CHAPTER SIX: FOUND OBJECTS

Faramir's heart raced as he watched the woman Bes settle back on the window seat, eyes closed, cat curled in her lap. She presented the very picture of an innocent beaten and wronged.

On the other hand, she was a deceiver--she, and especially, Marod. And Bes had the palantir. This woman kept her secret for six months and more. Was a woman who built an elaborate smoke screen to cover her tryst someone he could trust?

His father trusted her. What sort of judge of character was the Lord Denethor in his later years, at the end?

The urge to look in the stone suddenly overrode Faramir's patient deliberations on Bes' honesty. Of what consequence were her problems when compared to the possibility of his gaining the palantir? One look in the Anor stone might reveal the presence of lingering enemies lurking about Gondor's borders. It could reveal what was happening in the land most Gondorians feared to explore--the wastes of Mordor. Then melancholy suddenly overcame Faramir. The stone could also let him look on the face of his beloved so far away.

He knelt beside the window and touched Bes' shoulder. Her eyes sprang open. "Is the palantir well secured?" he spoke, barely above a whisper.

"Aye, my Lord Steward," Bes said. "I am not clever enough to tell you how to find it. It's complicated. I'd have to show you. No one else could even guess where it is."

"Then you must tell me where it is," Faramir demanded softly.

"Why, it's hidden in the Observatory, of course. I couldn't have left the Tower with it under my arm with all them fell beasts flying about, could I? But the place is secret, a spot my Lord Steward used to hide his most treasured things. He made me swear not to reveal it before he gave me permission to clean there."

"My father trusted you. Evidentally, so must I," Faramir decided. Then he called out to the Guardsmen to bring Marod.

I must make this woman take him to the palantir, whatever the condition of her back, Faramir thought. The stone was his family's heirloom. Though by rights it should become the property of the king.

That king had left Faramir in charge of Gondor. For the next six months, he had the ultimate responsibility for judging rights and wrongs, and for overseeing the needs of the people. That duty was far more important in the end, than any strange longing to use the seeing stone. So had Faramir's life always been: duty and then desire.

Bes gasped and raised her head. Snaking tendrils of black and silver hair slipped away from her face, revealing flushed cheeks in an otherwise pale, pinched face. "My lord, I beg you for mercy," her voice quavered. "I only told stories so I could hide from my husband's wrath. I faithfully cared for your father's secret Observatory, even after he died."

Marod entered the Steward's offices with his usual, brisk pace, though his face bore a downcast expression. He stopped before Faramir's chair and nodded his head slightly in deference. Faramir gestured for the guardsman to sit. Then he ordered:

"Have that Observatory carefully cleaned. I want the cloths removed from all the objects within and everything well dusted. You personally must be present while the staff cleans. When Lord Hurin arrives, I'll have him authorize you to organize and supervise the inventory of everything in the Observatory. I can't begin to imagine all the stuffs that have sat in that room unknown and unused during my father's rule and even Ecthelion's before him."

"As you command!" Marod said and started to rise.

Faramir laid a restraining hand on the Guardsman's shoulder, "See to it that you do your duty well. I am not sure yet what your fate will be, though you cannot continue as Captain of the Tower Guard. Before you can have another position of authority, you have to prove yourself worthy of everyone's trust. Start by supervising that inventory. And if you find the Anor stone..."

"He will not find it!" Bes spoke up indignantly. "No one will." Then her voice cracked and she sobbed, "Please, Lord Faramir, don't send me from the Tower. I served Lord Denethor well, kept his secrets, kept the Observatory spotless."

"You were adept at keeping not only my father's secrets but your own, as well," Faramir noted, his voice chilly. "Leave us, Marod, and go plan out the inventory until Hurin arrives."

After Marod left, Faramir leaned over Bes' body to pat the top of Cirri's head. "It troubles me that you would abandon your children with such a brutal husband while you hid in the Tower all these months," he said, more sympathetically.

"Children?" Bes scoffed. "I had no children with Borlan. With my first husband I had me son Micah. A fine man he is, too, with Hild, a worthy wife and good daughter-in-law, I might add."

"Can you stay with them?" Faramir asked because it was proper, though he had misgivings about letting Bes far out of his sight.

Fortunately, the woman shook her head resolutely, "And sit there with a pretty smile on me face while I wait for Borlan's next visit?

"I was on me way to Micah and Hild last night when Borlan decided to find me," Bes twisted on the window seat. "He pulled me into the alley and proceeded to have at me. Would've killed me, too, but we must have raised such a commotion. My children heard us and chased him off. Micah walked me to the Tower last night with a big stick in his hand."

Faramir carefully considered Bes' response. Yes, he must keep her close at hand, under guard, to keep her safe and, even more so, to ensure that she honored her promise to deliver the palantir. "I find your story most disturbing," he said. "Some of it defies logic. I don't understand how you could have kept your husband from finding your hiding place until he caught you visiting your son."

"My husband's suspected that I was living somewhere in the Citadel from near a week after I moved in," Bes retorted. "I came back then and demanded me property. He beat me so badly that I wound up in the Houses of Healing. I haven't returned to him since. He doesn't care about me, you see. He just wants my inheritance from my first husband. He left me alone until last week, when I had him served with a divorce. He's always known where my son and his family lived and figured out that I might want to visit them."

"Ah, at last some of the pieces of your story are coming together," Faramir said. "Then I shall offer you this proposal, good woman Bes. I'll see to your legal issues, and make sure this Borlan is brought to justice for beating you. In return, you can stay temporarily in my townhouse. I have an extra room in the servant's quarters. My housekeeper can set you up until you are well enough to climb the steps of the Citadel and give me the palantir."

"Lord Faramir, it was always my intent to give it to you," Bes protested.

"This time I will be there to see that you carry out your good intentions," Faramir reminded her sternly.

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To his mind, Faramir kept his part of their bargain. He had Bes sequestered in the servants' quarters under good Cook's care. It was as much a velvet prison as a safe haven for the woman. She was not allowed out until she deemed herself well enough for the journey to the palantir. Fortunately, Bes turned out to be a lively though not very mobile house guest. Her tales of Denethor were quite captivating. They painted a picture of Denethor in his later years, when Faramir was much estranged and physically far away from his troubled parent.

The pair of Tower Guardsmen always stationed at the townhouse's entrance would have prevented Bes' leaving, had she chosen to flee. They also regulated who came to visit. Thus, Faramir got to meet Bes' son and daughter-in-law. Marod, however, was not allowed to visit, as part of his punishment for deceiving his supervisors. Bes' ruffian of a husband Borlan never ventured to the townhouse, which was just as well, in Faramir's estimation.

The Keeper of the Keys was most unhappy, and frankly downhearted, to find that two men he held in high regard had been engaged in spurious behavior. And over the same woman, yet. When Marod confessed his tall tale about the Observatory, Hurin assured Faramir that the guardsman's demotion was sufficient punishment for the infraction.

Marod had shown his eagerness to reinstate himself in his lords' good graces by effectively planning and then overseeing the ongoing inventory of the Observatory. That inventory turned up many valuable items, nearly as much rubbish, and a few articles that were unidentifiable. Faramir read the updated lists each night, searching for mention of a strange black stone. Said inventory uncovered five rotting mouse carcasses and many more mouse sightings that did not sit well with the female inventory takers. No mention of any item that remotely resembled a palantir.

So Faramir once again decided to haul his cat to the Observatory of the Tower of Echthelion. He could switch off carrying the basket with the Tower Guards on the laborious journey to the tenth floor. Then Cirri could prove his usefulness as a mouser while Faramir and Bes set to the object of their venture, uncovering the hidden palantir.

Bes' husband Borlan was a different problem. He had served Hurin well for ten years. As Bes told it, Hurin introduced her to Borlan two years after her first husband had died in service to Boromir. At some point Bes realized that Borlan had married her to get his hands on her first husband's sizeable military pension. The entire affair disgusted Faramir to his core. He insisted that Hurin order his officers to imprison the blacksmith for serious offenses: beating his wife and attempting to steal her money.

The energy that Faramir had put into Bes' affair kept his mind from relentless obssessing on the still missing palantir. Nevertheless, every night, after long discussions with Bes and his usual preparations with Cook, Faramir's mind resumed its anxious speculation about the stone. He tried to quell his worries by imagining his Eowyn in her bower in far-off Rohan. Did she still love him? Did she still even think of him? Now, if he had the palantir, perhaps he could use it to have a look at her? Was spying on your sweetheart an appropriate use of the palantir?

What if someone had removed the palantir from what Bes had assured him was a very safe hiding place?

And if he and Bes did find the palantir, could he use it?

Would he look into the stone and see nothing but blackness, like his grandfather Ecthelion and so many previous Stewards?

Only the most intellectually powerful folk--evil Maiar and humans of the highest bloodlines--could bend the palantir to their wills. And yet Peregrin Took, a foolish young halfling, had seen images in the sphere that were used by the Dark Lord in an attempt to snare Pip's mind. Pippin was hardly an intellectual and scholar, though he was of noble blood, as Shire folk accounted such things.

But could Faramir use the Anor Stone?

Four days had passed since the fire in the Observatory. Bes' back had healed enough so that she could climb stairs without pain. Faramir had survived his nightly frets about the stone. On the fifth morning, he wrapped his sturdy Ranger's cloak about his shoulders against the chill of the late Fall morning. Then he gathered Bes, the pair of Tower Guards, and the carrier containing his extremely unhappy cat into a small troop for their journey to the Tower. When they arrived at their destination, they climbed the Tower stairs at a leisurely pace, stopping every three flights for a rest. At these times, the previously quiet Cirri scratched at the walls of his basket prison and whimpered. The guards obliged the cat's protests with sympathetic murmurings. Faramir stoically refrained from comment.

The tenth floor was abuzz with activity when Faramir's party finally climbed the last stair. Bes bent over slightly and rubbed the small of her back. "Aye, it hurts, if that's what you're wondering," she sassed to the little entourage.

The Observatory doors were wide open, without so much as a guard on either side. Upon entering, Faramir immediately noticed how the room's oppressive clutter was now under control. Very few objects remained covered by white sheets. Instead he saw the lovely statues, long under wraps, now undergoing intense cleaning and polishing by the women of the Tower staff. Many books had been pulled from the uncovered shelves; they lay in orderly piles against the wall, awaiting categorization.

In the room's dead center, the magnificently carved pedestal for the palantir shone from newly-applied gloss. Marod leaned against it, brandishing a smile that gleamed nearly as bright as the pedestal's new wax job. "My Lord Steward," he said, and added a deferential nod. "We've had the pedestal appraised by the City Museum's curator. It took three of us, but we turned it upside down and found that it is signed and dated on the bottom. It was carved by a sculptor called Aravir during the Stewardship of Hurin I. I'm afraid it is only 800 years old."

"And we thought it came from Numenor," Faramir chuckled as he escorted Bes to her lover's side. He retrieved Cirri's carrier from the guardsmen and freed the impatient animal. "Don't leave the room," Faramir warned. Cirri joyfully leaped beneath an unruly mass of discarded sheets a few statues away.

The demoted guardsman kissed his sweetheart gladly. Then he told Faramir, "The curator thought it was a copy of a copy of a copy of the original pedestal from Anarion's time."

"It's breath-taking, whatever its origin," Faramir spoke and then realized that he indeed was having trouble breathing. The artistically carved markings on the pedestal's top that indicated the directions of the compass were mute reminders of the purpose of his journey. The bowl-like indentation was obviously the cradle for the stone. He could no longer tary.

"Have the folk stop their work and take the rest of the day off," Faramir ordered. "Send the guards down to my office. You, too, Marod. Take your lunch break and wait for Bes in Hurin's office. I doubt she will be more than an hour. Bes will stay here until she completes her promise to me."

Faramir studied Bes' face as she separated, yet again, from her lover. Curiously, she was calm, happy, even as Faramir's aggitation increased to the point where he could barely swallow. The five workers left their tasks, curtsied slightly, and then left the room, followed by a much less happy Marod.

"Well, my Lord Steward, come with me and let's find the stone," Bes smiled blithely. She looked about her, as if to ensure that she and Faramir were the only people in the Observatory. Satisfied, she headed to a far corner where several empty bookcases rested against an inside wall. Faramir followed, trying to regain his breath.

"I wonder if anyone tried to turn this," Bes said with some vexation. She pointed to a knob on the right side of the second shelf . "Oh, probably not," she concluded and gave the knob a turn. Bes pulled at the bookcase to reveal that the unit was built into a door. That door opened at the woman's slight tug on the bookshelf's side panel.

Admittedly, Faramir had hoped the disguised door would reveal a secret, musty room full of old potions and cobwebs. Instead, Bes led him into a well-tended, walk-in linen closet, half full with neatly folded furniture covers, curtains, and bedding for secret lovers, carefully stacked on their shelves. The contents appeared to be untouched.

"I suppose I must let the rest of the staff know where to store the sheets once they are cleaned," Bes sighed. She knelt down before one of the shelves. When Faramir started to kneel, she held her hand out. "Stand back, my Lord," she admonished him before fishing for the keys she kept on the girdle about her waist. He moved a few steps back and bent slightly toward her to observe. Bes pulled away some folded sheets from a center shelf. Sure enough, behind these was a simple lock, into which Bes inserted one of her keys.

The lock responded with a squeaky click. Bes pushed against the right side of the bookshelf. It easily moved backward even as the left side swung forward, revealing that the shelving unit was mounted on a turntable. Only the first few feet of the hall behind the shelves were visible in the faint day light filtering in from the Observatory. Ostensibly quite familiar with her surroundings, Bes pulled out her trusty tinderbox from the pouch hanging from her girdle. She reached up to light the brazier in the hall just beyond the moveable shelves. The bleak, unpainted walls glowed in an amber light.

"I've heard of secret passages in the Tower but never believed the stories," Faramir said as Bes gestured for him to follow. "Yet here is this hall. I wonder why Father showed it to you?"

"He wanted me to clean it, of course," Bes shrugged. "The hall doesn't go much further. Someone boarded it up. Lord Denethor said it was closed off hundreds of years ago."

They walked barely ten paces beyond the turntable door to come upon a long set of bookcases, stacked with well-cared-for volumes. Out of habit, Faramir quickly scanned some of the titles and gulped at the rock that formed in his throat. Volume after volume bore the title, "Annals of the Steward Denethor II," and dates from various years during his father's life time.

"Look here," Bes interrupted Faramir's astonished thoughts. She gestured to a rolled up length of fur squished into a half-filled bottom shelf. "No one's been here, as I promised. Take it, my Lord."

Faramir's knees quivered as he bent. He carefully retrieved the fur bunting so that it would not unwrap and cause him to drop its treasure. The package was surprisingly light. "Come, Bes," Faramir whispered. "Close the doors behind you so that it appears like we have never been here."

"Aye, Lord Faramir," Bes agreed though Faramir hardly heard her. He moved quickly from the secret hall to the linen closet to the unoccupied Observatory, basking in the mid-afternoon sun. He stopped before the shining pedestal and positioned his burden in the cradle in the pedestal's top.

"Leave me, now," he ordered the smiling woman. "Tell the guards to bang on the doors at sunset, if I am not down by then." He was vaguely aware of Bes shutting the Observatory doors. He was somewhat more aware that Cirri rubbed against his leg and made an inquiring meow.

Barely breathing, Faramir carefully unwrapped the furs. Cradled in its home for the first time in months was the Anor stone, so black, so opaque, so dense in color that it did not reflect the image of the Observatory windows upon its surface.

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Author's Note

"Dead Steward's Gift" fills a gap in the tales of Fourth Age Gondor, as they might have occurred, given the events in the "Lord of the Rings" film trilogy. Not quite movieverse. Not quite canon. All mine.