Faramir Fiction Archive

Walk No More In The Shadows (NC-17)

Written by Minx and Iris

12 January 2007 | 50694 words | Work in Progress

Chapter 6

Aragorn thought over everything again and again all through the night and the next morning. He had to help Faramir, any way he could, that he was sure of. What bothered him was why Gandalf had not chosen to include him in helping Faramir, or at least not fully. Surely it was of the utmost importance for the King and Steward of Gondor to develop a relationship of trust and understanding? Surely Gandalf was aware of this, as well as aware of Aragorn’s skills as a healer – so why shut him out?

Rubbing his temples trying to ease the effects of a nearly sleepless night, Aragorn glared first at the stacks of papers on his desk, then at the door as though he wished he could mentally transport himself down the warren of corridors and to Faramir’s rooms.

He tried to focus on the papers again, but seeing Faramir’s meticulous report and tidy handwriting, he could not help drift back to thoughts that had plagued him all night, of all that may have occurred in this very room, while his eyes wandered to the now empty space on the shelf. That’s it, I am going to talk to him!

Yet as he walked down the last of the long corridors, Aragorn was struck again by indecisiveness. Why hadn’t Gandalf asked him to help? He was so lost in thought he hadn’t heard his foster brothers approach – a situation the twins readily abused by giving their little brother a good scare, jumping in front of him with a loud “Boo“.

Much to the twins’ disappointment though, Aragorn was only momentarily startled by the distraction as his thoughts returned to his impending talk with his Steward.

“What is the matter?” Elrohir asked softly, all playfulness having left his face as he noticed the seriousness in Aragorn’s eyes.

“I’m worried about Faramir,” the king responded quietly, “He is – he’s well… he’s troubled…”

The twins waited patiently, knowing there was more Aragorn wished to say.

“And I think I might know why. “

“Then you will be able to help him overcome these troubles,” Elladan said practically, “It’s clear he needs someone to help him. The poor boy looks a little adrift, not that I blame him.”

“I should, shouldn’t I?” Aragorn said appealingly.

“Of course you should!” Elrohir retorted.

“I – I just wondered… he’s so much more comfortable with Gandalf, and yet… I do think I know how I can get him to recover at least a little,” Aragorn said heavily, I do so wish to help him, and not just because he’s my Steward… “

“There you have it then,” Elladan stated emphatically.

Aragorn nodded in conviction, his resolved firmed now. He knew what he would have to do: he walked up to Faramir’s door, knocked and entered to find him up and dressed, arguing with Gandalf. He was glad to see a little colour in the younger man’s cheeks.

“The gardens,” the wizard was saying firmly, “no further.”

“I’ll come with you,” Aragorn offered promptly, smiling, as they turned towards him.

“Sire?” Faramir looked doubtful, “But you must have -”

“I have nothing to do. Come walk with me, and I shall tell you all the gossip from court. “

“Yes, go with him,” Gandalf said, “Why must I alone hear your arguments!”

Aragorn thought Faramir looked a little doubtful still so he gave him an encouraging smile as he led him out towards the gardens. They walked awhile, under the canopy of trees, and Aragorn told Faramir a little of what had been happening, mostly funny incidents that made the younger man smile, just a weary tugging up of his lips, but still a smile nevertheless, that gladdened Aragorn’s heart. He thought Faramir looked quite endearing when he smiled.

Finally, Aragorn sat down on a small stone bench and invited Faramir to sit next to him. The younger man did so uncertainly, seating himself at the very edge of the stone bench.

“I wish to talk to you of matters that I feel may aid your recovery. I know you chafe at this confinement and Gandalf will not let you away unless he is sure you are eating and sleeping properly,” Aragorn said quietly.

Faramir glanced up at him a little shyly, “The Warden says I may return to my responsibilities in a few days.”

Aragorn nodded, “And yet, I worry you may strain yourself again.”

Faramir’s face coloured a little at that.

“I would not want you falling ill again,” he said gently, aware that his concern seemed surprising to the young Steward.

“It is very kind of you,” Faramir stuttered.

“You seem to be upset often,” Aragorn continued carefully, “I know none of us have come out of this war unscathed and some of us bear wounds that remain unseen, but you, my friend, seem to have troubles older than that.”

Faramir gaped at Aragorn. He’d called him his friend? He was still trying to comprehend that so Aragorn’s words came as a surprise.

Aragorn was continuing quietly, “Is it your father?”

Faramir gasped, and turned slightly pale.

“I know he was not always – fatherly,” Aragorn said struggling to frame his words properly, as he noticed Faramir’s ashen face, “But I have noticed you worry about more than just that.”

Faramir looked up in alarm. Had Gandalf told him? No, he’d promised. He wouldn’t do that without asking him, he had given his word just the night before.

“He – he used to beat you didn’t he, Faramir?” Aragorn asked in a rush.

Beat him? Of course, he did, every time he was disobedient. He kept a cane in his study just for that purpose.

“I -,” he started helplessly, wondering what to say. All fathers disciplined their children if they were disobedient, didn’t they?

“I found his cane, Faramir,” Aragorn said softly, “And I’ve seen the marks on your back. He must have hit you often, although, not perhaps, in recent years. No one should hit a child so often that it leaves so many marks on his body. I am not surprised you are overwhelmed by all that has happened recently.”

Faramir was busy staring at the grass beneath his feet.

“Faramir?” he waited patiently till the younger man raised his chin and stared back at him out of troubled grey eyes, his expression completely miserable, “I think I can help you. Will you join me in my study after you have lunched?”

Faramir had no choice but to nod his head in silent misery.

He had a long, lonely noon meal, toying with the food as he kept wondering what the king proposed to do.

Aragorn watched Faramir as he entered the study behind him. The grey eyes suddenly seemed shuttered and Faramir’s very expression looked wary. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed earlier that Faramir had always looked uncomfortable while standing in his study.

“I called you here, so I could help you,” he said reassuringly.

Faramir nodded silently, but his eyes widened when he noticed the cane in Aragorn’s hands.

“I think there’s a very easy way for you to deal with this,” Aragorn said hurriedly in a soothing tone noting Faramir’s reaction, “I know you must have some awful memories of this cane, and I shan’t pretend that I understand how you feel. But I have travelled far and wide and I have come across others who have been hurt, and I’ve always found that the best way to deal with it is to confront it and destroy it, and not to hide away from it. I know you will understand that because you are a soldier.”

Faramir nodded again, his expression inscrutable.

“So,” Aragorn continued, “I think you should destroy this.” He held out the cane in his hand towards Faramir.

The Steward gaped at him a little, but made no move to take the cane from his hands.

“Go on,” Aragorn urged, “Take it. Break it in half over your knee and throw it in the fire.”

Faramir stared at the cane with increasing horror even as he tried to maintain an outward visage of calm that he certainly did not feel. Aragorn pushed it into his hands and he found his leaden fingers closing around the hateful wood.

“Throw it in the fire,” he heard Aragorn say and glanced up to meet the compassionate eyes of the king.

He could throw it in the fire, he supposed but that would achieve little. His nightmares would never go. He could never enter this study without remembering his father’s cold voice admonishing him.

“It is just a worthless piece of wood, Faramir,” Aragorn was saying.

You are a worthless little fool, Denethor had hissed into his ear on countless occasions as he’d lain sprawled on the floor or the desk, aching all over.

There was no way he could simply destroy the real problem, not when he was part of that problem himself.

Elessar is right, he thought miserably, I should have gone in the fire.

“Faramir,” Aragorn’s patient voice pulled him out of his miserable reverie. He stared up at the King’s face, and then at the cane in his hands, and then at the fireplace. The flames danced before his eyes, and for a brief second he was almost back in his dreams, their heat licking his skin and hair, coming closer and closer…

“You must do it, Faramir,” Aragorn’s voice broke through yet again, “Destroy this terrible reminder.”

But it isn’t the only reminder that I fear, Faramir wanted to tell him as he gazed dismally at the large, ornate wooden desk that Aragorn sat at every day. Lower your pants and get over that table, still echoed in his mind every time he looked at it.

There was nothing to do but to get it over and done with as soon as possible, he realized dimly. He had been a fool to even hope that the memories could fade. They would remain.

He took the cane, broke it quickly and then threw the pieces in the fire. It cackled as the wood fell in, and he watched almost mesmerised as the flames greedily wrapped themselves around the pieces. He could feel the heat on his skin, he could feel his lungs filling up with smoke as the brown wood turned black The fire ate it slowly and in his mind he could imagine the end result – nothing but ashes.

The House of Stewards was nothing but a pile of charred wood and ashes now.

He stumbled away from the fireplace falling right into a chair nearby, and sank his head in his hands.

He felt hands on his shoulders and stiffened immediately. The king he thought desperately, as he tried to control his trembling fingers.

Clenching his fists he finally raised his head, and gave the King a weak smile, “I must be more tired that I thought,” he said in as strong a voice as he could muster, “Would you excuse me, Sire. I would return to my chambers.”

He didn’t wait for a response as he rose and nearly stumbled out of the room.

Aragorn stared after Faramir in confusion and wondered whether to go after him or not. But no, Faramir had left in a hurry and Aragorn could understand he might want to spend some time alone after having to deal with something like this that must still hurt.

He sighed and returned to the ever-present pile of papers on his desk, only to be interrupted by Gandalf’s rushed entry into the room.

“Aragorn! What happened? I just saw Faramir practically fleeing this room!”

The wizard looked extremely worried so Aragorn hurried to placate him.

“Yes,” he nodded knowingly, “He’ll be a bit upset now, but it’s for the best. He told me what Denethor did to him, and I thought the best way for him to deal with it is to confront it. You were being too soft on him and he certainly was not making progress with that approach. So I helped him confront his fears.”

Gandalf frowned as he digested the information, “He told you what Denethor did?” he asked in a cautious tone.

“He did, but after some encouragement. I found a cane amongst Denethor’s belongings in my study; so it wasn’t very difficult to figure out he hurt Faramir with more than scolding words. I told Faramir that I knew about the cane during our walk in the garden and I asked him outright if Denethor used to beat him. I knew it would be difficult for him, and I could clearly see he was troubled by my question. Yet he didn’t avoid it and answered truthfully. I considered that a very promising first step.”

“A first step?” Gandalf asked testily, his voice sounding ominously controlled

“Obviously,” Aragorn retorted, “Voicing one’s worries is always the first step to recovery.”

“Then what do you suggest is the second step?” Gandalf inquired, his voice almost icily calm, a single eyebrow arching up in a manner that reminded a suddenly uncomfortable Aragorn of his foster father.

“Well, in this case I thought it would be best if Faramir were to destroy the cane himself and thereby mark the end of this dark part of his life, so he can start healing. Therefore I encouraged him to break the cane and burn it,” Aragorn was beginning to get a sinking feeling as he watched Gandalf’s expression become progressively grimmer.

“Oh gods Aragorn!” Gandalf finally exploded, “What where you thinking? Why didn’t you speak with me first? You had him burn it? Don’t you know how his father died, how he almost died? Haven’t you seen how he responds to fire?”

The sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach and Aragorn found himself staggering back into his chair in dismay. Oh gods! What ever had he done… how could he have… no wonder Faramir had fled!

“And it’s not just the cane,” Gandalf continued angrily, “You shouldn’t have assumed it was as simple as that. My loyalty to Faramir forbids me from saying any more but there is far more to it than you think.”

He turned towards the door, “I better go see him now. I hope you haven’t done too much damage – he really was making some progress the last few days, even if you didn’t see it.”

Faramir tried his utmost to hide his distress from his mentor, when Gandalf entered his room, but he was failing miserably.

“I just met Aragon,” Gandalf stated without preamble.

Faramir looked up at him, he seemed to be fighting a losing battle with his composure. His face was haggard and his fingers were shaking.

“I know you’re upset, but I can only suggest what I did earlier… Aragorn has misunderstood your worry once, it might happen again. He might misunderstand something else, and I fear there will be no one to help you merely because you do not trust any of us!”

“I do trust you,” Faramir murmured unhappily.

“Then why do you not trust me when I say that it is best for you that you speak of this to Aragorn. I can feel that he is the one who can help you heal. I know he will. I realize he may have seemed stern to you at first, but you must understand he was as confused as you were. He really is an excellent person, Faramir, even though it may be better if you did not tell him I said so!” Gandalf added, his eyes twinkling but there was no response from Faramir.

“He would never want to hurt you Faramir… he is becoming quite fond of you I can see. And it will hurt him tremendously if he were to know that he is inadvertently hurting you, and all just because you don’t trust him to hear the truth,” Gandalf said, hoping he was not sounding too harsh and at the same time still feeling annoyed with Aragorn for hurrying things along, and without asking him.

“I do trust you,” was all Faramir would say when Gandalf had finished. The Maia sighed and wondered what to do when a knock on the door made him look up.

“I’d like to speak to Faramir,” Aragorn said quietly.

Faramir turned towards him in surprise, while Gandalf gave him a look that seemed to imply he’d done enough talking to last him a lifetime. Aragorn gave the wizard a pointed look in return.

“Well, go ahead,” Gandalf growled, “What did you want to say? You should go to sleep, soon, Faramir. You’ve had a long day.”

“I’m fine, Mithrandir,” came the prompt though slightly shaky reply, “Sire?”

“I won’t take long,” Aragorn promised and gave Gandalf a half-pleading look, hoping he’d understand that he needed a few minutes alone with Faramir. Surely, he could trust him to not repeat his error?

“I’ll be back shortly,” Gandalf said, and then turning to Faramir, “think about what I told you.”

When the door shut behind Gandalf, Aragorn turned to his steward who had now stood up, “I came to apologise,” he started.

“No, Sire, please don’t. You were right. I needed to get over it.”

“Yes, but perhaps not this way,” Aragorn started.

“No, I’m fine now, I really am. Much better. I can get back to work now.”

“Work? Why what’s the hurry? Don’t worry about the work. It’s all being handled just fine. You need rest still.”

Faramir bit his lip and stared back at Aragorn, noting that his face looked lined, and tired, as though he hadn’t slept much. Of course, he hadn’t slept much he told himself. He was doing all that work Faramir should have been doing. It probably took him all night, no wonder he looked so exhausted, he thought fretfully. Not to mention the amount of time he seemed to spend worrying over him. He shouldn’t be sitting back in bed like this. Father would never have tolerated it if he had sat back just because he was a little ill, and Boromir had had to take over his duties.

“In fact,” Aragorn was continuing, “Even after you’re allowed up, I don’t want you exerting yourself. You’ll work minimal hours, eat and sleep properly, and stay away from the construction sites. Oh, and don’t even thinking of riding out to join your men in Ithilien!”

Boromir never fell ill. If Boromir were here, this would not have happened. He was so much stronger; he’d have handled everything properly.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered softly, “I wish I hadn’t fallen ill.”

“It’s hardly your fault you are ill,” Aragorn said, smiling in an attempt to cheer Faramir up. The Steward looked far too forlorn, “People do fall ill you know. And you have been injured recently.”

Faramir looked out of the window, “Boromir wouldn’t. He was always strong and he’d never fall ill, not when there is so much to do.”

He felt tears prick his eyes as he continued speaking, more to himself now, forgetting where he stood as the heaviness settled on his aching heart, “It is Boromir who ought to be here, not I. He went in my stead. I should never have let him, then he’d still be alive, and you would have a Steward worthy of serving you, not a weakling who merely adds to your worries.”

He lowered his head a little, and stared at the cold stone floor, his shoulders heaving slightly.

Aragorn sighed heavily at the forlorn little speech. Very gently he placed a hand under Faramir’s chin and lifted his head so that the glistening grey eyes looked into his.

“I would have liked greatly to have Boromir here alive too. Just as I like having you here alive. I would have loved it if both of you were here now by my side helping me rule Gondor. But that is not to be, and while I do mourn for him, and I know you miss him greatly, I am happy that at least I have you. I could not wish for a more dedicated steward and I hope a dearer friend.”

Faramir’s expression was almost comical in its confusion at Aragorn’s little speech. The king sighed and then almost impulsively wrapped his arms loosely around the younger man.

“I do mean it,” he said quietly, “you are an asset to this kingdom and I am very lucky to have you by my side.”

He drew back and gave him a reassuring smile, which was returned with a very small and extremely uneasy smile.

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