Faramir Fiction Archive

Family Honor (NC-17)

Written by Mcguffan

14 July 2006 | 162886 words

Chapter 11

Fragments of conversation drifted around him, as Aragorn studied the two men battling fiercely not ten yards from him. Halbarad was chatting with a small group of men but Aragorn filtered this conversation out as he monitored the talk around him, listening for any mention of the gauntlet, the Variags or the Gondorihm. So far had heard nothing of interest but Aragorn was not truly surprised by this. The ranger did not believe the answer to the riddle of the `killing fist’ would be found in public gossip. For the sake of being thorough, however, he roamed the gathering with Halbarad at his side alert for any item of interest. Halbarad was not his only companion, however. As ever, the Variag officer had watched his combat. Aragorn had felt the other’s eyes upon him as he exchanged a few exploratory thrusts and parries with his opponent. The Variag’s gaze never wavered, throughout the entire match, though Halbarad’s own glare directed toward the officer would have been enough to distract even the staunchest of ordinary observers. At the conclusion of the match the Variag had caught Aragorn’s eye for a moment and smiled with apparent approval before slipping away through the crowd. It was only then that rangers became aware that there were two Gondorihm amid the onlookers. Seeing that they had been noticed they raised a hand in acknowledgment but did not approach. From then on the two soldiers trailed after the Dunedain at a discrete distance wherever the rangers happened to wander.

It would have been easy for the Dunedain to lose themselves among the throng of Khandrim but Aragorn was not inclined to do so and Halbarad did not suggest it. In truth, Aragorn was touched. Faramir’s attempt to look after him was endearing and the two soldiers seemed to take their duty seriously, taking care that no harm came to `Strider’. It gave Aragorn a peculiar sense of belonging. Halbarad’s feeling may well have run in a similar vein for his only comment had been a gruff statement that if there was trouble he assumed Faramir’s men would be no disadvantage.

In addition to all this, Aragorn was now being identified as one of the likely tournament finalists and so more than the eyes of his friends and enemies were drawn to him. Accustomed to moving about inconspicuously, he had to struggle not to chafe at so much observation. A number of men were watching him now, as he stood apparently engrossed in the contest before him. None approached him, however, assuming that he was studying his future opponents and unwilling to interrupt a fighter’s strategizing. Aragorn was grateful for the temporary respite since, as he and Halbarad had strolled through the grounds after Aragorn’s successful combat, several men had approached. Halbarad had nearly broken the wrist of the first one before it became clear that he had only been offering Aragorn a folded sheet of paper.

Nursing his wounded appendage the messenger explained that it was an invitation to lunch with the representatives of one the medium sized southern tribes. Exaggerating his accent Aragorn refused courteously, claiming that he required all his time to concentrate on the tournament. The messenger did not seem surprised as he cast one last accusing look at Halbarad and left them. Other messengers from other tribes appeared as well as a few men who offered wishes of good luck, though no one from the Variags addressed Aragorn. The approach of so many strangers was taking a toll on Halbarad’s nerves so the men returned to the combat grounds and Aragorn did his best to appear focused on his potential competitors.

As the battle finally ended with a vicious stab to the losing competitor’s thigh Aragorn signed to Halbarad that it was time to go. Aragorn was not in the mood to endure another barrage of invitations. Halbarad, whose information gathering had been hampered by his desire to remain permanently attached to his Chieftain’s side, fell in beside Aragorn contentedly. The Gondorhim would also be pleased to see their charge safely back at camp and then return to their own pursuits, Aragorn reflected. From a certain perspective, it was irritating to be so persistently looked after. Taking a deep breath Aragorn resolved that he would not adopt that perspective and proceeded to lead his little entourage from the gathering.

In the comparative safety of the camp, Halbarad was able to feel marginally more at ease. The ranger felt looming danger crackle in the air and his every nerve strained to anticipate where and when the lightening would strike. Every man who had approached Aragorn had taken years off Halbarad’s life. The ranger had twitched at every movement of the various messengers, eyes alert for the telltale glint of metal. Poised tight as a bowstring Halbarad had found himself in danger of drawing his own weapon before time. It was a little better now. The Gondorhim had become familiar; Halbarad had seen them with Aragorn and his anxiety diminished slightly.

As the rangers moved through the camp, they were greeted by nods and polite smiles. Halbarad had realized very soon after arriving among the Gondorhim that these men had developed an affection for Aragorn. When he was in camp everyone seemed to know where he was. He was not sought out particularly, but people seemed to like to know that he was there. Aragorn seemed to project an aura not only of security but also of civility. Halbarad had observed similar phenomena occurring at other times and other places. As something between a soldier, spy and policeman, Halbarad usually saw people at their worst. The constant onslaught of petty brutality and ignorant selfishness colored the ranger’s perception of his fellow creatures. Aragorn though had a way of bringing out the best in those around him. Men seemed to become aware of themselves in a new way when Aragorn was there. Suddenly it was important to live up to the potential of humanity. Getting by in an ugly world no longer seemed enough of an accomplishment and ordinary people decided to become agents for good. Halbarad had no understanding of the mechanics of the phenomenon but he saw the effects in others and felt them in himself.

These thoughts soothed Halbarad as he followed his chieftain to where many of the off-duty Gondorhim had gathered. Helping himself to a generous helping of the communal stew, the ranger waited until he saw Aragorn settle near by with his own stew before he seated himself at the periphery of one of the card games being held. Of course, Halbarad continued to muse as he ate, there were some who did not react so. There were even a few for whom Aragorn’s presence seemed to trigger an extreme discomfort that often manifested itself as malice. Denethor had been one such and perhaps Flyn was another. Halbarad had never bothered wondering why a certain kind of man had this reaction to his lord. If he had been pressed he would have said it was the result of a deeply flawed character and probably correlated with other negative traits like cowardice and cruelty to animals. Why, though, wasn’t important to Halbarad. Who and where were more immediate concerns. Thus, the knowledge that Denethor was far off in Minas Tirith, Flyn had been deprived of power and no others among the Gondorhim had seemed to develop an antipathy to Aragorn was enough to satisfy Halbarad for the moment. Surveying the crowd, once again, the ranger saw that Isu and a few of those who had befriended the lad had gathered around Aragorn in a little group, watching him and subtly trying to copy his way of moving. Feeling contented, Halbarad asked to be dealt in to the next round of cards.

Men came and went according to their scheduled duties while Aragorn and Halbarad passed a relatively peaceful afternoon. Halbarad had a fair amount of success at cards, a fact which was attributed to his impenetrable bluff. Aragorn smiled to himself every time his friend won a round and spent his time sharpening his weapons. The calm of the afternoon, however, was interrupted as one of the men who had been assigned to accompany Faramir at that morning’s meetings strode in, looking smug.

“News, lads!” The man announced, before taking a dipper full of water and drinking deeply.

Halbarad who had all but won yet another hand, turned to give the man his full attention while the others exchanged a quick look before deciding to turn in their cards and let whatever news there was take precedents over their game.

“There will be one less of Khand’s tribes standing with the dark lord should it come to war. The Yavney tribe has just signed an agreement with the Captain.” A cheer went up at this announcement and then the man was bombarded with questions: `How many soldiers does the Yavney tribe have? Had Faramir gotten the rights to pass through their territory? Were there going to be treasure hunting expeditions as some of them had heard?”

The man who was now happily the center of attention, tried to answer the questions he heard but soon he had to resort to holding his hands up and demanding quiet. “I’d love to chat, lads, but the captain needs me to fetch some notes from his tent. Another one of the tribes looks like it just may see sense. The Captain is working on `em, so it’s only a matter of time.” Smiling broadly with a combination of pleasure at delivering good news and pride at having been a part of bringing about that good news, the man surveyed the onlookers. “This is what we came here for, lads.” Questions followed the man as he made his way through the crowd. He ignored them though. He had taken a little time from his mission to share news of victory with his mates but he still had a duty to do.

Conversations sprang up in the wake of the news as the men tried to pool all the little they knew of Khand’s politics. Halbarad was amused to see such enthusiasm. He had not expected soldiers to get caught up in a diplomatic mission but then Faramir had a charming enthusiasm that, when combined with the authority of his office, could have quite an impact. Then, too, Halbarad reasoned one could never discount Aragorn’s influence. Thinking of his Chieftain the ranger cast a glance in Aragorn’s direction: He was speaking softly to the group of young men who had clustered around him. As Aragorn caught Halbarad’s eye, however, he gave the ranger a smile of such warmth and happiness that even Halbarad felt like cheering.

`It is a good first step.’ Faramir told himself- trying to rein in his excitement, as he entered his tent, attended by Warin- the man he had chosen to replace Flyn. `The Yavney and the Moroc’s were not particularly strong but they had prestige and they had agreed. They had agreed!’ Faramir knew he should remain cautious and dignified but it was all he could to keep from grinning foolishly and dancing about the tent.

“Ask the men to assemble, I need to make a few announcements.” Faramir ordered Warin, biting the inside of his lip to keep his face composed. The Captain liked his new lieutenant. Warin took a greater interest than Gildel in the intricacies of the negotiations and there was no trace of Flyn’s sly maneuverings in the other man.

“Yes sir, but I am afraid that most are already aware that an agreement has been reached. Kenzo wasn’t able to hold his tongue when you sent him back for the early proposal drafts.”

“That is all right.” Faramir said magnanimously. It was just as well, Faramir told himself. He had dreaded making the announcement himself for fear that it would be met with indifference. He did wish he might have told Aragorn for he thought that Aragorn would certainly be pleased and it was always Faramir’s joy to bring Aragorn any piece of news that might please him. Still, it was a minor disappointment. “I shall still need to talk to them.”

“Yes, sir.” Warin acknowledged.

“Was there something more?” Faramir asked as Warin continued to hover near the entrance to the tent.

“Yes, sir. Hilo lost his tournament round today. I thought that you would want to know.”

“Is he all right?” Faramir demanded, sobering.

“Yes, sir. The heat slowed him down, he said. The other man was too fast.”

Faramir nodded relaxing a little. He did not expect either Hilo or Gorm to win the tournament but the thought that Aragorn or one of his own men might be in danger aroused in the young man a combination of fear and anger. “Hilo was not too disappointed, I hope.”

“Oh, no. In fact, he had been approached by several tribal women who were impressed with his performance and… um wanted to become better acquainted.” Faramir stiffened slightly and Warin continued hurriedly. “He has not yet accepted nor would he accept without your permission but I believe he did have a conversation with Master Halbarad who told him that he did not think it would not cause any harm if he accepted.”

“I believe Master Halbarad’s expertise may be trusted on such a point. I am inclined to grant permission but he must be careful. If he does not return according to schedule because he has been dallying with the ladies I will be angry.”

“I shall pass that along, sir.” Warin paused a moment. He looked a little nervous and Faramir gave him a small smile of encouragement. Warin was still new to his position and was often uncertain how to act. It gratified Faramir more than he could say to watch how well Warin grew into his new authority when Faramir took the trouble to be a little patient or to offer the occasional word of approval. “On the subject of Master Halbarad and Master Strider…”

“Please, go on.” Faramir was now all attention but he kept his face carefully neutral.

“I have heard the lads say and it seems to me, too, that, well, the army could benefit from such men. Isu has adjusted well and he did not even speak the common tongue. Strider, though, could easily be a captain. Perhaps it is not my place to say but none would object if Strider and Halbarad were to be commissioned. It seems a waste that such men should spend so much time alone in the wilderness when Gondor has such need.” Warin fell silent, peering at Faramir as though uncertain whether he had over-stepped his bounds.

“It is a good thought.” Faramir commented, making an effort to sound casual. “Now assemble the men, I shall attend presently.”

As soon as Warin had saluted and exited, Faramir began to laugh softly. The day would come when the king returned to his people. On that day these men- his men- would remember; they would remember and believe.

The evening had grown dark. Flyn had chosen a place at the extreme edge of the torchlight to await whatever message Captain Faramir had for his men. The former lieutenant had noticed the two rangers hovering at the periphery of the crowd and deliberately chosen a place as far from them as possible. It made no difference, though, for the one dangerous ranger- who now seemed to be attached to Strider- caught sight of him and gave him a bowel-loosening smile and wink. Flyn took another few steps back away from the light, then, anxious not to gain too much attention from the mean-looking ranger.

It was not that Flyn particularly cared what Faramir had to say. As far as he was concerned this whole mission was a miserable failure. There was no longer any advantage in Khand and Flyn’s greatest desire was to leave as fast to possible and return to Minas Tirith where he could once again make plans to help further his career. Flyn had decided to attend the assembly, though out of a residual sense of duty combined with boredom. Reluctant to face the condescending looks of his one-time subordinates, Flyn had spent the entire day hiding in his tent. It had been hot and stuffy and now any excuse to get out in the open air seemed good.

To Flyn’s disgust, there were cheers as Faramir strode out to stand before his men. Raising his hand for silence the Captain surveyed those who had assembled. When Faramir’s eye caught Strider’s his face lit with a boyish grin and a blush rose up in his cheeks and he quickly looked away. Flyn’s lip curled in contempt. The man didn’t understand why the other soldiers could cheer and applaud a man who was so obviously swooning after a common ranger; a ranger, moreover, who was obviously influencing the captain to turn against a good man of Gondor in favor of himself and his friend.

“Gentlemen,” Faramir began his address, the cheers finally subsiding. “Many of you have already heard the news: Gondor has signed an alliance with the Yavney and Moroc tribes.” More cheers followed this announcement, though Flyn did not understand why. Soldiers had no business concerning themselves with diplomacy. Who gave a damn what alliances were signed with whom? It was all just paper, what really mattered was blood and iron.

“This is an unprecedented step for the Khandrim, who have suffered long in the shadow of the dark lord. Each tribe’s defection is a blow struck against tyranny. None of this might have been accomplished, though had the Khandim not seen in you men the honor and goodness of Gondor.” Well, of course they would applaud that. Flyn thought sourly. Anyone could win a crowd with compliments.

“Though well begun, our task is far from over. I have invited our new allies to visit us here in our camp tomorrow next. It will be an opportunity to show them more of ourselves and our ways. Your lieutenants will have more specific instructions for you tomorrow but I feel confident that after the Khandrim have had a chance to see in us the beauty and splendor of Gondor we shall have wrested more that two tribes from Sauron’s suzerainty.” Flyn was incredulous as all around him fists pumped the air and shouts of approval met this speech. A once proud troop of men had turned into a ladies social club organizing tea parties with Sauron’s thugs. Faramir resumed speaking, praising various men by name for their efforts in reaching out to the Khandrim and encouraging others to similar acts. Flyn was too unhappy to attend very carefully, though.

It depressed him to see Faramir succeed. From the beginning Flyn had identified Faramir as well meaning but weak. He had wanted to be the one whispering suggestions into the young man’s ear, but Faramir had somehow found a measure of independence, a measure of self-worth that rendered him immune to Flyn. The former lieutenant knew in his gut that Strider had something to do with Faramir’s transformation. Just getting fucked, though, should not have been enough to make such a dramatic change in Faramir. There was something hidden in Strider and Faramir’s relationship that Flyn could not understand. Something that gave strength to Faramir, though Flyn would have wagered his career that Strider was capable of forcing his own will on the younger man. It simply made no sense.

Back in his tent after the meeting had finally concluded in yet more inexplicable adulation for the Captain, Flyn imagined what he might have seen had he succeeded in catching Strider and Faramir in a comprising position. Visions filled his head of his captain on his hand and knees fawning at Strider’s feet, pressing his face against the ranger’s muddy boots. He saw Faramir pressed over the back of a chair while Strider’s rough hands clutched at the white flesh of his hips pulling him onto the ranger. As image after image filled Flyn’s head he tried to replace the figure of Strider with himself. He thought it would please him to imagine being the one to make the Captain moan and beg and writhe but try as he might Strider remained in place. With a final effort to interject himself into the scene Flyn found to his astonishment that his mind had put him into Faramir’s place. Flyn wanted to be horrified but there was something intensely… erotic? Satisfying? Comforting? About Strider filled with passion and… affection bracing above him.

Shaking his head violently to dispel all the images Flyn rose from his cot. He did not like where his imagination had been taking him. Sighing at himself Flyn resolved to think no more of such things. He would go out and see if he still had enough clout to requisition something strong to help him sleep from the quartermaster.

At the close of the assembly, Faramir mingled among his men sharing a word or exchanging a greeting. Though, the Captain hoped his movements appeared random, each step drew him a little closer to Aragorn. At long last Faramir arrived at his destination. Glad that the growing dark covered his flush, he invited the rangers to assist in the planning of the reception. Aragorn was not able to hide the proud gleam in his eyes as he assented and Faramir felt himself tingle. It felt a little awkward to Faramir that he had to go through the show of having a reason to be with Aragorn. It grieved him that even here- so far away from the world he was familiar with- Faramir had to keep to the proprieties. So it was that the Captain struggled valiantly to ignore the happy quivering in his legs while leading the way to his pavilion at an even pace.

As soon as they had reached the shelter of the tent Aragorn wrapped his arms about Faramir and hugged him so tightly that Faramir was surprised his ribs were able to withstand the pressure. “I am so proud of you.” The ranger whispered into Faramir’s ear before kissing the side of his face. Faramir struggled to return the crushing embrace, and Aragorn loosened his grip just enough to allow the young man in his arms to breathe. Halbarad had entered behind Aragorn and had quickly made certain that the entrance was tightly closed. Over Aragorn’s shoulder Faramir could see Halbarad regarding them with indulgent affection and the Captain was suddenly struck by the thought that there was no need for secrets among the Dunedain. The men who had remained faithful to the line of Isisdur, who shared their lord’s exile, protected him and his identity from the world, these men- though scattered and hard-pressed with no land to call their own- had remained true to their duty. In a Dunedain camp, all would know Aragorn true rank and no one would look askance at their mutual affection.

Faramir thought of his own life in the comfort and splendor of the White City where there were times when the very air seemed laden with secrets. His ancestors, his family had lost sight of their true purpose. The Stewards had already denied their lord once before. Faramir knew with certain dread that Denethor would never welcome the return of the king. Faramir loved his city but something had gone wrong in its heart. Denethor plotted and schemed for more than the defeat of Sauron. Though Faramir did not know the precise nature of all his father desired, he was growing increasingly aware that Denethor’s ambition reached beyond the Stewardship. Bending his face into Aragorn’s shoulder to avoid looking at Halbarad, Faramir wondered what dire punishment fate had in store for his family for forgetting their ancient charge. Those who strayed from their oaths could never hope to escape unscathed. Perhaps Faramir’s devotion to his king might be accepted in partial atonement but with a sudden shiver of fear Faramir wondered what more might be required before the honor of the Stewards could be fully restored.

Sensing the sudden change in his beloved, Aragorn was on the point of asking the younger man what had so suddenly upset him but before he could speak a loud knock announced the presence of others. When Aragorn and Faramir had drawn apart, Halbarad stepped away from the tent’s threshold, acting as though he had only just realized he was in the way, and allowed Lieutenants Gildel and Warin to come in. Faramir’s thoughts lagged behind events and it took a few moments before he was able to set the agenda for the meeting. Eventually, though, he was able to bring himself back to the present and begin planning the reception for the Khandrim tribes.

It did not take long before Faramir found himself wishing that he had more time to prepare for his journey to Khand. He wanted to provide a demonstration of Gondor’s musical instruments, set out some examples of the book-binders craft, at the very least he could have a painting or even a sketch of Minas Tirith to display. In the absence of anything more culturally relevant Faramir and his companions decided to have the men demonstrate a few drills and to exhibit some of the armor and other martial accoutrements that were not well known in Khand. At Lieutenant Gildel’s suggestion, Faramir agreed to feature oatcakes among the hors d’oeuvres. While not exactly a delicacy, oats were not grown in Khand and the simple but tasty fare was more representative of what most people ate in Gondor.

Of course, the camp would have to go through a very thorough tidying. Boots would need to be cleaned, breastplates polished and weapons sharpened. Strider and Halbarad agreed to make sure that each of the Gondorhim was capable of making a polite greeting in the Khandorric tongue and could make the appropriate response when Faramir offered a toast to his guests. A great deal of work would need to be done in a short time but courtesy demanded that Faramir who had received hospitality from the Khandrim reciprocate. A reception would also be an opportunity to woo the tribes as well as allowing them become more familiar with their curious western neighbors. The discussion lasted several hours but eventually the lieutenants had their tasks and Faramir felt confident that he had made the best arrangements possible under the circumstances.

As Gildel and Warin rose to go, Halbarad made as if to take his leave also but a small gesture from Aragorn held him in his place. After Faramir had spoken a few parting words to his lieutenants and escorted them from his tent he returned to the small table where the rangers still sat. Eschewing the chair at the head of the table in favor of dragging the stool close to Aragorn a little closer Faramir settled himself leaning in towards his lord. There was no longer any indication of the sudden fear Aragorn had felt earlier from the younger man and the ranger allowed himself to hope that he had been mistaken in his reading of Faramir.

“You have done excellent work today.” Aragorn said reaching for Faramir’s hand and giving it a squeeze. Unable to make a suitable reply Faramir simply returned the pressure on Aragorn’s hand and tried to control the width of his smile.

“It occurs to me that you should be burdened as little as possible with concern over the gauntlet.” Aragorn continued as the smile slipped from Faramir’s face to be replaced with an anxious frown. “I have given it some thought and unless we learn something new, the best course of action would be to take the `killing fist’ out of the reach of the Variags as soon as possible.”

“I think it very likely that I shall win the gauntlet. As soon as I have it in my possession I would like Halbarad to take it and travel west with as much speed and stealth as can be managed. I shall leave, too, a few hours later. I shall go north leaving clear signs of my direction. After a time I will go south then west. With luck the Variags will follow me.” Faramir felt his chest constrict. He had not registered Aragorn’s words after he announced that he would leave very soon after he won the `killing fist’. The tournament would be over in less than a week- as few as four perhaps five days. Did Aragorn mean to go so soon? Faramir knew their time was limited but, dear gods, not even a week left?

“Why don’t you take the gauntlet west and I leave false trails for the Variags?” Halbarad’s sharp question brought Faramir back to an awareness of himself and the young captain chided himself for his selfishness and resolved to focus as much as possible on what was being said.

“Two reasons.” Aragorn began as though he had anticipated just this question. “First, even if we allow the Variags to think there is a strong possibility that you have the gauntlet their concentration will be on me. They may not even bother following you, believing I would never let the prize out of my sight. Our goal is to divide their strength as much as possible. Second, I will be better able to elude the Variags who follow me.”

“You do not so far exceed me in skill as to make any difference in out-maneuvering a pack of Variags.” Halbarad asserted firmly.

“You misunderstand me, my friend. At your best I am certain you could lead the Naz-gul themselves in circles. You are not at your best, though, Halbarad.”

Halbarad clearly meant to respond but Aragorn silenced him with a look. “You have not fully recovered from your first encounter with the Variags, there is still too little flesh on your bones and I see the weariness of your hunt for Gollum and your subsequent injuries plaguing you. Did you think I would not, my friend?” There was a trace of accusation in this last question and Halbarad lowered his eyes. He had indeed hoped that the ache in his body that had been with him since the Variags had played their games with him and the sudden unpredictable moments of weakness had gone unobserved. His own discomfort was not something Aragorn should waste time fretting over.

Halbarad might have found a response for Aragorn but Faramir spoke first. “What, my lord, shall be my task, then?”

As he turned to regard his lover, Aragorn’s shoulder straightened as though he were preparing to say something he knew would not please the Captain. When he had the chance to really look at the younger man, Aragorn forgot what he had planned to say in a rush of concern. Faramir was terribly pale and when Aragorn reached for his hand it had grown icy cold in the few minutes since last he had touched him. Suddenly aware of just how careless he had been Aragorn realized what had upset his beloved: “Faramir we will all need to meet together again and discuss what should be done with gauntlet with Gandalf. Once we are safe within Gondor’s borders we will need to decide what is next to be done- together.” Aragorn emphasized `together’.

“Five days, it seemed so short a time.” Faramir’s voice was quiet and the young man was striving to hold back the tears of relief that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Too short.” Aragorn reassured, patting Faramir’s hand gently and wishing he had been more attentive to his lover’s reactions.

Taking a deep breath, Faramir essayed a smile and repeated: “What do you wish me to do regarding the gauntlet?”

“Your task remains what it ever was. Remain here until the end of the Gathering. Dissociate yourself from Halbarad and me if you can do so. I fear the Variags will not send all their men away and that will leave you vulnerable. I don’t want anyone to believe you are shielding the gauntlet. When it comes time to leave, travel as far as possible with the other tribes.” The thought that the Variags, searching for the gauntlet, might ambush Faramir and his small contingent frightened Aragorn terribly. Attacking someone coming to or leaving a gathering was taboo but the Gondorhim were few and they would be vulnerable between here and their own borders.

Faramir was silent. He wanted to do more. It disappointed him immensely that he could not be more useful to his king, to his love. Yet, how could he complain when he knew Aragorn was right? He needed to think about the safety of his men and the alliances he was forming. Nonetheless, to have any though but to be useful to Aragorn when the man, himself, would be taking risks felt near to betrayal.

“I suppose, then, that I shall be the first to meet Gandalf as you shall both travel by more roundabout paths. I confess I shall be very interested to learn what this gauntlet does- besides cause trouble.” Halbarad interjected relieving Faramir of the need to put his great reluctance to have such a minor role in the retrieval of the gauntlet into words.

“It may not do anything discernable according to our perceptions.” Faramir said embracing the change of subject. “If the `killing fist’ produced some very dramatic effect then, surely, its secret would have been discovered ere now.”

“What might it do that would not be discernable to our perceptions?” Faramir froze a moment. The question was very much like something Denethor would spit at him on the rare occasions when he ventured an opinion in front of his father. There was no scorn or contempt, however, in Halbarad’s words- only curiosity and a touch of dubiousness that was, after all, not unreasonable.

“I have heard Gandalf say that magic is merely the manipulation of symbols, perhaps… perhaps it is related to mathematics in that regard.” This was an idea that Faramir had never spoken aloud before and he surveyed his audience before continuing. Finding only interest and curiosity, he dared continue. “Perhaps the gauntlet is a symbol that must be arranged according to some formula with other symbols before it produces an effect.”

“Gandalf did seem particularly eager to impart to me the importance of both symbols and metaphor the last time we spoke.” Aragorn added, wondering to himself what a mind like Faramir’s might accomplish given time and the opportunity to experiment.

“Such matters are happily beyond my ken. Save only that if all this is in aid of a metaphor I shall think the less of the wizard.”

“Gandalf is no idle dabbler, Halbarad. Trust him to know his business.” Aragorn admonished, though there was a smile in his eyes.

“Oh, aye. He has had time enough to learn his craft.” Halbarad’s agreement was not in absolute accord with Aragorn’s original statement but Aragorn had long since learned that was the way with Halbarad on the subject of wizardry and let it pass.

“You have no objection then to what is to be done with the gauntlet?” Aragorn asked feeling the lateness of the hour. The prospect of going to sleep, Faramir nestled securely in his arms was growing ever more attractive.

“As long as we give the Variags good cause to know I have the gauntlet so that a good number will follow me, then I am satisfied.”

“There are enough of them to send hundreds after each of you.” Faramir added, struck again by how truly the Dunedain were out-numbered, wandering the world in ones and twos to oppose armies.

“It is of greater moment that the officer who spoke to us yesterday follows Halbarad or me.” Aragorn explained, once again clasping Faramir’s hand.

“An atmosphere of fear and intimidation such as exists in the Variag hierarchy does not encourage initiative.” Having an understanding of this concept from personal experience Faramir bit his lip. “It won’t matter how many men the Variags have if none will take decisive action. With the leaders out hunting, you and your men will be in much less danger of attack from the men left behind.” Faramir could not dispute Aragorn’s reasoning though protecting the Captain was never supposed to be the goal of the expedition.

“Well if matters have been decided and you have no further need of me, I believe I shall go find my bed. I expect we shall have lots of activity and preparations to make tomorrow.” Halbarad rose as he spoke but Faramir reached out to stay his departure.

“Are you certain you have all you need, Master Halbarad? I feel I have been remiss in seeing that you have all that might be of use to you. I know that we have at least one spare tent and of course you must take all the blankets and food you desire. I am not as familiar with our herb stock as I might be but you are welcome to any of it.” Faramir had been surprised to learn that Halbarad was still suffering the after-effects of his long journey and his first encounter with the Variags. To the Captain the ranger appeared the epitome of indefatigable stoicism. If this was Halbarad when he was ill then Faramir thought he would be formidable indeed at full strength.

“I thank you, young lord, but I have all that I require. The respite afforded by your camp is a boon unlooked for. Besides I am hardly at death’s door.” Halbarad continued, giving Aragorn a reproachful look. “There is naught amiss with me that any save the most careful and punctilious of physicians would detect.”

“Go to bed, Barad nin, before I decide you look feverish.” Aragorn threatened with mock severity. Smiling, Halbarad nonetheless exited quickly leaving the two lovers to themselves.

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