The Council of Gondor had been dismissed after reaching a momentous decision: Gondor would once again have a king, ending nearly a thousand years of rule by the Stewards.
The Steward himself had written the letter to the King, accepting his claim to the crown of Gondor. He wrote it in the presence of the Council, signed it and affixed his seal on it. Then, he ordered a fast rider to dispatch it to the Field of Cormallen, where the Lord Aragorn, the King, awaited the Steward’s reply.
Afterwards, the Steward rose and without instruction, the lords of Gondor bowed deeply to him, each perhaps thinking that this might be the last time the Council would bow to the Steward.
Betraying no emotion—he was his father’s son in this—the Steward inclined his head slightly, gave them his characteristic faint smile, turned and left the chamber, his head held high and his back straight.
Yet Imrahil had to fight the urge to run to him and to clasp him in an embrace—Faramir, his sister-son, the last Ruling Steward of Gondor, to whom the weight of decision had fallen after his father’s death.
It was not pity that urged him. Indeed, Imrahil realized that he would not have longed so greatly to comfort the Steward if his shoulders had slumped or if bitterness had shadowed his steps.
It was instructive to observe the lords after the Steward left the chamber. A few of them, Imrahil knew, were already planning how best to ingratiate themselves with their new lord. Most of them, however, had watched his retreating form until it disappeared from view. Only then did their gazes lower, a somber quiet settling over the chamber.
Húrin and Angbor looked at Imrahil. An unspoken agreement passed between them, affirming what they had discussed earlier—Húrin would remain in the City to stand with the Steward, while Imrahil and Angbor would return to Cormallen to learn what plans the King had concerning Gondor and the Steward.
...
About an hour later, Imrahil sought out Faramir in his study, but the room was empty. He checked the adjoining chamber and found Faramir seated there.
Faramir’s eyes were closed, his elbows rested on the table, palms pressed together. His head bent slightly, his forehead resting on his fingers. He seemed deep in contemplation, his expression grave as ever, and touched with sorrow.
No man of Gondor would be so base to deny that forbearance, loyalty and humility are among the highest virtues. Yet, when Imrahil observed Faramir, he sometimes wondered if these very virtues had cost Faramir dearly.
And Imrahil often questioned whether he himself had contributed to it.
When Faramir was twelve or thirteen, he once confided in Imrahil, troubled by his father’s preference for Boromir. Not knowing what to say—since it was true that Denethor favoured his heir more—Imrahil resorted to some wise sayings: that one cannot choose his station in life, but can always choose how to live; that one can decide whether to be miserable or make the best of what is given.
Imrahil had expected Faramir to dismiss his counsel as empty platitudes—his own sons had been quick to do so when he offered such advice. Yet Faramir had taken his words to heart, remarking that his mother, Finduilas, had written something similar in her final letter to him. He resolved to do his best to live by this wisdom.
To Imrahil’s initial admiration, and later dismay, Faramir embraced this wisdom so completely. As he grew, he spoke less and less of any sadness or grievance towards his father. By the time he reached manhood, he seemed to harbour none at all.
While he strove always to excel in his duties, he appeared genuinely content with his place. And he extended such understanding and acceptance to his father, which Imrahil suspected had unsettled Denethor at times.
At times, Imrahil wished he had given Faramir different counsel.
Not intending to disturb Faramir, Imrahil turned to leave the chamber quietly. But as he almost reached the staircase, a voice called him from behind.
“Were you looking for me, Uncle?”
Imrahil turned to see Faramir. He placed an arm around Faramir’s shoulders.
“I was, Faramir. But you seemed deep in thought and I did not wish to disturb you.”
Faramir nodded. “I needed some time alone, but I have finished. When are you leaving for Cormallen again, Uncle? Not tomorrow, surely? You need rest, tireless as you are.”
“I was thinking the day after tomorrow,” Imrahil replied. “The King hopes the Ringbearers might wake one of these days, and we plan to have a grand celebration when they do.”
Faramir smiled. “As we should. And you should be there to represent Dol Amroth.”
“Are you not coming to Cormallen yourself, nephew? All would be overjoyed to see you.”
Faramir shook his head. “I have a lot to prepare here for the return of the King.”
Imrahil regarded Faramir before clapping his back. How I wish things could be different, he thought. But he did not say it, for to do so would only prompt Faramir to reply that he was content with things as they were.
“Come with us to Dol Amroth after the crowning,” he said instead, offering the only thing he could. “It has been far too long since you visited.”
Faramir’s face brightened. “I should do that,” he said. “I can plan a vacation now.”
“Erchirion plans to come here once the celebration honouring the Ringbearers is over,” Imrahil said.
“And I believe the rest of the family would journey here for the King’s crowning,” Faramir said. “Dear Lothíriel would never miss such a grand celebration. I look forward to seeing them all, even Aunt Ivriniel.”
Imrahil chuckled. “You are the only young person she could stand.”
Then he regarded Faramir more intently.
“How fare you, Faramir?” he asked gently.
Faramir returned his gaze evenly. “I am well, all things considered. Grieving, for sure. Questioning why certain things had happened. Dark memories come like regular visitors. But I have made peace with myself. The worst has happened, surely things can only look up from here.”
Imrahil nodded. “Do not restrain yourself too much, Faramir. It is not disloyalty to be angry.”
Faramir nodded. “I know,” he said softly.
After a brief pause, he added, “Would you join me for supper tonight? I would greatly enjoy your company.”
“So would I,” Imrahil replied, smiling. “Your invitation is most welcome. My townhouse is sparsely staffed; most of the servants had left the City before the siege, as commanded.”
Together they descended the staircase and made their way to the Steward’s residence.
...
The Council of Gondor, faithful in service to the line of Elendil the first High King, hereby accepts the claim of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Elendil, as the High King.
By virtue of his descent through an unbroken line of fathers to sons from Isildur, son of Elendil, and through Anárion, son of Elendil, by way of Fíriel, daughter of Ondoher, we affirm his rightful claim to the crown and throne of Gondor.
We proclaim our steadfast loyalty to Aragorn son of Arathorn, the King Elessar, who has come to us in the fullness of time.
We await the return of the King to the Citadel of Minas Tirith in joyful hope, trusting in his wisdom and strength to lead Gondor into a new age of peace and renewal.
May this day mark the end of shadow and the dawn of brighter days.
Given in Minas Tirith, this fifth day of the fourth month, in the year 3019 of the Third Age.
Signed,
Faramir son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor.
...