Linda's Lord of the Rings Fanfiction

These characters are the property of the Estate of J.R.R, Tolkien The story was written for pleasure and no profit will be or has been made.

A New Beginning

The King had survived much to his joyous relief, despite his nightmarish visions to the contrary. Sauron was defeated and the One Ring destroyed .Today, Faramir’s brief tenure as the twenty seventh and last ruling Steward would draw to its close, when he resigned his office to the King as soon as he entered the City.

He felt humbled and amazed that the long awaited task of handing back the White Rod to the King should fall on him, Faramir, as Gondor had waited almost a thousand years for this moment.

He had never desired to rule, nor indeed been born for it. His brother Boromir had been the heir. Faramir would have seen it as an honour to serve the new King, but it was most unlikely that Aragorn, or Elessar as he must remember to think of him as now, would want any member of his family to hold high office,not after Boromir had succumbed to the Ring and Denethor had taken his own life after losing his reason. If the King required a Steward, he would surely choose one more suitable, maybe Prince Imrahil or one of his own kindred from the North.

He had grown up hearing tales from his Uncle about how much his father had hated the mysterious Captain Thorongil, who had served under his grandfather and been the apple of his eye. It now turned out that he and the new King were one and the same. Maybe that was why Denethor had always spoken of the lost heir to the throne in such contemptuous terms as ‘an upstart from a ragged house long bereft of honour and dignity’.

No, King Elessar, would not want the son of Denethor anywhere near him, though he intended to be the most loyal of his subjects. Already he loved the King, and had done so since he first beheld those warm and compassionate eyes looking into his.

He planned  to move to Ithilien on the far side of the river,so as not to trouble the new King with his presence, and there build a home for himself and the Lady Eowyn once they were married.

His heart beat faster at the very thought of the beautiful Lady of Rohan. He still could hardly believe that he had been bold enough to ask her to be his wife and was amazed that she had accepted. She was by far the most beautiful and desirable woman he had ever set eyes upon and it had been love at first sight for him during those dark days ,when he feared that their world was about to be destroyed.

It seemed that they had so much in common, both having lost loved ones and been brought back from the very brink of death by King Elessar’s hand. There was so much yet to learn about his bride to be. He had only known her six weeks but he was certain he had found the woman of his dreams.

If only her responsibilities in Rohan did not mean that they would have to wait so long to be married! He was longing to be a husband and a father too. He greatly desired children, a large family of sons and daughters that he could bring up in a completely different way, to the cold and rigid manner in which he had been raised.

He knew Eowyn had once loved the King, but it did not trouble him for how could anyone fail to do so?

He dressed carefully for the coming ceremony. It had been a problem knowing what to wear, as his father’s ceremonial robes had perished with him. In a time of shortages after the war, it seemed extravagant having new robes made just for one occasion, however momentous.

He finally decided in favour of an outfit, similar to the uniform of the Citadel Guard, black breeches and a black tunic embroidered with the White Tree and Seven Stars, and over that, a cloak, especially made for the occasion bearing the same design.

At last his dream of meeting the King, when he was dressed in his finest clothes was coming true. He felt so ashamed of being clad only in his nightshirt for their earlier encounters!

He shunned the services of a valet, as he disliked anyone seeing his scarred body. Flinching at the ever-present pain in his back and shoulders, he donned his tunic and undershirt.

The healers had done all they could, but their probing and prodding was even more painful than the wounds to endure. He had told them he desired no further treatments and they had left him alone, amazed that he could move the injured shoulder at all after such a severe wound.

He flushed at the memory of the King entering his room while the Healers had been treating his wounds. He had been bare to the waist with all the scars from his wounds, and even worse, from the repeated floggings he had endured, visible to the Royal eye! Then instead of turning away, Aragorn had insisted on treating Faramir himself, which had been the most skilled, effective and gentle treatment, he had ever received.

Worse was to follow,though, as he had committed another appalling breach of etiquette by weeping in the King’s arms when too distraught to realise who it was that held him.

Today; he was determined to finally make a good impression .He hoped after all that had happened since, Aragorn might have forgotten. He had offered to treat Faramir’s wounds again should he return but surely no King would take so much trouble over a servant? And even if he were so inclined, the shame and humiliation of removing his shirt and showing the shameful scars again to one he admired so much, was too painful to even contemplate.

After being assured that he looked immaculate by his servants, Faramir took up the White Rod and made his way down to the barrier, which until a new one could be constructed, served as the Main Gate into the City.Even the rod, he carried was new,for the old one, used by generations of ruling Stewards, had perished together with his father on the pyre. 

Although Minas Tirith was still suffering from the aftermath of the Siege, repairs were already well underway. Faramir had done everything possible, working long hours despite his still frail health to prepare for the coming of the King.

The houses and streets were decorated with garlands of flowers and banners proclaiming a welcome to Elendil’s heir .Excited throngs of citizens lined the streets, awaiting his coming.

It was a beautiful May morning and the city was bathed in bright sunshine, making the white stonework gleam like silver against the blue sky. There was a pleasant breeze, which made the banners flutter gaily in the wind,almost as if they danced to welcome the one who was coming.

Faramir arrived early. Trying to calm the butterflies in his stomach, he looked around him, noting that the plain white banner of his House was fluttering in the breeze. as it flew from the White Tower for the last time. After today, the King’s standard would fly there in its place. This was a New Age and Faramir rejoiced to be alive to see it.

The Steward felt a pang of sorrow for his father and brother, whose shoes he now occupied, though he wondered if either would have handed over the rod quite so willingly. There might even have been civil war, had Denethor still been in charge and Boromir had expressed a wish since childhood that he himself could be King.

Maybe it was the will of the Valar, that he should be the one standing here, though he wished at had not had to be at the cost of his beloved brother’s life that he was now Steward.

Eowyn came to stand by his side as the time for the ceremony drew nearer. Elfhelm, her brother’s Marshal, came and stood on her other side, with many other Riders of the Mark, while Lord Hurin, Warden of the Keys, and other Captains of Gondor came to stand at his other side. The moment, Gondor had been waiting so long for, approached.

The bells rang out joyfully as the Royal procession slowly came into sight

He was coming! Faramir’s heart leapt to again see the one who had called him back from the shadows, recalling him from the very brink of death. It baffled him still, why the King should have fought to save his life .He yearned to serve him, in any way he could for the rest of his life, in whatever humble capacity Elessar might desire. He had faithfully discharged the duties the King had given him ere he left, and had faithfully cared for Gondor, the Lady Eowyn and the Hobbit Meriadoc, as he had been charged.

The King was walking slowly on foot preceded by his kindred from the North dressed all in silver and grey. He was clad in black mail girt with silver, and he wore a long mantle of pure white clasped at the throat with a great jewel of green, which shone from afar. Faramir recognised the jewel as the one he had worn it at their first meeting. He was bareheaded save for a jewel like a star upon his forehead bound by a slender fillet of silver.

Beside him walked Faramir’s uncle, Prince Imrahil and Eowyn’s brother, King Eomer of Rohan and four small figures, not children as many in the crowd thought, but Hobbits, Frodo, the Ring Bearer, still looking very fragile after his ordeal, Sam his loyal companion, and Merry and Pippin, both of whom Faramir had become very fond of.

There were also three of the First Born in the procession, two so alike that they had to be twins and a third with long golden hair, even more beautiful than Lady Eowyn’s fair tresses. The glory of the past had indeed returned to Gondor now the Fair Folk were once again here. Faramir had waited all his life to see one Elf, never mind three!

A hush fell over the crowd at the King’s approach. Faramir, accompanied by Hurin of the Keys walked forth to greet the King. Behind them came four guards of the Citadel in high helms and armour, carrying a great casket.

Faramir’s heart was thumping so loudly he felt sure that everyone present would hear though he walked tall and proud as a Captain of Gondor. When he reached the King, he knelt and held out the White Rod saying, “The last Steward of Gondor begs leave to surrender his office.”

To his amazement, Aragorn raised him to his feet and embraced him. Lifting his head he looked into the compelling and compassionate eyes he remembered so well and had feared never to see again.

Smiling, the King handed back the rod and said in a loud voice

“That office is not ended, and it shall be thine and thy heirs' as long as my line shall last. Do now thy office!”

A loud cheer arose from the crowd, as Faramir was well loved in the City.

Faramir was so astonished that he almost dropped the rod. Not only had he been reinstated as Steward but also Aragorn had addressed him using the familiar ‘thee’ as one would a friend. Then he had spoken of heirs, however could he know that Faramir was planning to marry and produce some?

He struggled to compose himself and Aragorn asked quietly,“Are you well my friend?”

Faramir bowed again, murmuring, “Yes,sire. I thank you from the bottom of my heart!”

The Steward stood up and said in a clear voice,”Men and women of Gondor, hear now the Steward of this Realm! Behold, one has come to claim the kingship again at last, Elessar of the line of Elendil, wielder of the Sword Reforged, victorious in battle whose hands bring healing. Shall he be King and enter into the City and dwell there?”

Surprisingly, he was not so nervous now, almost as it was as if the King’s touch had given him new confidence. He glowed with pride that it was he, Faramir, the most unlikely candidate on whom the honour of performing this task had fallen, and he was determined to do it well.

He held his breath for an instant wondering how the people would react but to his joy all cried“Yea” with one voice, his own joining the affirmation.

Faramir then addressed the crowd again telling them that he had brought the crown from the Rath Dinen where it had lain since the death of the last King. Unlike in the days of the Kings of Old, Elessar had not been able to receive from the hands of his father ere he died ,as was the custom of Gondor.

Faramir then opened the casket and took out the ancient crown , its splendour undimmed by the passing of time. It had lain waiting a long time, however, here at last was a man, truly worthy of it. It had been an ordeal for Faramir to go to the tombs, after so nearly losing his life there. Others had volunteered to spare him the task, but it was only fitting that he should fetch the crown for the man who had brought him back from the very brink of death.

Its jewels sparkled in the sunlight as Faramir handed it to Aragorn, his eyes full of love, awe and respect for the one worthy to wear it.

Aragorn took the crown and held it up so all could see it and spoke the words of his ancestor Elendil. ”Out of the Great Sea to Middle earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs unto the ending of the world.”

The crowd then gave a gasp of astonishment for instead of placing the crown on his head, Aragorn handed it back to Faramir and said “By the labour and valour of many I have come into my inheritance. In token of this, I would have the Ring Bearer bring the crown to me and let Mithrandir set it upon my head, if he will.”

Frodo then came forward and took the crown from him and carried it to Gandalf, then Aragorn knelt again to the amazement of all who watched, for who could have expected such humility from a King?

Then Gandalf placed the crown on Aragorn’s head and said.“Now come the days of the King, and may they be blessed while the thrones of the Valar endure!”

Aragorn then rose from his knees and turned to face the people. A change seemed to have come over him as he seemed to have grown in statue and a light shone around him.

Faramir cried in awe, “Behold the King!”

Then the trumpets were blown as Aragorn entered the City and the King passed through the flower-laden streets to the sound of music and singing until he came to the Citadel. And then the banner of the Stewards was lowered and given to Faramir for safekeeping and the King’s banner showing the White tree and the Seven stars was unfurled upon the topmost tower.

After the festivities were concluded, Faramir showed the King to what had been Denethor’s apartments. They had been cleaned and prepared for his arrival since the King’s House had been damaged during the War, if indeed Aragorn chose to use it, rather than these spacious rooms.

“I hope you will be comfortable here, my Lord King,” Faramir said, still totally overwhelmed by the majesty of the man.

“I am sure I will,” he replied, and then looked at Faramir anxiously,“I am not evicting you from your home am I?”

Faramir shook his head, “No, my liege, I am content with my old rooms. I never thought of moving here.”

“I would like to see you dwelling in a residence of your choice befitting your status, as soon as possible.” Aragorn said, “I should like to speak to you privately in an hour or so, once I have set aside this armour and regalia, if that is convenient for you?”

“Yes, my Lord King,” Faramir replied, wondering apprehensively whatever the King wished to discuss with him. He thought the ceremonies had gone smoothly but maybe he had done something wrong for which his lord would reproach him?

An hour later,Faramir stood waiting outside the door of the study which had once been his father’s and wishing he were elsewhere as he was never summoned to this room in the past unless he had displeased his lord in some fashion.

He still had frequent nightmares that Denethor had returned from the dead ,and was raging at him for daring to support Aragorn, before threatening him with severe punishment. Then a wave of relief would wash over him when he was fully awake and remembered, that indeed the King had returned.

He badly wanted to create a better impression with the King than he had ever done with his father, for here was a man whom he could truly admire, as well as being one he was certain it would be even more dangerous to anger.

He knocked timidly and Elessar’s voice bade him enter. He was sitting behind the desk that Denethor had used and Faramir fought an irrational urge to flee.

The King even looked rather like his father, as they were as alike as close kin, save that Elessar was taller, had a nobler air about him and his compelling eyes were warm rather than icy.

He was now dressed simply in a plain tunic and breeches unlike the robes, which Denethor always wore. He looked weary now, though not weary as Faramir remembered him from the Houses of Healing.

Yet the resemblance to Denethor was close enough that Faramir shivered slightly as Elessar rose from behind the desk. Faramir knelt before him trying not to tremble.

“My Lord Elessar, I am your most humble servant,” he murmured,“what does the King command?”

“Please rise, Faramir. I wanted to see you to apologise for not warning you in advance that I wished you to remain as my Steward. It was just I never thought you would expect otherwise, but I could see from your reaction you were surprised. Do you wish to be my Steward as I would not force you?”

For his part, Aragorn could have been looking at Denethor, as he had been when he was Faramir’s age, but again the eyes were very different, as Denethor had always had a somewhat haughty air about him, very unlike Faramir’s unassuming shyness.

It was very hard to imagine himself being crowned as King ,had Denethor lived. It was unlikely he would have handed over the rod so easily. He had Faramir to thank for his smooth accession to the throne.

It was ironic that he had fled Gondor when he was certain Denethor had guessed his true identity and was about to endanger his life by announcing it publicly, while his son had been the first to acknowledge him as King on his return despite never having seen him before. The wonder of that moment still sent a shiver down Aragorn’s spine to recall.

“It is my greatest wish to serve you, my lord and you honour me greatly by retaining me as your Steward.”

Aragorn looked relieved but sighed softly, “I am glad to hear that, Faramir, as I need you at my side. I know little of the government of Gondor for when I was here last, I spent my time in the army and know almost nothing of affairs of state. I hope I have not interrupted any other plans you might have had.”

“I was planning on marrying the Lady Eowyn, if King Eomer permitted the match, and making our home in Ithilien. I thought that you would not wish me to remain in the City, my Lord.”

Aragorn looked both pleased and somewhat bewildered as he pondered on Lady Eowyn’s welcome but alarmingly rapid switch of affections from himself to his Steward. Then wondered why ever Faramir should think he needed to leave Minas Tirith.

“Congratulations on your engagement, Faramir, I am delighted that you and the Lady Eowyn have found happiness together!” The King’s pleasure was genuine, despite his reservations about the suddenness of the match, and whether or not the quiet Faramir and fiery Eowyn were well suited. “Naturally you will need somewhere for your country estate, but why should I wish you to leave your home? Would you be happy to divide your time between here and Ithilien if I give you that land and appoint you its Prince? I should like you to dwell within sight of the City. I was going to tell you officially tomorrow but am loath to spring more surprises upon you!”

Faramir gaped open mouthed in astonishment at his King for a moment before drawing himself to task for yet another lapse of etiquette as he gasped, “You plan to make me Prince of Ithilien?” He pinched himself surreptitiously to ensure he was not dreaming.

“Yes, and why ever not? Your family have faithfully served this Realm and held it for me for a very long time. It is but a small consolation for no longer ruling Gondor! Do you accept?”

“ Most gratefully, sire, your kindness and generosity are most gracious and do me great honour. I will be happy to work here in Minas Tirith and spend my leisure time with Lady Eowyn in Ithilien.” Faramir finally remembered the correct etiquette and went down on one knee again.

Aragorn was starting to get quite light- headed from watching all this bobbing around.

“ Good ! I am glad you approve. How is your shoulder and the wounds on your back now?” he asked, changing the subject. “Today must have been very tiring for you as it certainly was for me.”

“I am recovering, sire, thank you for asking.” Faramir’s reply was deliberately vague, for he would not lie outright.

“I should like to see for myself how your wounds are healing, if you would take off your tunic and shirt?”

To his shame, blind panic seized Faramir. He had been asked, or rather ordered, so many times in this very room, by his father to remove his shirt in preparation for a beating, that although he was aware Aragorn meant him no harm, the association was overwhelming.

The Characters are the property of the Tolkien

Estate.

With thanks to Raksha for her help with this chapter.

Faramir paled, “No, please, my lord, I beg you, that is I am well and you must be weary as am I and…” He struggled to hide his terror. Faramir was no coward. But the memory of being made to stand before that desk while his father raged at him, knowing that a beating would follow his liege-lord's tirade, still tore at his heart.

The memory of the lash cutting into his flesh over and over again was more than he could endure at present. It was far worse than fighting enemies on the battlefield as at least then he could fight back, not he had ever taken pleasure in killing, but in time of war it was unavoidable.To have struck his father and liege- lord even in self-defence would have been treason, which carried the penalty of death.

Aragorn, always astute, realised he had badly miscalculated how to approach Faramir as having seen the scars, it took no great leap of the imagination to read what was going through his mind.

He resolved to be more cautious in future when dealing with his Steward and be careful how he worded any request to see Faramir's wounds. He also felt it would be better to be seated on the couch by the window, rather than at the desk next time he had to see his Faramir in this room, It was going to take time to gain his Steward's trust and convince him he was safe in his presence.For now, he would do what he could, though using his healing powers through several layers of thick cloth was unlikely to be very effective.

He realised that Faramir’s experiences, culminating with almost being burned alive by his father after vainly seeking to please him for as long as he could remember, or so Imrahil had told him, were likely to have long lasting effects .The man had been pushed to the very limits and obviously been left with a terror of authority figures, which Aragorn would have to work hard to help him overcome.

Imrahil had told him, that Denethor had greatly favoured Boromir over his brother and nothing that Faramir had ever done was good enough to please his father. Things were going to change for Denethor’s younger and unappreciated son from now on. Aragorn felt strongly protective towards the likeable young man.

He got up and moved from behind the desk to stand beside by his Steward, gesturing him to rise, and placing a comforting hand on his uninjured shoulder .He met Faramir’s terrified gaze, his eyes filled with compassion.

Very gently, he then placed his other hand over Faramir’s wounded shoulder. The Steward tensed slightly, fighting an urge to take a step backward ,then relaxed at the sudden sensation of warmth flooding through the injured joint.

Faramir looked puzzled, obviously far more accustomed to a reprimand than to any show of affection or comfort from his liege lord.

“Yes, indeed I am weary, you are most considerate of me.” he said quietly, taking Faramir’s hands in his own and noting the wildly racing pulse. These were the hands of an archer, though only time would tell if he would ever be strong enough again to wield a bow. However,the long sensitive fingers, suggested a man who might be happier in more peaceful pursuits.

“You have no need to fear me, Faramir,” he gently, “ You have my word you will never be beaten again. I do not intend to rule through brute force .I will look at your wounds another time, but do come to me at once and ask for my aid if you are in pain. Go now and rest, you have had a long day and we still have the Banquet tonight to attend. And thank you for organising such a perfect coronation for me!” He was amazed at what Faramir had achieved, especially as he was still recovering from both his wounds and the effects of the Black Breath.

“Yes, my lord,” Faramir replied obediently, marvelling that the King seemed able to read his thoughts, while inwardly determined that Aragorn should not see his shameful scars again. He sighed with relief at the compassion and generosity shown towards him .His heart brimmed with overwhelming love for his new Lord even though he was so afraid of him.

He bent to kiss Aragorn’s ring before leaving, in the gesture of respect, that he was accustomed to his father demanding ,and promptly banged his nose against the King’s who had bent towards him at the same instant.

He flushed scarlet at yet another unforgivable lapse. To his surprise Aragorn laughed.“We both have the hazard of Numenorean noses!”he grinned,”But pray tell me what you were trying to do?”

“I wished to kiss your ring prior to leaving,sire, as you had dismissed me.”

Aragorn laughed again but not unkindly, “By all means, kiss me if you so wish, but on the brow, rather than the ring if you please! Also there is no need to bow on other than formal occasions!”

“But you are the King, sire!”

“ It seems so as everyone has told me that I am today! That does not mean my touch has the power to turn you into a frog or something!”Aragorn gently teased.

To underline the point, he lightly kissed his Steward on the forehead, as was the customary gesture of greeting or parting between friends or kin in Gondor.

Faramir looked dumbfounded. Although taken aback ,he was rather touched that the King should say farewell in this fashion. However, he was far too reticent to return the gesture.

Instead he bowed again and said,“I wish you a restful afternoon, sire, if I may now take my leave?”

After giving him permission,Aragorn stood staring at the door with a mixture of affection, exasperation and wry amusement.

The King settled again behind the desk. Much as he would have liked to rest, there was already a mountain of paperwork, which required his signature. He noted with gratitude that Faramir had organised it to make it as easy for him as possible.

Today, he had taken on a heavy burden of responsibility, and although he had desired it most of his adult life, that made it none the easier. He needed a friend and ally by his side to share the load. At least ,Faramir had agreed to remain as Steward, for if he had not, Aragorn had no idea what he would have done as ruling Gondor was very different than being Chieftain of the Rangers in the North.

He was determined to befriend his nervous Steward however long it took. He liked Faramir and was certain that underneath his shyness, Faramir liked him too. He was dreading the departure of his friends in the Fellowship and King Eomer.He feared life in Minas Tirith might be very lonely.

Like Faramir, he was grieving for loved ones he had lost during the conflict, most especially Halbarad, his kinsman. Losing him was like losing a part of himself. They had been thought-bonded for many years and loved each other as brothers.

He hoped fervently that Elrond would bring Arwen to him now he had fulfilled all the conditions set in place before he could marry her. Yet, he could not yet be certain that what he had dreamed of since he was twenty years old, would finally become reality.

The White Tree stood in the courtyard dead and barren, as would be the fate of his line, if Arwen did not come.

Even if he were married, he would still need a friend in this vast stone city. Life here would take a great deal of getting used to, after so many years living as a ranger in the wilds. Faramir had been a ranger too, so he would surely understand.

He felt if he could only get to know the man, they would have a lot in common He could sense the air of Numenor around Faramir,almost as pure, as it was around himself. They were both of similar lineage, although Aragorn’s was much purer.

Once he could persuade the younger man to be at ease with him, he was certain they would make the perfect combination to give Gondor the kind of rule she deserved, once King and Steward were not only comrades but friends too.

The following days he sat in judgement and made treaties, settled disputes with former foes, showed clemency to Beregond by promoting him to Faramir’s service and then formally announced Faramir was to be Prince of Ithilien and build his Estate in Emyn Arnen..The look of rapture on his face and that of Lady Eowyn’s was worth far more than the value of the gift.

Being King would not be easy. However,with Faramir at his side to give him counsel and hopefully in time friendship too, he was sure he would succeed.

The End

These characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.This story has been written for pleasure and no profit has been or will be made from it.

The White Tree

A Story for Midsummer

The idea for this story came from the fact that Aragorn was uncertain that Arwen would come, as he says to Gandalf "And who then shall govern Gondor and look to this City as their Queen, if my desire is not granted? "

A Man Apart

He feared now that Arwen would not come. Her father must have persuaded her to change her mind. The sacrifice would be just too great to be separated from her family until the ending of the world and maybe for all eternity.

Aragorn sighed deeply, as he tried to get comfortable in the huge bed in the centre of his gloomy stone walled chamber, which could easily accommodate six people.

Several weeks had passed since his coronation, and there was still no word from his beloved. He had cherished high hopes to begin with for had she not sent a message with her brothers together with the banner she had made for him? Knowing her faith in him had given him heart when he took the fearsome Paths of the Dead.

Rivendell was a long way away, and news took time to travel, but always he had felt there would be a sign if his hopes were about to be fulfilled. So far there was none.

The Council had already questioned him about taking a wife, for as the last of his line, if he were to die without an heir; Gondor would be left forever without a King.

He supposed he could marry some lady of noble blood, lie with her until a child was conceived and from then on live separate lives, but how could he endure such a loveless union or ask such a thing of any woman?

Arranged marriages were common enough amongst the nobility but he could not bring himself to engage in the intimacies of marriage without love. Arwen was the only woman he had ever been in love with.

He had loved her now for almost seventy years and could not imagine marrying any other, so great was their bond. She was his soul mate, his inspiration and the driving force behind his decision to take up his inheritance.

Deep in his heart, he believed she would keep her pledge, yet still he feared the influence of her father who had always emphasised the shortness and bitterness of mortal life.

Yet from his own experiences, he knew the shortness only made one cherish each moment more. He knew also that there was more than memory beyond the circles of Arda. When badly wounded, he had travelled beyond them briefly and knew now all his lost loved ones would be there when his time came to depart. It was something to embrace when the right time came, rather than to fear.

It would be different for Arwen though, as neither in this life or the next, while the world endured, would she see her kindred again if she chose mortality.

Aragorn sighed and tried to push such gloomy thoughts from his mind. He was King now and ought to be happy, but in reality, he felt trapped, despondent and alone.

He still grieved for the fallen and the horrors of the war lay heavily upon him. Life as a Ranger had been brutally hard, but at least he had not been enclosed in walls of stone and could see the stars twinkling overhead.

His new, but already close friend, Éomer and his foster brothers had departed to Rohan a week after his coronation and how he missed them.

If Elladan and Elrohir had still been here, he could at least have asked them to share this vast room with him and keep him company,or even Éomer.They could have spent their time discussing the burdens of kingship when sleep was slow to come.

How different it would be were Arwen at his side!

At least Gandalf and the Hobbits were still in Minas Tirith for the time being, as he had asked them to stay awhile, although Gandalf alone knew the true reason, for were his hopes fulfilled, he would like his friends to be present at his marriage.

They at least treated him as a human being rather than a terrifying figure out of legend unlike most of his new subjects, who were so in awe of him that normal conversation was impossible.

Only Merry and Pippin made cheerful companions. Frodo and Sam were still recovering from their ordeal in Mordor and his relationship with Gandalf was undergoing a change from that of master and pupil into something more equal, which neither yet were quite certain of.

He still grieved deeply for Halbarad, his kinsman and close companion. Had he lived, he would have liked to appoint him as his Northern Steward, to hold Arnor for him, while at the same time spending time with him when their duties permitted.

Then there was his Steward here in Gondor, Faramir son of Denethor. He found the man an enigma and was troubled by him.

He could have sworn he had seen love and respect in the grey eyes, so like his own, yet Faramir shunned his company and seemed to go to great lengths to avoid him.

He instinctively liked the man, sensing a kindred spirit in him and would have greatly welcomed his friendship. It seemed however, that either Faramir resented him or was terrified of him; most likely the latter, though he had tried very hard to put him at his ease.

He tossed and turned restlessly, strange that it should be so much harder to fall asleep in a feather bed than under a hedge! Not that dealing with endless stacks of paperwork felt any less tiring than tramping through the countryside. He had formed a decided opinion that it was far worse!

Eventually weariness overcame him and he fell into an uneasy sleep. He dreamed of the White Tree lifeless and barren, followed by a nightmare in which he was wandering through a fog trying to find someone, but everyone he met, ran away from him in terror.

****

The next morning, desperate for some fresh air, Aragorn went out early into the gardens He heard voices and saw that Merry and Pippin were sitting on a bench absorbed in an animated conversation with his Steward, Faramir.

They were so engrossed in lively debate that they failed to notice his approach. He stood for a few moments observing them.

Merry and Pippin were obviously well recovered from their ordeal during the Ring War. They talked and laughed, as if they had not a care in the world. Both now moved so easily, only a very well trained eye, like Aragorn’s, would be aware that they were still recovering from their wounds and that Pippin, especially, still suffered some pain at times.

Faramir, although he seemed to be enjoying the conversation, had a haunted air about him and moved his injured shoulder very stiffly.

Not wanting to inadvertently spy upon them, Aragorn came forward.

“Strider!” Merry cried, grasping his arm warmly,“how good to see you!”

“Come and sit down!” said Pippin, taking his other arm and sitting him down between them. “I am not on duty today, so am planning to enjoy myself! We have asked for breakfast to be brought out here, so do join us, please!”

Faramir leapt to his feet and bowed deeply. His reaction to the Hobbits’ behaviour was unreadable. It could have been anything from shocked disapproval to painful envy of their free and easy demeanour with the King.

“Sit down, Faramir, I have told you there is no need to bow except on formal occasions!” The humour in Aragorn’s voice took away the sting from the mild rebuke.

“Permit me to take my leave, sire, if you would excuse me?”

“I thought you were about to have breakfast with the Hobbits?” Aragorn looked hurt.

“I have much work to attend to, my lord.” Faramir replied, gazing fixedly at the ground.

“Very well, I will not detain you,” Aragorn conceded, “How are your wounds today?”

“They are healing well, sire.” Faramir blanched at the mention,” Now if my lord will excuse me?”

Aragorn nodded as Faramir bowed again and left.

“I fear he does not like me.” Aragorn sighed.

Pippin shook his curly head vigorously, ”Oh, no, you are wrong there, he adores you!”

“He worships the very ground you walk on!” Merry added, “He is just very shy.”

“His father was unkind to him so that makes him nervous.” Pippin added sagely.

“He does not seem shy with you two.” Aragorn said wryly.

“We are not the King!” Merry and Pippin chorused in unison.

Aragorn groaned; that seemed to be the root of all his problems.

“Cheer up, Strider!” Merry coaxed, “They are bringing the breakfast!”

“You haven’t asked me if my wounds are healing!” Pippin pouted in mock indignation.

“Because I know they are. If I ask, you will say your shoulder aches, as an excuse for some more Elven massage, which you can have later if you want!” Aragorn replied, his spirits rising, that at least to the Hobbits, he was still the same old Strider.

Pippin had the grace to blush slightly that Aragorn could see through him so easily.

****

From the open window in his room, Faramir could see and hear everything in the gardens below. His heart was breaking as he recalled how he would sit on the same bench with Boromir.

Why could he not be more at ease with the King? He could have been eating breakfast with him now instead of alone in his room? How he envied the Halflings for their free and easy manner with the man he admired so much! He saw one of them hug the King and Aragorn return the gesture, though admittedly it was as easy to show affection to Halflings, as it was to children.

The King was obviously a warm and affectionate man, as he had already demonstrated with Faramir. How he craved a kindly touch from him and yet was almost paralysed with fear when any was offered. Always, he could hear his father’s voice in his head, ‘Hurins do not engage in weak and unseemly shows of emotion, you will bow to me boy!’ That was when he was seven years old and had tried to hug his father on his birthday. The memory of being pushed away still hurt him.

He had no idea how to please the King, which unsettled him greatly. At least with his father, he knew he must bow to him and kiss his ring. Yet, Aragorn had expressly forbidden him to do both those things. He found it hard to remember and supposed his lord must be becoming impatient with such a fool and wondered what the penalty would be. He knew the King had treated him kindly thus far but his patience could not be infinite!

Sighing, he began work on the mountain of documents, which seemed to have materialised overnight.

TBC

These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain

Some of the dialogue is taken directly from Tolkien’s “The Return of the King”

A Sign of Hope

Aragorn was engaged in a similar task in his own study, trying to concentrate on his work rather than the disquiet he felt that his Steward would not even take breakfast with him and the Hobbits.

However was he supposed to work with the man, if he showed such unease in his company? It was very obvious he had only left because Aragorn had arrived.

He could have ordered him to stay, but he would never gain the man’s confidence if he abused his authority with him, as he suspected Denethor had done.

Denethor! He felt haunted by the man, as if he dogged his footsteps. Even this chair that he was forced to use at the moment had been the former Steward’s.It was the most uncomfortable piece of furniture he had ever encountered, no wonder the man had been so ill tempered!

He remembered questioning Prince Imrahil concerning  Faramir’s past and his relationship with his father the day after he had saved Faramir’s life.

The Prince told him that his nephew had been a competent and respected captain, well liked by his men; at ease with most he met and content enough, despite his father’s obvious preference for Boromir. Events during the last weeks though, had pushed the young man to the very brink, which was hardly surprising.

Succumbing to the Black Breath followed by almost being burned alive by his own father would have surely driven a lesser man over the brink into madness. Aragorn strongly suspected that Faramir’s legacy from his ordeal was a fear of authority figures such as himself.

Aragorn sighed, realising it might take months or even years before his Steward was truly at ease with him.He forced the matter from his mind as he tried to concentrate on his work.

Plans for rebuilding Minas Tirith, treaties with  Harad, trade delegations, amendments to obscure laws and troop deployments. The workload seemed endless, seeing that he was expected to make a decision on each matter within a few days.

A single piece of parchment caught his eye amongst all the stacks of official documents. He picked it up and read, ‘Meet me tonight in the courtyard, Gandalf.’

Aragorn smiled; amused that the Wizard was as enigmatic as ever! He would gladly meet him though, for any excuse to escape from these claustrophobic apartments was welcome.

****

Gandalf offered no explanation when they met at dusk. He merely greeted him and told him to saddle Roheryn as he had something to show him.

They rode out, Aragorn astride Roheryn, obediently following Shadowfax until they reached the foot of Mount Mindolluin, where Gandalf indicated they should dismount and leave the horses.

“Follow me!” said Gandalf, “There is a path here known only to the Kings of old.”

“Why have you brought me here?” Aragorn queried, “It is always pleasant to ride out with you but what is it that you wish to show me?”

Gandalf’s only answer an enigmatic smile.

Dawn was breaking as the two climbed up the steep path until they came to a high field below the snowline.

“Let us bide here a while,” said Gandalf and they stood side by side, with Aragorn glad for a chance to catch his breath. Below them they could see Minas Tirith, gleaming in the morning sunlight and the Vale of Anduin.  Mordor, no longer clothed in shadow was now clearly visible; and, on the far horizon, lay the sea. 

And Gandalf said; “This is your realm, and the heart of the greater realm that shall be. For the time comes of the Dominion of Men, and the Elder kindred shall fade or depart. I shall go soon. The burden must lie now upon you and upon your kindred.”

“I know it well, dear friend,” said Aragorn sadly, as this reminder only emphasised his loneliness; ”but I would still have your counsel.” Gandalf could at times be infuriating, but how he would miss him!” But I shall die for I am a mortal man. And who then shall govern Gondor and look to this City as their Queen, if my desire is not granted? The tree in the Court of the Fountain is still withered and barren When shall I see a sign that it will ever be otherwise?”

At the moment his life felt as barren as the withered tree, alone in the stone prison of Minas Tirith with no prospect of a wife, a child or a friend to keep him company.

He felt like weeping at the emptiness of his life, for what was wealth and power without love? And how could he bear the heavy burden of Kingship with none beside him to lighten his load? Why had Gandalf brought him here? He knew what was required of him and would do it, without needing a Wizard to remind him! He blinked away a tear, not wanting to show any weakness in front of his mentor.

“Turn your face from the green world, and look where all seems barren and cold!” said Gandalf.

Shaken out of his reverie, he turned, for obedience to the Wizard was still second nature to him. Behind him was a stony slope, which stretched to the edge of the snowline .To his surprise; something seemed to be growing there!

A wave of excitement ran through him and he immediately started to climb the slope, his weariness and melancholy forgotten, when the realisation dawned of what it was that was growing there.

At the very edge of the snow a sturdy sapling of about three feet high was growing. Already it had put forth young leaves long and shapely, dark above and silver beneath, and upon its slender crown it bore a small cluster of white flowers.

Then Aragorn cried in awe; “I have found it! Here is a scion of the Eldest of Trees! But how comes it here?”

Gandalf climbed up behind him and looked at it, smiling “Who shall say how it comes here in the appointed hour? “ he said, “But this is an ancient hallow and ere the kings failed or the tree withered in the court, a fruit must have been set here, the life within lain sleeping for many years. Here it has lain hidden in the mountain even as the race of Elendil lay hidden in the wastes of the North.”

There were tears in Aragorn’s eyes again, this time from joy, as he knew this was a sign from the Valar that Arwen would come and his line would flourish and blossom, if this sapling of the White Tree flourished once replanted.

He knelt and gently took hold of the young tree, which came away easily in his hand as it seemed only rooted lightly in the sparse earth.

“Let us take it back to the Citadel!” he said as he carefully prepared to carry it down the mountainside.

Gandalf took out his pipe for the return journey, “I have not seen you smoking recently," he commented.

Aragorn grinned, “I have given it up for Arwen’s sake for she dislikes the smell of pipeweed. I dared to believe she would come, after Sauron fell, though my hopes were beginning to fade until today!”

“You will be a henpecked husband, King or no!” Gandalf snorted.

****

A few hours later, Aragorn entered the Court of the Fountain clutching the precious sapling and immediately gave orders that the old tree was to be dug up and reverently carried to the Rath Dínen.

The Guards looked somewhat taken aback, but obeyed without question, as they had become well schooled in obeying eccentric orders during the final years of Denethor’s reign.

Aragorn then knelt on the ground and with his own hands prepared the ground. He carefully planted the sapling, much to the surprise of those watching.

****

Faramir had been working hard in his study for most of the day. His head now ached and the words on the endless pile of documents had started to swim before his eyes.

Deciding that some fresh air might benefit him, he strolled outside, only to encounter the Guards carrying the White Tree away. He rushed towards them.

“Stop! What are you doing and on whose orders?” he demanded.

“The King bade us dig it up and carry it with honour to the Rath Dinen, my lord.” one of the men replied.

Faramir was outraged, though he was careful to conceal his anger from the Guards.

He had dreamed all his life of the return of the King and seeing the White Tree flourish again, but how could such a miracle occur if Aragorn had ordered the revered symbol of Gondor to be removed? The tree was a descendent of a seedling that Isildur himself had brought from Numenor and planted in the Courtyard.

Aragorn might be Isildur’s heir but he had no right to uproot Minas Tirith’s most enduring symbol, and he, Faramir was going to tell him so, whatever the consequences. How could anyone, especially the King he so admired, trample roughshod over their traditions?

If only he had been there, maybe he could have reasoned with Aragorn and told him how much the tree meant to him and his fellow citizens. Overcome with grief and rage, he went in search of the King.

Worn out after the day’s exertions, Aragorn was lying sprawled on the couch in his apartments, when a loud knock disturbed him.

“Who is it?” he called, still unused to letting the servants deal with such matters.

“Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor and I demand to see you, sire!”

Aragorn’s eyebrows rose. Something must have greatly upset his usually mild mannered and reticent Steward to make him use such a tone. He knew Faramir to be a man of honour who would never agree with anything that violated his moral principles, but he was hardly oppressing the poor or ravishing the innocent maidens of Minas Tirith!

A servant appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Shall I tell him, you are resting, my lord?”

“No, show him in, please, and then leave us.”

“Very well, sire.”

The servant opened the door and showed the outraged Steward in.

“How could you do it? It meant so much to us all! I know you are the King and come from the North,rather than Gondor, but I thought you would at least respect our heritage!”

TBC

These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain

Aragorn rose to his feet and stared at his furious Steward in amazement. So outraged was Faramir, that he had neither bowed nor called him by his many titles, which secretly Aragorn found rather a refreshing change.

“You may punish me as you will for speaking out of turn but I cannot stand idly by and see the White Tree of Gondor consigned to the Rath Dinen!” Faramir raged; his usually impassive features alight with fury.

“Come with me!” Aragorn said mildly, ignoring the outburst, “I have something to show you.”

He took Faramir by the arm and gently but firmly shepherded him outside, the Healer in him noting as he did so that his Steward appeared to be in a great deal of pain and distress.

By now, Faramir’s initial fury was replaced by sorrow for the loss of the precious tree. Not that he had any intention of apologising for making his feelings clear and would gladly bear whatever punishment was meted out to him.

He wanted only to be alone to grieve now, for this was the last straw! The Ruling Stewards had been far from perfect but they had at least cherished the symbols of Gondor’s heritage, which it seemed the new King was intent on sweeping away!

It was odd that Aragorn had not summoned the guards. He supposed the King was leading him away to be punished, although the grip on his arm felt surprisingly friendly and gentle. What warm hands the man had as he could feel them even through two layers of fabric!

To his surprise, Aragorn was leading him in the direction of the Court of the Fountain. Despite his distress, he noticed there was something different about Aragorn today, a new spring in his step and a stronger light in his eyes.

“Close your eyes now!” the King ordered, “ I will not let you fall!”

Faramir, well schooled in obedience, did as he was told and allowed the King to blindly lead him.

“You may look now!” Aragorn said, unable to keep the excitement from his voice.

Faramir, totally bewildered by now, slowly opened his eyes and saw the sapling, green, alive and covered with budding blossom where before the withered trunk had stood.

“My Lord King, a living tree!” he gasped in astonishment, ”It is a miracle!”

He gazed in wonder on the healthy sapling. The sunlight caught the cascading water from the Fountain making it appear that the tree was covered in priceless jewels.

Aragorn turned and smiled at him, noting his eyes were moist and not from the spray.

After standing rapt for several moments, Faramir bowed stiffly to the King.

“My lord, I beg to be excused now. I crave your pardon for my earlier behaviour and will accept whatever penalty you lay on me. You have my word I will still be here in the morning.”

Aragorn grasped his arm again before he could leave, guessing that he would shut himself in his study to fret, repressing the powerful emotions that the day’s events had obviously stirred in him.

“No, Faramir, you may not be excused.  I now pronounce your ‘punishment’. You are to come with me and share some tea and cakes!” Aragorn’s tone was firm but kindly.

Before Faramir could say anything, he was already shepherding him back to his apartments.

“Sit down while I tell the servant to bring us some refreshments. You like honey cakes do you not? Your uncle told me those were your favourites.”

Faramir hesitated, still looking totally bewildered, before kneeling at Aragorn's feet.“My lord, I cannot sit while you are standing! I am so sorry for my behaviour towards you, it was totally inexcusable!”

“Please get up as it is I, who should crave your pardon, Faramir!” Aragorn told him contritely, “ Your reactions were totally understandable, whereas my actions were thoughtless beyond measure, not only towards you, but to all the citizens of Minas Tirith. I fear I grew too accustomed in the North to my own company and not needing to consider the feelings of others. Can you forgive me? I was just so excited at finding the sapling that I did not think!”

“Why, of course, my lord, you are our King!”

“Please can we not forget rank for just a little while, “Aragorn pleaded,” I have hurt you badly today, though it gladdens me to see you will take me to task when I merit it, which what a good Steward should do! I should have told you I was going to remove the old tree and plant the new one in its place and ask you to witness the event and consider your feelings.”

He bent and pulled Faramir to his feet, and observing how the younger man was tense as a coiled spring, intent on keeping an iron grip on his dangerously strong emotions, impulsively guided the dark head against his broad shoulder.

“Your shoulder hurts, does it not? Let me ease it for you, Peace, there is no need to remove any of your garments. Just stay still as you are!” Aragorn said gently, remembering how shamed Faramir had felt when he had wept in the Houses of Healing.

The younger man initially stiffened and then gradually calmed, as the King used his powers to heal both mind and body, first massaging the back of his neck and then his injured shoulder.

Faramir was overwhelmed by conflicting emotions, joy that his dream of seeing the White Tree blossom in the Court of the Fountain had come true, and sorrow that so many had not lived to see it, Boromir and many of his rangers, who had also been his friends. Even Denethor, who despite his many faults had cared deeply for Gondor.

He had not wept since the night Aragorn had told him how his father and brother had died, and did not intend to now, yet something in Aragorn’s touch and those intense compassionate eyes made it impossible to repress his pent up emotions

He knew it was shameful to unleash his emotions like this, but luckily the King seemed too preoccupied with massaging his shoulder injury to notice.

Long moments passed and gradually Faramir’s grief eased, as did the pain from his wound. For a moment, weary of the constant pain he had been in since the Ring War, he was tempted to take up Aragorn’s offer to treat his wounds properly, but dismissed the thought immediately, unable to endure the thought of those intense eyes scrutinising his shameful scars.

“There, is that better?” Aragorn asked, finally releasing him, “I will order some refreshments for us.”

He motioned Faramir to sit on the couch and rang a bell for a servant.

To Faramir’s horror, the front of the King’s tunic looked very damp from where he had been weeping.

“It feels hot in here, I am accustomed to the much colder temperatures in the North.” Aragorn commented casually, pulling off the stained tunic to reveal an open necked linen shirt beneath, just as the servant entered.

Faramir was amazed by his compassion and tact.

For the first time, Faramir noticed that his King was just as tanned and weather beaten in appearance as himself or any of his men. He was nothing like what he had expected a King to be like.

Denethor had been a soldier in his youth, he knew, but Faramir could hardly recall him venturing outside for more than an hour or two in the past years.

“Why did you bring me here?” Faramir asked suddenly, emboldened by the Elvish techniques Aragorn had been using on him.

“You demanded a ‘punishment’, so I thought you could keep me company for a little while.” Aragorn told him, smiling,” I must admit that I feel somewhat isolated here, though I trust it will not be for long.  I am hoping to marry soon. That is why I was so excited about finding the White Tree for if it flourishes; it is a sign from the Valar that my lady is coming. You organised a wonderful coronation for me. Do you think you could organise my wedding too?

“Why, gladly, my lord and I will arrange for some rooms to be furnished suitably for a lady. May I congratulate you?”

Aragorn nodded. “ Thank you, Faramir, I know you are too polite to ask but I will tell you that I hope to marry Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Lord Elrond of Rivendell, the fairest lady that ever lived! I have loved her all the years of my manhood and been troth plighted to her since before you were born! When she arrives you will no doubt see some of her people known only to you as shadowy figures out of old legends such as Lady Galadriel.”

Faramir gasped; “Your lady is one of the Eldar!”

“Yes indeed, and a distant kinswoman as we are both descended from Luthien the Fair. I hope only that I may prove worthy of her.”

“You are the greatest man that now lives, how could you not be!” Faramir exclaimed. “May I ask where you found the White Tree as it has long been believed that the line was extinct?”

Aragorn blushed slightly at such high praise, as the Servant brought in the refreshments. It seemed that the Hobbits were right and Faramir did like him and it was shyness mixed with fear that made him so awkward in his company.

“So was my line thought to be too!” he told Faramir, ”Though I believed as you, that never again would a tree bloom in the Court of the Fountain. However Mithrandir knew better and took me up Mount Mindolluin where I found it growing just below the snowline. Have another cake, the sweetness will do you good after the shock of seeing the old tree carried away!”

Faramir gratefully accepted the proffered honey cake and took a bite.” I should have known about the tree,” he said thoughtfully,” I had dreams in which it flowered in the courtyard. For how could a dead tree come back to life?”

“You have the far sight.” Aragorn said matter of factly, “You told me you recognised me because you dreamed of my coming. I remember your father when he was your age, he had it too, though I suspect your gift may be stronger.” Not for the first time, Aragorn marvelled at the irony than Denethor’s far sight had been the reason he had needed to leave Gondor when he suspected he had guessed his identity, whereas Faramir had used the same inherited gift to hail him as King.

“Gift?” Faramir said doubtfully, ”It has never felt like it! My playmates claimed I was bewitched and my men feared my ‘gift’ brought ill fortune.”

“You need to accept it as a gift and rejoice the blood of Numenor is not yet spent.” Aragorn advised, “I have the far sight too and have learned to use it to my advantage. We are alike you and I, I think.” Aragorn studied the younger man thoughtfully, seeing in him a potential kindred spirit in their shared heritage.

It was Faramir’s turn to blush as he nibbled his cake. To think that the King thought they were alike!

“What did the tree in your dreams look like?” Aragorn’s voice was oddly intense.

“It was much smaller than the old one and very beautiful.” Faramir told him.

“I hope you are right and this tree thrives,” the King replied.

“ I had the dream many times and it was always the same.” Faramir reassured him.

“We will know for certain within a few days, though the waiting will be hard, though after so many years I should be accustomed to it!” Aragorn said ruefully. “If it does flourish, there is something I should like to change if you do not mind and before you remind me that I am the King, I would genuinely welcome your honest opinion!”

“Yes, sire,” Faramir, replied obediently.

“I would prefer the Guards not to wear masks any longer if you do not object as the Court of the Fountain should be a welcoming rather than a forbidding place, do you not think, Faramir?”

“I completely agree,sire. When I was a child, I was always afraid of those Guards!”

“I was also thinking that now Sauron is defeated that compulsory military service could be abolished and some of our young men could now be more usefully employed in helping to rebuild Gondor.” Aragorn suggested, “ Naturally we must maintain sufficient forces to contain any further threats from the South and East.”

“That is a wise move, sire,” Faramir smiled his agreement.” We should have fewer and more enthusiastic and better trained soldiers and let those with no taste for soldiering work to make our land beautiful once more!”

"Good, that is settled then!” Aragorn leaned across and patted Faramir on the shoulder, pleased to finally see him appear animated and relaxed.

At the contact, Faramir suddenly tensed and stared vacantly ahead for a few seconds.

“Are you well, Faramir?” Aragorn asked anxiously, as he gently shook his Steward.

“The tree will blossom and endure as will your line for years beyond all measure!” Faramir’s eyes were shining at the vision.

Aragorn smiled and laid a hand in blessing on his Steward’s brow, recognising Faramir’s far sight as a gift of the Valar.

And then by some miracle their minds touched and he saw it too, the tree in blossom with its petals gently falling on Arwen, himself and their children and children’s children. No longer was he the last of his line, but the first of a new house of Kings.

That night for the first time in weeks, Aragorn slept peacefully as he dreamed of his beloved. He saw her approaching the city, mounted upon a magnificent grey horse. When she saw him in the distance, she urged it forward and galloped to his side. Lifting her down, he enfolded her in his arms and their lips met in a tender kiss.

“My beloved, you have come!” he whispered.

“I am yours, Estel now and for all eternity, I give you my heart!” she replied with such love in her eyes it overwhelmed him to know that one so wondrous had given herself to him.

“My Love, my Queen, my Evenstar!” he replied, a radiant smile lighting his usually grim visage .He kissed her again and she melted into his arms.

When he awoke he was still smiling in rapturous anticipation of what was to come.

The End

And Aragorn planted the new tree in the court by the fountain and gladly it began to grow; and when the month of June entered in it was laden with blossom.

“The sign has been given,” said Aragorn “And the day is not far off.” And he set watchmen upon the walls.

And Aragorn the King Elessar wedded Arwen Undomiel in the City of the Kings upon the day of Midsummer, and the tale of their long waiting and labours was come to fulfilment.

The Return of the King - Tolkien