Seeds of the White Tree

Chapter 18 - Father and Son

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"Lamedon had submitted the names of how many knights for the jousting lists?"

"Two and twenty."

"Are you certain? I had thought that was the number of chests of iron ore Erebor proposed to trade annually in exchange for two hundred bolts of un-dyed linen."

"Erm...I have it written here...No, it was two and twenty knights for the tournament from Anfalas, thirty from Lamedon, and fifteen barrels of fish oil from Dale to trade for...for...oh dear."

"My lord Steward! I have your order for the fifty new lances! Would you prefer them sent to the city stables, or the armory?"

A harried look not often seen on the face of Prince Faramir of Ithilien was beginning to make its presence known. Since Aragorn and the others had set out for Harad some weeks ago it seemed everyone within fifty leagues of Minas Tirith had demands on the Steward's time. Most days he rose before dawn, even before Éowyn, and stumbled face-first into bed long after the stars were hung across the sky. Governing in Aragorn's stead was something that Faramir had grown well-accustomed to over the years. However, this particular month it seemed, the king had chosen a fine time to go running off into the unknown.

With The Brown Lands bordering the southern tip of the Greenwood finally declared safe and open after hundreds of years of harbouring orcs, wargs, and other foul creatures spawned in the ruins of Dol Goldur, Dale and Erebor were at long last ready to open their doors to the south of Middle-Earth. Word had come on the leg of a raven sent from the Lonely Mountain, signed by both King Bard II of Dale and King Thorin III Stonehelm of Erebor. The two kings of the north expressed keen interest in opening trade with Gondor. Faramir of course had been quick to reply in the affirmative. To his surprise and quiet dismay, no less than a week later a reply had come in the form of a full trade manifesto. Ever since it had been a firestorm of meetings with various heads of the realm's commerce guilds, trying to compose a suitable counter-offer for both the human and dwarf realms' proposals.

All this would have been an enormous task to contend with in and of itself. However, Faramir had already been embroiled in a project of his own making before ever the first raven came. With that year marking the thirtieth anniversary of the end of the War of the Ring and Aragorn's coronation, plans were underway to host a tournament in honor of the occasion alongside the yearly harvest festival. Now, even with Elboron recruited as his assistant, Faramir was still completely and utterly swamped.

Signing whatever it was that a scribe was desperately trying to hold forward under his quill, Faramir called back to the carpenter as he walked "Have the lances sent to the armory, they'll just be underfoot in the stables. Is the Master of Coin expecting us for our meeting at one o'clock?"

"He sends his apologies, but must ask if we can accommodate him for a midday meeting instead?" said Elboron, hastily thumbing through a list of names and times.

Faramir sighed. "We will have to miss our lunch then...again. Elboron, send a page to tell him we will meet at noon as he requests."

"There is also the matter of choosing our own knights for the tournament, Father. One of the only lists not yet submitted is Ithilien's."

"Blast!" It was also not commonplace that Faramir fell to cursing, but the thought of another meal hastily eaten in stolen bites between meetings had put a damper on his spirits. "Is that a task I can entrust to you, Elboron?"