With thanks to Raksha
F - like a fearful Faramir.
He had dreamed of the coming of the King, envisioned the dead tree blossoming and imagined Gondor renewed.
Now the King was here, greater by far than he had imagined, victor over Sauron, commander of the Army of the Dead and blessed with healing hands, those hands, which combined with words of kindness, had restored Faramir’s life.
His heart welcomed Aragorn. His head had doubts.
He recalled his father's scornful voice, calling him a wizard's pupil, comparing him to Boromir, who his father said would never put his trust in strangers.
Faramir made his choice. He would welcome his King.
He had not been born to be Steward, far less to relinquish the Office of his longfathers
Was he right to do this, renounce the care of Gondor to this almost unknown heir of Isildur? What if the man proved a tyrant?
Yet, his foresight told him, he was right to yield. Had Aragorn not saved his life, even though he could have barred his path to the throne?
His new lord approached. His piercing yet kindly gaze met Faramir’s .He knew then that he could trust this new King
All fears forgotten, Faramir knelt and proffered the White Rod
Faramir paced the room for the hundredth time.
“Try not to worry, mellon nîn, she is strong and Ioreth is skilled,” Aragorn soothed, getting up from his seat and placing a reassuring hand on Faramir’s shoulder.
“I know but so much can go wrong,” Faramir fretted. ”It is taking so long!”
A scream pierced the air followed by a high-pitched wail. Faramir shuddered and buried his face in his hands.
Arwen entered the room, a broad smile on her face.” You have a fine son, and Éowyn is well,” she announced.
Faramir’s fears evaporated like mist under a rising sun.
A/N When I write, I imagine Faramir with dark hair,grey etes and carven features, like Aragorn.
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