These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain

Mild und leise

wie er lächelt,
wie das Auge
hold er öffnet
seht ihr's Freunde?
Seht ihr's nicht?

( Softly and gently, how he smiles, as sweetly he opens his eyes, look friends, don’t you see it ?)

Wagner – Tristan and Isolde.

Finally, Arwen released Faramir. He staggered to the couch, collapsing there hunched; his throbbing head between his hands. He could not have felt more uncomfortably exposed had she torn all the clothing from his body and left him naked to her gaze.

Almost immediately, the Queen came to sit beside him, again the gentle Elf that he thought he knew.

“I am sorry,” Arwen reached out her hand and lightly touched his forehead, causing the pain to vanish as suddenly as it had appeared. “I know now how much you love him, differently, of course than I do, but just as deeply and sincerely. You told me no lie. I have seen the depths of Estel’s love and grief towards you. I needed to know, if your devotion is equal to that he bears you, since you truly believe that he is dead.”

“Please look at his clothes, my lady,” Faramir said wearily, hoping she would finally realise the cruel truth, once she had inspected the parcel’s pathetic contents. What the Queen was saying made little sense to him. He could only surmise that she had hoped to somehow prove that he was lying to her.

He unwrapped the parcel for her and sat with his head bowed while she touched each tattered garment. Arwen showed no sign of emotion until she came to the linen drawers. “These are not Estel’s,” she said firmly. “They are the same size and quality that he wears, but there is no white tree embroidered upon them.”

Faramir remembered when he had gone swimming with Aragorn and Legolas. Some goats had eaten their clothing and had taken a bite out of the King’s drawers while he was actually wearing them, much to Aragorn’s indignation. He had complained about ‘his White Tree’ being eaten.

“Was the embroidery just above the knee?” the Steward asked Arwen.

“Yes, I have stitched the device on all his linens. These are not Estel’s, but must have belonged to the poor wretch whose body you saw! It was not footpads to blame, I fear, but someone who covets the throne of Gondor and who wants us to think that Estel is dead.”

“It might well be true, my lady, that the murderers planned to kill the King, but I fear it was his body that I saw,” Faramir insisted, with increasing desperation, wondering how he could convince her to accept the harsh truth.

Tell me what did you see in your dreams, Faramir?” Arwen asked, in abrupt change of subject.

“They were but phantoms of a troubled mind, my lady,” Faramir replied, not wishing to further encourage her stubborn refusal to accept Aragorn’s death.

“Tell me!”

He had little choice but to comply when she lifted her hands as if she planned to wrest more thoughts from his brain.

“I saw Aragorn’s face. He was bloodied and bruised and was begging me to aid him,” Faramir replied. “He was in some dark place which I could not see. Obviously, I was seeing him just before he died. It preys on my mind that I was not there to aid him when he needed me.”

Arwen shook her head vehemently “That is no dream, but a vision! Listen to what your heart tells you. I have seen exactly the same, night after night, every day for almost a week. These are no mere dreams. Now tell me everything that has been happening since I left Minas Tirith.”

Feeling on somewhat safer ground here, Faramir did as he was bidden, telling her of the people grumbling at Aragorn’s methods to prevent the fever spreading. He told her too of the Council, some of whose members had never accepted the King and  complained ceaselessly about his reforms He explained how some lords had been trying to bring the old regime back in one form or another, by every means possible, ranging from questioning whether an Elf could truly bear a mortal’s child, to most recently trying to contrive a marriage between Eldarion and Elbeth.

Arwen knew some of these facts but her expression darkened.

The Steward concluded by saying, “I fear now, my lady, that you too, might be in danger. There was an attempt to follow me here. I fortunately succeeded in throwing off the pursuers. At first I thought them simply curious about your whereabouts, but it seems that something more sinister may be at work.”

“That is precisely what I suspected,” said Arwen grimly. ”They have captured my husband and are planning to use this Elbeth to gain power through a marriage to my son!”

Faramir rubbed his eyes, trying hard to concentrate on what to say or do next, but found grief and weariness were making it difficult to do so, or indeed to even take in all the implications of what Arwen was saying. Could it be possible that his King still lived? Was there some sinister plot against the Royal Family or was it just wishful thinking, rather than the cruel reality that the man they both loved was no more, killed in the same random fashion that any beggar might be?

Arwen laid a cool hand on his brow, “You need to rest,” she said gently. “Go now to your lady and lie down. We will talk again later.”

“Do you not need Éowyn with you tonight to comfort you?” he asked, much as he desired the solace of his wife’s presence, duty always had to come first.

“I am not in need of comfort, but rather of counsel how best to aid my husband! I would be alone now.” Arwen replied in a tone that brokered no argument.

Faramir inclined his head and left the room, going first in search of his loyal captain Beregond, who guarded his household here at Emyn Arnen. He bade him to be especially vigilant. He then went in search of Éowyn and his daughter.

He found his wife sitting on the bed, watching over Elestelle in her cradle and crying quietly.

Faramir picked up his daughter. He held her tightly, as if fearing that some evil might tear her from him too.

A fresh wave of grief overwhelmed him at the realisation; she would grow up without knowing the one who had saved her life after her untimely birth. Young though she was, she appeared to have already developed a bond with the King. Often Aragorn had been able to soothe her, with a single word or touch when Faramir and Éowyn’s best efforts failed. Sensing his distress, the baby began to cry. Faramir sat rocking her until she quietened. His wife wordlessly took the infant, put her to her breast, and soothed her until she began to suckle contentedly. Faramir watched his daughter with something approaching envy that her cares could so easily be remedied.

“You look exhausted,” Éowyn said at last, replacing her daughter in the cradle. “Why not prepare for bed? It is growing late and you will have to return to the City tomorrow. I will go and see how the Queen fares.”

Faramir nodded and retired to his dressing room to prepare for bed.

The Steward must have dozed slightly as the next thing he was aware of, was Éowyn climbing into bed beside him. She pulled him close. They lay there tightly clasped in each other’s arms. They clung to each other as desperately as shipwrecked mariners to a plank of driftwood.

“How is the Queen?” Faramir asked. ”I fear the poor lady refuses to accept that her husband is dead.. She believes she sees some clever scheming to feign the King’s death, but I still think he was the victim of robbers. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“She could be right, you should not underestimate her,” Éowyn replied, giving Arwen’s suspicious more credence than Faramir would have expected. “Remember how Wormtongue almost destroyed my Uncle with his plotting. And my cousin Théodred’s death was no random orc attack but a carefully planned ambush. Something similar could have happened to Aragorn.”

“I had hoped now Sauron was destroyed that such evils were in the past,” Faramir said sadly. “The way some of our own Council Members behave appals me, they seem to have hated the King worse than the Dark Lord himself!”

Éowyn thought sadly about her own past hatred of Aragorn. ”He inspires strong emotions,” she said thoughtfully. “Once you truly knew him, though, you cannot help but to have loved him. He did so much for us. Without him, we would have died as well as losing our baby.” She glanced fondly to where Elestelle was sleeping peacefully in her crib at the foot of the bed.

“So you think the Queen could be right?” Faramir enquired.

“About the conspiracy, yes, but I fear it is just wishful thinking that her husband is still alive. After all, you saw the body. She probably forgot to embroider one pair of his drawers.  I cannot make any sense of all these premonitions and mental bonds! I think you both are just being troubled by evil dreams, which is natural given the circumstances.”

“Aragorn would know what it all meant,” Faramir said without thinking and promptly burst into tears. "Alas, Éowyn, his poor body was so mutilated that I could not even give him a farewell kiss in blessing!” he sobbed.

Éowyn kissed him tenderly and stroked her husband’s dark hair. They clung together tightly for mutual comfort until sleep finally claimed them.

As the night progressed, Faramir dreamed again of the King, this time more bloodied and haggard than before; he was gazing at his Steward with those remarkable eyes of his, while calling out, ’Faramir, help me I beg! Dark forces surround you, have a care!’

Faramir cried out and awoke covered in a cold sweat.

“What is the matter, are you unwell?” Éowyn asked in alarm.

“It was Aragorn again, I saw him again calling me,” Faramir replied, clutching at her wildly.

Before she could say anything, they heard screams from the Queen’s bedchamber.

Not even pausing to don a robe over her nightgown, Éowyn hurried to investigate what ailed her friend.