Chapter Thirty-Three – The Beginning of Fare Well

They had all left her – gone to do her bidding – so she sat, in total silence, waiting for her heart to ease its pounding. Ever since she had met with the wizard, her head had hurt, she’d been dizzy, and her heart pounded. Now that she was away from him, and Faramir would be safe, she felt hopeful. After many long minutes, she stood and walked to her desk. She opened one of the drawers she had not yet cleaned out. At the top, a paper lay. She picked it up and touched it. Denethor’s scrawl lay across it. A tear fell, then another. She quickly put it back in the drawer before the writing was obliterated. She saw something sticking out. She pushed aside the layers of paper and found a game piece. She held the little Steward in her shaking hand and cried aloud, “Denethor!” How he loved the game of Stewards and Kings; how he loved these pieces, given to him by their uncle, Cranthir, so many years ago. She wept.

Balan entered the room, sword drawn. He stopped, embarrassed as he saw the tears upon her face, and turned to leave.

She saw him. “I am well, Balan.”

“I heard the wizard, my Lady, I thought his words were gentle, kind, until I looked upon your face. You sat so nobly, just like your brother before you. I saw I was mistaken. As soon as I looked at you, I could hear the lies. I could hear him properly. That is the only way I can describe it. As if his words were translated from their sticky sweetness to hard truth.” The guard knelt at her feet. “I am not explaining this well.” He took a deep breath. “Suffice it to say, my Lady, I know you are truly meant to govern us in this time. Do not question yourself.” He stood quickly. “Forgive my temerity. I am sorry. I overstep my bounds.”

“Nay,” she smiled through her tears. “You speak welcome words. I was just questioning myself.”

“The Lord Denethor could not have done better.”

“Thank you.” He made as if to leave; she stopped him. “I must meet with the wizard again, but I would wait till the morrow. If he comes, or sends word to me, delay him. I will see him at the third bell in the Great Hall. And I would have you at my side.”

He bowed, deep gratitude showing in the smile he gave her. “I will ask Lord Húrin to send an invitation for the audience.”

“Thank you.” She turned back to the desk as he left the room, replaced the game piece, and closed the drawer.

She stood and slipped through the hidden door, went down two flights, and opened another. She was in Listöwel’s chambers. The room held a hint of chaos. Trunks were open; Borondir and Ragnhild were packing clothes and necessaries. She was surprised to see the Rohir there. They were surprised to see her so suddenly appear. Borondir looked about him in confusion, but she said naught.

Listöwel stepped from her bedchamber, saw her, and ran forward. Hugging her tightly, she whispered, “Ragnhild will stay in my chambers this night to prevent a repeat of this afternoon’s incident. She is not a fool, Indis. She knows you are sending Faramir away and asked to help. If she stays here, all will be protected.”

“I agree.” She pulled away from the embrace. “Where is Faramir?”

“He is taking a bath,” Borondir smiled. “Seems he has not had a proper one since his dunking in the Anduin. He is this way. Be careful, though,” he admonished, and at her look of alarm said, “The floor is wet from his splashing. I do not want you to fall.”

She laughed and rejoiced in the feel of it. He led her into Listöwel’s study. A great tub was centered between the fireplace and the settle. Faramir played quietly in the bubbles. He looked up when they entered and squeaked. “Amma! Amma!”

She knelt in the slopped water at the foot of the tub and held his hand. Tears, unbidden, slipped down her cheeks as she looked upon him whom she thought had been lost to her forever.

“Do not cry, Amma. I am back and I will never leave you again. Well – at least until Ethuil. I did promise Strider…”

“And you will keep that promise, Faramir, never fear.” He smiled and the sun broke through the clouds of her sorrow.

“We thought it best if you told him.” Listöwel had followed her into the room. Borondir left them.

“Tell me what, Amma?”

She was always amazed by the sharpness of his mind. Nothing escaped him. “Your aunt has given birth to a brother for Elphir. Your uncle wishes you to join them to help keep Elphir company.”

“What is the baby’s name?”

“Erchirion.”

“Hmmm. Son of the lord. Poor baby. At least Elphir’s is better. Why did they name him that?”

She laughed again. “Your mind is swifter than mine, dear heart. I did not think upon its meaning, just the good news.”

“When do we leave?”

At that moment, Éomund stepped into the room. “I told you I would return to fare you well, Faramir.” The Rohir stopped. “Forgive me, Lady Indis. I did not know you were here. I only stopped to…”

“Éomund! I am grateful – for everything. When will we see you again?”

“If I might, Mettarë is spectacular in Minas Tirith. Might I bring my bride and celebrate it with you and your family?”

Faramir squeaked once again. Indis looked lovingly at her nephew. “I believe you have your answer. If you wish, ask your King to join us. We would be pleased and honored to have him.”

Éomund’s face clouded. “He is still weighted with grief over his mother’s death.” He shook his head, then smiled lightly, “But I will ask him, nonetheless.”

“When,” Indis had to sit. Éomund ran to her side. “When did Morwen pass?”

“This spring, Indis. Did you not know? Was not a messenger sent?” He stood; his scowl filled his face. “Who would keep such knowledge from you – and you close friend and shield sister?”

“Listöwel,” she cried out. “Listöwel!”

Her friend ran into the room and knelt immediately at Indis’ feet. “What has happened? Are you well?”

Indis sobbed. Éomund took Listöwel’s hand. “I bear sad news. News that I thought had already been known to you. Morwen Steelsheen passed this spring.”

“How?” Indis sobbed.

“Fever. There was an outbreak in Aldburg. She was afraid for Théodwyn and went to help. She contracted it herself. I am sorry. You should have been told.”

Faramir gently sat in her lap, wrapped in a towel. She felt him stroking her face. “I am sorry, Amma. So sorry you lost your friend.”

She held him close and sobbed into the towel. “Thank you, Faramir.” She looked up in surprise. “You are still wet. Come, let us dry your hair and put some clothes on your back. Listöwel, bring him an outfit. Borondir,” the retired warrior stepped through the door. “Send for food and drink. Éomund must not begin his journey with an empty stomach. Faramir, you must eat too.”

“You also, Amma. We are leaving tonight?”

“Oh!” She sobbed once again. “We will speak after the meal.” Listöwel entered with a clean set of clothing.

“I will help him dress, if you don’t mind,” Éomund said firmly. “He is old enough to have a man-servant, not be dressed by women.”

Faramir giggled.

“Thank you, Éomund. I will leave you some privacy, Faramir. Come into the dining chamber when you are ready.”

~*~

After the meal, Éomund stood. “I must be away now. I would reach the North Gate before Anor sets.”

“We will leave you to your fare wells.” She motioned and the others went into Listöwel’s study.

As she moved to pass him, he took her gently in his arms. “Be of good courage, dearest friend. I am with you in all things and only a beacon fire from your side. If you have need of me and do not send for me, I will be hurt and dismayed. Remember that.”

She nodded, too overcome with emotion to speak. He hugged her warmly, kissed her gently, and watched her leave.

Faramir giggled.

“None of that, you little colt! Now, tell me what you wish me to bring for Mettarë.”

“Théodred!” the boy answered with nary a thought.

Éomund laughed heartily. “If I have to sneak him out in the middle of the night, I will bring him, I promise. Now, when you meet with Strider, make sure he tells you the right way to hold a sword. By Béma, I wish I had more time here. He will instruct you poorly, I’m sure, and I will have to undue the harm.”

The boy’s eyes opened wide. “Truly?”

“Nay!” Éomund laughed again. “But you tell Strider that. We are old friends and it would be fun to tease him.”

Faramir nodded, his eyes now shining with mirth. “I will do that, Éomund.” He suddenly lunged at the Rohir. “Do not leave. Come with me to Dol Amroth. Uncle has many rooms or you can sleep with me.”

“Ah, Faramir. My heart would say yes, but I have my duties to my people and my king.”

Faramir bit his lip. “I know duty.”

“Yes, beloved boy. You know duty well. Above many others twice your age. Fear nothing, Faramir, for your mind is quick and your heart is pure. You have family and friends who love you beyond thought or reason. Remember that. As I told your aunt, if ever you need me, light a beacon, send the Red Arrow, do anything and I will come to you.”

“Thank you, Éomund.” The boy began to cry quietly. “I will miss you.”

“Ah, my dear boy, I will miss you too. Remember, we will see each other at Mettarë and I will bring Théodred. Think of some sport and games you might play whilst he is here.”

“Oh! By that time, we will both be warriors and will spend our time sparring.”

Éomund bit his lip to keep the laughter form spilling forth. He schooled his face to seriousness and replied, “Yes, you will be sparring all day I suppose and I will rarely see you.”

“Never!” Faramir shouted and hugged the Rohir closely.

He wept and Éomund was strangely pleased. “I love you, Faramir. I will miss you. Now,” he gently extricated himself from Faramir’s stranglehold and stood up. “Take care of your Amma.”

“I will,” the boy promised and saluted. The Rohir returned the favor and left the room. Faramir sat in the middle of the floor and wept.

Borondir found him thus. “Your aunt awaits you. We have much to speak of, Faramir. The night and its troubles are not over yet.”

The boy looked at him quizzically and stood, following him with nary a question.

~*~

A/N – Béma - The name for Oromë among the Northmen. http://www.glyphweb.com/arda/b/bema.html