Linda's LOTR Fanfiction

Tree and Flower Awards, The Lord of the Rings, First Place
Tree and Flower Awards Nominee

 The White Tree




MPA awards 2006 - 2nd place General Category.

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.


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? "

Chapter One -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.

Chapter Two - 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!”

Chapter three

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 concealing helms 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



HTML Comment Box is loading comments...

Make a free website with Yola