A/N: Thanks again to Sapphire who beta read this chapter!

Aragorn ran a gentle hand over each of my wounds, inspecting them as a father would look at his child's wounds. He had set a pot of water to a boil and had laid some Athelas in it. The aroma the plant issued was truly astounded; it was as if a fresh spring breeze had just blown in from the mountain. The bubbling sound puts me to ease, as if the very smell of the Athelas washed away all my troubles at that moment. I wish that to be true, but I felt a disturbance around here, that more troubles will be added instead of taken away.

"Mellon Nin, why did you not seek healing?" He asked me with a worried voice as he applied various salves to my burned arm. He looked for some bandages, and glanced over his shoulder towards Beregond, who was a little occupied by the warden, Nestriden who shushed him every moment before making him drink a brew. Wondering if the brew was foul-tasting, I looked for a reaction on the knight's face, and indeed he did make one. I chuckled heartedly.

But then it occurred to me that Aragorn was waiting for my reply. "I did not realize how extensively I had burned my arm." I answered sheepishly. Once I said it I realized how ridiculous it truly sounded. How had I not realized how badly I had burned it? It was practically smoking!

Yet he looked at me very seriously, with an obvious look of incredulity on his face. "I was not speaking of just your arm Faramir. The scars on your back have broken and are bleeding; your thigh, arm and legs are also bleeding from what appear to be sword and arrow wounds. I can not fathom how you manage to fight, let alone rescue your brother." To be honest, I couldn't fathom it either. I simply just knew that I had to save him.

"I had to." I shrugged simply, and felt a wretched spasm of pain from my spine, as if proving Aragorn's point. I kept it in however, making no facial expression but I suspect that he knows anyway. I looked up and stared at Aragorn. He was running his hand over my back, inspecting the wounds. His face looked worried and haggard. "Are you alright Aragorn?"

"I am simply tired, Faramir. The last few days have been long and strenuous." He paused for a moment as he brushed some more salves on my back. "Tell me Faramir, do you know who all have been brought to this house?" I shook my head in reply. I looked around for a familiar face on a white bed, but I could see none. "Then, you shall be quite surprised. Both Merry and Lady Eowyn managed to sneak away into the battle. And it is a very good thing that they did, for together they slew the Witchking."

"What?!" That was indeed surprising news. It was said that no man could kill the Witchking of Agmar. I felt myself smile at that, Eowyn would be thrilled at that. For indeed, no man had killed the evil Nazgul. The very thought of this was so amusing that I managed another chuckle but my back protested.

My lord's face, however was filled with regret however, and I paid attention. "Sadly though they slew him, he did leave a departing blow. They were attacked by the black breath." He peered at me for a moment and I nodded my understanding. I knew of what the black breath could do. What's worse, there was no known cure. I bowed my head and let my tears fall. I couldn't believe it; Merry should not have to face so cruel a fate. One so happy and full of life and love should not have such a despairing death. And poor Eowyn, I did not think this was a just fate for one who had already known such sorrows.

But of all things, he kept positive anyway. "It is alright Faramir, they shall live." I raised my head and stared at Aragorn, he had a slight smile. I returned it back, and he accepted it. "It cost me much energy, but I managed to call them back."

I stared at my King in utter wonder. Suddenly an old rhyme came back to my memory. "The hands of the king are the hands of the healer." I whispered. What other talents did this man hide in his sleeves, revealing them at the right time and place?

Aragorn smiled at me. "So it has been said." Then his face grew grave again. "Faramir, they slew the Witchking to stop his steed from desecrating Théoden's body." I stared at Aragorn in shock, replacing my awed feelings with horror. He looked at me and slowly nodded his head. I couldn't help but think how he could take all these news in. So, Théoden, the proud king of Rohan was dead. I bowed my head and my tears fell once again. It seemed so unjust that one who had been enslaved so long should lose his life so soon after finally finding freedom. I feared that this was just the first of many friends I would soon discover dead, I closed my eyes and wept, wept for Théoden, for the friends I had lost, and for my father. I found my tears renewed as I thought of my father, Aragorn pulled me to him and I cried all the more harder on his shoulder.

"I know, I know." He whispered, softly patting my back and muffling my sobs. "Tis a cruel fate to lose one who so recently found life." I cried for a little longer, all the while with Aragorn gently stroking my arms. Despite the pain embedded in them, there was a soothing effect from him, and I felt that my sorrow was leaving me.

"Faramir," Aragorn said quietly once my tears had abated. Already they crusted on my face, and it felt odd. "Mellon, you should rest. I have finished binding your wounds. You can sleep right here next to Boromir." He gently helped me re-don my tunic and then guided me into the bed beside my brother. I took one long look at Aragorn, who bowed before retreating to some other bed – perhaps Beregond's, who without doubt was listening as well. Then I look at my brother, whose peaceful face gave me the incentive to follow him and slept.

March 16, 3019:

I awoke, able to feel each of my wounds. My back was on fire, my arm was cold, and my thigh and legs were aching. The mixed feelings of all of my pains stiffened my joints. I recalled Aragorn's statement from the previous evenings and had to agree with him. How had I managed to fight? I looked at Beregond, but he was fast asleep, yet in no better condition than I am. How did he sleep so well, I will never know. I may in fact, envy him.

I had slept past the morning, and the sun was high in the sky. I got stiffly out of bed and checked on my brother. He was sleeping peacefully and felt cooler. I believe he was finally getting better. I checked his bandages and replaced a few of them. The soft bandages seem to tell me how lucky I am to be alive, and that I can see my brother as he is. Steadily wrapping them around his wounds, I looked at them and prayed that they would leave him. Once satisfied that he was alright I left his room and went searching for my friends.

I found Merry first. Pippin was by his side holding Merry's hand, his chin resting on his chest, fast asleep. He looked like he had been sitting there all night. I stood there for a while, examining their sleeping faces. I pitied Merry the most, wondering how he will get along in life with the cursed black breath on him. Hopefully Pippin can be happy for the both of them, and continue their little dances that entertained everyone else. Then I found myself wishing that I could see them dance again. I left the two hobbits to their sleep and went in search of Eowyn.

I found her in the next room. If I had not heard Aragorn say she was alive I would have thought her dead. She looked as pale as a winter morning frost, her skin was as cold as ice, but her presence intensified the beauty of the room. I went to my room and grabbed my blanket, then returned to her room and laid the blanket atop hers. I grabbed a chair and pulled it up beside her bed, taking my time to let my pain pass. I frowned as I looked around the room. Where was Eomer? Why was no one watching his sister? She was clearly not fully recovered yet, but her breathing paced normally. I took out some Athelas and broke it. Though I do not have Aragorn' skills the Athelas did freshen the room up some. Eowyn took a breath and some color returned to her pale cheeks. I took a moment and gazed at her features. She truly was a beautiful woman. Why was I so drawn to her? I had never really fallen in love with any woman of my own kind, let alone a country we were on somewhat of shaky grounds with. Yet, I could not stop feeling the need to be near her, to protect and heal her.

"Faramir?" Eomer's deep questioning voice surprised me so that I jumped when I heard him. I held fast onto the Athelas as I look around for him.

"Eomer!" I cried happily, quickly standing despite my condition. "How are you?" I then looked down and realized I had been holding Eowyn's cold hand nearly as tightly with the Athelas. I felt my cheeks grow hot as I dropped her hand. For some reason I felt an incredible need to explain why I had been holding her hand. So I blurted out my reasons. "I was walking the halls, checking in on all my friends and comrades when I happened upon her. She was alone, and shivering so I fetched another blanket for her, and decided to wait by her side for a healer." I dare not look at her, for I fear that she opened her eyes and looked at me in all of my embarrassment. Hopefully she did not know.

Eomer was giving me a slight smile, nodding, beckoning me towards him. "Come Faramir, Aragorn wishes to speak to you."

We walked down the hall and down the path out of Minas Tirith in companionable silence. The hallowed grounds and steps are being repaired as we walked. Both of us acknowledged anyone we passed, although it was a little difficult for me with my bandages. We finally found Aragorn waiting outside the city in a tent.