Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

“Here begins the council of the Lord Faramir son of Denethor, the twenty-seventh Ruling Steward of Gondor,” the scribe announced. “The first matter to be discussed is the war and our defence.”

“My lords, this is my first council as the Steward,” I said. “I am glad to announce that we are victorious.”

There were chuckles all around. Having lived without hope for so many years, we all still could not believe the turn of the tide.

I continued, “There will be other battles with the remnants of the Enemy’s forces, but the war has been won.”

“The victory was dearly bought and we will not forget the fallen. After the Host of the West return, we will gather at the Great Hall to remember those who have fallen: soldiers, lieutenants, captains, Lords Forlong, Hirluin, Duilin and Derufin, Haldad, and the late Lord Steward Denethor.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as I mentioned my father. I continued, “We all know the late Steward did not die well, but he devoted all his life for Gondor and that is what we will honour and remember.”

We then discussed the matter of weregild. We agreed to pay a princely weregild to Rohan, and also a weregild to the Dunedain of the North (not exactly a princely sum, but still noble).

There was not much debate on this matter. The Prince of Dol Amroth declared that he had considered Aragorn his liege lord after the Battle of the Pelennor. He added, “Yet I am ever behind you and for you, my Lord Steward. If you choose to reject this claim, Dol Amroth will stand with you.”

The lords of Lamedon, Lebennin, and Anfalas could not be more enthusiastic to welcome the king. The king who even the Dead obeyed, who has liberated them from the corsairs, who had healed many of their men, who would not want to follow him? They were rather wary of what changes the king would bring, but all in all they were happy to welcome him.

Old Angborn made sure I know it was not because he thought less of me, bless his kind heart. “I have full confidence in your ability to rule Gondor, Faramir, but we would do well to welcome the King who has clearly returned,” he said.

The new lord of Lossarnach was concerned about having a stranger from the North to rule over Gondor (over Gondor’s wealth, to be precise). When we mentioned the condition we put forth concerning the separate treasury of Gondor and Arnor, he was rather mollified. “As long as our wealth stay within our land,” he said. Lossarnach was a rich region.

“Lord Aragorn understands that,” Prince Imrahil said. “And our Lord Treasurer has ever guarded our coffers wisely.” Like a dragon hoarding his gold, Father used to grumble.

Old Lord Meneldil, who has held the position since the early days of my father’s rule, grunted his assent.

“Though there may be time,” I pointed out, “after we settle the needs of Gondor, to contribute to the rebuilding of our kinsmen’s land in Arnor.”

Some were reluctant to accept Lord Aragorn, or indeed any king. We did not lose so many of our kins in battles, only to hand over the kingdom to a stranger from the North, they said. We had done well enough without a king for so long, why should we change that?

Hirgalad of Pinnath Gellin said that we should repeat the answer of Pelendur to Arvedui, because, “as your father often said, Lord Faramir, the crown of Gondor belongs to the House of Anarion.”

When Prince Imrahil reminded him that Aragorn is both the heir of Isildur and of Anarion, Hirgalad countered that the female line was not recognised by the Law of Gondor. He did not fail to mention that my father would never have accepted Isildur’s heir’s claim.

I nodded and said, “You are right, Lord Hirgalad. My father the late steward would not have accepted this claim. But I will accept it, and we have heard that most of my Council members agree with this.”

“You will defy your father’s wish, then. I could not say you are obliged to obey his wish, after what he did to you in the last Council, but do not make your decision simply to defy his wish.”

I realized that the council chamber had become completely silent. Hirgalad seemed to regret his words and were going to speak again, but I raised my hand to stay him.

“I am the Steward of Gondor, Lord Hirgalad. I make decision based on what is best for Gondor, as far as I can see it. I did consider the late Steward’s wishes, for he was a wise ruler, but they need not dictate my decision.”

“As to what he did in the last Council, if by that you meant his decision to send some of our forces to defend Osgiliath, that was what he, the Steward, thought best for Gondor’s defence. Let us all respect that decision. The decision was not without merit, it was in keeping with Gondor’s overall defence strategy.

“But you said what he did to me, so I think you referred to the bitter words that I and my father exchanged. About that, I believe I am entitled, as every man of Gondor is, to keep that private matter to myself and not to speak more of it here.”

We were going to take a vote, when suddenly the scribe raised his hand and asked for a permission to speak.

At a nod from me, he said, “Forgive me, my lords, it is not my place to speak, I am here only to record the council, but...,” he turned to me, “but, what will happen to you, my lord, if the King returns?”

Looking at his concerned face, I thought, a compliment does not come higher than this.

“Lord Faramir should remain the chief councillor to the King,” Angbor said. “I thought Prince Imrahil mentioned this in Osgiliath?”

“Hinted it,” said the Prince. “I hope it was clear enough? I could not say it outright, that would have displeased Lord Faramir.”

“In our reply, we should add another condition: that Lord Faramir should retain a position as the chief councillor to the King.” That was Lord Húrin.

“And remain the Captain General,” said the Captain of the First Company of the Guard of Minas Tirith.

“If this heir of Elendil is as wise as you painted him, he should have done that without we suggesting it. If he turns out to be not that wise, well, is not that what we are here for?” That was Lord Meneldil.

I was touched that they held me in such high regards and I told them as much. I rejected their proposal of adding another condition to the King, of course.

Lest I should become too proud, the next one to speak was Lord Hador of Anorien. “Or perhaps, the Lord Steward has reached an understanding with the Lord Aragorn? Otherwise, how would one so calmly surrender his position?” This insinuation was rude, but not entirely unreasonable.

I looked at him until he looked away. “Lord Aragorn and I understand each other well enough,” I said dryly. “But it seems that the word you had in mind was not understanding, but negotiation, Lord Hador? I did not negotiate with the Lord Aragorn, and never will.”

After we counted the votes, I stood up and announced, “The Council of Gondor will accept the claim of Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir of Elendil, to the crown of Gondor.”

The Council agreed to send a letter to Aragorn that we await his entry to Minas Tirith as our king. I myself wrote the letter.

Thus my childhood dream came true: the shadow departed and the king returned. I had lived to see it. I felt a great joy, like a child who was finally given something he has long desired. Yet, at the same time, I wondered whether I had done ill.

I did what I could, in the short time that I was given, to get to know the King, and I liked what I found. I presented his claim fairly to the Council of Gondor and we had accepted it. I accepted him as my King; did I do it for the right reason? Ever your desire is to appear lordly and generous as a king of old, gracious, gentle… Have I squandered my charge for my feelings and fancies, for my desire to appear lordly and generous?

After the messenger left with the letter to be sent to the King, I went out of my study and walked to the adjoining chamber. It was in this chamber, I had been told, that my father spent long agonizing hours at my side, waiting for a word which never came. Waiting for a word, from me.

I sat at the chair which he used to sit. I closed my eyes, and in my heart, I uttered my apology to my father, as I would have said to him had he been alive.

I had no doubt that I made the right decisions concerning the Ring and the King. But I knew my father’s wishes on these matters were different from mine; I could imagine why in his circumstances he had such wishes, and it pained me that I could not obey his wishes.

He was my father and my lord, and I loved him. His wish was my command, until the command clashed with my conscience and I chose my conscience.

Here follows a copy of letters of Erchirion son of Imrahil of Dol Amroth and Faramir son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor.

Thank you for your most generous words. I keep them in my heart, in that private arsenal I draw strength from when the dark shadow comes to disturb my mind. To know that one is loved is a sure weapon against despair.

What an interesting account you wrote about how the Enemy departed! The tales of the Third Age will not seem out of place even if you put them together with the tales of the Silmarils.

Your father told me you and Amrothos are fully healed, I am glad to hear that. I, too, have been discharged from the Houses of Healing and have taken up my duty.

How are you these days, cousin? What do you feel in these days without the Shadow? It feels ungrateful to be anything but deliriously happy, considering our turn of fate, yet perhaps people who had long endured the shadow of darkness need some time to adjust to bright sunshine.

I found myself easily moved these days. Well, more easily than usual, I know you think I am too easily moved even in normal days. Yesterday I read Falastur’s Poems on Beleriand, and I felt sad as I read the lines, “why did he bear neither sceptre nor crown?” That was not even one of my favourite poems. And the other day I read “mightier in defeat was he / than all kings else in victory” and suddenly I wept.

There were times that I felt light-hearted, that everything was right with the world, and it felt strange.

I do not feel so light-hearted all the time, of course. Lord Aragorn has formally made his claim; I and some Council members met with him three days ago among the ruins of Osgiliath. This matter weighs my heart and mind. My concerns are not what reply I would give—if it were up to me, I would have given him my fealty before he left for Mordor—but what my reasons are to accept the claim.

Doing the right deed for the wrong reason is almost as bad as doing the wrong deed, and perhaps more perilous. Am I eager to accept him because he is Elendil’s heir and Gondor deserves to have a king? Or because I let my fancy, my dream of seeing the White Tree in bloom, prevail over my duty and judgement? Or worse still, because I wish to be seen as a generous, high-hearted Steward who willingly stepped aside to make way for the King?

Nobody would ask me this question, but I have to satisfy myself. And to be honest, I wish to satisfy the people, both those living and those to come, and I do care what the Annals of the Stewards will record of the last Steward’s reply and conduct on the coming of the King to Gondor. So much for being indifferent to glory!

Today morning the lords and Captains swore their fealty to me, and afterwards, I had my first council as the Steward. I must admit I enjoyed directing the course of the council as I think best, observing how each person behaved and reacted ...

There was not much debate about the claim and I was not surprised. Hands of a healer, victory in battles, commands over even the Dead, direct lineage from both Isildur and Anarion, what more could a people asked from their ruler? Well, most would say being benevolent, wise, and an able administrator.

Benevolent and wise, these are satisfied, from what I have perceived in my meetings with him. As for an able administrator, we shall see. But on this matter, he will have the Council and a myriad of aides.

Lord Aragorn treats me with respect and kindness. He seems to think highly of me, though what observations could he have to form that opinion? Perhaps some in the Host have spoken to him about me. For my part, I offer him my love and allegiance, though for now I do restrain myself, lest anyone should think I am securing my position in his court.

Fortunately, I have more practical matters to occupy me: clearing the Pelennor, Cair Andros, Osgiliath from the wreckage of battles, repairing the Rammas, going through the scouts’ report and deciding whether it is safe for the people to return to the City, surveying the destroyed farmlands and deciding whether to relax the food ration (not yet, in case you are wondering), arranging pension for the widows and families of the men who fell in battles, poring over the accounts of past crowning ceremonies with the scribes, going through the balance books with Lord Meneldil, the list goes on.

Despite all these matters which keep me busy, I feel lonely. I am learning to be content, after all, who did not lose a loved one in this war? And everyone has been very kind to me.

Yet I do miss Boromir. Sometimes I feel it acutely, like that day when I found out that a certain old lord has indeed been avoiding me for the simple reason that he did not wish to bow to me. When I found out about this, I thought, wait till I tell Boromir! Boromir would have urged me to deliberately walk by this lord’s house many times a day. Except that if Boromir were here, the proud lord would not have had to bow to me, of course.

Sometimes I even miss Father, despite everything. And I am grieving: grief at our last parting, at how things turned out and at his sad departure. But that is a subject for another letter, or perhaps when we sit together under a tree or by a fireplace. I am not ready to talk about Father.

Forgive me for being rude: look at this long letter, talking about myself. Let me make a small amend by telling you something of interest:

Among the details in the chronicles and annals of Númenor and Gondor which have become my daily readings recently (not that I am complaining), there was a mention of an interesting chess move which apparently was recognised in Númenor, but somehow was not passed down to our days.

It is a move of “bringing the king to safety”, which consists of moving the king and a rook at the same time. The king could move two squares toward a rook, and the rook would move to the square that the king passed over, and stood guard there.

Have you ever heard of something like this? Moving two pieces at the same time seems quite irregular to me, though I like the idea of having a special move to protect the king. I leave it to you and Amrothos to debate this; I am sending you a chess board with this letter.

I shook my head several times as I read your letter. Some healers at Dol Amroth are interested to learn about the mind instead of the body. Studying you would be most instructive for them.

Knowing how your intricate mind works, I can imagine your distress: if you choose to reject Lord Aragorn’s claim, you will hold yourself guilty of clinging to power and authority, though I notice you did not accuse Pelendur of such guilt.

Yet if you choose to accept the claim, you will hold yourself guilty of giving up so easily the charge which your forefathers jealously guarded. And since from all accounts I heard Lord Aragorn values you highly, you add to your list of crimes the guilt of letting the fact that the king treats you nicely cloud your judgment.

If you remain as the King’s Steward, you will hold yourself accountable for serving someone that your father opposed, just because this someone treats you nicely.

Would you feel better if Lord Aragorn treats you with suspicion or contempt? That would mean having a king who is not a good judge of character, certainly not good for Gondor!

If you choose not to serve the king, you will feel guilty for letting your pride and filial obligation prevail over your duty to Gondor.

At this juncture, my dear foolish cousin, the only path which can make you happy (no, perhaps not happy, but at least feel not so guilty) is this: to be stripped from all your ranks and lands, to live a life of hardship in an abandoned land where you can see from afar Minas Tirith in her glory.

You said you feel strange these days, as you have not experienced before. May I point out to you that that strange feeling has a name? Its name is happiness. Well, perhaps happiness with a hint of grief at the background, just like the excellent bittersweet wine you sent us. And may I suggest you enjoy the feeling? Let others treat you as you deserve, dear Faramir.

As for your grief, I grieve with you, although I do not presume to know what you feel. Take as long as you need to grieve. And I pray you, do not speak again of learning to be content in your loneliness, it breaks my heart.

I cannot wait to return to Minas Tirith, so I can tell you how foolish yet honourable and wonderful you are. Do not do anything foolish, or foolishly honourable, in the meantime.

PS. Thank you for the chess board. Amrothos and I accept it as an amend for the absence of wine in your parcel. The irregular chess move you described seems a natural progression from the king’s leap, do you not think so? Some conditions must be met to allow this move. We can figure them out in our next game.

I do not need to say much about what happened next, for much had been written elsewhere about the crowning of the King. I surrendered the rod to Aragorn; he gave me not only the rod back, but also friendship, respect and love more than one could deserve, and a princedom added for good measure.

Do you know what I felt when the King showed me the sapling of the White Tree? I felt as someone who finally can release his breath, and only at that moment realized that he had held his breath for some time. I had a peaceful sleep that night; perhaps the last time I slept like that was when I was a child.

In the following days, did I ever have any worries? Yes, of course. But regrets I have none. And after some years, I laid my worries to rest. For the White Tree blossomed, Gondor prospered and Ithilien restored, and I saw them not from afar. They are within my reach and my care still, beautiful and glorious. This time, there is no but.

Copied and shortened from my journal and letters, as a birthday present for my grandson Barahir, who loves lores and tales.

In our present Age, the lines “more might in defeat was he / than all men else in victory” are part of The Ballad of the White Horse, written by G.K. Chesterton. I imagined that a poet in the First or Second Age might have written similar lines about the death of Fingolfin, the High King of the Noldor.

The line “why did he bear neither sceptre nor crown?” came in our present Age in a Christmas hymn composed by John Rutter. I imagined that a poet in the First or Second Age might have written a similar line about the death of Finrod Felagund, a king who gave up his crown for mere mortals.

Of claim and councils by Itarille