Hi everyone, chapter 24 is here! For once I feel like I have updated this in good time :D. This chapter is the first since chapter 22 that is Faramir's POV. It begins when he is in the Houses of Healing after Imrahil has rescued him from the battle.

It's a slightly larger chapter because I decided to mix a smaller chapter 24 and 25 together, but I think it works completely fine as one chapter, hopefully you do too.

Huge thanks to everyone who has left feedback on the last chapter and the rest of the story, and I hope you like this chapter as well.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters/locations etc. belong to the Tolkien Estate and New Line Cinema. Some dialogue is borrowed from the three books/films in 'The Lord of the Rings' trilogy.

He was in darkness, fighting against an unknown force that was weighing him down, preventing him from waking. He felt a searing pain in his left shoulder, though he did not know why. He tried to remember something, but the darkness that was surrounding him could not be penetrated, and his only memory was being stuck in this place, wherever it was.

He could hear talking, though it sounded only distant, and perhaps it was less talking and more of a commotion. His father…Pippin, he could hear them arguing. He tried to wake up, to tell them to stop, but the pain was too much and everything became darker. But he became alert suddenly when the darkness was pierced by the strong smell of fire, and he panicked, trying to get up and move people to safety as the commotion that seemed so distant yet so close continued.

The pain in his shoulder was joined by a sharp burning pain on his leg, and then he felt his body fall with a thud to the ground. He found himself able to open his eyes slightly, but he thought he must've been in a dream. Everything was blurry, but he managed to make out his father, stood above him with the Palantír in his arms, and he uttered his son's name as their eyes met. For the first time in a very long time, Denethor looked upon his second son with genuine love, but Faramir quickly became unconscious once more, descending back into the silent darkness.

He wasn't sure how long he waited in the darkness, trying to escape but not knowing where he was, and therefore achieving nothing. But his patience was rewarded when a bright light began to appear in the distance. It strained his eyes, but he was curious, and desperate to see something other than a black void, so he walked towards the light, and saw a figure in the distance. Now more curious than ever, he picked up his pace, determined to see who stood before him. But when he got close enough to recognise the person, he stopped. He was not sure how, but before him stood his mother.

She smiled, and seeing that he had frozen, she closed the remainder of the gap between them, taking his face in her hands as she had often done when he was a child.

"My little boy," she said, and her voice was as graceful as he remembered it. "Not so little anymore. Look at you! A grown man!"

He forced his mind to remain rational, despite the fact he was certain he was interacting with a woman who had been dead for over thirty years. He recoiled slightly, keeping his distance from her, knowing she was a fraction of his imagination.

"This isn't real," he said, almost wishing he could return to the darkness rather than be tortured by his mind playing tricks on him.

"Is it not?" she said, taking a look at their surroundings. He did not know whether she saw something different to him, but his surroundings was a vast emptiness. "It seems real to me."

"You're dead," he said, the statement simple, but true. To his surprise, she smiled. Not a true smile, more of a sad one.

"I am."

"Am I dead?"

"No, and I thankful for that. Perhaps this is the land between life and death, but it is not yet your time to pass from the world."

"I don't remember what happened," he admitted, trying to force his brain to remember but he could recall nothing. "I don't know how I ended up here. I don't even know where here is."

"Perhaps it is a blessing that you do not remember."

She closed the distance between them once more, and took his hands in her own. She looked into his eyes and he saw that tears were forming ever so slightly in her own.

"I have watched you, my son, and I am proud of you," and with her words, tears began to form in his own eyes. He had no memory of being told by a parent that they were proud of him. He was sure that his mother had said so when he was younger, but his father never had said the words to him, despite all he had done to try and gain the Steward's favour.

"You have grown to be exactly the kind of man I thought you would be, and my deepest regret was that I was not there to see you and your brother grow.

"I am glad we had this moment, so I could see you once more, but we must part again, my son. Wake up, Faramir. You must wake up!"

He was confused as to why she was telling him to wake up, for he must already be awake if he was talking to her. He could feel her hands in his own, and that never happened in dreams. But without warning, she disappeared like mist before him.

"Mother?!" he called, looking all around for any sign of her, but the light had disappeared when she had, and he was back to darkness and silence. "Where are you?"

He stumbled forward slightly, not able to see where he was going and panicked. He just had his mother back and now he had lost her again. He sat down, tired and feeling great waves of sadness wash over him. He contemplated his meeting with his mother in the silence of the void. Surely he had not imagined her?

Suddenly, the eerie silence was pierced by the screech of a Nazgûl that made him curl on his side, writhing in pain whilst placing his hands over his ears to block out the sound. It worked, and the sound disappeared, but he was not able to block out his father's voice, which boomed through the darkness as he appeared before Faramir, a look of seething anger upon his face.

"You were ever a worthless son, and now look," he snarled, indicating to something behind Faramir, though Faramir did not look. "You failed to take back Osgiliath and now the city has fallen. Look at your city, Faramir! You have done this!"

And now Faramir looked behind him, gaping in horror at what he saw. Minas Tirith, his home, was engulfed in flames, the White Tree was dead, and Sauron's forces were atop the Citadel, roaring in their triumph. Faramir saw the men of Gondor dead, fighting to their last breath to protect their city, but in vain. Included among the dead was Boromir, lying in a pool of his blood with a sword sticking through his abdomen.

"You even killed your own brother," he father snarled, reappearing next to him. Faramir's breaths became uneven, and he shook his head wildly at the scene.

"No! No, I would never!"

"Not directly, perhaps, but your mistakes and your foolishness caused his death. You killed your mother, you killed your brother, and now you will be the death of me as well."

And then the flames that had destroyed the city, were encroaching on him too and his leg began to burn. However, he was quick, and had many years of practice on how to deal with fire, so he put it out. And then he heard a terrible scream. Faramir turned to see that his father was now burning too. His whole body had caught fire, and Faramir raced towards him, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not put out the fire, and his father burned before his eyes, his last words cursing his second son for being an embarrassment to the line of Stewards.

His father burned to ashes, and once more Faramir was left alone. The city dissolved before him, and the darkness returned, only pierced by a tiny fire in the distance.

Coldness overtook him, and he walked towards the flames so they could provide him with warmth, but something stopped him as he got close. He could not understand why, but it was as if he was afraid of the flames, something that had never usually bothered him. Every time he tried to step forward to try to get warm, his feet would remain frozen in place, so he settled about twenty feet from the flames, and stared into them.

"Come, my friend, you must leave this dark place. You are needed elsewhere," a gentle voice spoke, and Faramir jumped, for he had not realised that anyone was stood beside him. It took him a moment, but he recognised the face of the man who now stood by his side.

"Aragorn?" He was not sure where his friend had come from, but he was glad to see him, though he was still confused by what had just happened. "I saw my mother…and my father was here. And there was fire…What is this place?"

"Darkness. And we must leave."

It was then that dread overcame Faramir once more, and he remembered the sight of Minas Tirith burning. They had lost. Sauron would cover the lands in a darkness once more. Perhaps this darkness he was currently residing in was related to Sauron's victory.

"But the city. It is lost."

"No, my friend," Aragorn said defiantly, and laid a hand on his shoulder for comfort. "The city is saved. I can assure you that. Whatever you have seen here is nothing but an evil dream, the work of the Nazgûl. Come with me and return. Your brother awaits your awakening."

Boromir! Faramir's heart raced. He spoke of Boromir as if he were alive, yet Faramir could've sworn he saw his brother's body not two moments before. But he trusted Aragorn, and he followed him, and his eyes finally opened, he was no longer trapped.

He woke up in pain, though he did not know why. His eyes opened slightly, but he wanted to shut them again, for the lights were bright. After a few minutes, his eyes eventually adjusted, and he saw people surrounding his bed. He then realised he was in the Houses of Healing. He turned his head slightly and the first person he saw was Aragorn.

"Aragorn?" he asked, confused, for he could've sworn he had just spoken with Aragorn in the darkness, and now he here they both were in the Houses of Healing.

"Welcome back, my friend," Aragorn said, a large smile upon his face. Welcome back from where? Faramir willed himself to say the words but he found he was unable to. "Walk no more in the shadows, but awake! You are weary, rest a while and take food. You must heal."

Faramir, exhausted, did not argue with his friends words, and did not resist sleep when it came to him.

Faramir slept for two days, though it was no longer feared he would die. Unlike his previous sleep under the influence of the Black Breath, where he hardly moved and looked death-like, this time he moved in his sleep, to the relief of everyone. He had not slipped back into darkness.

When he woke, he tried to sit up, but he winced as he was in so much pain. His shoulder, right thigh and lower right torso were all causing him severe discomfort. His shoulder he understood. He recalled how the dart had struck him, sending him backwards, and if he knew his enemies as well as he thought he did, he assumed that the tip had been poisoned. But what had happened after he had lost consciousness to cause such pain in his legs and abdomen, he did not know.

The memory of Aragorn successfully waking him up two days ago was essentially wiped from Faramir's mind, and the last memory he had was battling one of the Harad soldiers, who stood above him whilst he was unarmed, ready to strike. Faramir reasoned that someone must've killed the man, or else he himself would've surely been killed.

He had another memory too, an odd dream in the darkness of his mother, but he put that to one side, he needed to find out if the city was safe.

He flopped back down onto his bed, still feeling tired and it was only then that he realised someone was by his side, sleeping in the chair beside him.

"Uncle?" he said gently, not wanting to startle the man. His voice was weak, and he actually found it difficult to speak. Imrahil did not stir, and Faramir took this opportunity to reach for the glass of water on the cabinet beside him. He reached the glass, though he could not keep a firm grip on it, and it fell to the ground, smashing.

The noise woke Imrahil, who immediately saw his nephew had tried to get a drink.

"Here," he said, offering him his own glass, and Faramir gulped the drink as if he had been starved of water his whole life.

"Thank you," Faramir said, and then laid back down again. The effort of simply sitting to drink had tired him once more.

"You should still rest," Imrahil said, trying to ease his nephew back to sleep.

"I can't," Faramir replied, beginning to get agitated. "I need to know what happened to the city."

"The city is fine. The Rohirrim came to our aid, and Thorongil brought with him a dead army and together they helped us clear the city of Sauron's forces. Boromir is currently discussing the next course of action with Lord Aragorn and the new King of Rohan."

"New King of Rohan?"

"Théoden King fell outside the walls, though he was avenged by his niece, who slew the Lord of the Nazgûl."

"Éowyn defeated the Witch King?" Faramir said, completely shocked. He, like everyone else, assumed that the Witch King could never be killed.

"You know her?" Did he know her? He had struggled to stop thinking of her since he had left Edoras

"Yes. Can I see her?"

"No, not right now. She too is in the Houses, suffering, as you are, as a result of the Black Breath."

"Black Breath?" Faramir was no Healer, but knowing he was to be a part of the Rangers, he had dedicated himself to learning of the different illnesses that could befall his men whilst they were out in the open, the city and its Healers far away but he had never heard of anything called the Black Breath. And besides, all he remembers was the dart.

"Uncle, all I remember was a dart hitting me. I assumed the way I'm feeling now was as a result of poisoning."

"The dart was poisoned, I removed it myself. Though it is not the dart that has caused your ailments. We believe it came from the shadow, and the darkness from the Nazgûl has slowly crept upon you.

"We do not really know what it is. As with the Nazgûl, the Black Breath is somewhat of a mystery to us, but it appeared to us that it is a sort of darkness left upon the victim by the Nazgûl to torment them. At first it was like a fever, only neither you nor Éowyn showed any sign of life at all, quite opposite to how fevers usually act."

"I suppose that explains why I still feel…darkness."

He could not explain how he was feeling right now. Something was different from usual, but he was not sure why. Now his Uncle had explained what his ailment was, it seemed logical to him that the Black Breath was the reason for his current state.

He could feel himself becoming tired once more, but before he fell to sleep, there was something he needed to do…to say.

"Uncle, I need to speak to my father." Faramir was not looking at Imrahil when he spoke those words, or he would've seen Imrahil's expression alter dramatically. "Please send him to me. I will not take much of his time. I just need him to know something."

"Faramir…Faramir you father is dead."

Faramir stared at his Uncle in horror. It was not possible. It could not be possible. His Uncle was no liar, but there must've been a mistake. He began gasping for breath, tears starting to fall from his eyes, and he could not process what Imrahil had told him.

"No…No…He can't be. We parted on bad terms. I…I need to…"

Faramir tried to climb from his bed, but Imrahil could see he did not have the energy and caught him before he fell to the ground. Imrahil held his nephew as Faramir sobbed himself to sleep, devastated by the news Imrahil had given him.

Several hours later, Faramir woke and let out a scream of pain as his sleep was interrupted by him rolling onto his right hand-side. He jumped upright, startled by the pain, and pulled his shirt off to see what had made him wake in such agony, but whatever was causing the pain was covered by bandages.

He hadn't noticed them when he had woken before, though he was unsure how. There were several wrapped around his lower waist and shoulder. What was beneath the bandage around his waist, he did not know, and he tried to think what could've happened during the battle for him to need bandages around his waist. The bandages went below the waistline of his breeches, so he pulled them down to see how far they went and noted that on the entirety of his left thigh was carefully wrapped.

He wondered what had happened between him falling unconscious and arriving at the Houses of Healing that required so many bandages and caused him so much pain. He pulled his breeches back up and flopped back down onto the bed, and in doing so, caused a fresh jolt of pain to surge through his shoulder. He winced, cursing the pain he was in.

"Easy now," a voice said, and Gandalf walked into his room, approaching the bed in which Faramir lay.

"Father was right, I am weak," Faramir replied. His heart constricted, remembering the news Imrahil had delivered to him earlier.

"Now that is just the shadow talking, I do not think it has fully departed yet, nor do I think it will for some time." Faramir tried to listen to Gandalf's words, but he was overcome with a huge sense of doom and worthlessness.

"Listen to me, Faramir," Gandalf said, unusually stern. You are not weak! So get out of that mindset or you will never recover. Gondor needs you to rest and heal. Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere. My shoulder feels like it is burning. My thigh hurts, my side hurts. And as you said, I'm suffering from the effects of the shadow, apparently," he said, beginning to grow agitated again.

"The Witch King had been after you for some time, which is why you and he have crossed paths many times before. I say it is remarkable that you did not succumb to this ailment earlier."

"Why would he have been after me?"

"Well, you are the son of the Steward, and he knows the power the Steward's family holds in the city so removing you would weaken Gondor. But I believe that through your father's use of the Palantír, Sauron was made aware of your foresight, something that gives you, gives us, and advantage, and something he does not want opposing him.

"I may be wrong. But it is something that is so very rarely seen in men and Sauron would not take kindly to knowing that someone so close to his borders could anticipate his moves."

"You make it sound like I can see everything that will happen," Faramir said. He was tired of Gandalf trying to persuade him that the dreams he rather ironically lost sleep over were a gift. "I have a few dreams every now and then that sometimes show the past, sometimes the future. It's not exactly useful to us unless I have them more often, which I honestly hope I do not."

"Tell me, Faramir. Your dream of Boromir capturing Frodo and taking the ring from him in Osgiliath. It ended with the city destroyed and the Ring back in Sauron's possession, did it not?"

"The Witch King took it from Boromir's corpse so I'm assuming he delivered it to his master."

"So, if you had not had this dream, and therefore remained in Edoras, there is a very high chance that Sauron would've been victorious. I think being able to see and prevent such a thing could possibly have put a target on your back."

Gandalf made sense, a lot of sense, but Faramir supposed it mattered no more. The Witch King would no longer torment the lands of Middle-Earth, Éowyn had seen to that.

"May I finally speak with my little brother? One thing or another has prevented me from seeing him," Boromir's voice boomed from the doorway, a smile on his face. A smile that was matched by Faramir's upon seeing his brother.

"I must be going," Gandalf said, standing and heading towards the door. "Recover soon, Faramir."

"I picked up a few scars in the battle," Boromir said, approaching the bed, indicating to a nasty cut above his right eye and one on his chin. "I'm still better looking than you, though."

Boromir had his usual grin on his face and sat beside Faramir, but his grin faded when he sensed Faramir's mood, and then the younger brother spoke.

"Uncle told me about father. How did it happen?"

Faramir, never one to miss small things, didn't fail to notice the split second of hesitation on his brother's face, but he did not comment on it.

"I am not too sure myself," Boromir answered, his voice steady. "I have not yet heard all the details; everyone has been too busy. You know, your companions from Rivendell have been to see you, though they were careful not to wake you."

Faramir was more than aware of Boromir's sudden change in conversation, but for now, he let it go. There was something else he needed to know about the battle, though he was unsure whether he really wanted the answer.

"Boromir…I didn't ask before but…what happened on the first level. How many…" Survived? That was what he wanted to ask, but the words wouldn't form.

"Uncle's intervention saved quite a few, but they were too late. Most men who fought on the first level didn't make it."

Just as Faramir had feared. Emotion stirred within him; he didn't know whether the tears that started to form in the corner of his eyes were due to grief for the men who had lost their lives, or anger at himself for leading them to their deaths.

"Why did I listen to him?" he said, anger and resentment at his dead father coming to the front of his mind. "Why did I send men there when I knew that-"

"You didn't send anyone!" Boromir shouted, interrupting his brother, knowing exactly where Faramir was going. Once again he would blame himself for something that was not his fault.

"Maybe not, but if I had not listen to father, they wouldn't have been there, and they might still be here."

"Or they may have fallen somewhere else in the city," Boromir said, his voice now softer. "Listen, Faramir, you weren't to know what would happen."

Obviously that had been the wrong thing to say, for Faramir's eyes burned with anger at his brother.

"Yes I was! Of course I knew what would happen! I knew I would die. Or at least I thought I would. I was more than aware that the odds for returning alive weren't in my favour and yet I still took men there. I took men there to die. And for what? For them to be slaughtered because father wanted me to pay for my mistakes?"

"You did not command those men to follow you. They chose to follow you because they believed in you. They gave their lives because they believed in you. So if you want to honour their memories, stop belittling their sacrifice. And…I know this doesn't really mean anything, but if it's any consolation, the delay at the first level gave the Rohirrim enough time to get here."

"It was one thing for me, though, to go on a suicidal mission. But they had wives…they had had children."

"Right!" Boromir almost shouted, his voice raise and he stood from the chair. "Gandalf warned me this could happen. You are pessimistic at the best of times, but this is too much. I am going to say something here, and you are not doing to interrupt with your doom and gloom. Do you understand?"

Faramir, feeling slightly patronised, went to object, but Boromir was quicker. "Ah! Do you understand?!" And this time, Faramir admitted defeat and nodded his head.

"I understand that this Black Breath or whatever it is has put you in a dark place, and Gandalf seems to think it will be hard to escape, but first, stop blaming yourself for these men's deaths. Second, get out of this mindset you have that no one would miss you if you died. I know you didn't say it, but you implied it. Enough.

"Devastated wouldn't even come close to describe what I would feel if something happened to you. And I am not the only one. Our uncle, cousins, aunts for starters. And then there are your Rangers, Gandalf, and this Aragorn and the other friends you've met on your journey also care a great deal about you. You mean a lot to more people than you realise. And, despite his end, father loved you too."

Boromir would never know how much his small speech meant to his brother, and it was during this speech that Faramir felt as if the cloud of despair that had been hanging over him began to disappear. He assumed it was as a result of the Black Breath, and he hoped the despair would remain away for a while. But Faramir also caught what Boromir said at the end.

"What do you mean, 'despite his end'?"

"Nothing," Boromir said, far too quickly for Faramir's liking. His brother never was a good liar, but Faramir knew if Boromir wasn't telling him something, there was a good reason for it. So, for now, he decided to leave it. He did, however, see Boromir's face change, and he began to look rather pensive. He knew Boromir needed to tell him something, he just didn't know where to start.

"What is it, brother?" Faramir prompted.

"I ride for the Black Gate tonight," Boromir answered, and whatever answer Faramir was expecting, that was not it.

"The Black Gate? Whatever for?"

"To hopefully buy Frodo and Samwise some time."

"You can't. If you launch an attack at the Black Gate, you'll die."

"Possibly," Boromir said, his voice impossibly calm as if he was ready to accept his fate. "But what are our lives in comparison to the thousands of years of suffering that Sauron will unleash upon our lands if he should be victorious. If we can distract him and allow Frodo to destroy the Ring, then our sacrifices will not be in vain."

"Then I will come with you!"

To his surprise, Boromir gave a very dry chuckle as if he found the situation thoroughly amusing.

"Brother, can you even stand?" he said, raising his eyebrow at Faramir, who in turn blushed with embarrassment. "Besides, you are needed here. While I am gone, you will be Steward. You can't exactly do much from the Houses, but when the Warden gives you leave, I'm sure you will excel at the amount of work there will be."

They both laughed, and descended into a comfortable silence for a few moments, before Boromir spoke once again, his voice still had an edge of a laugh to it.

"You know, I have spoken to Éomer whilst he has been here and he speaks often of his sister. She seems quite feisty, I think she may be too much for you."

They continue to tease each other as if they were children again, but then the moment comes, and Boromir embraces his younger brother.

"Farewell, little brother, I hope you recover quickly. We will see each other soon."

"Take care."

"I always do."

Boromir slowly left the room, sparing a glance backwards before he walked through the door. Over the following few hours, before their departure, the members of the Fellowship who were to travel to the Black Gate also came to say their farewells, as did his Uncle Imrahil.

"Well," Imrahil began, "I must admit that while you do not look too great, you look much better than you did when I brought you back to the city."

"Thank you for that. You risked your life, and I owe you mine."

"Faramir, you are my nephew, and as dear to me as my own children. There is not much I wouldn't do for you."

"You are to go to the Black Gate as well?" Faramir asked, already knowing the answer. His cousin, Elphir, was already a capable leader and should his Uncle fall, would rule Dol Amroth well. Imrahil would be willing to sacrifice himself knowing his home was in more than capable hands.

"I am. As are Erchirion and Amrothos."

That did not surprise Faramir either. His two younger cousins were fantastic fighters, and would be sure to do damage to Sauron's forces. Erchirion in particular, was never one to miss out on the opportunity to go to battle. Amrothos, however, reminded Faramir of himself. Less eager to go to war, but will do whatever it takes to protect his home and people.

Imrahil remained silent for a second, and Faramir knew he had to ask this question now. As far as he was aware, his uncle had never lied to him. It was not in his nature and he did not believe Imrahil would start now.

"Uncle…I feel like people are avoiding the topic of my father's death. Earlier Boromir mentioned something and I…I know he was leaving something out. How did he die?"

Imrahil did not look surprised he asked this question. It was as if he had been planning on how to answer it.

"Gandalf and the Healers do not wish me to tell you this whilst you are not recovered, but I believe you have the right to know before we depart this evening. This is something you should hear from family."

And so Imrahil told him the manner of Denethor's death, and for several moments, Faramir found himself unable to speak, not willing himself to process the information Imrahil had given to him. He had assumed that the manner of his feather's death was bad, but he had not expected to hear that. And to find out his father tried to kill him as well caused him considerable amounts of pain.

"Faramir, are you well?" Imrahil asked, his concern growing and he thought that perhaps Gandalf was right, and Faramir was not ready to hear this news.

"It's…It's just a lot to hear," Faramir replied, his eyes beginning to droop. Imrahil wondered if the Black Breath still had a hold on him, for he had seemingly not quite processed what Imrahil had just said to him.

"I know, and I am sorry that we must part with such terrible news, but it had to come from family."

Faramir, now nearly asleep, nodded and Imrahil placed his hand on his nephews shoulder, not wanting to disturb him with a real embrace.

"I hope to see you soon. But for now you must rest and allow yourself to heal."

Faramir, now asleep, did not see him leave the room, nor did he wake when the army left Minas Tirith.

He slept well through the night. No nightmares disturbed him, and he was glad to note that he was in slightly less pain when he woke. Looking at the bandages that had been a mystery to him the previous morning, he now suspected they were caused by the fire his father had started. Still unable to fully process the news his uncle had delivered to him, unable to understand what would drive his father to do such a thing, he focused his mind on Boromir, and the others heading to the gate, though that did not much improve his mood, for he was certain the diversion to help Sam and Frodo would not end well.

"How are you feeling this morning, My Lord?" Ioreth said as she swept into the room, opening the curtains and nearly blinding Faramir in the process. He shielded his eyes with his hands until they adjusted to the light. He would admit that he was pleased to see such bright light with the shadow so close to the city.

"I feel better. I am not in as much pain as I was yesterday, but I still do not feel like I can take on the world," he admitted with a smile. He knew that if he told Ioreth he was fine, she would know he was lying.

"Well, I do believe that today, as long as you sit down and do not go for long walks, you shall be able to visit the garden."

Finally Faramir had received some good news since he first woke in the Houses. Ioreth finished what she was doing and left the room, allowing Faramir to dress himself, though in doing so he exerted too much energy and his visit to the garden was delayed whilst he sat back on his bad and relaxed, regaining energy.

Finally, he left the room he had been stuck inside, and once again he saw Ioreth on his way.

"Now then, if I have to treat you as I did when you were a child, I will do so. Before I allow you to go to the gardens, you must promise me not to exert yourself."

"I promise," he replied, with a smile. Ioreth had ever cared for the Steward's sons.

"Good." And he walked off, but he stopped when her voice called out again. "It is wonderful to see the improvement in you, My Lord."

"Thank you, Ioreth."

He made his way to the garden, and when he got there, for the first time since his arrival back in the city, he truly felt like he was home. The gardens were always his favourite places in the city. He would escape to them to read for hours under a tree, or to get some fresh air after a particularly difficult day.

Not wanting to face the black cloud, he sat on a bench facing the opposite way, looking instead at the entire garden, which despite the darkness covering it had remarkably kept its green colour. It was spring, and the flowers were blooming in defiance of the cloud.

He was grateful he was able to speak to Boromir, Imrahil and Gandalf before they left, and his mind was ever drawn to them as they marched. His mind also drifted towards Frodo and Sam, and the mission they still had to complete. Faramir knew Boromir was right, and the sacrifice of the men walking to the Black Gate would be worth it if it meant that Sauron was defeated before he could unleash destruction on their world. It still didn't sit right with him that so many men would die, good men with families, including his brother and friends.

"Forgive me for interrupting, My Lord," a voice spoke from behind him, and Faramir recognised the voice as that of the Warden of the Houses. "But Lady Éowyn wishes to speak with the Steward of the City."

At the mention of her name, Faramir's head shot around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, but the words he had planned to say to her fell from his tongue. The woman before him looked so much like Éowyn, but at the same time, he did not believe that she was the same woman he had left at Edoras just over a week before. Though it did not mar her beauty, and she still took his breath away, it hurt him to see how ill she looked. She was pale, clearly tired and grieving, and she looked ready for death.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. That's technically a reunion, right? I was considering adding it properly to this chapter because I know you've wanted to see them reunited, but that ending seemed more natural and they will finally talk again in the next chapter.

It was kind of a doom and gloom chapter. I feel Faramir recovered from the Black Breath quicker than Éowyn and its her that really struggles but he would've suffered from the despair, and that's why he can help Éowyn so well, and is why he's so negative in this chapter.

The Black Breath isn't really explained, so I interpreted it in my own way. I believe it would be mostly dark with the victim not really knowing where they are or why they were there and it would be full of awful dreams and memories, but I wanted a bit of lightness in there as well so he has a reason to follow Aragorn, which is why I included Finduilas. That scene doesn't necessarily mean life after death in Tolkien's world, but I imagined the scene kind of like Dumbledore and Harry in Deathly Hallows. It's not real but it could be.

And then for Faramir barely reacting to the news of Denethor truing to kill him. I don't believe at this point he would've processed it fully. I plan to revisit his reaction in a few chapters when it has had time to sink in. Sort of like a delayed reaction.

I have the next three chapters fully planned and hope to get them out soon. I have most of the story planned, and I think there will be about 30 chapters in total, so I'm not too far from the end. I do have a sequel planned as well, but I will focus on my Harry Potter fic before I begin the sequel.

Once again I hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading.