March 20, 2019

Sleep had proven elusive. Though it had been a long day, with much of it mercifully spent in the fresh air for a change, Faramir's mind was still wheeling as he lay on his narrow bed.

He was glad that he had taken the Warden's advice and sought out Merry in the afternoon. The halfling had proven to be excellent company through the evening, for he was quite skilled at telling stories. It had been easy to picture the moments that Merry had described, especially those involving Boromir. It was clear that Boromir had rather adopted Merry and Pippin as honorary younger brothers, training them and protecting them as he had so often done for Faramir.

With a groan Faramir at last admitted defeat, and pushed aside the blankets to sit up on the edge of his bed. Much though he wished he could return to the gardens, or at least the hallway, he knew that the healers would be… disappointed… if they found him outside of his chamber. So he resorted to pacing the small room, his bare feet making no noise that could betray his activity to anyone passing by in the hallway.

Boromir was alive! Or at least he had been a fortnight earlier, when Merry had ridden away from Helm's Deep with Theoden. Frodo's news had been far older, and the end to the conflict on Amon Hen was not known, so to hear that Boromir had survived and gone to the aid of their allies in Rohan was welcome indeed. But there had been no word of his fate, or that of Aragorn, since they had ridden the Paths of the Dead. Faramir could only hope that the prophecy that the heir of Isildur would be permitted to pass were true, and that they might both still arrive in the city.

As he paced in the small confines of his room he tried to keep his thoughts focused on his brother, on how they might learn of his fate and bring him home, but in truth...

In truth he found himself looking out to the dark gardens outside his window and thinking of a pair of grey eyes that had just a hint of blue to them. Eyes so empty of any hope that the thought of them made his own chest ache in sympathy. Of long hair the color of ripe barley touched by the morning sun…

Catching his thoughts wandering again, he ran a hand through his hair and chuckled softly at himself, thinking of how Boromir would laugh to see him so distracted by a pretty girl.

He had met the lady only this morning, had talked with her for only a few minutes! Why could he not shake her from his thoughts? Surely finding news of what happened to his brother should be his sole focus? Especially since learning of Boromir would also mean finding the King.

The King! Never had he thought that he would live to see a king over Gondor. Boromir had been more vocal in his belief that there would never again be a king, but if he was honest with himself Faramir had to admit that he had also spoken of the king's return purely by rote and not out of any real belief it would happen.

But now… Now there was reason to hope again, despite the defeat on the fields of Pelennor! Surely the return of the king in this dark hour was a sign from the Valar that all men should stay strong in their resistance of the Dark One, even if his victory seemed complete. The people must know that their King had been found, that he was...

Since he was alone, closed away from any that might see by the stone of the walls and the wood of the door, he allowed himself to slump down onto his bed again. While his father had taken oaths to rule in the name of the king, and had ensured that he carefully referenced the missing king whenever he issued a decree, Faramir knew all too well that in reality Denethor considered himself to be Gondor's rightful ruler. And his mind had been so twisted of late...

There was little reason to expect the Steward to support any resistance in the name of the king. Indeed, the last time they had spoken Denethor intended to do the unthinkable; submit to the Dark One. He claimed that by doing so he would protect the people from the utter destruction more conflict would inevitable bring on them all, and that as long as he was able to maintain some power he would be able to continue to shelter them from the harshest of the Dark One's malice.

Faramir rubbed his hands across his face, and then slowly straightened his back as a new resolve filled him.

He had given his life to fighting for his country, and he would not see her fall now, or her people give in to despair. He would never give in to the Dark One while he had strength to resist, and he would find some way to ensure that others had reason to hold to hope as well. Many of his rangers would be of the same mind, he knew, and he believed he could count on most of them to be willing to break their oaths to the steward if the steward was willing to break his oaths to the rightful king.

There would be much to plan, much to organize and much to do, but he felt a peace fill him as his decision was made. Someone had to stand up for the people, and if his father would not then it was up to him.

His mind calmer, he lay down and stretched out on the narrow bed, feeling sleep approaching even as he pulled the blankets over himself once more. A new thought came to him as he settled his head on his pillow; he would need all the allies he could find, and if the White Lady had been willing to fight the Witch King she clearly had no love for the Dark One. If nothing else, he now had a reason to speak with her again, to see if she and her brother might be willing to stand with him.

He fell asleep with her face on his mind and a smile on his lips.

AN: Many huge thanks to Sian22 for her support and for her skills as a beta! And thanks also to the ladies of the Garden of Ithilien for their thoughts and encouragement.