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gondor treason conspiracy


Chapter Notes:

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

With special thanks to Raksha, Laerien and Julia for their help with this chapter.

Deliver us from evil - The Bible; Mathew 6.

The Lord of Lossarnach reined in his horse and looked directly at them.

Faramir stiffened, desperately seeking some way out, other than that offered by the point of his dagger.

A sudden thought struck the Steward. He had become his father, in seeking to take his own life and Aragorn’s together. Yet, what other choice did he have? Against two or three men, he could fight, but against twenty, the odds were hopeless.

If he were alone, he would risk throwing the dagger and killing Fontos, hoping that would throw his followers into disarray. However, he dared not relinquish the only means he had of saving Aragorn from further torment. Fontos’ men appeared a bunch of ruffians. To appeal to either their loyalty to Gondor, or to her King or her Steward was most unlikely to work

“Are these the ones you seek?” one of the men asked the Lord of Lossarnach.

Aragorn suddenly lifted his head and looked Fontos directly in the eye.

Fontos sat transfixed. The King’s gaze seemed to pierce his very soul. He suddenly remembered the night when he had seen him, not as the King, but instead as a father, fiercely protective of his newborn child.

He hesitated; thinking of the riches Dervorin had promised would be his if he joined in their conspiracy. It had seemed so easy at first, the plan to marry Elbeth to Eldarion when Fosco had discovered her existence. He had wanted only to see the House of Hurin restored to its former glory.

Once a close friend of Boromir’s, he had shared the dream of Denethor’s heir, that it was time for the Stewards to take the throne and emerge from the shadow of a King, whose return after almost a thousand years seemed no more likely that pigs growing wings and taking flight.

That dream had ended when Aragorn had come from the North and claimed the throne. He had indeed been victorious in battle, a battle that had claimed the life of Fontos’ father.

Yet, if Lord Boromir had not died in this so-called King’s company and in somewhat mysterious circumstances, or had Lord Faramir not been gravely wounded, would the House of Hurin not led the West to victory instead?

Fontos had been willing at first to give the new King a chance. He had almost begun to like him, despite his father in law’s constant murmuring against him. It had hurt, though, to see Lord Faramir relegated to the role of the King’s vassal. However, it had been more than he could bear when Elessar had sent his Steward to prison, where he had been most brutally beaten. To add insult to injury; it had been on account of Elessar’s friend, Éomer of Rohan, a King who would not even have a land to rule, had not Faramir’s ancestor, Cirion ceded it to him!

Then when Faramir had recovered, his attacker had simply been hung, rather than suffering the full weight of the law against such treason. The King had offered no word of apology to his Steward, but instead had made him kneel to kiss his hands in fealty when he had returned to public life! On that day, Fontos had told his father in law that he would support his plan to put Lord Boromir’s daughter on the throne of Gondor.

He had never thought, however, that it would lead to the King being chained up like a dog and tortured so cruelly. He had been haunted by the sound of Aragorn’s agonised screams when the butcher had used his knife to peel away his skin and probe the raw flesh beneath. His fellow conspirators had punched and kicked and taunted the King. Aragorn had made not a sound then, other than to say again and again, he would never sign away the future of his son.

It amazed Fontos that Elessar was still alive after such cruelty. He had found himself reluctantly admiring the King’s courage and dignity. He had become increasingly desperate to avoid further witnessing the torture of a man whose boots he knew now, he was not even fit to unlace. He had been glad of the excuse of a winter chill, which he had claimed he feared was the dreaded Fever.

Dervorin’s fury had known no limits when Faramir had failed to return. Elbeth was then found to be missing. The next morning Fosco and his servant had been found murdered in the forest. Fontos found he mourned them not at all.

He had been summoned, together with the other surviving conspirators, and ordered to find both King and Steward. Dervorin had outlined in gruesome detail what he planned to do with them once they were caught.

Fontos knew his life would be forfeit for his part in the conspiracy, should Elessar return to power. However, he already suspected Dervorin would kill him once he had served his purpose. He suddenly realised it was better by far to die in the service of a good and honourable man and for the good of Gondor, as his father had done.

The King’s eyes, once so vibrant, were dulled with pain and suffering. His beard had been shaved to reveal a haggard face covered in bruises. Yet this man, broken as he was, still had an air of great wisdom, insight and compassion. Fontos felt that somehow Aragorn knew him better that he knew himself. It had been folly not to honour so great a man, when he had the opportunity. Yet, if he followed his conscience rather than the will of his father in law, he was as good as signing the warrant for his own execution and that of his family.

“Aren’t they the ones we’re looking for? Two men and a small girl?” his retainer repeated.

Fontos looked away from Aragorn and directly at his servant. “What, these ragamuffins?” he said coldly, “You are a fool, man, we seek the King and the Steward! “ He turned again to Aragorn and Faramir and addressed them directly. “Be off with you, you are trespassing on my land!”

Hardly able to believe their luck, and almost weeping from relief, Faramir urged Roheryn to a gallop. He could feel Aragorn shaking beneath his protecting arm. He replaced the dagger in its sheath.

“All is well, we are safe.” he soothed.

“So you would have killed me!” Aragorn said bitterly, wondering exactly what complicated plot Faramir had devised. Obviously, he and Fontos were in league or they would not have let them go. Yet, why had he reached for his sword if he were allied with the man? Moreover, it would have been an act of supreme mercy on Faramir’s part to kill him rather than allow him to be recaptured.

This man was a stranger, though, and not the Faramir he had known and loved for his gentleness and honesty. This Faramir could lie without hesitation and kill his liege lord in cold blood!

“I would not have let them take you and put you to further torment,” Faramir said quietly. “I sought to kill you, not from hate, but from the love that I bear you.”

“If only I could believe you!” Aragorn sighed. “Why else would Fontos allow us to leave, if you were not in league with him? I saw it in his eyes that he immediately recognised us.”

“I believe the Valar heard my prayer and softened his heart,” Faramir replied. “I can think of no other reason.”

“Maybe the torture sickened him,” Aragorn mused, desperately wanting to believe this explanation “His heart was never in it. I believe he only joined the rebels because his father in law urged him too. He is not evil but weak, I believe.”

The conversation was cut short by a shout from Elbeth. She was lagging further and further behind as she vainly tried to coax Zachus to keep up with Roheryn. Her  feet were too short to reach the stirrups,so she had little means of controlling the horse other than by telling him to “Gee up” and tug at the reins.

“You left me behind!” she accused once Roheryn caught up with her and slowed to a canter. “What did those men want?”

“ I am sorry, Elbeth,” Faramir apologised, “They just wanted to tell us that we were on their land and we should leave.”

“I’m tired. When can I get off the horse?” she complained.

“Very soon now,” Faramir promised. “You are a very brave girl to ride Zachus all by yourself!”

Elbeth visibly glowed at the praise and made no further complaint, determined to prove just how well she could control the enormous horse.

They soon crossed the borders of the Lord of Lossarnach’s estate and passed through another stretch of woodland.

It was already growing dark. As soon as Faramir could find a suitable secluded clearing near to a stream, they stopped to rest for the night.

Aragorn was obviously exhausted and in pain. He could hardly stumble along, even leaning on Faramir’s arm, after being lifted down from Roheryn. The Steward managed to get his King to a log, where he sat him down and left him with Elbeth.  Faramir then collected the healing supplies and filled a pot with water from the stream and put it on to boil.

Despite the dangers of discovery, the Steward felt compelled to light a good fire to provide some warmth for Aragorn and Elbeth. Heat was essential both for a sick man and a young child.

Aragorn swayed alarmingly as soon as Faramir’s back was turned causing Elbeth, who was playing nearby, to run to his side.

“Are you alright, Strider?” she asked, her childish voice full of anxiety.

“I will be well soon,” he whispered, “Sit here beside me, please?”

Elbeth immediately settled beside her friend and put her small arms around him.

When Faramir returned he found the King leaning against the child for support. He shuddered inwardly, knowing all too well that he had embarked on this journey without allowing Aragorn sufficient time to recover.

“Elbeth, will you gather some wood for the fire?” he asked, “I need to tend the King’s wounds.”

“Let her stay!” Aragorn begged, his features pinched and grey with fatigue. Much as he hated to involve a child, even the thought of holding up his shirt and tunic while Faramir bathed, salved and re-bandaged his wounds, was more than he was capable of at present. He fumbled to pull his shirt loose from his breeches and then asked Elbeth to hold his clothing away from the wounds.

Faramir frowned when he removed the bandages as the wound, which had bled earlier, now looked angry and inflamed after a day of being repeatedly chafed. He could do nothing but apply a generous amount of salve and re-bandage it. He hoped fervently that they would reach Éowyn the next day.

He prepared a simple meal of porridge, which was at least warm and filling. Elbeth coaxed Aragorn to eat, spoon-feeding it to him. It seemed to revive the King a little, though his eyes betrayed his humiliation at being unable to do even the simplest thing for himself. Faramir would have to lead him into the trees to answer nature’s call, help him back to the campsite, bathe his face and hands and settle him down for the night. For a man accustomed to living off the land in complete self-sufficiency, such helplessness was very hard to bear, while forced dependence on a man he could not trust, made it far worse.

After throwing more wood on the fire, they prepared for the night. Faramir took out some blankets he had brought and they huddled together for warmth under them. Elbeth fell asleep immediately, worn out by the day’s exertions.

“There was a time before you betrayed me, when I had hoped to take you camping with me!” Aragorn murmured wistfully, “I thought how nice it would be, just the two of us, shoulder to shoulder by the camp fire under the stars, reliving our days as rangers! I never thought it would end like this!”

“I am sure you will enjoy the stars again, and enjoy taking Eldarion camping once he is older” Faramir replied, thinking sadly how much he would have enjoyed a camping trip with Aragorn. His father would never have countenanced such a thing and he and Boromir seldom had had leave from their duties at the same time.

“Will I” Aragorn said gloomily.

“Gondor will again hail its rightful King!” Faramir assured him, wrapping his own cloak around the shivering body of his King and wishing he had more warmth to give him. In the past, he had always marvelled just how warm Aragorn was, even in mid winter, but now he always seemed to be cold.

In her sleep, Elbeth nestled closer to her friend, which seemed to soothe Aragorn somewhat. His breathing grew deeper indicating he had fallen asleep. Faramir tried to stay awake to keep watch, but exhaustion soon overcame him.

He slept uneasily, always with one ear open, but nothing came near to disturb their slumbers.

Faramir awoke at dawn, though as yet the cold grey light provided only a dim illumination. The air was cold and damp. He ached to the bone and moved stiffly from the pain in his back.

What would he not give for a hot bath and a soft bed to lie on? He realised he had become soft over the past few years, for many times during his life as a soldier he had slept in far worse conditions than these! He sincerely hoped that they would reach Arwen and Éowyn today. That is, if he could discover their whereabouts.

TBC


Chapter End Notes:

A/N

Fontos is remembering events in Chapter 24 of “Burden of Guilt”.

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