Faramir Fiction Archive

I, Faramir: the latter days (R)

Written by Surreysmum

02 April 2011 | 14742 words

Part 2

2 Nénimë, 35th year of the 4th Age, Minas Tirith

I see from the date of my last entry that it took me nearly a week to make up my mind. And so here I am at last in Minas Tirith’s White Towers (why is everything so white in this wretched land? Not least the unrelenting snow that made it so difficult for me to get here!) In any case, I am now as comfortable as I could possibly be, wrapped in a soft warm blanket in an easy chair before the fire, a big bed waiting behind me, and a glass of wine at my hand while I scribble in this book.

Arwen was there at the great gates of the palace to greet me when I arrived this afternoon; I suppose someone must have spotted me entering the lower circles and sent a messenger, though the streets of the city were very nearly empty and eerily silent because of the thick snowfall as I urged my poor tired horse upwards. She’s a real sight for sore eyes at the end of a long journey, is Arwen. She used to complain to Wynnie that she was losing her looks because she was aging as a mortal, but I’ll tell you, it’s not evident to human eyes. To me, she’s still as spectacularly, darkly beautiful as she ever was (and, I’ll wager, to her husband too). Anyway, she kissed me on the cheek, and ushered me in the door, and fussed around me getting my coat and boots off – never one to stand on ceremony, Arwen.

“Look who’s finally here, Legolas!” she said, and Legolas (who is, if truth be told, just as spectacularly beautiful in his own way) came over and greeted me heartily. “When you’ve settled in,” he said with a hand on my shoulder, “I’d like to have a chat with you about the waterways just north of Emyn Arnen. I’ve heard that some of your tenant farmers are planning some dams for irrigation. My Elf advisors think they can help in avoiding any damage to the forest upstream.” I nodded my acquiescence – to tell the truth, I’d fallen out of touch with my tenants during Wynnie’s illness, and I’m glad Legolas reminded me I have that business to look after. He flashed me one of his patented glorious smiles and disappeared. I wonder if he spends a lot of time here at Minas Tirith these days?

The Great Hall was very busy, people of all ranks dashing through or chatting in small groups. It was such a contrast to my dark, lonely home, and I began to feel that a little while here really would be good for me. There was a shout from across the hall. “Faramir! Faramir, sir!” And Orodreth came loping over, arms full of linens and a huge grin on his honest face. “So good to see you, sir!”

“Sir?” I teased him. “Orodreth, it’s a long time since you were my apprentice Steward; I’ll wager you’re the most important man around here now!”

“Well, the second most important, perhaps,” he conceded with a laugh. “Your Majesty,” he said to Arwen, “the King is asking for you in the Little Office.”

“Oh yes, that’s right,” replied Arwen. “Sorry, Faramir – the work of Court is never done. Orodreth, could you see Faramir up to his rooms?”

“I would love to, ma’am!” And Orodreth walked me up to this very fine suite, chatting all the way about the recent improvements to the kitchen, the quality of the rugs that had just come in from Harad, and half a hundred other household details of the sort that used to fill my days. I felt almost envious, but I could see that young Orodreth had made the job very much his own, and everything I saw testified to a palace well-run. I congratulated him on that. He shrugged. “I had a fine teacher, Sir – I mean, Faramir. I hope we will see you at dinner?”

“Of course,” I said. “I must sample the efforts of the new cook from Rhûn that you are so excited about!”

I set about unpacking my things; hanging up clothes, pulling out my indoor shoes, placing my small portrait of Éowyn carefully upon the bedside table so I could see it night and morning. Beneath it, I placed her last letter to me, still unopened. She told me I do not need to read it right away, but should wait until I am in a calm frame of mind. I feel little curiosity and small need to do so yet. Wynnie and I spoke long and honestly at the end, about all the important things. But perhaps someday soon.

For the rest of the day there was a constant and gratifying stream of visitors to my rooms: practically all of the palace staff who remembered me, Gimli (a welcome surprise! apparently he has decided to winter with his friends in Gondor this year), and both of the young princesses, who have grown tall and graceful like their mother, though neither of them has her colouring.

Eldarion popped his head in too, saying, “I don’t think you’ve met my bundles of trouble, have you?” And two shy little people, all of two years old apiece, came round my door and stared at me as only toddlers can. I reached to the bowl of sweeties that the ever-provident Orodreth (knowing my sweet tooth) had left upon my table, and offered them to the mites, while Eldarion tried to feign parental disapproval and failed miserably, a big grin of pride on his face instead. Is it possible that this could be the rowdy teenager I remember? I was at his wedding three, no four, years ago now, but somehow I have never come to think of him as an adult. I got up and hugged him heartily, congratulating him. “I’m glad you’ve come to visit, Faramir,” he said, “and I hope you’ll stay a good long while. I want them to know you, and to learn the joys of reading and learning from you, as I did.”

I made some mumbling noises about any way I could help, surprised and warmed by the notion that someone saw some possible use for the old man yet.

“Dada!” said one of the little fellows urgently.

“Oops, nature calls,” grinned Eldarion. And one treasure attached to each hand, he departed, leaving me with a silly smile on my face.

But, welcome as all those visits were, there was one face that did not appear at my door, and I scolded myself for noticing the absence so much, and regretting it so badly. He is a very busy man, and I have no claim on his special attention now. Or so I kept reminding myself.

I dressed carefully for dinner, and when I got to the hall I was glad of it, for, to my dismay, Orodreth had placed me at the High Table, in a place of honour, between Arwen and Eldarion, and across the table from the young princesses. I would far rather have been down at the staff table, where Orodreth sat at the head of a lively bunch; they clearly like him as much as they respect him, and they often burst into laughter. Or I would just as much have liked to be at the guest table, where Legolas and Gimli, I could see, were teasing and humphing at each other just as they used to in the good old days.

I was painfully aware of Aragorn’s presence just one seat away, at Arwen’s other hand. But whether by design or accident, we were both involved in conversations to other sides throughout the meal, and Aragorn addressed me directly only once, to ask me to pass the bread-basket. When I handed it to him, I had the distinct impression he was avoiding my gaze and I looked away, ashamed it had come to this with a man I once considered one of my oldest, dearest friends.

As usual, when the King rose from the table, it was the signal that the meal was over and any who wished could depart. All rose with him, and he approached me, holding out his hand to shake. As I gripped it automatically, very aware of its warmth and hardness, he said, “Welcome back to Minas Tirith, Faramir. I am very glad you’ve decided to come and visit, and I hope you know that the library and archives are fully open to you as they always have been. Please stay as long as you like.” The words were kind, but though he met my eyes now, his gaze was shuttered. I had a mad thought of throwing myself upon his neck and begging his forgiveness for my distance, my stupidity, but here in the King’s hall, in the King’s palace, it was not possible to insult his dignity so.

Instead, I let go of his hand and said, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

He pressed his lips together tightly before replying, “You are most welcome.” Then he turned and offered his arm to Arwen, who had a worried look upon her face. And, there being nothing else to do, I retreated back here to my comfortable quarters to write in my book.

Tonight, as usual, I will probably cry more than a few tears for my dearest lost love Éowyn before I fall asleep. But tonight, too, there may be a few extra tears for another lost love.

I’m sorry, Aragorn.

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