I disclaim all of Tolkien's characters, locations, plotlines, etc. I will try to keep to his work as much as possible, though but everything does belong to his genius mind.
A/N: This story is AU, as I switched the roles of Faramir and Éowyn in the Houses of Healing. This is my first, so I would really appreciate some constructive criticism to help me along. Hope you enjoy. - Riyabryn
'Boromir!' Faramir called. He could see his brother just a short distance away. A young woman with long black hair and a very familiar older man stood next to him. They smiled sadly as he called out to them. 'Father! Mother!' They were so close. If he could just run to them, he could be with them again. He didn't deserve to live anyway. He started to walk towards his family. It was a struggle and it was painful, but he was determined.
"Faramir!"
Faramir turned around to see a man dressed in the simple garb of a Ranger, but had a strong air of kingliness. His dark hair accented his piercing grey eyes. Faramir knew instantly that this man was the lost heir to the throne of Gondor, the hope for the White City. He could not prevent that happening, which is what he would do if he lived.
"Faramir, you need to come with me." His voice was kind but commanding. But this Ranger was not Faramir's King yet. Faramir was not willing to go back to the world of the living. He did not deserve to go back. His family was waiting for him.
Faramir smiled sadly. The man held his hand out to him. Faramir shook his head. His time had come to leave the world behind.
"Your life does not have to end. You can live. Faramir… you have a second chance. Come with me. Choose life over death." Now the man seemed to be pleading with him. But his place was not among the great. He took a deep breath.
"My life was always cursed. I wish it had never begun. I was rarely shown love, and those who did give it to me are gone. I have no reason to live." His father had made sure he knew that. But he had forgiven his father, for it wasn't his fault that he was Steward during the Dark Days. He looked back to make sure his family was still there. They were, but they were fading quickly. He needed to make his decision—life and likely sadness, or death and his family.
"Faramir. You will be loved if you live. Your people already love you for who you are. I will need you by my side if I aim to take up the throne of Gondor." Faramir raised his eyebrows. He was not so easily fooled.
"You don't need the second son of a madman to rule. All you need is someone from the Council to show you around and give you his opinion. And you'd be letting down all of Gondor if you refused the crown." He smiled slyly. "Besides, 'The hands of the King are the hands of a Healer'. You have given yourself away now. The people will expect you to embrace your destiny. Gondor needs a King or she will fall into ruin."
The man sighed and drew back his hand. "I will need a friend who can be frank with me in his opinions. In addition, there may be a chance that I might not live through the last battle. Who then will take care of Gondor? It will be thrown into chaos."
Faramir frowned. He didn't have much time. "You underestimate your skill in battle. Now, let me go."
The man shook his head.
"If you stay any longer you shall kill yourself! There are others who need you more than I. You should not waste your energy on me." He took a step back.
The man's eyes filled with fear. Faramir smiled reassuringly. This was where he belonged. His body started to fade.
"Faramir! Gondor needs you! You cannot leave her or her people. You are the last of your line. There is no one else to keep it going. You must live! Faramir!"
Faramir shook his head. "Who would miss me? The people will rejoice at the news of my death."
"That is not true and you know it. Please! Fight this darkness. For the city you love you must stay with me!"
"I have made my choice. It is irreversible. You must leave me to my fate. Go. I will be fine. I will see my family once more." He was still smiling. A white light came from the older man's body as he was pulled back to the land of the living. Sorrow showed plainly on his face. 'Don't worry. This is but the beginning. Heal the others. Save Gondor. Bring down the Dark Lord. Become who you were meant to be; the king of Gondor.'
With that, Faramir succumbed to the darkness surrounding him. The man was blinded for a moment by a white light…
Aragorn gasped as he came back into himself. "Faramir!" he looked down at the body before him. It was still and not breathing. A smile was on his face. He seemed at peace.
Gandalf sighed softly. He had known that it would be a futile effort to try to persuade Faramir to live. He was just glad that Aragorn had made it back.
"I failed. He is gone." Aragorn was distraught. What if he lost the others that needed his help? Would he fail them as well? A hand touched his shoulder.
"There are others in need of your skills. Faramir's chances were slim to begin with. You did not fail him. The others will not be as reluctant, I am sure. Go to Éowyn. She needs you, as does Merry." Gandalf sounded weary.
Aragorn nodded. He got up and, with one last look at the man on the bed, headed off to another room.
He spotted Prince Imrahil and the Guard, Beregond, waiting for news of their Captain. He gathered his courage as they spotted him and started walking towards him.
"Aragorn, is he alive?" Imrahil asked. Only then did Aragorn remember that Faramir was Imrahil's nephew. Beregond had forfeited his life to prevent his Captain from being burned alive by his father. He had failed them as well.
"I am sorry. I lost him." Aragorn visibly saw the two men pale. He felt guilty for not being able to save the one they loved.
"No. Faramir would not have left us. He would have stayed for Gondor. To take up the Stewardship. He would not die." Imrahil didn't want to believe that Faramir was gone. Beregond was silent but a great sorrow was in his eyes.
"I am sorry. You may go in to see him if you'd like. I must tend to other patients." Imrahil walked off into the room. Beregond left as well but spared a nod in Aragorn's direction.
Aragorn sighed and went to see if he could help the Lady Éowyn and the Halfling Merry.
Imrahil stood silently just inside the door. His nephew lay, white as a sheet, on the bed. His black hair hung about his face in a painfully familiar manner. Imrahil's mother, Faramir's mother, had looked much the same when she died. The smile on both of their faces was especially hard to bear. It seemed that Faramir had willed himself to die. Imrahil hated the mere suggestion of such and tried to purge it from his mind. But it clung to his thoughts in the nasty way that the truth seemed to do.
Beregond wanted to try to comfort the Prince Imrahil, but he didn't know if it was appropriate. Instead, he walked to Faramir's side and took his hand in his own. It was icy cold to the touch. His face was fatally pale, making his dark hair stand out all the more. It was his smile, though, that brought tears to the Guard's eyes. It seemed to bring a sad sort of relief, or satisfaction. It seemed Faramir's way of saying it was his time; that he was going to a better place.
Imrahil took Faramir's other hand, trying vainly to chafe some warmth in to it.
"My Lord, it is no use. He will not wake. We were too late. It is time to let him go." Beregond was doing his best to be sympathetic.
Imrahil shook his head and started to work on Faramir's lower arm. "He is my sister's youngest son, my nephew. I have known him his entire life. I cannot just let him go. I will not yet just give up." Imrahil was now working on the upper part of Faramir's arm.
Beregond sighed inwardly. He knew that Faramir was beyond help. He trusted the dark Healer-Ranger that had tried to save his Captain. Imrahil was desperate, though, and refused to believe that the last son of his beloved sister was gone.
All of the sudden, Beregond frowned. It wasn't possible. Hadn't he just told Imrahil that? But he was sure he had seen Faramir's soft smile waver, for just a moment. He looked up at Imrahil, wondering if he had seen it as well. The intense look on the older man's face told him all he needed to know.
"My Lord Imrahil! He's coming back! It must be your actions, or your words. Keep going!" Beregond winced as he realized he had just given an order to the Prince of Dol Amroth. The Prince hardly noticed, just rubbed even more vigorously.
"Stay with us Faramir, stay with us. Come back from the shadows! Do not lose hope! Faramir, please, see the light!" Imrahil pleaded with his nephew to rejoin the living.
"Captain!" Beregond cried. "My Lord Faramir, please do not leave us! You are loved, Captain, I promise! Please, do not leave us! Lord Faramir, please!"
Faramir's eyes fluttered slightly.
"Faramir? Faramir, can you hear me? Are you alive? Faramir!" Imrahil was begging with the Valar to bring the man on the bed back to him. "Faramir," he whispered, "come back."
His chest rose and fell so slightly that Beregond wasn't sure he had actually seen it. But when it rose and fell again he started to believe that there was any hope at all.
"Faramir," Imrahil breathed.
Faramir moved his head to the left slightly. His sad smile had all but disappeared.
"Beregond, try to find Aragorn. He will know what is happening."
Beregond nodded obediently and an off to find the dark man who had tried to heal his Captain. He found him coming out of a room and shutting the door gently.
"My Lord Aragorn!"
He turned around at the voice, wondering what could possibly be wrong this time. He saw the Guard who had tried to save Faramir.
"My Lord Aragorn!"
"Yes? He can't have gotten any worse, can he?" Aragorn was very tired after bringing both Éowyn and Merry back from the Black Breath, and was saying things that he normally would keep to himself.
"No. In fact, it seems he is getting better. He was—well it seemed he was dead, and then all of the sudden he started to move and breathe and we don't know what caused it. The Prince Imrahil told me to inform you as you would be the person who could know what is happening."
Aragorn stood still, his face turning pale. Faramir was still alive? How could it be; he saw the man fade into the darkness himself!
"I will come and see him." He followed the Guard to the room and there, as Beregond had stated, was a very much alive Faramir. His chest was moving up and down, albeit very slightly, and his sad smile had vanished, replaced by a pained frown. His head was slowly moving back and forth but he had not yet woken. His skin was slightly less pale than before.
Aragorn rushed to his patient's side and put his head to his chest, hearing the rapid and erratic heartbeat. He was alive, but just barely. But while he still breathed there was a chance that he could bring him back. Aragorn put his hand on Faramir's brow again and called his name.
"Faramir. Faramir, can you hear me? Are you still in shadow? Faramir!"
Faramir turned at the sound of the voice. It was the man who had come to see him before. Faramir knew that this meant he was alive, if only just. The man was coming closer, holding his hands out in welcome to him.
"Faramir. Come. Come back to us. You do not belong here. It is not yet your time. Come back with me, Faramir. Do not give in."
Faramir sighed. "I did give in. My father, bless his soul, sent me back. I am merely waiting to see the light. I am swathed in shadow and there is no light. I fear I will be stuck here, neither living nor dead, but merely in the middle, until it is my time. Do you offer another choice?"
The man nodded. "I do. I offer you light. Though you may not see it, Faramir, it is here. I can show you a way out of here. Faramir, you must come with me. Will you break the hearts of those who tried to save you again?"
Faramir hesitated. The man was speaking of his Uncle and Beregond, of course. One saved him from being cut to pieces by orcs, the other from being burned alive by his father. Now, it seemed, they mourned him, and had hope that he would come back, that he was not dead.
"Faramir, will you come back with me? Please, Faramir, choose to live."
Faramir sighed. "I don't really have a choice; you will take me with you no matter what I say."
The man smiled. "But it is all the better if you choose to live. Come. Gondor needs you."
Faramir took a deep breath and took the man's outstretched hand. A bright light enveloped them both. Faramir heard a soft voice whisper in his ear, "Do me and Gondor proud, my son."
Imrahil jumped as his nephew took a large, shuddering breath. Aragorn jumped up, as if coming out of a trance.
"Faramir?" Imrahil blinked, surprised. Aragorn, frightened and hopeful, watched for the smallest indication of life in Faramir's limp body. Faramir didn't speak but he turned his head just the slightest bit.
Aragorn let out a sigh. Imrahil looked at him and just barely kept back a gasp. His skin looked sickly pale and his eyes betrayed the great weariness that must be weighing down on his soul. His shoulders slumped forward, his hands still holding on to Faramir's. His breathing sounded rattling and harsh.
"Aragorn, you must get some rest. You have saved three people from death today and look near to it yourself. Go back to your tent. Do you wish me to accompany you?"
Aragorn stood up. "Your help would be most appreciated." He nearly stumbled but Imrahil caught him and supported his weight. "Thank you." Imrahil nodded.
When they were at the camp, Aragorn turned to Imrahil. "Promise that you'll send for me when he wakes. I wish to speak with him." Imrahil hesitated. "Imrahil." He nodded and led the ashen-faced man to his bed.
Imrahil knew that he should be with Aragorn, in the Council of Captains, but he wanted to stay with his nephew until he was forced to leave. He wanted to be there when he woke up.
For now, his skin was still a sickly pale color and his breathing was still much labored. It wasn't very likely that he would wake before Imrahil left for the Last Battle. Imrahil was loath to leave his nephew to come-to alone. He didn't even know if he wasn't going to live through the battle. His own sons shared the same possible fate. Faramir had already lost his mother, brother, and now father. It would break his heart to lose his uncle and cousins, too. That would leave him with only Lothíriel, Imrahil's daughter.
Imrahil held his breath as Faramir turned his head slightly. He gave a small moan, and then fell silent once more. Imrahil let out his breath. His nephew wasn't going to wake today, but he felt as if Faramir could feel his uncle's presence, and so Imrahil stayed where he was.
Imrahil mounted his grey charger, Cloudtide, and rode over to Aragorn's side. Imrahil noted with relief that the man looked much better than he did two days ago. It seemed that a little rest and a few full meals could do wonders.
As they rode off towards the Black Gate of Mordor, Imrahil felt a shadow set itself over his heart.
Faramir saw a small light ahead. He smiled. He was going back. He was going to live. This nightmare was drawing to a close. This endless wandering through dark clouds and no moon to see by. The constant reliving of the worst moments of his life. His father's wrath; the shrill cry of the Nazgûsl-lord; the terror of living through the retreat again; the slow, painful visions that came to him when they were least wanted. No trees to provide comforting presences of security. No night sounds to tell you that some living things could still lead a normal life.
The light grew brighter and filled him with hope. A hope that all would be right again, that this war would end. It filled his vision now and was still growing. His eyes saw colors, no more endless darkness. Faramir started to move towards it, each step lighter than the first. He reached out his hands to embrace it, to embrace his fate. The light flashed and he became blinded for a moment and then started to come out of his unconscious state…
For a moment, all was dark and Faramir wondered if he was now blind or if he was still in his living nightmare. But, slowly, the world started to appear. First they were blurred outlines, then they took shape, and then color returned to the objects around him. He tried to turn his head to figure out where he was, but a sudden dizziness shot through him and his head pounded. Faramir closed his eyes against the pounding in his head and waited for the pain to subside and then opened his eyes again slowly.
This time the dizziness didn't come. This time he could turn his head slowly and look around the room he was in. He was in the Houses of Healing. Why? Flashes of a battle went through his head. A charge. A hopeless cause. Pain. Faramir winced as his chest burned with the memory. There was an arrow. He remembered that now. He had failed. He flinched at the memory of his father's last words to him before he rode out on a suicide mission. A suicide mission he had survived. How? More flashes went across his eyes. A man with piercing grey eyes and a commanding voice. His King. His family! Love brought him back. The King again. A light. Life. His life.. Faramir opened his eyes. His breathing was quick. He looked around but no one was in the room. He shuddered. He was alone. Maybe he wasn't alive. Maybe he was still dead, or in the land in-between.
But just then, the door clicked open and a woman walked in carrying a tray with different medicinal concoctions on it. The woman looked over at him and, realizing that he was awake, immediately smiled.
"My Lord Faramir. You are awake at last! The Warden will be glad to hear of it." She poured one of the concoctions into a cup and fed it to him. Faramir sniffed it first, as the Healers were prone to giving him sleeping potions. As far as he could tell, there wasn't anything in it besides the normal spices and herbs.
Faramir's hands couldn't hold the cup on his own. The woman had to hold it for him and pour it into his mouth. Once he had drunk it all, he steeled himself for the assumed agony of speaking.
"Where is the King?" His throat was scratchy and his voice was hoarse, but it wasn't the pain he had expected.
"He is riding to the Black Gates, my Lord," the woman answered. "The Lord Imrahil, Éomer King, and the Rangers of the North ride with him. They ride to war. No one believes that they will return. 'Tis amazing that one who can wield a sword can also have the hand of a Healer."
Faramir nodded. He had expected as much. He feared for his Uncle, though, as he was the last of his family still alive. He had lost his mother to illness, his brother to fate, and his father to madness. Would he lose his uncle to war?
