almost six hours, the steward was moved to a private room. Aragorn had ordered a guard to keep watch at the door. So many volunteered, but Beregond simply planted himself there.  Aragorn knew he was defeated, and let him stay.