Summary: After a long struggle to come to terms with Éowyn's tragic death, Faramir's dreams continue to haunt him each night. Although Aragorn promises to teach Faramir to control his dreams, the nightmares refuse to go away… Sequel to "Shattered."

Disclaimer: I do not now nor will I ever possess the brilliance that was John Ronald Reuel Tolkien's. As such, I make no claim upon the characters, plot, or non-English languages depicted here that belong to him.


Into Shadow

Chapter I – Without Her

The Council of Gondor was in session, and once again Faramir's mind was elsewhere. From the corner of his eye, Aragorn recognized the signs of distractedness in his Steward and felt the familiar tug of pity at his heart. Ever since Éowyn's death, Faramir had struggled to focus on even the simplest of tasks. It was the mark she had left on him, a mark that Aragorn knew no amount of healing was likely to cure. Aragorn saw, however, that the other lords were beginning to take notice of Faramir's inattentiveness. He exchanged a meaningful glance with Elphir, who then leaned over to stir Faramir.

"Faramir."

Elphir's gentle hand roused Faramir from his private thoughts, and he looked up with a frown. He had not realized that anything of importance was being said. Had his awareness wandered from him again so easily?

"Are you with us?" murmured Elphir.

Faramir shrugged his cousin's hand from his shoulder and straightened in his seat, but, much to Elphir's chagrin, he gave no answer. Faramir had always been a quiet man, but now he spoke scarcely more than a few short words in a day—only what was required to carry out his duties. Today he was worse than usual, and both Elphir and Aragorn could sense that something was amiss.

"Prince Faramir, you do not look well," observed Lord Orodreth gently. "Perhaps 'twere better if the Council were adjourned for the afternoon…?"

Faramir looked askance towards Orodreth, at a loss for words. Finally he conjured the courtesy to reply, "I am well, Lord Orodreth. Thank you for your concern."

Softly enough for only Faramir to hear, Elphir muttered, "He is right. You look pale…"

"I am no paler today than I was yesterday or the day before," Faramir quipped.

Elphir immediately silenced himself and sat back in his chair. Faramir's uncharacteristic lack of patience over the last few months since Éowyn's death continued to shock him, no matter how many times Faramir had snapped at him since the tragedy. He hated to say it, but there were certain days when Elphir began to see more of Denethor's demeanor in Faramir than he cared to acknowledge.

"I believe our business here is nearly concluded, on any account." Aragorn's eyes scanned the panel of nobility seated at the Council table before him. "Lord Glosfalath has proposed a plan to invade Khand on behalf of the Haradrim, our allies, who have suffered raids from the Variags in recent months. Unless someone intends to present a counter-argument against him, I believe this council is adjourned until tomorrow, when we shall deliberate and vote on the matter." Aragorn paused to allow any willing to stand up to debate with Glosfalath. Privately, he wished that someone would offer. He loathed to hear Glosfalath's often inflated and biased opinions go uncontested in his Council. "Anyone? No?"

The lords were beginning to make their farewells and part their own separate ways when Faramir stood from his seat bearing an expression of great weariness and tedium.

"My good Lord Glosfalath, with all due respect, it is a plan wrought of absurdity and demonstrates a total lack of consideration for the consequences of Gondor's interference in the region of Khand," said Faramir. The lords slowly fell silent and, seeming a little disgruntled, settled back down into their seats. Glosfalath's smug air fell away as the Steward spoke. Aragorn smiled.

"Firstly, the Variags are experienced warriors with a long history in the area east of Mordor. You suggest launching a frontal assault upon the borders of Khand. If this were carried out, your armies would be laid to waste within a matter of weeks. Secondly, the Haradrim are an extremely proud and territorial race. Regardless of the fact that we are their allies, they will see any interference in the area as an insult to their honor and a threat to their claim of Khand. They wish to see the heads of the Variags on their own spears, not on ours. Thirdly, the Variags have many close ties to the servants of Mordor, whom we granted the lands of Nurn to have as their own. If we engage the Variags in war, our allies within Mordor itself will be angered by our intervention and may join with the forces in Khand, losing us a valuable ally in Mordor and threatening the relative peace that has reigned there since the fall of the Barad-dûr."

Faramir gathered his sparse notes, his quill, and several books under his arm and proceeded towards the door. Before he left, he turned back and looked straight at Lord Glosfalath. "Fourthly, I personally have seen enough of death and war. Haven't you?" The door opened and closed again silently, leaving the Lords of Gondor staring in wonder and struggling to digest the counter-argument Faramir had so eloquently presented.

Aragorn rose and followed after Faramir, catching up to him several paces down the hall from the Council Chambers.

"I must thank you for speaking out as you did," said Aragorn candidly. "As usual, you managed to translate my muddled sentiments into articulate words."

Faramir waved away Aragorn's praise absentmindedly. "You speak as though I had just hypnotized a host of dragons with a speech wrought of silver tongues. My words were hardly such. It is merely common sense. Unless the rocks in their heads are as dense as those in Lord Glosfalath's, the other lords will listen."

As long as he had known Faramir, Aragorn had been continually surprised by his young Steward. Faramir was not only a soldier but also a brilliant scholar, a political genius. Yet he seemed only bored and wearied by his talent. He had said more just now before the Council than he had in the last four months together, and he appeared to be drained by it, as if it had sapped him of his energy merely to speak.

"Faramir, I wish you would not try to keep secrets from me," said Aragorn. He was striding very quickly to keep up with Faramir's brisk walk. "You are distracted, you are unfocused, and you are exhausted. What is it that weighs on your mind so? I would have you tell me, as you know I will listen."

"I know you would listen, Elessar, if there was aught for me to say."

"Elessar? When did you start calling me Elessar?" Frowning, Aragorn pivoted to stand directly in Faramir's path, stopping him in mid-step. "You need not put up a façade to placate me, Faramir. I promised you that I would help you through this, but I cannot do so if you do not come to me when you are troubled."

"I am not 'troubled,'" Faramir argued sharply. "To be forthright, I did not realize that my state of mind had become a topic of public discussion."

"Likewise, I did not realize that our friendship was defined by the nuances of public discussion," Aragorn returned, his tone sharper still. "The lords who sit back in that room may have a political agenda to fulfill by bringing up the condition of your health, but I do not. Now, tell me what has been on your mind."

Embarrassed, Faramir bowed his head. "Forgive me, Aragorn… I spoke unfairly." Drawing in a deep breath, at last he began to answer his friend's questions. "Everything you have been teaching me, everything you have advised me to do… None of it is helping. I still see her face in my dreams every night. Still I am haunted by the sound of her voice… When will I know that any of it is working?"

"Faramir, I told you that this would not be easy," Aragorn replied. "Your gift has been repressed for so long that undoing the way in which your mind deals with it will take some time. I do not and cannot make any promises of how long it would take."

"Is there nothing you can do?" Faramir entreated him. "I cannot go on living like this for much longer. I barely sleep; I lie awake in the dark and wait for the morning. When I do sleep, I dream of her…" He turned away shook his head. "The constant fight is wearing me down. I am so tired…"

Only one remedy held even a small chance of easing Faramir's sleep, and it was one that was held in reverence among the halls of the Elvenfolk. No human had ever attempted it, and it was a process both difficult and dangerous. Yet compassion and pity for Faramir made Aragorn give it consideration, although normally he would never have done so.

"There is one thing I can try, but I cannot guarantee that it will be successful."

Faramir's face almost visibly lifted with hope. "I would be grateful for anything you can do, mellon nin."

"Then tonight, when you sleep, I will watch over you," Aragorn explained. "If I focus enough of my mental energy on you, I should be able to redirect your dreams so that you can sleep soundly. Depending on how much of my energy the process requires, I may or may not be successful."

"You have never done this before, then." It was a statement, not a question. Faramir's frown was dubious. "Please, Aragorn, do not risk your well-being on my account. I can manage on my own, as I have all my life."

"It is true that I have never attempted this particular process," admitted Aragorn. "But I know that it can be done, for Lord Elrond often used it to shield me from dreams in my childhood—dreams that I was not ready to see."

"What dreams?"

"Let us not speak of it."

Faramir paused. "I appreciate all that you are offering to do for me, Aragorn, but I fear that I am being unfair by asking so much. I do not wish to take advantage of our friendship for my own selfish reasons."

"Nonsense," said Aragorn. "I offered my friendship as a promise to do everything in my power to help you. If I have the ability to spare you from your dark dreams, even for one night, then I shall do so gladly."

"Is there nothing I can do for you in return?" asked Faramir.

Aragorn smiled. As unassuming as Faramir had always been, Aragorn was still surprised when the Steward behaved as though he owed Aragorn some ransom or price. "The promise of my friendship is also given without expecting anything in return."

Faramir stared calmly at Aragorn for several moments before he finally spoke again. "It is so much to ask…and yet… Will you? Even a single night's sleep without nightmares would refresh me."

Aragorn saw the fatigue behind Faramir's eyes, and all doubt faded away. "Yes, Faramir. I will do as I have said."

Faramir clapped Aragorn's shoulder in embrace and gave him a smile full of gratitude. "Thank you, my friend. It means a lot to me. Tonight, then? Well, we shall see. We shall see…" Faramir bid a respectful farewell to Aragorn before hastening down to the hall to finish his paperwork in his office. Sleep without nightmares… It was such a lovely thought that Faramir found that he was smiling to himself.

A fresh blossom of simbelmyne sat in a glass vase on Faramir's desk, white as snow and scented like a wind-swept plain. Éowyn's grave was covered with the beautiful flowers. It was spring now. Everything in the world seemed to be blooming fresh again, reviving the land from the cold grip of winter. The only thing that remained dead was that one part of Faramir's heart that he knew could never grow anew.

Faramir scratched at the roll of parchment with an inky quill, eager to finish the day's reports, which had become an ever more onerous task of late. His handwriting, normally a fine, flowing script, began slowly to deteriorate as his weariness took over and cramped his hand painfully. He grimaced. Age, it seemed, had caught up with him all too quickly since Éowyn's death.

His quill paused for a moment over the word "horses." He remembered when Éowyn had told him that her name in Rohirric meant "One Who Delights in Horses," during one of many conversations they enjoyed in the gardens while held prisoner within the Houses of Healing but twenty years ago. It was, she had told him, her favorite word in Elvish: roch. That was what the Elves had called her. Rochiel. Horse-daughter.

With grim resolution, Faramir forced himself to continue. If he lingered for too long, he would forget to go on again, and then he would never finish reading through the veritable stack of scrolls that had accumulated atop his desk for the last week. At first it was a boon that these reports were so drearily similar, requiring little differentiation to write a response to each. After a short while, however, they began to echo each other so closely that they melded into one long report, and then Faramir had to go back and check his work over again. He had confused two reports about the crops of Pinnath Gelin with one long one about the over-fishing of certain mollusks in parts of Belfalas.

A memory of his honeymoon with Éowyn flitted like a forgotten breeze into his thoughts. They had gone to Dol Amroth in Belfalas, a beautiful city on the shore where Éowyn saw the ocean for the first time in her life. Imrahil had been all too happy to accommodate his nephew and new niece-in-law. He had provided them with choice rooms in one of the towers of Dol Amroth where they had a wonderful view of the sea from the balcony and a wide, soft feather bed in their sleeping chambers.

It was more difficult this time for Faramir to shake himself back to reality. His solitude over the last four months had been almost painful, an enduring grief that did not dissipate with time. Every day he was reminded of how lonely he truly was when he woke up alone in his bed. No longer did his wife's warm presence greet him with each dawning sunrise. He was, having reached only the middle of his life, companionless and wretched.

When Elphir found him, he was staring blankly into a corner of the room, half of his work unfinished on his desk. He looked up when his cousin entered the office, then glanced down at the reports he had failed to complete. The morrow would bring only another wave of new reports to read, sign, and file; it would be impossible to catch up with it all. He was not fulfilling his duty as Steward of Gondor, but he found that somehow, quite uncharacteristically, he didn't much care.

"Faramir, perhaps you should be done for the day," Elphir suggested. "Come, dinner is about to be served. Please tell me you will not skip the meal again. It would ease my mind to see you eat something."

"I eat, Elphir," Faramir replied austerely.

"But you are so thin…"

"Perhaps that is so, but I have been ill," Faramir reminded him. Seeing his cousin's concerned frown made him feel a twinge of guilt for being so ornery.

"Will you not come with me to dinner?" Elphir tried again. "Elboron is there, and he is expecting you." Now Elphir had resorted to foul play to convince Faramir to attend the evening meal, and unfortunately it worked. Elboron had become Faramir's weak spot, the one thing that even in the present lethargy he could not refuse, and he loathed the fact that Elphir knew and took advantage of it.

"Very well, but I will not stay long," Faramir agreed. "I have not slept well lately, and I think it would do me good to retire early tonight."

Elphir's mood brightened considerably as he led Faramir to the feast hall and escorted him to his seat to Aragorn's right. Elboron sat one seat apart from Faramir. The seat between them was left empty in honor of Éowyn's memory. Though Aragorn and Eldarion tried, neither Faramir nor Elboron could be persuaded to abandon the empty seat in order to move closer to each other. It was one thing that they agreed upon firmly, and so the empty seat between them brought them closer than any shrinking physical distance could have. Faramir exchanged a polite smile with his son when he sat down, but they did not speak to each other. There was so little to say these days.

Every lord and lady in the hall observed the traditional Standing Silence, and as was his recent custom, Faramir remained standing for a moment longer than everyone else, his eyes fixed unseeing upon the western wall. The West had, in its cruel way, claimed so much of his heart over the years.

"Faramir, you may take your seat," Aragorn reminded him gently.

"Yes, I know." Faramir's voice was no louder than a murmur, and slowly, with reverence, he took his seat. "Perhaps it is only true in my mind, but without her…without Éowyn…I stand apart from everyone. I am so different now." He laughed bitterly. "So clumsy and careless. While the world goes on revolving in its slow stately march around me, I can hardly manage to stagger about like a newborn foal on unsteady feet."

"Yet it will not remain so."

"So you say."

Aragorn sought the right words before he answered, "Chebo estel. Non si. Tirathon le hi dú."


Chebo estel. Non si. Tirathon le hi dú.

(Keep hope. I am here. I will watch over thee this night.)