Ch. 2  Healing begins

Late April 3019 TA,  Minas Tirith

Faramir stood gazing at the White Tree, guarded in honor of a memory.  A memory that had become reality.  He felt a tear slip down his cheek, so much had been lost.  So many lives irreparably changed.  Once again his thoughts turned to his brother…and his father.  Another tear fell.

“Are you ready, my Lord Steward,” sounded from behind, the voice of his King, uncrowned as yet.

Faramir was mortified that Aragorn, a man he held in so high an esteem, should find him in such an emotional state.  He tried to surreptitiously wipe away the shameful tears and answered in a husky voice, “Yes, My King!”

Aragorn had noticed the younger man’s movement to wipe his face.  He sighed and again thought of Denethor’s ill-treatment of his second son.  He paused not looking at Faramir to allow the good man a moment to gather his dignity.  He voiced thoughts that he hoped would help, “Many times I pass by this tree and think of all that has happened.  All the loss, and then I think of the responsibility we have, the opportunity we have been given to make their sacrifices meaningful.  There are times when it overwhelms me but,” he turned to look at Faramir who had since gathered himself.  The King locked eyes with his Steward, “I think there is no shame in that. And it spurs me to action.  To work towards the world they sacrificed for.  For that is the job before us.”  He put his hand on Faramir’s shoulder. “Yes?”

“Yes, My King.” Faramir nodded.  “Thank you…”   He saw in Aragorn’s eyes kindness and compassion.  Two emotions he was unused to in one who commanded him.

“Good, then!  Let us get on!  The gathered lords await us!” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Life flowed once again into the City.  Women and children who had been sent away for their safety came back to their homes bedecked in flowers and ran into the waiting arms of their husbands, or those not as fortunate into the compassionate arms of family and friends who would bear the loss with them.  No one was left alone; the compassion of neighbors who then became friends flowed to share in both sorrow and the coming joy.

Stories of Aragorn’s healing abilities had flowed from the Houses of Healing by those who had witnessed them. The old adage “The hands of the King are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known" flowed through the City; spoken by many. A week-long holiday was to be declared for the week of the Coronation and there were to be celebrations among the varying neighborhoods along the tiers. All during the week the third tier upward could look past the walls and see pavilions across the Pelannor spring up as those who could leave in haste made their way from all parts of the kingdom. From the far-off Anfalas and the coastal holdings of Andrast, the westernmost point of Gondor, to harpers from Dol Amroth renowned through the land for their skill to clear voiced singers from the Lebennin, all who heard and could in haste come to the White City were indeed pitching up tents on the Pelannor as many hostelries and inns had been damaged in the battle as many of these establishments were on the first and second tiers.   Banners of the white tree and stars flew from undamaged battlements and all tiers were wreathed in the Sable and Silver, the colors of restored hope.   

~*~*~*~*~

Morning of Coronation Day.

Éowyn stood reveling in the joyous sight from the balcony of the Houses of Healing on the morning of the Coronation.  The colors that flew throughout the City and the brightly colored pavilions that were dotting the Pelannor filled with those who came to witness with joy the coronation. She was to attend the coronation as sister to Éomer, uncrowned King of the Mark as he was Théoden King’s nephew and proclaimed heir by Théoden himself; her relationship with Faramir not yet announced publicly.

She did not see Faramir as much as she would have liked but she reveled in the reason that she did not.  Aragorn clearly valued the input of the young Steward and he was being consulted on every aspect of the transition from Stewardship to Kingship. From the few times she and Faramir could steal an evening away from their duties she understood that the coronation was going to be a spectacular ceremony.  She looked down at her gown, a beautiful cream brocade loose long gown, short waisted with fitted sleeves to the elbow and long trailing sleeves with gold trim at the neck and sleeves.  It was a beautiful dress.  She thought back to a few weeks previous to the conversation they had had. 

~*~*~*~*~

“The coronation has been set!”  Faramir told Éowyn as they sat on a bench in their garden on the balcony of the Houses of Healing, Éowyn’s head resting in Faramir’s lap.

“For when?” Éowyn asked.

“May morn, the first of May.”

“Hmmm…The earth is reborn and so is the kingdom.  I like it.”

“Glad to have your approval as it was my idea.”

“Only your idea?”  Éowyn looked up.

Faramir exclaimed, “It was!  Gandalf always said I have a very poetic soul!” He preened slightly.

“Ah yes, the elderly wizard with the beard and whiskers!  Good source for poetic knowledge.”  

Faramir was quiet for a bit. Then he said, tentatively, “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

Éowyn sat up and looked into blue eyes that held a slight look of doubt. Gently she said, “Of course I am teasing you.”

Faramir relaxed visibly and tried to continue as if nothing had bothered him, “It will be a grand spectacle which of course Aragorn will hate but he knows it has to be.  Éomer and you will of course be taking part in the ceremony.”

“It will be a joy to take part,” Éowyn was honored to have any part in the festivities,  “but I don’t know how grand I can be. I have only my armour and the two gowns Alyrin has lent me.”

“I think you look wonderful as you are,” Faramir stated, “But I am sure that we can have our seamstresses make you a gown fit for the Princess that you are!”

“I am no princess…” Éowyn declared.

“You are in my eyes…”  Éowyn looked into earnest blue eyes as happiness filled her heart.  They shared a gentle kiss.  “And as the sister to the uncrowned King of Rohan and you shall have a dress accordingly.” 

“If you wish…”  Fine clothes had never been of much importance to Éowyn and she knew very little about fashion.  She dressed in what Waerith deemed appropriate.  At the thought of her governess and then friend, worry across her face.

“What troubles you, my love?”  Faramir asked, noting the concern writ across her visage.

Éowyn shook her head, “Nothing that I can do anything about…my companion and friend, Waerith.  She left to visit family a day before we had to leave Edoras.  I do not know whether she is alive or dead.  She was always the one who told me what to wear.  I was always more interested in swords and shields and improvements to my armor than what I wore in my hair.  I … just don’t know…” 

Faramir hugged her and placed a kiss on the top of her head, “I am so sorry, my love.  But keep her in your heart.  There she will always be and if the Valar be merciful you will see her again.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A gentle breeze broke her reverie. Éowyn stroked the fine cream brocade of her gown.  It was truly fit for a princess.  It was in the Gondorian style because Éowyn could not even begin to instruct the seamstress on proper noble Rohirrim style.  Alyrin helped her to dress because she was not sure what piece went where. Alyrinthen went to attire herself properly for the occasion.   

“Sister!”  Éowyn turned at her brother’s voice.  Éomer stood at the archway, rapt at the vision in front of him.  “You look…absolutely radiant.”  Éomer still could not rid himself of the sight of her on the battlefield, presumed dead and now to see her radiant not just because of the gown but because of the light of happiness in her eyes, filled his heart with happiness.  She had told him of her love for Faramir and his for her.  Éomer was beside himself with joy that so fine a man should see his sister’s qualities for himself.  He was sad to lose her but she could not have chosen finer.

Éowyn smiled and then saw a box in Éomer’s hand. “What do you have in your hand?”

Éomer looked down at the parcel he had forgotten he was carrying.  “I have had something made for you.  Lacking any finery for the coronation, I commissioned this for you to wear to today.  But if it is too much you don’t need to wear it.”   Éomer stated as he walked to the balustrade.

Éowyn took the proffered velvet box and opened it.  Inside lay an exquisitely delicate circlet of gold filigree entwined with small golden roses. “Oh Éomer, it is beautiful!”

“So glad you like it.  I tried to have it styled like your circlet back home, but this was all I could remember.  You deserve to look like a princess today.”  Éomer finished in an abashed way.  

“You spoil me so…” Éowyn whispered and hugged her brother. 

Éomer’s eyes misted.  He whispered in a choked voice, “You deserve every happiness I can give you.”  He cleared his throat as they separated.  He took the circlet from its box and placed it on his sister’s head. He stood back and stared at the vision of beauty in front of him as he tried to supplant the memory of horror with this moment of pure happiness.  He bowed his head and placed his fist on his heart and threw his shoulders back offering his arm, “I am due at the King's tent.  I must be off.”

Éowyn stared at her brother, dressed in court finery underneath his shining battle armor.  His eyes glowed with happiness.  He looked magnificent.  She touched his hair.  “I see Wulf managed to sit you down and threaten your hair with a comb for once!”  She teased to bring some normalcy to this moment of heightened emotion.

“Is this the way you talk to your king?” Éomer quipped.  His voice dropped lower to speak in confidence, “The first comb did not survive.”  Éowyn laughed merrily and again Éomer’s heart warmed to the sound.  This day life was good.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Aragorn sat in his bedchamber in the King's tent on the Field of Pelennor in his dressing robe.  He thought of his years as a ranger in the wild.  Dressing robes and fine bedding had not been a part of his life then. His cloak had sufficed for cover and his arm as pillow.  There were times when he craved companionship.  The life of a Dunedain was often colored by loneliness.  His times spent among his family in the Dunedain enclave near Fornost gave him this but he never stayed long because there were so much he needed to learn.  Being a ranger at times was solitary and their work in shadow and secrecy did not lend itself to camaraderie with the locals that they protected.  Many times he wished that he could enter a local tavern without suspicious looks following him.  But he now found himself on the opposite side of the coin.  Greeted by all with expectation.  Ceremony and show for all to see. He knew this was to be his life now and but it was going to be an adjustment.  Faramir’s words had been uncannily astute. 

His coronation finery lay on the dressing stand untouched.  He walked to the window looking through to the City and the tiers that were festooned with banners in Sable and Silver.  He took a deep breath and reflected upon everything in his life that had led to this point.  The sacrifices his mother and father had made to bring him to this road, this destination.  Both had already gone beyond the veil.  His father, whom he had shared no living memory, because Arathorn had died before Aragorn was three but whose love was wrapped around his heart, the emotion gifted to him when he was twelve. And his naneth, his mother, he corrected himself.  But no.  He would always think of Gilraen as naneth raised as he was in Imladris, again to keep him safe and to prepare him for this road, this destination.  Imladris, his childhood home, a tear fell for the home of his heart.  Home with the only father he had ever truly known, Lord Elrond.  Estranged of late because of Arwen.  According to his Adar, a love that should not have been.  It broke Aragorn’s heart to be estranged from his Adar but he could not help where his heart had led him.  Arwen would be here soon, but not in time for the coronation.  He sighed again as the weight of expectation lay upon him. Tears slipped silently down his face as he thought about all that happened, for all that had been lost.

“Estel,”  he felt a hand on his shoulder.  Another voice, “We are here for you, to attend upon you.”  He turned and saw his two foster brothers, Elladan and Elrohir.  Dressed green silk finery and with stars bound upon their brows.  There were very few he would allow to see the effect of such weight of responsibility, such emotion upon him, to see his inner self because so much was expected of him, but these two were among that select company.

The quip that Elladan had been ready to let fly as was his merry wont, died on his lips.  His little brother seemed to be in genuine distress. “Muindoreg nin, why do you cry?  Is there anything we can do to ease your suffering.”  He wiped a tear and then dried his little brother’s face.

Aragorn shook his head, “No, there isn’t.”  He shrugged as he took a deep breath to ease his sorrow and strain.  “I was reflecting upon everything that has brought me to this path.  It just overwhelmed me for a few moments.  So much death and so much change…”

Elrohir nodded his head, “Aye, that is true and there is no denying it,” as he stroked his little brother’s hair, an empathetic tear dropping for his little brother.  “You have sacrificed much.”

“Your mother and your father are so proud of you and smile beyond veil,” Elladan stated.  

Aragorn looked into his brother’s star-filled eyes, searching for the truth in his eyes, “Do you think so?”

“Aye, I know so…”  He stared into his little brother’s eyes intently and kissed him on the forehead.  Aragorn heard his brother’s voice inside his head, a bond that had been forged in desperation when Aragorn was only three.  The voice said, “I know you struggle with this, but you have this through your own efforts.  It was meant for you.”  Elladan left Aragorn’s mind and then voiced his thoughts aloud, “Prophecy is only that, prophecy.  It takes will and heart to make it reality.  This you have done muindoreg nin!”

“Your tears only say you know what this victory has cost and that you will never take for granted the sacrifices made.”  Elrohir said with quiet conviction. 

“If you don’t believe them then let me reaffirm their words,” came a voice from the door.  Aragorn looked to the doorway and saw his uncle, Erithain. 

“Uncle!” Aragorn exclaimed.

“Yes I am here.  Come see my nephew before all the Pomp and Grandeur sweeps him off his feet.  Too grand to know us Rangers of the North.”

“That shall never happen!” Aragorn affirmed earnestly.

The older man smiled, “I know it won’t.  But that doesn’t mean I am not going to tease you a bit.”

Aragorn looked at the older man and the two ageless elves who had meant so much to him throughout his life, steadying influences of love and loyalty.   He placed his hand on his heart and softly said, “Hannon le, my brothers.  Hannon le, My uncle!”

All three nodded to him hand on heart. And in a mercurial shift Elladan proclaimed, “It is time to dress you for your coronation. You shall be grander than grand,” 

Aragorn gave a chagrined smile, “All right, make me grand…”

Elladan held a twinkle in his eye, “You deserve nothing less, muindoreg nin,” he whispered.  They shared a look and Aragorn smiled, starting to accept the role he had always been destined to fulfill.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Muindoreg nin:  My little brother (lit. Brotherlit, my)

Hannon le:  Thank you