Power. That's what he had. That's what he had been born to have; yet it was
the thing he wanted least in the world.
Why did people need power? It was nothing more than the right to command others. Order people around. All those beneath you craved it, all those above you had too much. So why did he want to give it all away?
These thoughts racked through Aragon's brain as he paced swiftly up and down the hallway. All he wanted was to get away from it all escape having to tell his people how to live their life. He sighed to himself and ignored the guards who bowed low in his presence.
'Why do they insist in doing that?' he asked himself, despite the fact that he knew the answer. Power. He had it; they respected it and thought they had to prove their acknowledgement of his status.
He barely noticed that he had reached the door that he had been searching for. Smiling to himself, he reached out and turned the handle, hoping that council with his steward would help work out the anger in his mind. Faramir always had a soothing affect on him.
He didn't know what it was about the man that could calm him so easily. They both had the same amount of work to do to help repair the white city, but that wasn't it. Aragorn himself wasn't quite sure what it was. Maybe they just had a lot in common.
Pushing the door handle open he expected to see Faramir hard at work at his desk, or perhaps standing on the balcony of the steward's quarters and gazing over the Pelennor fields. He had not expected this.
Lying on the floor, one arm outstretched in a pool of blood was his steward. A smile was on his face and his eyes were closed as in a deep sleep. Time seemed to stop as the king gazed upon the scene. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't breath. Breathe.
"Breathe." He whispered, and knelt beside Faramir. Lowering himself to his side he watched the steward's torso praying to the Valar that he was breathing. "Breath." He said louder, hoping to get a reaction. "Breathe! Faramir! Breathe!" Shaking the younger man violently he shouted the words over and over again. He was hardly able to breathe himself for fear. He was overjoyed when his Steward began coughing.
They were deep gasping breaths that wracked his whole body, but he was breathing. Holding the man in his arms, Aragon supported him as he began retching. Trying to cough up the contents of his empty stomach, Faramir shook violently as the foul taste of bile filled his mouth.
Gently rolling him onto his side, Aragorn held the man and rubbed his back in comforting circles while whispering soothing words into his ear. Faramir shook again and began shivering. 'The cold was getting to him, and it would be no good to keep him here,' thought Aragorn.
Making sure his arms were beneath the steward, he stood up slowly, trying out the weight. He was surprised to find that without all the armour and formal robes, Faramir was in fact a very light man. His body was thin and he looked like he had not been eating well. Making his way towards the door, the older man continued whispering to his steward, trying to keep him conscious.
However, it was in vain. He could feel Faramir becoming weaker and weaker in his arms. The man was shaking less and was relaxing again, which was not a good sign.
"Please Faramir." The king whispered with tears in his eyes. "Please stay with me." Faramir couldn't hear him. He had slipped back into the world of darkness. "No." Aragorn whispered into the growing darkness around him. Laying Faramir on the bed he had reached in the houses of healing, he wiped the still red arm with a cloth. "Don't leave me. I...I can't cope."
Not without his steward. Not without his friend.
Now, all was all he was left with was the thing he had come to despise the most.
Power.
Why did people need power? It was nothing more than the right to command others. Order people around. All those beneath you craved it, all those above you had too much. So why did he want to give it all away?
These thoughts racked through Aragon's brain as he paced swiftly up and down the hallway. All he wanted was to get away from it all escape having to tell his people how to live their life. He sighed to himself and ignored the guards who bowed low in his presence.
'Why do they insist in doing that?' he asked himself, despite the fact that he knew the answer. Power. He had it; they respected it and thought they had to prove their acknowledgement of his status.
He barely noticed that he had reached the door that he had been searching for. Smiling to himself, he reached out and turned the handle, hoping that council with his steward would help work out the anger in his mind. Faramir always had a soothing affect on him.
He didn't know what it was about the man that could calm him so easily. They both had the same amount of work to do to help repair the white city, but that wasn't it. Aragorn himself wasn't quite sure what it was. Maybe they just had a lot in common.
Pushing the door handle open he expected to see Faramir hard at work at his desk, or perhaps standing on the balcony of the steward's quarters and gazing over the Pelennor fields. He had not expected this.
Lying on the floor, one arm outstretched in a pool of blood was his steward. A smile was on his face and his eyes were closed as in a deep sleep. Time seemed to stop as the king gazed upon the scene. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't breath. Breathe.
"Breathe." He whispered, and knelt beside Faramir. Lowering himself to his side he watched the steward's torso praying to the Valar that he was breathing. "Breath." He said louder, hoping to get a reaction. "Breathe! Faramir! Breathe!" Shaking the younger man violently he shouted the words over and over again. He was hardly able to breathe himself for fear. He was overjoyed when his Steward began coughing.
They were deep gasping breaths that wracked his whole body, but he was breathing. Holding the man in his arms, Aragon supported him as he began retching. Trying to cough up the contents of his empty stomach, Faramir shook violently as the foul taste of bile filled his mouth.
Gently rolling him onto his side, Aragorn held the man and rubbed his back in comforting circles while whispering soothing words into his ear. Faramir shook again and began shivering. 'The cold was getting to him, and it would be no good to keep him here,' thought Aragorn.
Making sure his arms were beneath the steward, he stood up slowly, trying out the weight. He was surprised to find that without all the armour and formal robes, Faramir was in fact a very light man. His body was thin and he looked like he had not been eating well. Making his way towards the door, the older man continued whispering to his steward, trying to keep him conscious.
However, it was in vain. He could feel Faramir becoming weaker and weaker in his arms. The man was shaking less and was relaxing again, which was not a good sign.
"Please Faramir." The king whispered with tears in his eyes. "Please stay with me." Faramir couldn't hear him. He had slipped back into the world of darkness. "No." Aragorn whispered into the growing darkness around him. Laying Faramir on the bed he had reached in the houses of healing, he wiped the still red arm with a cloth. "Don't leave me. I...I can't cope."
Not without his steward. Not without his friend.
Now, all was all he was left with was the thing he had come to despise the most.
Power.