Early in the morning on the day when the Host of the West departed the Lord Aragorn and Peregrin the Halfling came to the Houses of Healing. They went to see Meriadoc, the other Halfling that came with the riders of Rohan, and Aragorn wished also to see another. Soon the two hobbits – that was what they preferred to be called – went down to Pelennor, but Aragorn walked to another room in the House. He was not surprised to find Faramir awake and dressed.

"My lord," Faramir greeted him.

"My lord Steward," Aragorn returned his greeting. "I am glad that you are recovering fast."

"I am about to go down to see the Host set off," said Faramir.

"I found myself unable to leave without saying farewell to Meriadoc the Halfling," said Aragorn. "So I broke my own rule, and without your leave entered the City. Yet as a Dunadan of the North I entered, without any claim."

"You called me back, lord, how can your entry depend on my leave?" answered Faramir. But he continued, "But you are right, this is not a time for claim."

"I believe Prince Imrahil told you how the decision to march to Mordor came about?" asked Aragorn. "I would like you to know that I have not assumed any command over any man of Gondor. I resolve to challenge Sauron in order to provide Frodo and Sam a little chance, but I did not command anyone to go with me."

Faramir nodded. "Prince Imrahil told me as much. From Mithrandir I heard the same account. The men of Gondor will march under the Prince's command, with the Steward's approval. I am glad that we can do something though little to aid Frodo and Samwise."

Aragorn hesitated for a moment, but presently he spoke, "May I know what you plan if the worst should come and it is no longer possible to defend the City?"

After a brief silence Faramir said, "The remaining Council of Gondor will have to decide on it. But my plan is to lead the men to join the women and children near the mountain. There is a secret path from the Tower to the mountain, ready for us to make our escape."

"It is a great relief to me that you have this plan," said Aragorn. "For even the fall of Gondor should not be the end of the men of the West. But I regret that this burden should fall to you."

Faramir replied, "What burden do you speak of, lord? To save a remnant of Númenor, at the cost of being held a coward who deserted his city at its last stand? Yes, no one will envy me for this task. But I know that this is where my duty lies this time. Another time may come where my duty is to make the last stand."

"Fortunate indeed is Gondor to have the Stewards," said Aragorn, "and more fortunate to have you among them."

Faramir looked at him for a moment. Then he spoke again, "What about the deceased kings and stewards? To me the living is ever more important than the dead, but I could not bear the thoughts of Orcs desecrating their bodies. So I have made up my mind that if all is lost, before we made our escape, I would send their bodies to fire." He winced slightly at the thought. He sighed and continued, "Now that you are here, I should ask for your permission. For the kings are your forefathers."

"Were I in your place, I would do just the same, Lord Faramir. I see no other way to ensure that their bodies are not dishonoured by the enemy. But grant me one thing: you should not be the one to do the burning. Let some lesser lords do the task."

Faramir smiled faintly. "You are thoughtful, lord," he said.

For a moment neither of them spoke, but each looked at the other intently. It was Faramir who broke the silence. "If beyond hope you should return …"

Aragorn said nothing. He waited.

"If beyond hope the heir of Elendil should return," the Steward repeated steadily, "the Council of Gondor would willingly listen to his claim of the High Kingship."

They stood there face to face, with love and understanding in their eyes.

"Farewell, Lord Faramir. May Minas Tirith never fall."

"Farewell, my lord. May the stars guide and preserve the King."

They went out the House. A carriage was waiting near the entrance of the House. Aragorn looked at Faramir inquiringly, then he said, "At least you have not insisted to ride, Lord Faramir."

"I am afraid I have troubled the good Warden enough by insisting to go down," Faramir said. "But the carriage will stop somewhere in the first circle and we will walk from there. Would you come with me, lord?"

"You are not yet strong enough for a far walk," said Aragorn.

"You are right, my lord and healer," said Faramir, "but I would not let the men of Gondor march to battle with the image of a chair-ridden Steward in their hearts. They have enough to darken their hearts as it is."

"You are wise," rejoined Aragorn. "Come, let us go down."

So it was that the army of Gondor saw their Steward before they set off for the seemingly desperate battle. They rejoiced at the sight of him, for most of them have fought with him or under his command many times, and all loved him. Almost none of them knew the true account of the fall of the Steward Denethor, but the stories of his despair and pyre were whispered everywhere. These sank their spirits, for with the Steward burnt to death, his sons gone, and the Shadow approaching ever more closely, what was left for Gondor? Most of them still thought that Faramir was dying. They had listened as the Steward's decree was read and it lifted their hearts, yet receiving a written message was different than seeing the person. For is it not true that even a dying lord could have issued a wise command from his deathbed?

But now they saw their new Steward. He was pale, yet there was a quiet resolve in his face and his bearing. He held no rod, for there had been no time to craft a new one after the white rod perished with Denethor, but his presence was enough for them.

And at the side of the Steward they saw that tall man from the North, Lord Elfstone, who some said was the King of Gondor. Tall and kingly he looked, and their hearts were further lifted up that he should lead them to battle. So with heads held up high they marched. They were not under any illusions or entertaining any false hopes, they were aware that most likely this would be their last march. Yet they knew that Gondor was not without hope: their Steward stood firm defending their City, and their King led them to battle. Proud and valiant they all marched, the last remnant of the West.