The characters belong to the Tolkien Estate and no profit has or will be made from this story.

Chapter Two an Invitation from the King

 Early March 3021

Faramir slowly climbed out of bed in his dressing room, grimacing at the pain from his wounds. They were always most painful early in the day. He reached for his robe and pulled it on over his nightshirt. He anxiously looked through the selection of clothes his servant had laid out for him, wondering what he should wear for the private audience to which the King had summoned him.

He loved his new lord dearly, venerating him as Gondor’s rescuer and the man who saved his life. Yet, Faramir dreaded every audience with the King, always fearful that he might make some mistake, and as result, see the same scorn and contempt in his Sovereign’s eyes that was ever present in his father’s.

As a lover of lore and learning, there were so many things Faramir would have liked to ask Aragorn about. The King was said to be elven- wise and the most widely travelled of all living men. How the Steward yearned to ask him about the Elves, his travels, and tales of the ring bearer; but always the words froze on his lips. By now, he supposed, the King must think him half witted.

Faramir pulled on his drawers and breeches under his nightshirt. He then carefully selected a shirt of fine linen and tunic of blue velvet and laid them on the bed. He cared little for his appearance, but not to dress properly to speak with the King would show a sorry lack of respect. It was unusual for one of the Steward’s rank not to have a servant to help them dress, but why burden another with the sight of his wounded body, or for that matter endure the discomfiture of their pitying and curious looks? Faramir thought sadly, as he pulled off his nightshirt, wincing at the ever-present pain in his shoulder, where the Southron arrow had torn into the muscles and ligaments almost two years before. The healers were amazed he could use his arm and shoulder at all. He supposed he had the King to thank for that.

Aragorn had offered him further treatments and not for the first time, Faramir wondered if he should have accepted, but it was so embarrassing to appear weak in front of his Lord, and it seemed doubtful that the offer was ever made as anything other than a gesture. After all, the King had far more important matters to concern himself with than his Steward’s old wounds. How could he even remove his shirt in front of him to reveal the shameful and ugly scars, and body so puny that his father had said everyone would laugh if they saw him unclothed? Then, what treatment could there be, to ease hurts he had borne for so long? The King was a skilled Healer, not a magician!

*** 

Faramir tried to eat breakfast, but was too nervous to swallow more than a slice of buttered toast. He made his way to the King’s study, aiming to be as punctual as possible. He knocked timidly at the door. A kindly voice swiftly bade him enter.

How the Steward hated this room, which had been his father’s! There were new hangings on the walls, tapestries of the Kings of old, brought from Imladris. However, new furniture was still in short supply after the war, and Aragorn still used Denethor’s desk. The chair at least, was different, a gift from a young carpenter Aragorn had spared from execution.

The King rose to his feet and smiled as Faramir entered. Aragorn was obviously finishing his breakfast since he had a tray in front of him. “Have you eaten?” he asked Faramir.

“Yes thank you, my lord, I have breakfasted already.”

“I am glad someone besides myself still eats breakfast, the Queen says she is not hungry these past weeks, so I must eat it on my own! Do have a goblet of wine and try one of these honey cakes; they are delicious. Only a Hobbit could eat all the food the kitchens provide for me!”

Faramir was unable to resist taking a cake from the proffered plate. It never ceased to astonish him that Aragorn thought nothing of handing round cakes like any servant would. His father would never have dreamed of doing such a thing! The King always seemed to know, too, what delicacies his Steward especially enjoyed. The cakes were quite delicious, although the butterflies in his stomach made it difficult to swallow.

To his relief, Aragorn settled himself on the couch by the window rather than behind the desk that had been Denethor’s. He gestured to Faramir to sit beside him. They sat eating honey cakes in silence for a few minutes, listening to the rain outside. Faramir’s stomach settled. Despite his awe of his lord, there was something calming about Aragorn’s presence. Often when they were working together, they would partake of refreshments thus, and were Aragorn not his Liege Lord and a figure out of legend; Faramir would have enjoyed the occasions. He sensed a kindred spirit in the man sitting beside him.

“Thank you for organising my birthday celebrations so well, Faramir.” Aragorn said; brushing the crumbs off his lap after the last cake was finished. He took a sip from his goblet of wine.

“It was my pleasure, sire. It is hard to believe you are ninety, you look scarcely more than half that age!” Faramir replied, hoping that this was all the King had summoned him about. Obviously, his efforts had met with the royal approval.

Aragorn laughed. “Everyone says the same. In the North, the Chieftains never married outside the Númenorean lineage, so I could perhaps live another hundred years, provided I do not fall in battle.”

“I wish you many more years, my lord,” Faramir said formally.

“I did not send for you to talk about the birthday festivities, though, apart from expressing my pleasure,” Aragorn continued.

Faramir’s heart sank. He knew he must have done something wrong.

Aragorn rose to his feet, Faramir did likewise.

“Has the couch caught fire?” Aragorn teased.

“No, indeed not, but I cannot remain seated while you stand, my lord!” the Steward protested.

“I have told you many times there is no need to observe protocol on informal occasions. Now sit down and be at ease!”  Aragorn commanded, though there was humour in his tone.

Faramir complied. He could never get used to Aragorn’s disregard for court etiquette.

After wiping his hands on a moist towel by the tray, Aragorn picked up a parchment that was lying on the desk and unrolled it. “I have just learned that Duilin of Morthond’s last surviving brother has died, leaving no male heir," he said, consulting the scroll. “His widow and daughters inherit the bulk of his lands and property. However, under the terms of his grandfather’s will, his hunting lodge now belongs to the State of Gondor, being left it to the male line only. It is situated in the forest about a half-day’s ride from here. As there are no pressing affairs of state at present, and the New Year Celebrations are three weeks away, I thought that you and I and our ladies might go and spend some time there.”

“Sire?” Faramir was at a loss for words, torn between delight at the honour of being invited to spend time with the King, and fear that he was bound to disappoint in some way.

“Custom dictates that we must have an escort to travel there, but we can dismiss them once we arrive,” Aragorn continued, “I will be frank with you, Faramir, I miss my old life sometimes and yearn for the freedom of the woods and fields, to eat and dress simply, and pass by unrecognised as a Ranger rather than a King.”

Faramir nodded his understanding, accustomed as he was to court life; he still sometimes missed the simple life of a soldier and thought it must be even harder for the King. “But why do you want Éowyn and me to come?” He was unable to stop himself voicing his thoughts aloud.

“Your wife once told me she feared a cage, and she makes no secret that she sees this city as one. I believe that riding out in the open countryside would benefit her while you wait for the builders to complete your new home in Ithilien. As for you, Faramir,” Aragorn paused and gave the Steward one of his warmest smiles. “You work far too hard and need a respite. Also, I would like to get to know you better. We work together closely, and yet, I feel I know you little better than when we first met.”

Faramir coloured. “I fear you would find me a dull companion, my lord.”

“Your Uncle tells me you are quite the contrary. I would know the truth!” Aragorn’s tone was stern, but there was a twinkle in is eye as he spoke. “Now, tell me, will you come? I feel you should see the property and help me decide what should be done with it. I assume Duilin’s intent was that your family should have the use of it, seeing as the will was made in your father’s time.”

Faramir bowed deeply. “I am obedient to your command, sire.”

Aragorn sighed, somewhat impatiently. “I meant it as an invitation, not an order, but I assume that means you will come?”

“I am honoured to accept, sire.”

“It gladdens my heart that you will. You may go now and make what preparations you need. We shall leave in three days time.”

Faramir made his farewells, bowed again and left.

Aragorn slumped wearily on the couch. He found every private audience with Faramir somewhat wearing. He felt torn between a desire to shake the man for his over formality and nervousness, or to embrace him as a troubled soul in need of love and reassurance. Imrahil had told him that Denethor had always treated Faramir coldly, reserving his affection and approval for Boromir. After his favoured son’s death, Denethor had lost his wits and tried to burn himself and his surviving son alive. Although, Faramir had been unconscious at the time, such dreadful events had unsurprisingly taken their toll on him. It said a good deal for the young man’s strength and resilience that he had recovered sufficiently to act as a most efficient and hard working Steward to the King.

Aragorn glanced out of the window behind him. The rain had almost stopped and the sun was struggling to come out from behind a cloud. He rose to his feet and stood looking out. A beautiful rainbow had formed and stood out in sharp contrast to the black clouds hovering over the city. Maybe it was a good sign for the future.

***

“I am sorry, my love, but I cannot,” Arwen said regretfully.

Her ladies dismissed, Aragorn was now alone with his Queen in her solar where she was sewing a tapestry.

“But, beloved, it was your idea!” he protested, dismayed at her reaction to the trip to the hunting lodge.

“I know and I wish I could come with you, but Ioreth says I must not.”

Aragorn looked bewildered. ”Ioreth? Whatever is it to do with that old crone?”

Arwen realised she could keep her secret no longer. “She is the most experienced midwife in Gondor,” she said quietly.

“You mean, you are…?” Aragorn was lost for words.

Arwen wished she could capture his expression of joyful amazement and cherish it for always. “Yes, Estel, we are going to have a child.”

“But when? How?” he stammered.

She smiled at him, wondering why men were so lost for words about something so natural. “The usual way, I believe, and our child should be born in a few month’s time, though Ioreth is uncertain about the exact date when the mother is an half Elven and the father a Man.”

“Why did you not tell me before?” Aragorn looked hurt. “I expect all of Gondor knows by now when I am the last to be told!”

“I disliked hiding it from you, but I feared something could go wrong,” Arwen explained,rising to her feet. “Ioreth assures me now three months have passed, all should be well, and I should carry the babe to term. She may let her tongue run away with her, but never about the ladies whom she attends. She is most discreet on that account. You have not said if you are pleased or not?” Arwen asked in mock indignation. She could already read the answer in his eyes.

Aragorn drew her close in a tight embrace. “Beloved, I am so happy, mere words cannot express my joy! I have dreamed of holding our child in my arms for so long! I will cancel the hunting trip. I cannot leave you at such a time!”

Arwen laughed. “There is no need, Ioreth assures me, I am perfectly well. The babe is not due until at least September, probably later.”

A light of realisation dawned in Aragorn’s eyes.” So that is why you have not wanted to eat breakfast and have not been able to sense my thoughts of late?”

Arwen laughed. “It surprised me that you did not notice before, not to mention that I am gaining weight!”

“I thought only that your beauty was increasing with each day!” Aragorn replied.

The Queen walked over to her writing desk and picked up a parchment lying there and her expression grew sombre. “I have just had word that my brothers are due to arrive any day. I will have much to discuss with them.”

Aragorn’s own eyes darkened with a mixture of sadness and guilt. “I am glad that you will see them again before they sail. I still feel guilty that I took you from your family, and soon you will be parted from them for eternity!”

Arwen gripped his hands fiercely and planted a loving kiss on his lips. “It was my choice to make. I would rather follow you beyond this world than sail to Valinor with my family. Soon, I will hold our child in my arms and we will create a new family, you and I!”

Aragorn returned her kiss. “I know, but you love your family dearly.”

Suddenly agitated,Arwen broke free of his embrace.“They could stay here for our lifetime if they chose to do so!” Arwen said with sudden anger. She returned to her needlework,sat down, and stabbed her needle into the tapestry with vigour. “But it is their choice not to. I have chosen to be with the man I love!”

“You have given up so much for me, though!” Aragorn’s eyes were moist with unshed tears.

“I have all that I ever wanted. Many suitors asked for my hand, but you were the only one my heart desired. Now let us plan your hunting trip, for I hope you catch friends rather than game!” Arwen laughed, her mood changing suddenly “I will have need of the Lady Éowyn in the months ahead!”

“What use could you have of that sour tongued lady?” Aragorn asked in bewilderment.

“She has become a good friend to me, and she is skilled as a midwife,” Arwen replied ”I would have her with me, both as a healer and a friend. Ioreth is very competent, but hardly comforting.”

Aragorn was about to comment that comforting was hardly a word to apply to the Lady Éowyn, when he remembered how he had heard she had reassured the women and children at Helm’s Deep and safely delivered a babe in the Glittering caves in the midst of the battle. Arwen’s choice was doubtless a wise one. He drew her close and kissed her again. “I will miss you, vanimelda!”

Arwen smiled as she returned his embrace. ”Once you are out in the wilds again, you will be so happy, you will forget all about me until you return!” she teased. “You might be King, but you are still an untamed Ranger at heart! Maybe, this little one will tame you? “ She grasped his hand and guided it to place over her belly.

Aragorn found himself trembling with awe, as he contemplated the miracle of new life growing within her. What he had scarcely dared to hope for was happening at last. He would soon have a child to hold in his arms. For seventy years, his dream of making her his wife had seemed almost impossible. Then, despite the fact they were both descended from the union of Lúthien an Elf, and Beren, a mortal, he had sometimes feared that children might not be possible from their union in this later age. What joy to know such worries was unfounded! Gondor needed an heir, but more than that, he wanted a son or daughter to love and nurture.

“Beloved!” he murmured again and kissed her tenderly.

***

Éowyn was furious when Faramir told her of the King’s invitation. “What?” she cried, “Spend weeks in the middle of nowhere with that despicable man! I will not go!”

“You should not speak of the King so disrespectfully!” Faramir chided.” You must come with me, Éowyn, the King especially requested it, and he is our Liege Lord. We owe him our duty.”

“Has he not done enough to ruin my life already?” she raged.

Faramir sighed. As he feared, she was still in love with Aragorn. How could he ever compare with his lord? “You need not see much of the King if you do not wish to,” he said, trying to placate her. “It will be an opportunity for you to leave the confines of the City and ride out in the countryside to your heart’s content.”

“I love riding, but not if he is within ten miles of me!” she snapped, storming out of the room.

Faramir let her go, wondering sadly if she would ever again look at him as she had done during their courtship. He wanted nothing more than to clasp her in his arms, smother her with passionate kisses and tell her how beautiful she was. He was certain though, if he tried any such thing, she would most likely repulse him and recoil in disgust from his embraces. He could only hope that spending time away from the Court with her might soften her heart towards him.

***

Éowyn wept in the privacy of her bedroom. This was the last straw. Not only had the King trapped her in a loveless marriage, but now was even forcing her to spend time in his company. Maybe, he even planned to try to make her his mistress. She knew such was the custom of past kings of Gondor, and of Rohan too, or so rumour told.

Drying her eyes, she came to a decision. She went into Faramir’s study, aware that he kept parchment and ink on his desk and helped herself to both. Dipping the pen in the ink, she began to write a letter.

‘Dearest brother,

I beg you to come and take me home. Faramir does not love me and cares nothing for my honour. I can endure it no longer.

Your loving sister, Éowyn.’

She addressed the missive and put it to one side, awaiting a chance to slip it amongst other documents destined for Rohan.

Feeling better after having decided to complain to her brother, Éowyn washed her face, changed her gown, and went down to prepare for the midday meal.

TBC