Chapter Text
Everything was moving so fast and yet not fast enough. In two days Imrahil was expected to lead the three thousand and five hundred men from Gondor along with his own Swan Knights of Dol Amroth, and he still needed to prepare them. He also needed to help gather the defenses of the city in their absence, a combination of those still able to fight from the neighboring nations. Imrahil was grateful to Lord Elmor for the number of the Rohirrim who were remaining behind to assist in the task. Lord Eomer seemed a strong and capable young man, only a year younger than Imrahil’s second son Erchirion. He was one Imrahil knew had never been meant to be a King, but like many others across the land found himself thrust into a position he was not intended for but yet forced to rise to meet. Imrahil hoped to see more of the youth, especially as he would be crowned King of Rohan and they were riding into battle against the enemy together. The Dark Lord may be focused on Captain Thorongil by the rangers own design, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t attack others who threatened him, like all their homes.
Imrahil hadn’t known what became of Captain Thorongil until now. Steward Ecthelion trusted the Captain more than any of his men, and for that Denethor disliked him more than words could express. Imrahil had last seen the Captain on the field in a defense against Umbar, but then he had vanished in obscurity. Imrahil had heard no word of him again, not until he saw the Captain, who looked like he had not aged a day in all those years, leading the Rangers of the North from the rivers yesterday. Imrahil had long suspected there was more to Thorongil then he previously known, and now he knew it was that Thorongil was the true king. If either Ecthelion or Denethor ever discovered this for themselves, they never felt the need to share. Imrahil was grateful to the soldier for both arriving to help save Minas Tirith and for saving his younger sister son. When things calmed, he hoped Thorongil would reclaim his rightful place on the throne and Imrahil intended to remain by his side.
Thoughts about his younger sister son reminded him of another painful task that he must accomplish on this day. Mithrandir had informed him last night after Thorongil had saved the halfing Meriadoc Brandybuck, that Faramir had not yet informed of Denethor’s death. The Warden of the House of Healing also informed him this morning that Faramir still had not been informed before expressing that someone needed to speak to him soon. As the acting Ruling Steward of Gondor, it was a duty of Imrahil’s to accomplish. Even more importantly, he was the only living relative Faramir had in Minas Tirith. Therefore the responsibility of shattering his sister son’s life and putting it back together fell on Imrahil’s shoulders and his alone. For the first time he could recall, Imrahil wished he had brought his children along to assist him.
Imrahil had done all he could to protect the future of Dol Amroth. When he left to provide support to his brother by law, he had placed his oldest child Elphir as the acting Prince. Elphir was a strong youth, powerful and skilled like his older cousins, despite being four years junior to Faramir, but Imrahil would not place him in danger especially when he had a two year old to care for. Erchirion and Amrothos remained to assist in protecting Dol Amroth from the fleets of Umbar and pirates along with Imrahil’s precious daughter Lotheriel who had only reached the age of twenty. Despite the distance in both age and land, Faramir had been rather close to Imrahil’s children and they would have been able to comfort him in the loss of both his elder brother and now his father.
Imrahil wondered what all he was expected to tell Faramir. From the moment he laid the youth down at Denethor’s feet, criticizing the Steward for sending his son into a doomed expedition with words not befitting of a father or a lord to bestow upon their loyal servant, Imrahil did not know what became of him. Imrahil had been helping muster his own forces when a messenger had come to him stating that Denethor refused to leave the citadel and Imrahil was now charged with the defense of the city. He had no time to question the decision as the armies of Mordor siege the city leaving him with little choice but to obey the directive or allow the city to fall. The forces of Mordor hadn’t gotten as far as the citadel though and Denethor would not have gone into the fray himself, leaving the circumstances around his death a mystery. Mithrandir had mentioned something about 'madness', but refused to give Imrahil any further explanation.
Mithandir seemed very close to Faramir however, and according to the stories Imrahil had heard Faramir had spent much of Mithrandir’s visits by the old wizard’s side. The relationship had not been one sided either, as Mithrandir had offered to go himself to gather medicine for Faramir when it could not be immediately found. Mithrandir was also not the one to shy away from bringing bad news, as his name from the Rohan indicated. That just left the question to Imrahil of why Mithrandir had not informed Faramir of his father’s death. It may just be Mithrandir didn’t have the chance to tell him, but combining that with the mystery around Denethor’s death, Imrahil suspected there was far more going on. After they go to the Black Gates, if they survived, Imrahil had every intention of cornering Mithrandir and finding out exactly what the circumstances were to lead to Denethor’s demise.
Imrahil found himself being brought up short at the door to Faramir’s room. When Imrahil had left with the others the night before, a man and a youth had stood over Faramir. Now the man who stood at the door was different, but the youth was the same. Imrahil looked at the boy who could not be older than ten, wondering who he was. The boy was not a healer nor one employed by Gondor as a guard. “Prince Imrahil, are you here to see Lord Faramir?” the youth asked. Imrahil offered him a small smile.
“I am. I must admit I did not expect to see such a young guard standing over the door to the young lord’s room.” He said. The boy blushed a little.
“My name is Bergil sir. I stayed here because my father asked. He says Lord Faramir is too important to leave unguarded. Since he's leaving the city I decided to stay here.” The boy, Bergil, explained. Imrahil wondered if the guard who was there the night before was the boy's father. The current guard didn't seem to have much of a resemblance to Bergil, but he looked at the boy with a smile of pride and agreement.
“That is very true, and I am grateful for your efforts young Bergil.” Imrahil said. He had thought about telling the youth to go home and stay with his family, but if the boy was occupied in the House of Healing then he would not have to worry about getting involved in any occurrence that may happen in their absence. Imrahil then pushed the door open so he may enter.
The only inhabitant in the room was Faramir, who was pushing himself up from the bed to rest against the headboard. It appeared the voices outside had been enough to rouse him from his rest, but only just. Grey yes were searching around the room, unfocused, and black hair was plastered against pale skin, still wet from sweat of fever. Faramir looked better than the last time Imrahil had seen him, but that wasn’t much of a feat to accomplish. Truthfully Imrahil did not think he would ever forget the image of Finduilas’ only surviving child dying before his eyes. In the last three nights when Imrahil had managed to gather sleep, Lord Lorien of visions and dreams had seen fit to give him images of Faramir and the end he nearly suffered. He could still see Faramir laying on the ground, arrow protruding from his chest as the men of Harad stood over him with swords drawn to finish his life. He could still feel the hot blood seeping from the wound, the fevered skin against his own as he clutched his sister’s child to his chest on his horse’s back.
Last night Faramir had been beckoned by Lord Mandos toward wherever they laid men to rest and it was only through the efforts of Thorongil that allowed him to wake again. Thorongil had told Imrahil that he was forced to not only treat the Black Breath that affected Faramir, but also the arrow wound and the poison from it. Imrahil had fully expected Denethor to have brought a healer to Faramir’s side and now was forced to learn that he hadn’t and Faramir had gone two days without the treatment he needed. The negligence of Faramir’s health was part of why Faramir had been so far gone, and Imrahil assumed it was at least in part related to whatever information Mithrandir did not want Faramir to be told at this time.
“Prince of Dol Amroth, I was not expecting this visit.” Imrahil bristled at the weak words coming from Faramir. While he had not been as close to Finduilas’ beloved children as he wished, he thought they had a strong relationship. Imrahil had to admit of the two, he had favored Faramir over Boromir and had been rather protective of the youth. Denethor had never been quiet about his favoritism of Boromir and Imrahil had tried to balance it by supporting Faramir. He was always surprised that neither brother ever showed resentment over the their father or uncle's choices.
“I can infer as such, however I would have expected that my dear sister’s son would have had more of an understanding in me than to believe I wouldn't come to visit him while he was injured. Just as I would have expected him not know that titles were not necessary in privacy.” Imrahil scolded lightly. He knew Denethor required his sons to use titles when others were around, but now he questioned how strict that rule went. Had he forced Faramir to use titles even when it was just them? That stirred up other questions of Denethor's parenting. Anytime Faramir had been injured, had Denethor visited him or was it only Boromir? Had Faramir expected to be pushed into a room in the House and ignored until he had enough strength to fight again? Faramir however gave him a soft but sad smile.
“I apologize Uncle. You came in with such a serious face that I could only infer your visit was one of an official nature.” Imrahil couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his own features at the young man’s cheek. The smile from Faramir’s face slipped away. “I see. You are the Steward of Gondor now.” Faramir said, his voice heavy with the sorrow of the implications such a statement made.
Faramir had taken after Finduilas in nature and disposition, and the elven blood of Mithrellas that ran through the Dol Amroth line shown through him more than it had many others of the line, including Boromir. It was for those reasons that Imrahil often over looked the similarities that Faramir shared with his father. All six of the grandchildren of Adrahil were well loved by the populace, but only Boromir and Faramir were known in the grater part of Gondor due to Imrahil keeping his children close. The people and the soldiers loved the brothers of the House of Hurin and were loyal to them both very much. However, the men on the Council did not view Faramir in such favor as they saw him as the weaker of the brothers due to his gentle nature and love of music and lore. They also feared him due to being like Denethor. Lord Lorien, it seemed, had given his favor to Faramir. The boy had dreams of the future and had inherited his father’s far sight due to the Numernorean blood. He could also read into the hearts of man and beast, to see what truly represented their character and sometimes even the surface thoughts on their minds. People feared that Faramir would drag up things they didn’t want known and avoided him. Outside of his older brother and his cousins, Faramir was unique in not having any other close bonds of friend or peer. Imrahil himself never minded the abilities, at least until this moment. He quickly looked away from those piercing grey eyes to keep any stray thoughts from being known.
“I am only in an acting capacity at this time. I am sorry to say that Lord Denethor had passed yesterday in the battle.” Imrahil explained. Faramir made a small hum but did not ask anything. Maybe he also knew that now wasn’t the time, or maybe he had known from looking at Imrahil that his uncle did not have the answers. “In two days time I will be handing the control of the city to Hurin of the Keys. He will be reporting to you until you have been cleared by the Warden, at which time you will assume the office of the Steward.” Imrahil expressed. Faramir seemed surprised at that.
“Under whose orders are these?” he asked. There was no accusation, only curiosity. Faramir then nodded to himself before Imrahil could explain. “I see. I did not dream the King’s return then.” Faramir had hardly seen Thorongil last night, had only been awake for moments after being pulled from the worst of the dangers. Yet Faramir had sworn his loyalty immediately before going back under, this time a natural rest and not one born of illness and death. “Where are you to go Uncle? I assume the King has decided on a plan of attack.” Faramir actually looked pained at that and Imrahil realized that he probably felt guilty.
Faramir did not like battle, he did not find glory or joy in fighting. It was another thing about Faramir that made him unique among the children. Boromir, Elphir, Erchirion, and Amrothos had all wished to make a name for themselves in combat, much like the White Lady of Rohan from what Imrahil had heard. Faramir however could always be counted on to find a peaceful solution first, find non lethal methods, and only kill when other options have been exhausted. When he did take life, he was always regretful for the loss. The disposition put him at odds with his own sense of duty. Faramir felt it was his duty to fight and lead armies against the enemy, to protect the people of Gondor even at the sacrifice of himself. He likely felt guilty for not being able to come along with them on this campaign.
Imrahil moved further into the room, making his way to the bed and sitting so that he was side by side with Faramir. He didn’t want to risk looking at Faramir’s eyes while talking, didn’t want to give Faramir many chances to read him. Faramir could pick up on many things from both body and word, filling in blanks that some left in their explanations. Talking to him, or Steward Denethor, while trying to keep parts hidden was difficult to accomplish and something Imrahil had been forced to adapt to over the years. “Minas Tirith will not survive any further attacks. The other settlements are not faring much better either. The future King has decided to make one last stand against Mordor, to the Black Gate.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but Imrahil did not know what Faramir himself knew. It was possible Faramir knew more than Imrahil had, but it was also possible Faramir was in the dark about the concerns of Thorongil and Mithrandir. “Even if you were at full strength, even had Denethor or even Boromir for that matter been here, you would not have been going on this campaign with us.” Imrahil said. He could feel Faramir’s entire body flinch at that.
Faramir could not have gone for many reasons. Someone had to stay and lead Minas Tirith. Had Denethor lived, it would have been his duty to go with them to the Black Gate and Faramir would have been forced to remain behind as his heir. Had Boromir lived, then he would not have allowed Faramir to go for concern for his younger brother’s life and forced him to remain behind assuming the role of acting Steward. Had Faramir been well, he would not have been allowed to go either, as no one else besides Thorongil had a claim to the rule of Gondor and since Thorongil must go on this endeavor, someone with that claim would have been forced to remain behind. There was no scenario that Imrahil could contrive where Faramir would have been allowed to go on this campaign with the rest of him. Not one contrived by Thorongil and the rest of them at least. Imrahil found himself recalling the story of Faramir’s namesake, the son of King Ondoher. When the King and the older son road to war, the second son Faramir was ordered to remain behind as the regent of Gondor. The second son had instead disguised himself as a soldier, much as the White Lady of Rohan had just done, and road out to battle. Unlike the White Lady, he was killed in that endeavor. Imrahil was almost grateful that Faramir was in no state to attempt such a thing.
“I understand. Someone needs to protect Minas Tirith in case there is an attack in your place, or to carry on the war in the event the worst were to happen.” Faramir said softly. His words were sad, full of pain and Imrahil felt the need to let his nephew know of another reason.
“That is true, but only secondary.” He admitted. Faramir went stiff beside him and Imrahil couldn’t help but wrap an arm around him, pulling him further into his side.
“Secondary? And what then is the primary?” he asked. Imrahil smiled again, this time a little more joy in it than before.
“The primary is that I would not have allowed you to go.” He admitted. Faramir was far too important to him to be sent on another battle that had little hope of success. The elder prince hadn’t been able to stop Denethor from sending Faramir to Osgiliath, but he could stop Faramir from going to the Black Gate.
“I understand.” Faramir said. He relaxed into his uncle and Imrahil couldn’t help but notice how weak the man still was. The Black Breath had killed many, and the poison had done a number on Faramir’s body. Imrahil's thoughts drifted to another problem that Thorongil had mentioned, about how Faramir was battling grief over Boromir’s death and pain over the disagreement with his father. Now he had added the grief of Denethor’s death. Imrahil worried about what would happen if Faramir were to learn about the extent of the deaths that were dealt to his men, about the mutilation that had been done to the rangers who were killed or captured. He thought about Mithrandir’s fears of Faramir learning about the circumstances of Denethor’s death. It may be best to prolong such news for as long as he could. “Uncle, I give you my word that if the worst should happen, I will defend Minas Tirith and the greater of Gondor and Rohan until my last.” Faramir swore. Imrahil nodded, the smile slipping away.
“It gladdens my heart to hear such words, if for nothing else but knowing you will do everything to keep the enemy from getting to Dol Amroth. However, that is not the oath I wish to ask of you today.” He admitted. Faramir stiffened again. Imrahil knew this could work against him in the end, but it was the only thing he could think of to protect Faramir from himself.
“Uncle?” Faramir sounded so much younger than the thirty-six year old battle hardened captain that he was supposed to be, and Imrahil knew that in part it was because Faramir had always had to be an adult.
“I wish for an oath from you that until I return and give you leave to do so, or until you receive confirmation of my death, that you will not seek out or inquire by any means details of the events that have happened from when you fell from your horse at the Causeway Forts to this moment now. That includes the circumstances around your father’s death.” Imrahil said. Faramir was quiet for a moment, his body still ridged.
“If I am to be the leader of Minas Tirith, even though it is to be for a short time, I will need to understand the strength of men at our hands. I will need to know how many we have and what all occured to get us where we are. I cannot understand why I would make such an oath Uncle.” Faramir said. He sounded tense, like he expected Imrahil to yell at him or scold him. Imrahil had no doubt that Denethor would react in such a manner when Faramir questioned him.
“Hurin will inform you of what you need to know to lead the people of Minas Tirith and nothing more than that. You will make such an oath because not only am I asking you to do so, but so is your king and wizard friend.” Imrahil said. That was a bit of a stretch of the truth, but only just. He was sure they would agree with him had they known his request. “You will also do so because it will prevent me from having to take measures into place to keep you from having learned the information through other means.” Imrahil added. Faramir almost sounded amused when he responded to that last part.
“Measures?”
“Yes. If you do not agree with making such an oath, then I will speak to both the Warden and Hurin. You will not be allowed to leave this room until the Warden clears you, and you will not receive any visitors outside of them. Hurin will monitor all your conversations after your release and will make detailed reports to me frequently of what you are doing.” The last part was going to happen regardless. Imrahil had already informed the older man that he was to make frequent reports for Imrahil on Faramir’s state during his absence. Faramir then relaxed in his hold, leaning on him heavily.
“I cannot get by your will Uncle. I will agree to make such an oath, but in return I ask for one of your own.” Faramir said. Imrahil hummed, curious. “Do everything you can to return.” He asked, not demanded. It was an oath Imrahil could not make, as his priority was to get Thorongil back, and it was likely Faramir knew that. If anything happened to him, Faramir would look after Imrahil’s children to the best of his abilities and his children would care for each other and Dol Amroth.
“I will try to return, that is the best I can do.” He said. He was glad that at least in this time, Faramir was getting the proper words from a father to a son at the departure for such a bleak looking campaign. Faramir simply nodded into his shoulder. A slight change in his breathing not long later told Imrahil he was resting again. Imrahil should have laid him down on the bed to properly rest, should have gone back out to get things ready for their departure. Yet he found himself not moving, deciding to rest just a little longer with Faramir by his side.