Author/pseudonym: Cathy Roberts
Email address: huntersglenn@yahoo.com
Rating: PG
Status: Finished
Characters: Aragorn, Faramir, Boromir, Gandalf, Legolas, Arwen
Date: January 3, 2004
Archive: Please ask first
Series: 1/1
Timeline: F.A. 82
Warnings: Character death, so bring a hanky.
Disclaimer: "The Lord Of The Rings" and all its characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, the Saul Zaentz Company, and New Line Productions. No infringement of their copyright is intended. This story was written for the enjoyment of "The Lord Of The Rings" fans everywhere, and may be downloaded for your own pleasure.
Summary: It's year 82 of the Fourth Age, and Aragorn is finally coming to terms with the fact that Faramir is his son. Obviously an AU story, you will find elements from both the book and movie within.
Blood Runs True
By Cathy Roberts
The morning had been busy with reports, lunch had been eaten while working, and now Aragorn was finally able to relax a bit as he sat in his study with Eldarion, his son and heir. They were still looking over reports from the various guilds of Gondor, but the end of the paperwork was in sight, and this gave each man hope that the rest of the afternoon could be spent in more pleasant company. Aragorn was already looking forward to walking through the gardens with Arwen, and could tell by the look in Eldarion's eyes that he, too, was planning on spending time with his wife and family.
The quiet of the room was broken though by the sudden opening of the door, followed by the appearance of one of the guards to announce that a messenger had come from Emyn Arnen, and then the messenger was in view.
"My Lord," the man was panting as he held onto the doorframe, sweat beaded on his brow. Aragorn looked up from the report, nodding at his guards, who had let the man through because they all knew him -- Bergil, the son of Beregond, and, as his father had been before him, a member of the household of the Prince of Ithilien.
"You look as if you've run all the way from Emyn Arnen," Aragorn commented as he got to his feet, as did his son, Eldarion.
"Nearly so, my Lord," the man said. "You must come. Prince Faramir..." the man looked away, at the window just to Aragorn's left, as if he could look all the way home. "There was an accident, and Prince Faramir is injured. Our healer can do nothing more for him, and sent me here for you. Please, hurry my Lord."
The implication was clear - Aragorn had healed Faramir once before, he could do so again. And, as once before, the idea of Faramir being near death sent an icy chill down Aragorn's spine. He looked over to Eldorian. "Tell your mother that I ride for Emyn Arnen. She should join me there."
"Yes, father."
Aragorn rushed from the study, calling for his horse to be readied and instructing Bergil to stay there and rest, and to come to Emyn Arnen with the Queen. The friendship she shared with the Prince was a long one, one that became even stronger when Eowyn passed on many years earlier. Arwen would be there at Faramir's side now, and Aragorn knew his head-strong wife would try to ride there alone, if she felt it was needed. But, if she knew she had to bring Bergil back, then she'd be safe without knowing that she'd been maneuvered into having an escort.
By the time Aragorn left the Citadel, his horse was ready. Of the line of Brego, the young stallion was fast and strong, and Aragorn knew he'd reach Faramir's home in good time. Still, as the horse took him across the Pellanor, Aragorn couldn't help but feel that he was going too slowly, and his mind drifted back to the first time he'd ever been aware of the existence of Faramir.
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In all of his years, Aragorn had never felt so unsettled as he did at that moment, and the words that Gandalf had said. Not even finding out his true heritage, which had been difficult to digest and grasp, had not left him feeling this way. He looked away from Gandalf, his mind miles and years away, as he fought the emotions that were stirring within him.
"It's true then. You had relations with her." Gandalf's tone was flat, but Aragorn could feel the disappointment in the Istari's voice.
"I did," Aragorn softly replied. "The feelings I had for her were one of the main reasons that I left the White City."
"Would that you had stayed away," Gandalf retorted, and his sharp tone made Aragorn's head jerk around to look at him.
"Well, I had thought that Dol Amroth was safe. I went there, not knowing that Finduilas was visiting, and definitely not with the intent to lay with her. I let my physical desires and longing for one I could not be with get the better of me, as did she. When I left her the last time, we both knew it was for all time, although I did not once imagine that it would be because she would die while still young." Aragorn still felt a pang of grief over hearing the news that Finduilas had died the previous year. Over six years it had been since he'd last seen her, but her features were clearly in his mind, although no feelings he had carried for the woman had ever come close to matching those he felt for Arwen. But Arwen had been inaccessible, and Finduilas was there, even though she was the wife of another man. It had not felt wrong, the times they had given in to the passion they felt. Not wrong at all, and Aragorn did not regret what they had done. How could one regret seeing Finduilas smile?
"He is your son, Aragorn."
Gandalf's voice broke into Aragorn's memories, and he shook his head. "When I left her, Finduilas assured me that I did not leave anything behind. No, Gandalf, the younger son of Gondor is not of my loins, but Denethor's."
Gandalf surprised Aragorn when the man reached out and grabbed him by both shoulders, holding him in place. Aragorn tried to break free of the grasp, but found that Gandalf was a lot stronger than he looked.
"Listen to me, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, I've looked into the eyes of Faramir and seen his true parentage. He is your son, and should you ever fall without further issue, then he will be Isildur's heir. Denethor suspects that the boy is not his, at least that's what I surmised from my visit and noting the way he treats the child. He dotes upon Boromir, yet turns a colder eye upon Faramir. He never liked you in your guise as Thorongil, it would be well for you to remember that, Aragorn. And the dislike he held for the father, would certainly fall onto the son, despite of, or perhaps even more so, for the love he had for Finduilas. He knows he was betrayed, at least in thought, if not in deed. There is enough kinship between your line and that of Denethor's to make you similar enough in looks and bearing, and Faramir more closely resembles his mother, but the doubt is there, and it shows." Gandalf suddenly released Aragorn, and Aragorn fell back a step, his heart and soul now troubled over the news that he might possibly be a father.
"What Denethor doubts, I know to be true. Faramir is your son, Aragorn, and you can never return to Minas Tirith until you are ready to take that which belongs to you."
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As Aragorn neared the memorial to Theoden King, his mind moved from that day when he discovered he'd fathered a child. He'd never gone back to Gondor, but his mind had often strayed to the White City, and he imagined what his son, his Faramir, looked like. Yes, he'd had Gandalf's description of the boy, but it wasn't enough. And, over the years, he'd hang on Gandalf's words when they'd meet and Aragorn would learn that Gandalf had once more been in Minas Tirith. For all that he loved Gondor, he most loved hearing stories about his son, although there were times when Aragorn suspected that Gandalf was keeping things from him. Still, those were feelings that Aragorn shook off, but when he met Boromir, and learned what Gandalf had been hiding, he had shaken with rage. Had Gandalf known all along that Denethor was physically and verbally abusive to the boy? Perhaps. But Aragorn also knew that if Gandalf had told him those things, then there would be no stopping him from going there to claim his son, whether or not he was ready to reveal his lineage. No, looking back, Gandalf had been correct to remain silent, even if Aragorn hadn't felt that way about it when he'd heard the truth from Boromir. But, at that time, they had thought that Gandalf had perished in the mines of Moria, and Aragorn's anger had no outlet. And then, Boromir had died, and when Aragorn once more was reunited with Gandalf, so much was going on that his anger over Faramir's upbringing had no real place.
But, oh, how his heart had soared along the road from Imladris as he'd overhear Boromir talking about his little brother with Merry and Pippin. Even then, the urge to sit Boromir down each night and question him about Faramir was great, but it was an urge that Aragorn suppressed. It wouldn't do any good to make Boromir wonder why he, a ranger from the north, would want to know about Captain Faramir, a ranger of the south. A ranger! Was that merely a coincidence, or did blood really tell with a person?
Losing Gandalf in the mines had been a slap in face, a reminder that they were all in danger of dying during their journey to Mordor, even Legolas. And so, when the Fellowship had a chance to rest in Lorien, Aragorn had taken the risk of asking Boromir about his brother, for who knew what the next day would bring for them all? Looking back, Aragorn didn't regret taking that chance, and as his horse carried him toward the bridge over Anduin, his mind recalled that conversation.
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There had been a small light in Boromir's eyes as he had spoke of Minas Tirith, and Aragorn found himself remembering the city, and the White Tower of Etch, seeing it even more vivid than Boromir described it. Aragorn also saw what to him was the greatest sight in the entire city, the Lady Finduilas, and he remembered the way her grey eyes would dance with joy as she spoke of her former home by the sea, Dol Amroth. She seemed to love Denethor, as much as anyone could be in love with an arranged marriage. Aragorn, or Thorongil, as he was then calling himself, found himself drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. Arwen was not to be his until he claimed his crown, and at that time in his life, Aragorn despaired of ever being able to do that. For a while there, he was certain that Ecthelion would back his claim, but in Denethor's eyes he saw the truth that Denethor would never bend his knee to him, and that had kept Aragorn quiet. So, instead of claiming Gondor as was his birthright, he fought for Gondor, and earned acclaim and love, not only from the people, but from Ecthelion and from Finduilas, and that further deepened the animosity that Denethor seemed to feel for him.
Dragging his thoughts back to the grove in Lorien, Aragorn smiled, agreeing with Boromir on how magnificent Minas Tirith was. The time seemed good enough, Aragorn though, to ask questions about Faramir.
"You say that there is no hope," Aragorn said, and he saw the sadness and despair creep once more into Boromir's eyes. "And yet, I've overheard you speaking to the Hobbits about your brother. Surely he has hope still."
It was as if another person stepped into Boromir's body at that moment. The despair and sadness quickly vanished, and a true smile graced Boromir's face and eyes. He nodded. "Faramir always has hope. He's not one born for battle, not my Faramir, but circumstances have made him a warrior, and he's a good one. He never misses a shot with his bow. If Faramir aims to kill, then dead you will be. And his sword arm is strong and true as well. He probably should have gone into the City Guard, or even served with me, but he chose his own path, that of being a ranger in Ithilien. Our rangers are brave, Aragorn, so very brave, and I don't say that just because my little brother leads them. They go across the river and into the east, scouting and taking out enemies when they find them. It would have been far better had father sent Faramir to Rivendell, for he could have taken all of you to the mouth of Mount Doom without Sauron ever being the wiser, he's that good at remaining unseen."
Boromir's smile faltered then, and he shook his head. "But father insisted that I go, and Faramir remained behind. The blood of Numenor runs true in him, Aragorn, and he would have withstood any test put before him. He's loyal and true, and yet..."
"There is a flaw?" Aragorn gently asked.
Boromir snorted. "His greatest flaw. He has hope when there is no hope. Time after time he does what our father bids, and time after time, father finds him lacking. Faramir would give his life for Gondor, and father cannot see that. Never has Faramir been good enough for him, and yet, Faramir still strives to win his approval, hoping to one day earn it. In truth, I don't know what I would have done all these years had our roles been reversed. Father is always holding me up as the ideal of what a man of Gondor should be, of what a Steward's heir should be like. If Faramir slew 20 orcs by hand, it would not be enough because I would have slain 21 had I been in his shoes. He should hate me," Boromir shook his head once more. "And yet he does not. He would give his life for me, and I for him. I've been his protector and defender since he was born, and will always be there for him, and him for me."
"It sounds as if any father would be glad to have two such sons," Aragorn said, a knot in his throat as the guilt of his past washed over him.
"Any father but Denethor," Boromir replied. He sighed. "Gandalf's death will be hard on Faramir. Gandalf, or Mithrandir, as we knew him, came to Minas Tirith from time to time, to read in the archives. Faramir would often assist him, and he looked highly upon Mithrandir, a fact that our father didn't like. Father prefers the counsel of Saruman, or, better yet, his own counsel. Faramir might have had an easier time if he'd not befriended Mithrandir, but I fear that our father would still have found fault with him. And yet, our father was not always so hard, so uncaring. He would hold Faramir, cuddle him, and laugh with him." Boromir turned his head, looking away into the trees as the soft singing of Gandalf's lament continued to surround them.
"What changed that?" Aragorn asked, already fearing the answer.
"Our mother died. I was but ten, but old enough to notice as she slowly wasted away over the years. When Faramir was born, she was happy, we all were happy, but by the time of his first birthday, mother was no longer happy. She'd go to the walls and look toward the south, toward the sea, and she'd often talk about how happy she'd been in Dol Amroth. Father kept telling her that she had once been happy in Minas Tirith, and should be happy there once again, but his words seemed to make no difference." Boromir turned to face Aragorn again, a look of puzzlement in his eyes. "In all of my years as a child, I never once heard them speak of love to one another. They'd tell me how much they loved me, and then mother would tell Faramir how much she loved him, but as for my parents, those words were never exchanged, at least within my hearing. Was it so with your parents, Aragorn?"
"I do not know. I was still a babe when my father died, but my mother often spoke of the love she held for him, and she never remarried, even though she was young enough when he died to have had another family. Your father never remarried, perhaps the love was there, just not voiced?"
"Perhaps. There are times though, when I doubt it. I remember her funeral, and hearing my father whispering that he regretted the doubts he'd had of her, but no words of love. He changed then, Aragorn. Before her death, he was a hard working man, a good Steward for Gondor. But afterward..." Boromir looked away again. "Antics that would once have earned a lecture instead earned a heavy hand, and while the power behind his blows seemed to be equal, no matter which of us felt them, it has seemed to me over the years that father found more cause for striking Faramir than me. And for no reason that I ever saw, except for those he created in his own mind. Once Faramir reached adulthood, that mostly stopped, but...his words cut just as deeply, and hurt just as badly. My Faramir is perhaps the best fighter in all of Gondor, and yet he doubts his own abilities, and for this, I blame our father."
Aragorn remained silent as Boromir had spoken, but inside he felt a red-hot rage begin. Denethor had struck his son! It was bad enough to think that Denethor would treat his own child that way, each and every time he had struck Boromir, but to have also hit the younger of the two, that act was one of a coward, not that of a man. Had Gandalf known, Aragorn wondered. The wizard had visited Minas Tirith, he certainly had to have known about the hard words, and so it seemed reasonable that he would have also known about the blows. Blows that fell upon the youngest heir of Isildur. While it was true that Faramir was not conceived in a marriage bed, his lineage was still the same, and if Aragorn ever fell before claiming the crown of Gondor and Arnor, then it would fall to Faramir to take up the claim. The Steward was harming the very man his oaths of office bound him to duty toward; it was a bitter irony, and it made Aragorn ache to hit something, or someone.
Looking at Boromir, Aragorn found himself seeing the father, seeing Denethor in his younger days, even though Boromir's features were a mixture of his parents. It took all of his control to not lash out at Boromir. Instead, Aragorn reminded himself of the love for Faramir that had been in Boromir's eyes and voice. He reached out and grasped Boromir's arm. "Faramir has been lucky to have you for his defender."
Boromir smiled sadly. "Nay, I've been the lucky one, to have someone such as Faramir as my brother." The smile then changed to one a bit cheerier, although a hint of sorrow remained. "You'd like him, Aragorn. You and he are much alike in build, and your eyes remind me of his."
"When we go home to Minas Tirith, I'll be counting on you to introduce me to your Captain," Aragorn replied. "As for now, we should rest while we can." He got to his feet and nodded goodnight to Boromir. As Aragorn headed to where he would sleep for the night, he found himself noting that he still didn't really know what Faramir looked like, even if he did now know what his son was like. For the first time since the Fellowship had left Imladris, Aragorn found himself wondering if he ever would look upon the face of his son.
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As Aragorn rode into the courtyard of Faramir's home, he wasn't surprised to see Legolas standing there, waiting for him. The elf looked grim, and Aragorn began to fear that he was too late, and that Faramir had died.
Aragorn nearly jumped from his horse, not really paying attention to the groom who took the reins from him, nor of the man's tearstained face. Aragorn's full attention was on Legolas.
"Is he..."
"Faramir still lives, but the healer holds no hope, Aragorn," Legolas replied. "He bleeds, but inside, and there's nothing that can be done."
Aragorn couldn't allow himself to believe that. "While he breathes, there is still hope." The two men headed into the house. "What happened?"
"Yesterday, he went further into the hills, telling Elboron that he'd most likely stay overnight. It was the anniversary of their marriage, and Faramir wished to spend it alone, as has been his wont since the Lady Eowyn passed onward. Faramir had invited me to dine with the family tonight, and asked that I come early, so we could talk over some plans for the area southeast of here. When I arrived this morning, and Faramir had not, Elboron worried that something had happened. We rode up there, and found Faramir, covered by rocks and debris at the bottom of a steep hill. He came around a bit, conscious enough to tell us that he'd been standing up above and there had been a shifting of the ground under him, sending him falling downward in a landslide. We brought him back here as quickly as we could, but the healer said that even if Faramir would have been brought here immediately, it wouldn't have made a difference."
As they climbed the stairs to the second floor, Aragorn could see several people standing in the hallway outside of Faramir's rooms. A handsome man stepped away from the group and approached him, his eyes shining with unshed tears. It was Elboron, Faramir's eldest son and heir.
"My lord," he said, "If only I'd gone looking for him earlier..."
Aragorn swept the younger man into his arms, hugging him tightly. "Don't let your thoughts go in that direction, Elboron. From what Legolas told me, it wouldn't have changed things. Is he awake?"
Elboron slowly pulled away, nodding. "He awoke right before Bergil was sent to you. He's refusing to take anything for the pain, insisting that he wants his wits about him when he sees you. The healer is in with him right now, but I don't think your interruption would be unwelcome."
Aragorn patted Elboron on his shoulder, and then walked past the rest of Faramir's rather large brood of children, clasping hands and giving words of encouragement as he passed through them and to the door. Stepping into the next room, Aragorn took a few moments to lean against the door and collect his thoughts. Faramir would be expecting a concerned and caring king to come to his bedside, and not a panicked father.
As Aragorn crossed the room to the door that would take him into Faramir's bedchamber, he found his mind going back to the very first time that he'd seen his son, yet another time when Faramir had lain near death, and not expected to survive.
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Aragorn slowly approached the body on the bed, the sights and sounds of the other patients existing only on the edges of his consciousness. His sole attention was with the man before him. Faramir, formerly the Captain of the Rangers, and now the Steward of Gondor.
His son.
In all his imaginings of meeting Faramir for the first time, Aragorn had never dreamed that they'd meet when his son was walking in shadow and near death. He shivered inwardly as he sat on the edge of Faramir's bed, reaching out with his left hand toward Faramir's hands as they lay clasped upon his breast. There was no blood to be seen, no evidence of a wound that would take Faramir away, but something had him. Taking a deep breath, Aragorn clasped Faramir's right hand within his own, holding it tenderly while reaching toward the fevered brow with his right hand. The reports of Denethor's words echoed in Aragorn's mind - 'see how he burns already'
For as much as Gondor needed Faramir, for as much as a king would need his steward, Aragorn needed his son. He closed his eyes as flesh met flesh, the younger man's name filling the air as Aragorn tried to call his son home.
"Faramir...Faramir...Faramir..." His voice grew quieter as he spoke, and in his own mind, Aragorn was now walking within the shadows. They were not entirely of Faramir's mind, but were real and threatening as they closed in around him, almost testing his resolve as they pushed against his body. Aragorn had known fear many times over the years, and most recently in battle against Sauron and his forces, but never had he felt fear like this - the shadows wanted to see if he was ripe for harvesting, if his soul could easily be separated from his body.
Looking around, Aragorn continued to call for Faramir, and the shadows ebbed a bit, giving Aragorn space to walk. Forward he went, into the darkest of the shadows, and then he could hear a sound of crying. It was a child, that much Aragorn could tell. Onward he walked, and then he saw the child just ahead, seated on the ground, his face resting on his knees and his arms encircling his head. All Aragorn could see were the curls of the reddish-blonde hair, but he knew the child. It was Faramir, and the sound of his son's grief gripped Aragorn's heart. Aragorn closed the space between them and knelt before the child.
"Faramir, look at me."
The child looked up, intent grey eyes shimmering behind tears. The boy gasped slightly and then struggled to his feet, so that he now stood taller, and Aragorn had to look up into the youngsters face. "M...my King?"
Not 'my father', Aragorn thought, and the tightness around his heart pained him even further. Of course, Faramir wouldn't say those words. Denethor was his father, and would evermore be his father.
"My Steward."
The boy shook his head and stomped his foot, his awe at being in front of a king now gone, replaced by anger and frustration, and a bit of grief. "My father is the Steward, not me. Never me. Boromir will be the Steward. Go away!"
"I can't leave you here, Faramir. You're needed now, and must return with me. Boromir and Denethor are...gone," not even in the world of shadow would Aragorn tell him of Denethor's ignoble death. "You must rise to the occasion, and be the man that Boromir knew you were meant to be." Aragorn got to his feet and stretched out his hand toward the child. "Come with me, Faramir."
"No! Boromir is not gone, nor father. You lie!" The boy spun around and began to run, further into the shadow.
"Faramir!" Aragorn called out as he stepped forward. "Faramir, come back to me. I need you, Faramir. I can't do this without you." His mind racing, Aragorn struggled to find the words that could bind the younger man to him, and when he found them, Aragorn found himself reluctant to use them. But use them he must, or lose Faramir forever.
"I am Isildur's heir, Faramir of Gondor. The King has returned, and has need of you. Return to me, and do your duty." The boy stopped, but didn't turn around. Aragorn could see the small shoulders shaking, and he made himself turn around before he said something that should never be said. He began to walk back the way he had come, repeating his words. "Return to me, and do your duty, Faramir."
And then Aragorn was free of the shadows, and once more looking down into Faramir's face. Had it been enough? Someone came, with the athelas. Aragorn knew he spoke with the person, he could even remember handling the herb and placing it in the bowl of hot water. The air in the room was light then, and pleasant, but Faramir did not stir, and Aragorn felt his heart tighten once more. Just as he had failed Boromir, now he was failing Faramir. He had shed tears of comradeship for Boromir, but the pain of losing the man he had known were nothing to the pain he was now feeling over the loss of Faramir. What had it been that Gandalf reported Theoden King had said? That a parent should not have to bury a child? Could the pain have been any worse if he himself had raised Faramir as he should have done? Aragorn thought not.
One last try, Aragorn thought, as he picked up the bowl and held it near to Faramir's face, letting the aroma get closer. His vision wavered as his eyes filled with tears, and Aragorn was vaguely aware that others in the room were crying. It was not enough. It was never enough.
And then Aragorn's heart lurched to a stop as he found himself staring into Finduilas's grey eyes. Eyes filled with love and admiration.
"My lord," the voice was soft, but firm, and Aragorn inclined his head toward Faramir as he passed the bowl off to someone.
"You called me. I come. What does my king command?"
And they were the sweetest words that Aragorn had ever heard. The joy within Aragorn's heart drowned out the rest of the words they exchanged, and when he found himself outside of the room, with only Gandalf and Prince Imrahil as company, he couldn't contain himself.
"He lives!" Aragorn's voice was nearly a shout as he grasped Gandalf in a bear hug, and then also hugged Prince Imrahil. "He lives!"
And it was the first of many joys that Faramir brought to his life.
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When Aragorn stepped into Faramir's bed chamber, he saw that there were three people in the room: the healer, an assistant to the healer, and Faramir himself, although Aragorn didn't have a clear view of the younger man as he lay still upon the bed. The healer turned as he heard the door closed, and the look he gave Aragorn was a grim one.
"Sire, it's good that you've come. The Prince has been refusing to take anything for the pain until he could speak with you," the healer said, exasperation with his patient clear in his voice.
"As if it matters," a voice faintly said. Faramir's voice, and the pain within it shot through Aragorn's heart. "Leave us," he said to the healer.
The healer and the assistant stepped away from the bed, and as the healer neared Aragorn, he stopped. "The injuries are beyond repair, Sire. But perhaps the hands of a king..."
Aragorn nodded, and he clasped the man's shoulder. "I will do what I can." And with that, he stepped toward the bed, reluctantly, since he feared to see Faramir there in bloody repose.
It was perhaps worse to reached Faramir's bedside and see that the Steward looked not much different than he did every day, except for the paleness of his skin, and the sheen of perspiration that shown on his face. Aragorn sat gently on the mattress, and reached out with his hand, grasping Faramir's within it. Faramir's fingers tightened, a sign of the pain he was enduring.
But mixed with the pain in Faramir's eyes was a bit of happiness. "You came."
"Nothing could have kept me away. You should take the draught to numb the pain, let your body rest while I heal you," Aragorn said, his voice tender.
Faramir slowly shook his head. "This is even beyond your abilities, my lord. I've heard them whispering the news to my family. I am dying." He gave Aragorn a small smile. "It's not as bad as I feared it would be."
Aragorn looked down into the intent gray eyes, noting that Faramir didn't look all that much older now than he had when they first met, some eighty-two years ago. There were a few gray hairs in his beard and on his head, and a few more lines, but then they all showed signs of age, except for Legolas, who simply looked a bit more mature than he had when the Fellowship had set out.
And as Aragorn looked at Faramir, he realized that he wasn't prepared to let his son go. It was too soon, far too soon, and he wasn't going to just sit there and let Faramir go. "As long as you breathe, there is hope, Faramir."
"Shall I hold my breath, then?" Faramir said, and the slight chuckle that followed his words made him grimace with pain.
"Your life is no laughing matter, Faramir," Aragorn said. "I will not let you go easily."
Gray eyes looked into gray eyes, with neither man moving, and then Faramir nodded. "Do as you will, Sire, but do not blame yourself if it isn't enough."
Aragorn picked up the goblet that held the pain reducer. "Drink this, you'll rest easier."
Using one hand to hold the goblet to Faramir's lips, and the other to help raise the Steward's head, Aragorn helped Faramir drink at least half of the healer's concoction. But just the small effort of sitting up enough to drink had taxed Faramir's reserves, and the man was even paler than before as he slumped against his pillows.
After setting the goblet aside, Aragorn leaned in closer and brushed a reddish-gold curl away from Faramir's forehead. Even after so many years, the hair was curly, and nearly unruly. The hair color and texture were things that Faramir had inherited from his mother, and, looking down at his son, Aragorn could see a good deal of Finduilas within Faramir. He'd never really seen himself, though, although there had been others who had looked upon Faramir and said they saw signs of his father. Arwen had seen it, as had Eowyn, once she saw them both together, although she had held her tongue about it. And Boromir had also seen it, which had always made Aragorn wonder if Denethor had also seen the resemblance. Had he himself been the reason for Faramir's unhappiness at the hands of Denethor, or had the man truly gone to his death believing that Faramir was his son?
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The remaining members of the fellowship had set off from Lorien with hearts still heavy from their grief at losing Gandalf in the mines of Moria. Aragorn's heart was now bearing an even heavier grief, for he found himself alternating between raging inwardly at Gandalf for not telling him the danger his son had been in, and raging inwardly at himself for not going to Minas Tirith years ago to claim his son. Faramir could have been brought up at Imladris, just as Aragorn had been, safe and secure within its borders. It had been easy to leave Faramir with Denethor when he was ignorant as to how Denethor treated the child. And now the child was a man, and Aragorn couldn't find enough words of retribution for himself for his lack of inaction. The admission from Boromir that Denethor was physically and verbally abusive to both boys, but to Faramir especially, was disheartening. There was also Aragorn's own mortality to worry over. If he fell, then that would make Faramir the lone remaining heir of Isildur. With Gandalf gone, there was only one other who knew of Faramir's lineage, and that was Arwen, for Aragorn had confessed the brief affair to her long before he even knew that Faramir was his son. So, naturally, once Gandalf had delivered the news, Aragorn had also told Arwen. So, all would not be for naught, he reflected, except that Faramir would come into his heritage never having known his true father, much the same way that Aragorn had. The similarities were chilling, and Aragorn found his thoughts drifting to how much more he and his son might have in common.
When the group set to shore to make camp that night, Aragorn wasn't too surprised to have Boromir approach him. He'd felt the man's eyes upon him and Frodo frequently during the day, and his older fears that Boromir would be tested by the ring came to the surface. Which is probably why Aragorn was taken slightly aback when Boromir stood above him, defiance in his stance. Aragorn had put aside his food, and he looked up at Boromir, his nerves on edge and ready for just about anything. Anything other than the wetness he saw in Boromir's eyes.
"You'll not take him from me," Boromir quietly said.
Such simple words, those had been, but so much meaning behind them. Boromir could have been talking about the ring, or to many other people, but in his heart, Aragorn knew that Boromir meant Faramir.
"It has never been my intent to take him from anyone," Aragorn quietly replied, thinking that would end the conversation. So once again, he was surprised when Boromir suddenly sat down beside him.
"He is...my life, Aragorn. I have taken care of him for nearly all of his life, being the father to him that...that our father could never seem to be. I would give my life for him, mark my words on that." Boromir looked over toward the fire, where the hobbits and Gimli were seated, talking and eating, and then beyond them, and to the forest, where Legolas stood watch. He brushed his hand over his face, and with eyes closed, spoke. "I know you," he quietly said. "Ever since I met you, there's been this hint of recognition floating in my mind, and today, while on the water, it came to me. You are, or rather, were, Thorongil." Boromir opened his eyes and looked directly at Aragorn. "I was young when you left Minas Tirith, too young to really remember you. And indeed, it's not from home that I know you, but from Dol Amroth."
Boromir got to his feet, and began to pace back and forth in front of Aragorn. "When I was four, mother went there, a yearly visit, and I went with her, as I often did. Thorongil was there, and I can vaguely remember seeing the adults in hushed conversations over, most likely over that. As I look back, knowing now the history of the time, I know that you had supposedly left Gondor earlier, after your victory against the Corsairs of Umbar. The facts are in the scrolls, but the true story lived on in the tales of the people. They spoke of how well loved you were by Ecthelion, how he perhaps favored you over Denethor, his own son, and how Denethor resented you for it." Boromir came to a stop then, a skewed smile on his face. "Strange how time mirrors time, isn't it? My father prefers me over Faramir, and yet, Faramir bares no resentment over it. I don't think that my brother knows what resentment really is. Do not misunderstand me, it's not that Faramir is some fool with his head in the clouds. It's simply that Faramir does not envy."
The pacing resumed. "I remember mother laughing during that visit, more than she ever laughed when around father. She was happy, and so was I. There was a lot of time spent on the beaches, and, when it was time to return to Minas Tirith, mother bade me to remember to not mention the name of Thorongil. And I kept my counsel, even though at that young age, I didn't know why it was important. Even once Faramir was born, I still didn't know it was important. I think I was 16 or 17 when I heard the first hint that Faramir was not Denethor's son, but since no other name was brought forward as to who his father might be, I dismissed the rumor as something born of envy over a woman long dead, a woman who so held my father's heart that he could never bring himself to marry another. It wasn't until last night, when you questioned me about Faramir, that I remembered those rumors, and that visit to Dol Amroth."
Boromir spun about and dropped to his knees in front of Aragorn, his hands reaching out to grasp Aragorn's within his own. "I beg you, Aragorn, do not take my brother from me."
Aragorn had remained silent during Boromir's speech, his mind reaching back to those days in Dol Amroth, and how much joy he and Finduilas had brought to one another. Yes, he still felt anger over knowing the childhood that Faramir had endured at the hands of Denethor, but looking into Boromir's eyes - eyes filled with love for Faramir and fear of losing him, Aragorn could feel that anger slip away. Boromir had been there for Faramir, and his love had steered the younger man through loss and grief and into adulthood. The brothers belonged to one another, and Aragorn felt a stab of relief at the knowledge that he'd never had to make the decision to break them apart years earlier.
"Boromir, I swear to you that I will do nothing to take Faramir's allegiance away from you." And it was an oath that Aragorn intended to keep, no matter what the future brought. Boromir would succeed Denethor as Steward, and if, they were successful with their quest to destroy the ring in the fires of Orodruin, then Aragorn would rise up as the king of Gondor, and Boromir would be at his side, a steadfast and loyal Steward. Faramir would remain a Captain of the rangers, a noble of the land, with his only loyalties being to his family and to the king. Never to Aragorn as himself.
Boromir smiled and then bowed his head over their hands. "I trust your word, Aragorn. And, I swear to you, that if harm should befall you, then I will see to it that Faramir takes up his inheritance from you, and I will serve him faithfully."
And, while Aragorn would have liked to have had Boromir vowing to serve him faithfully, it was good enough to hear that Boromir would see to it that a true heir of Isildur sat on the throne of Gondor. From all that Boromir, and Gandalf before him, had told Aragorn of Faramir, he knew that Gondor would be well served indeed.
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When Aragorn stepped back into the sitting room, he felt far wearier than his years. He had done all he could to repair the damage done to Faramir's body by the fall, but nothing had worked. Bones were broken, and Faramir was bleeding internally, and all the potions in Middle Earth couldn't hold the man to this world.
In short, he had failed, Aragorn thought. It was not the first time that his hands had not been enough to save someone, but it was perhaps the most important time. He brought his hands up before his face, his eyes wide with wonder at how fallible they had become. And no matter which way Aragorn turned his hands, they were still the hands of a man who couldn't save his own son from certain death. Worthless hands, he thought.
"Estel?"
The soft voice of his wife brought Aragorn's attention to the room at large. It had been empty hours before when he'd gone in to see Faramir, and now it seemed too full. Arwen was there, as was Eldarion, and his wife, the young princess from Rohan, Theodwyn, named for her grandmother. Elfwine now ruled over the Rohirrim, and Theodwyn, being the daughter of Eomer and Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, was also blood kindred to Faramir. Elboron and his wife and eldest son were there, as was Legolas and the healer. There was no one in the room who did not love Faramir in some way or the other.
There was no one in the room who could keep Faramir from dying.
Aragorn felt Arwen's arms encircle his waist, and he rested his head against hers, breathing deeply of the scent of her hair, and letting the familiarity of the gesture calm him to some extent.
When Aragorn pulled away, he was once more in control of his emotions. "Legolas, he wishes to speak with you," Aragorn said. It was a folly of Faramir's, this insistence on talking himself out, Aragorn thought. Faramir felt that he owed it to Ithilien and to Legolas for the two of them to finalize the plans they'd been working on for the recovery of a particular section of the land, a bit of it that ran close to Mordor. When Aragorn had pointed out to Faramir that he needed to rest and conserve his strength, the ever pragmatic man had replied with a query as to what purpose that would be. He was dying, and nothing could change that. It angered Aragorn to see Faramir accept death so easily. It was one thing to ignore the spectre of death while in the heat of battle, but quite another to give up on life. Not that it mattered - all the strong will in the world couldn't keep Faramir alive. But, oh, Aragorn wanted to delay that moment of departure for as long as humanly possible.
"You are cold," Arwen said, taking hold of his hands and gently rubbing them. "Come and sit by the fire."
Aragorn allowed himself to be led to a chair by the fire, and he sat down there, but the heat of the flames didn't seem to do anything to alleviate the chill that had set into his heart.
"He's dying, and I have failed. I cannot heal him," Aragorn said, and the fire before him grew bleary with his unshed tears.
"We all will pass from this world, Estel," Arwen gently said. "Many of our friends have gone to the far shores, and we will surely follow them. It is not an end, but merely a beginning of another journey."
"I know, but it's a journey that I thought I'd take long before Faramir." Aragorn didn't even bother to wipe away the tears that were falling freely from his eyes. "He should outlive me. He should..."
Once again, Aragorn felt himself pulled into Arwen's arms, and he cried as she held his head against her bosom. As his tears finally began to subside, he noticed that candles were now lit in the sitting room, and that night had fallen outside. There was conversation around him, and the sound of weeping, and a quick look around the room revealed that Legolas was not there, which meant he'd gone in to speak with Faramir. Gone to hear the last wishes for Ithilien from its Prince. Gone to hear the last dreams of his friend.
"Estel," Arwen said, her voice a bit firmer than before. "It cannot end this way for him. He needs to leave here knowing that you love him."
Aragorn looked up into his wives eyes, and saw that hers were full of tears and sadness. "He knows that I love him, there has never been any doubt of that, my lady."
Arwen sighed and sank to her knees in front of Aragorn, taking his hands in hers, much the way he remembered Boromir doing so many years before. "Yes, he knows that the King loves his Steward, and that Elessar loves his friend Faramir. But, Estel, what he needs to know is that he has his father's love, and that he's made you proud."
Aragorn felt a chill run down his spine at Arwen's words, and his oath to Boromir echoed within his mind. It had been that oath - and, to be truthful, a bit of his own fear of being rejected, that had kept him silent all through the years. Was he proud of Faramir? That was not a simple answer, although Aragorn knew that no father in all of Middle Earth could be more proud of a son than he was of Faramir and all the man was and what he had accomplished in his life. His son was a fine solider, a good scholar, a loving and caring husband, a loving father, a true and loyal friend and Steward. But above all, Faramir was a good man.
"Mother's right," Eldarion said as he came to kneel beside the chair where Aragorn sat. "You need to tell him, father. I've spent many years admiring him, and wishing I could openly call him 'brother'. But, out of respect for your apparent wishes for that to remain unspoken, I kept quiet. But my love and respect for him never wavered."
Aragorn reached out and clasped his son's shoulder, his heart breaking slightly as he thought of the bonds he'd kept his sons from sharing. "You're right. Denethor died with Faramir thinking he was unloved, and unappreciated. It's not fair for him to...to pass onward, and think I care in the same way. But, I don't know how he'll take the news..."
"He knows," Elboron said as he stepped into view, and knelt to Aragorn's other side. "Father has never spoken openly about it, but he's mentioned enough for me to be able to tell you with all my heart that he knows he is your son. It was never his place to presume to make you acknowledge the fact, and he felt that you'd given him enough over the years, by keeping him as your Steward, and then by making him a prince."
Everyone looked up, startled, as Legolas jerked open the door and called for the healer. The man rushed into Faramir's bedroom, and the door was shut behind him and Legolas. There was a hush over the room, and when the healer returned, the tension became nearly unbearable.
"It won't be long now. You should...it's time to say your farewells," he told the room, emotion now getting the better of him.
The gathered went into Faramir in small family groups, first Eldarion and his wife, then Arwen, followed by Elboron and his family. Even his youngest had been brought to Faramir's side to say goodbye.
Legolas put his hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "It's time, Aragorn."
Aragorn nodded, and then he pushed himself up and out of the chair. "You've been a good friend to him, Legolas. I thank you for that."
Legolas smiled sadly. "There's no need for thanks, Aragorn. He's an easy man to friends with. Gimli will grieve openly over not being here to make his goodbyes, as he also valued Faramir's friendship and advice. But I fear that not even Gandalf's old friend Shadowfax could get him here on time."
Aragorn remembered that Gimli was back at the Glittering Caves, and knew that by the time the dwarf received word that Faramir had been injured, the man would already be dead. Aragorn nodded, and then he opened the door and stepped into Faramir's bedroom once more.
As he approached the bed, Aragorn noticed that Faramir's breathing had become more labored, and he feared that his son was once more in pain. Had he lapsed into unconsciousness? That would be a bitter end, Aragorn thought. For him to have finally reached his senses and resolved himself to telling Faramir the truth, only to find that he could not because Faramir was too far gone.
But, as Aragorn sat once more upon the edge of the bed, Faramir's eyes opened, and he smiled up at him. "It won't be much longer," he said, his voice soft.
"I know," Aragorn replied. "I know." He reached out and took both of Faramir's hands within his own. "I came to you before as Elessar, King of Gondor. I come to you now as Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and your father." Aragorn couldn't miss the change in Faramir's eyes at those words, and he wondered how a man on the brink of death could look so happy. "I regret that I did not know you as a child, but there are no regrets at all for the time I've known you since you were the Steward of Gondor. I've always been honored to have you as my son, and the love I've felt for you has been strong and true, even though I was too scared to ever admit it."
"Scared?" Faramir asked, his eyes now questioning. "What would you be afraid of, my lord?"
"Of your rejection, Faramir. Denethor...failed you as a father, as did I. I knew of your existence from the time you were six years old, yet I never claimed you as my son. I've worked at your side for years, never telling you who I was, or how much you meant to me. I hid myself behind a vow I made to Boromir to never take you away from him; convincing myself that to tell you who I was, would somehow alter the love you two shared. I was wrong. I was a coward, and I was wrong, and I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me."
Faramir pulled one hand free and reached up, touching Aragorn's face with the backs of his fingers, and Aragorn realized that he was once more crying. "There is nothing to forgive. You needed an heir that all could follow, and, while I could guess that you were my father, I knew that you could never publicly say that I was your son. Gondor needed, and still needs, unity, and Eldarion, born of your marriage, is the unity that is needed." Faramir let his hand drop to the covers, and he smiled. "But the words are good to hear. Do you know what Mithrandir said to me as I left to retake Osgiliath during the War of the Ring? He told me that my father loved me, and would remember it ere the end. I thought he meant Denethor, and perhaps he did, but I can see now that he meant you."
Faramir began to cough, bringing up a bit of blood, and he waved away Aragorn's attempts to still him. "No, there is no more time. I have always loved you, from the moment my eyes opened, and I saw you leaning over me, having called me home. I'm not so sure that I would have returned just for the king, but I had to return for you."
Aragorn moved around until he could hold Faramir upright in his arms, and he smoothed down the curls as he held Faramir against his chest. "I was desperate to have you with me, and I still am. But I know that it's time now for this part of your journey to end, and the next to begin. Speak of me kindly when you reach the far shores, Faramir."
"I will." Another cough sent shuddering through Faramir's body. "Although, father, I think they already know of your kindness. I can see them," Faramir said, and he straightened within Aragorn's arms, a look of pleasure on his face. "My mother and Boromir, and my father Denethor. I see Eowyn, waiting for me, my sweet, lovely Eowyn. It is a beautiful shore, father, with sunshine all around, and the sunrise...it is the most magnificent sunrise I have ever seen..."
Faramir grew still within his arms, and Aragorn feared the worst. He lightly kissed the top of Faramir's head, and then moved so that he could lay Faramir back upon his pillows. There was a look of peace upon Faramir's face, and his eyes were fixed upon that other shore. Aragorn made the mark upon Faramir's forehead, repeating the ritual he'd done when Boromir had passed over to that shore. A scream filled Aragorn's ears as his heart shattered into a thousand pieces, and it was only when others crowded into the room around him that he realized that the sound came from his throat. He pulled his arms free from the hands that held them, hands that held him back, and he gathered Faramir into his arms once more.
Aragorn had known much heartache over the years, and had said more than his share of goodbyes to those he loved. But never before had a goodbye left him with an aching emptiness within his heart, and he began to understand a bit of Denethor's madness, for how could a man stay sane while knowing that his son was dead?
Not again, Aragorn thought as his tears ran freely. Never again would he know the pain of losing a child, or even a grandchild. He would leave the world before that could happen, even if it meant leaving Arwen behind for a short while. "I will come to you, Faramir, my son. I will come to you. Wait for me," Aragorn said as he rocked the body of his son. "Wait for me."
The End