Prince Imrahil and I departed at dawn, returning to the main camp,
and to Faramir's side, leaving General Solasgil in command of the troops.
Though the prince had ridden through the night, he urged a rapid pace, and
I complied, knowing how worried he was about his nephew.
We had not ridden very far when I spied a rider approaching us at breakneck speed, clods of mud being thrown into the air behind his horse. We halted our mounts and awaited his arrival.
"My lord king!" I heard the rider shout, and I realized that it was Faramir's guard, Beregond. I sighed, assuming that the news of the steward's death had finally reached us.
"What is it?" I asked as he reined in his horse before us.
"King Elessar," he began breathlessly, "Lady Éowyn requires your presence at once."
"Is he dead, Beregond?" asked Imrahil flatly.
"Nay, lord prince, though I do not know what the trouble might be. She was most insistent that King Elessar return with great haste."
"Then let us fly," I said, and we galloped northward toward the River Poros.
The thoughts were flying through my head almost as quickly. I arrived at a conclusion. If Éowyn was requesting my presence, but Faramir yet lived, then he must have at last reached a crisis of some sort, and she wished for me to be by his side as he drew his last breath. I did not wish to fail him again, and so I spurred my horse to the very limits of his ability.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lothíriel and I resumed feeding Faramir the honeyed water, hoping to get as much into him as he could take before Aragorn arrived. I prayed that the king should not arrive too late.
After I had sent Beregond to fetch the king, I had examined the tiny gash upon my husband's throat more thoroughly, and had found that it was an old wound, and I, not having noticed it beneath the rough stubble of my husband's beard, had accidentally reopened it while shaving him. It was obviously poisoned, though I knew not with what, though obviously whatever the poison, it was deadly.
A thin boy dressed in ill-fitting rangers' garb entered the tent suddenly, but he bore no food or any burden whatsoever, and he seemed in no hurry to deliver a message, and so I wondered what he was doing there.
"Might I help you, young man?" I asked, eager to see him away from this place. Lothíriel turned to look at him as well, though she showed no sign of recognition.
"I have come to visit Faramir," he replied, looking rather uncomfortable. "Anborn said I could."
"You know Lord Faramir?"
He nodded gravely, his eyes fixed upon Faramir's face. "Shall he die then? He said that he might."
I gasped in surprise at his bluntness. "Who said that he might die?"
"Faramir did." My mind reeled. Where had this boy been hiding?
I made certain that I could control my voice before I said, "I would not have him die if at all possible. What know you of Lord Faramir's injuries?"
He shrugged and came to sit next to Lothíriel as if he belonged there. "I only know that his arm was broken and that he was fevered for a while when my mother took care of him. When we tried to escape, he became a lot sicker, and he said that he should worsen and soon he should die and that I should go for help."
I sat in shocked silence, wondering who this strange boy might be and where his mother was.
"Are you his wife then?" I nodded dumbly. "I had some rings to give to you, but the king took them away from me."
I looked down at Faramir's hand, and only then did it occur to me that the rings I had given to Faramir upon our betrothal were missing, as was the ring that he had inherited from his father.
"And what were you doing with the Lord Steward's rings?" I asked, outraged.
He shrugged again. "I deemed that if I took them away from him and hid them, no one might know who he was, and he might be safe from the Southron warrior that came to buy him."
The blood drained from my face. "Did you say, 'buy him'?" I asked him, uncertain that I had heard him correctly. He nodded as Lothíriel grasped him by the arm, intending to send him away and so ease my discomfort, but I stopped her. "And then what happened, young sir?" I asked quietly, shaking with emotion.
He shrugged Lothíriel's hand from his arm and settled himself again. "Well, I thought that Faramir should be safe, but the warrior only seemed to be angrier. He shoved him around a lot, and hit him some."
I was seething with rage now, but not at the boy. "Would that I had been there," I said. "I would have run that Southron through for laying a finger upon my husband." I gently stroked Faramir's cheek then, where he had obviously been hit.
"Éowyn!" scolded Lothíriel. "He is but a boy! You should not say such things in front of him."
"Oh, you do not have to worry about that. I am not unblooded any longer," he told us, drawing himself up with pride. "When the warrior drew his sword upon Faramir, I knew that I needed to do something, so I killed him with Faramir's dagger." His face colored before he looked again at me. "Sorry that it was me who had to do the revenging, my lady."
I closed my mouth, which I found hanging open of its own accord. "As am I," I finally breathed, "for you are young indeed to have killed a full- grown Haradrim warrior, though, on Faramir's behalf, I thank you for your help. . . ."
"I am Madach."
"Madach." I nodded to him. "Well met, Madach. I am Éowyn and this is Faramir's cousin, Lothíriel," I said, deciding that this boy had as much right as any of us to be here with his lord. Faramir has the ability to make friends regardless of where he goes, it seems.
Madach nodded at us both in turn and then his eyes roamed to Faramir again. "He looks bad, Éowyn."
I would not cry before this boy, so I said naught, trying to master my emotions.
"Éowyn, does he still have the Southron's sword? I never got to see it up close when the warrior was holding it to Faramir's neck."
I shuddered in anger, unable to speak, and so Lothíriel spoke softly. "It lies yonder, young Madach." She gestured to the corner of the tent. He rose and with enthusiasm, went to examine the Haradrim sword, pulling the black blade from its sheath and testing the weapon's weight and balance.
"Might I see that blade, Madach?" I asked, noticing the odd color of the blade, and he carefully brought it to me, allowing me to take the hilt in my hand and inspect the blade. I saw immediately that it was blackened, not from disuse or dirt, but because the blade was actually coated with a thick, oily, black substance. I realized that I was looking at the instrument of my husband's death. I barely managed to keep my calm facade and requested that the boy sheath the sword immediately and put it back where he found it. He seemed a little disappointed, but complied.
"I hope King Elessar arrives soon," said Lothíriel, her face pale, having also realizing that the blade was poisoned. Madach sat down again next to her, and we all waited as patiently as we could for Aragorn.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I did not take long to get to Faramir's tent, for everyone who met me, made way when they saw my stern expression and noted the speed with which I rushed through the camp. Dismounting, I pushed my way inside, followed closely by Imrahil and Beregond.
The sight that greeted my eyes did not hearten me much, though Lothíriel and Éowyn were still attempting to get liquids into the steward as Madach looked on, so I knew at least that Faramir was not dead.
"My lady, forgive my absence," I began, but she interrupted me.
"Aragorn, he has been poisoned. Look." As I came near, she turned his head slightly, and his throat was exposed to me. I knelt next to him for a closer look. "Madach, show him the sword."
There was the tiniest swollen cut upon his neck, but instead of blood, it was crusted with some poisonous, black foulness, and when the boy presented the unsheathed Haradrim sword for my inspection, I quietly cursed my own stupidity, as I instantly stood and trotted back to my mount for the bag that Arwen had sent to me. Returning to the tent, I drew out the dried athelas, and set about making a potion from it as quickly as I could, causing the air in the tent to become pleasantly scented and to feel much fresher.
Éowyn held the cup of liquid for me, and I opened the wound with the tip of my dagger, and then squeezed it slightly, trying to drain as much of the foulness from it as possible. When at last, I noticed some red blood flowing there, I bathed the wound with a little of the liquid, before I allowed Lothíriel and Éowyn to continue feeding him, substituting the rest of the potion for whatever they had been using before.
"What is this?" I asked, sniffing the slightly amber-tinged liquid.
"Honey-water," said Lothíriel as if it was the most natural thing to drink in the world.
"Oh."
It took much less time for them to drain that cup than I should have deemed it would based on Faramir's condition before I had departed previously. Though they tended their patient very well, I saw that Éowyn's strength was flagging from the combined strain of Faramir's condition and her own. In my most authoritative voice, I commanded her to rest and, though she argued anyway, I had Beregond escort her away to the Prince of Dol Amroth's tent.
"Lothíriel, do you require rest as well?" I sternly asked the prince's daughter, but she shook her head.
"I have slept, lord king, which is more than I can say for some people," she added, pointedly glaring at her father.
He raised his hands in mock surrender before he leaned over and patted Faramir's shoulder. "I know when to obey my daughter. I shall go keep Lady Éowyn company." He bowed to me and departed before either of us could say more to him. Beregond and Madach both made themselves unobtrusive in the corner of the tent, and I settled down onto a trunk and kept watch over the steward, hoping that the athelas potion had not come too late for him.
Lothíriel and I spoke for some time about the latest events in Dol Amroth, as she loved to gossip about the happenings at court there. Such talk was not my favorite subject, but it seemed rude to not speak with her. But it was not long until I found myself nodding off, and after I asked her forgiveness, citing that I had not slept well of late, I laid down in a corner and slept.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was two days after Faramir drank the athelas draught when he at last moved. Lothíriel had remained his main care giver throughout that time, and as she seemed quite competent, I had sent Éowyn away to receive her proper rest and nourishment on a daily basis, usually staying behind to make certain that the steward was yet showing improvement. And, thankfully, he was.
The wound in his side finally stopped weeping the foul green liquid and began to heal properly, and the tiny gash on his throat had all but disappeared. And he had color in his face again besides just the colorful bruises that were beginning to fade. Suddenly, with the shadow of death gone from his countenance, we did not tiptoe around him when we came into his tent. We all felt free to speak aloud, and looked forward greatly to his awakening, knowing that it should come soon.
Lothíriel spoke to him as if he were sitting there awake, completely able to converse with her. I almost envied his oblivion sometimes, as the girl never seemed to pause long enough to take a breath. But finally, as she was giving him a quick bath and telling him a particularly uninteresting story about her handmaiden's tryst with a young groom in the prince's stable, Faramir moved. So enthralled in her own story was she that Lothíriel did not notice him shift until I pointed it out to her.
Instantly she was bent over him, speaking his name and offering him a cup of their honeyed water, which I was pleased to see was quickly gone, before he once again slept soundly.
Éowyn was extremely wroth with me the next day for sending her away from her husband's side when she learned from Lothíriel that he had taken some water on his own, but again that afternoon, I forced her away from him, and though I am the king, she cursed me in Rohirric, though I did naught but sigh at her show of disrespect. I have heard that pregnant women are sometimes temperamental.
As he showed no sign of rising soon, I, myself, departed to take some rest as well. And then the next morning, he finally woke enough to feel pain, which I knew should happen eventually. Though he was most uncomfortable, I was encouraged by his progress, and as I fed him a potion to send him back into a deep healing sleep, I reassured him that he should be well soon. I was glad that I no longer had to wonder if he should awaken from his slumber.
But I was not present when at last he awakened fully.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first thing that I was aware of was a voice, soft and feminine, but I did not try to determine whose it was, nor could I understand the words that she spoke. But the sound was reassuring, and I let it wash over me as I lay there, floating comfortably within a cocoon of darkness.
Then I remember hearing the musical sound of water splashing softly somewhere nearby my ear. I felt a gentle hand lifting my right arm, as a warm, damp cloth swept over and under it. Satisfied that I was safe, I let the sensation carry me back to sleep.
"Faramir?"
The single word startled me from my rest, though it was spoken softly, but yet I attempted to resist it, unwilling to return fully to consciousness. With consciousness came pain, and I had had my fill of it, enough to last a lifetime or more. I tried to ignore the woman's voice, but she repeated the word, and a small part of me felt compelled to listen.
I tried to speak then, hoping that if she knew I had heard her, she might leave me be, but I discovered that I had no voice. Instantly there was a hand lifting my head and a cup at my lips, and I sipped greedily at the cool water within it, surprised by the sweet taste of it.
"Slow down, Fara," she urged me, though, thankfully, she did not take the water away from me. I drank until it was gone, but still I could not speak. I felt a warm hand rest briefly upon my brow, and though I wished that she would allow me more to drink, she bade me to sleep, and I found that I could not resist her suggestion.
The next thing that I remember was a horrible burning ache in my chest akin to naught that I had ever felt before. I desperately attempted to open my eyes, hoping that someone would notice that I was awake and offer me something for relief. But for some reason, my eyelids would not obey me. It mattered not though, for someone was with me. "Peace, Faramir," murmured Aragorn, providing me a warm, sweet potion to drink. "Rest, my friend. You shall be well again before you know it." I remember briefly wondering what had happened to me before I once again slept.
The birds were singing sweetly, but they awakened me from my slumber nonetheless, and I moaned in annoyance, opening my eyes and blinking against the light coming from the open tent flap. I found myself lying upon a mound of furs, and buried beneath another mound of them. Everything was still, save for the birdsong, and I wondered for a while how I came to be here and what had befallen me, as I discovered that I was unable to move much at all.
I turned my head and saw that I was not alone after all. Someone, a woman, sat resting with her head down upon a pile of furs near my head. Her hair was as dark as mine, and there was something vaguely familiar about her, but I could not see her face, and so I did not know her. But I felt that ache in my chest, and I coughed, disturbing the quiet, waking the dark-haired lady. She sleepily looked up at me, and I knew immediately who it was.
"Thíri?" I croaked in confusion, and then I coughed violently. Quickly she brought some water to me, and when the coughing spasm passed, I drank deeply. When the water was gone, she grasped my shaking hand from beneath the furs as I asked, "Where am I?" thinking perhaps that I had somehow fallen ill and been sent to Dol Amroth for some reason, but there was nothing in my memory that would indicate that.
"Relax, Fara. I will tell you all." And so I obeyed my cousin, but she remained silent, stroking my hand, and it was then that I saw that she was close to tears.
I was alarmed. "Uncle?" I questioned, greatly worried that something had befallen him.
She shook her head. "He is well, Fara."
I remembered then that my wife had been in danger, though I could not recall the exact nature of it. "Éowyn?" My heart was pounding and it was making me weak. Suddenly an expression of remembrance crossed her face, and she rose quickly, darting from the tent without a word. "Éowyn?" I asked again as my cousin retreated from the tent, my voice unable to speak her name very loudly, but definitely able to speak it insistently. I was nearly faint with worry, my entire being shaking in fear at Thíri's reaction.
But then suddenly, she was there in the tent with me, my glorious wife. As she reached me, a swirl of white skirts and silky, unbound tresses of gold, I thought that perhaps she was only a beautiful dream. But then she spoke, and her voice brought me back to reality with its grave, frightened tone.
"Faramir?" As she knelt over me, her worried grey eyes searched mine as if she had lost something valuable within them. I inched my shaking hand toward her.
I nearly wept at the sight of her, attired in one of her lovely, flowing white gowns, her hair flowing around her face and tickling mine, the scent of it both familiar and calming.
"How fare you, my love?" She clutched my hand and stroked it tenderly as if attempting to quiet its shuddering.
My voice was the merest whisper. "I know not, wife. What has happened? And you, are you well?"
My confusion was complete when Éowyn began to laugh and cry at the same time, kissing the fingers of my hand again and again. "I am very well now, my husband. We have all just been so dreadfully worried about you."
"You are certain? You remain unharmed?" From where I was lying, she looked well, but quite exhausted and disheveled as if Thíri had disturbed her rest.
She nodded vehemently, tears spilling from her eyes. "I am certain."
"And our son?"
"He is well also, Faramir." She smiled, as she placed my trembling hand upon her abdomen. "I have waited as patiently as I could for you, my love. And though the time did not pass quickly, it did pass, just as you said it should."
It was odd, but the moment that I was completely assured that Éowyn was well and safe, the tremor in my hand stopped as if it had never been there. We both noticed it at the same time. "I have been dreadfully worried about you as well, my dear," I spoke, my voice nearly spent now. As we were yet alone, I relaxed my guard and wept openly before her, relieved that we were at last together again, and she clasped me against her bosom and wept as well.
We had not ridden very far when I spied a rider approaching us at breakneck speed, clods of mud being thrown into the air behind his horse. We halted our mounts and awaited his arrival.
"My lord king!" I heard the rider shout, and I realized that it was Faramir's guard, Beregond. I sighed, assuming that the news of the steward's death had finally reached us.
"What is it?" I asked as he reined in his horse before us.
"King Elessar," he began breathlessly, "Lady Éowyn requires your presence at once."
"Is he dead, Beregond?" asked Imrahil flatly.
"Nay, lord prince, though I do not know what the trouble might be. She was most insistent that King Elessar return with great haste."
"Then let us fly," I said, and we galloped northward toward the River Poros.
The thoughts were flying through my head almost as quickly. I arrived at a conclusion. If Éowyn was requesting my presence, but Faramir yet lived, then he must have at last reached a crisis of some sort, and she wished for me to be by his side as he drew his last breath. I did not wish to fail him again, and so I spurred my horse to the very limits of his ability.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lothíriel and I resumed feeding Faramir the honeyed water, hoping to get as much into him as he could take before Aragorn arrived. I prayed that the king should not arrive too late.
After I had sent Beregond to fetch the king, I had examined the tiny gash upon my husband's throat more thoroughly, and had found that it was an old wound, and I, not having noticed it beneath the rough stubble of my husband's beard, had accidentally reopened it while shaving him. It was obviously poisoned, though I knew not with what, though obviously whatever the poison, it was deadly.
A thin boy dressed in ill-fitting rangers' garb entered the tent suddenly, but he bore no food or any burden whatsoever, and he seemed in no hurry to deliver a message, and so I wondered what he was doing there.
"Might I help you, young man?" I asked, eager to see him away from this place. Lothíriel turned to look at him as well, though she showed no sign of recognition.
"I have come to visit Faramir," he replied, looking rather uncomfortable. "Anborn said I could."
"You know Lord Faramir?"
He nodded gravely, his eyes fixed upon Faramir's face. "Shall he die then? He said that he might."
I gasped in surprise at his bluntness. "Who said that he might die?"
"Faramir did." My mind reeled. Where had this boy been hiding?
I made certain that I could control my voice before I said, "I would not have him die if at all possible. What know you of Lord Faramir's injuries?"
He shrugged and came to sit next to Lothíriel as if he belonged there. "I only know that his arm was broken and that he was fevered for a while when my mother took care of him. When we tried to escape, he became a lot sicker, and he said that he should worsen and soon he should die and that I should go for help."
I sat in shocked silence, wondering who this strange boy might be and where his mother was.
"Are you his wife then?" I nodded dumbly. "I had some rings to give to you, but the king took them away from me."
I looked down at Faramir's hand, and only then did it occur to me that the rings I had given to Faramir upon our betrothal were missing, as was the ring that he had inherited from his father.
"And what were you doing with the Lord Steward's rings?" I asked, outraged.
He shrugged again. "I deemed that if I took them away from him and hid them, no one might know who he was, and he might be safe from the Southron warrior that came to buy him."
The blood drained from my face. "Did you say, 'buy him'?" I asked him, uncertain that I had heard him correctly. He nodded as Lothíriel grasped him by the arm, intending to send him away and so ease my discomfort, but I stopped her. "And then what happened, young sir?" I asked quietly, shaking with emotion.
He shrugged Lothíriel's hand from his arm and settled himself again. "Well, I thought that Faramir should be safe, but the warrior only seemed to be angrier. He shoved him around a lot, and hit him some."
I was seething with rage now, but not at the boy. "Would that I had been there," I said. "I would have run that Southron through for laying a finger upon my husband." I gently stroked Faramir's cheek then, where he had obviously been hit.
"Éowyn!" scolded Lothíriel. "He is but a boy! You should not say such things in front of him."
"Oh, you do not have to worry about that. I am not unblooded any longer," he told us, drawing himself up with pride. "When the warrior drew his sword upon Faramir, I knew that I needed to do something, so I killed him with Faramir's dagger." His face colored before he looked again at me. "Sorry that it was me who had to do the revenging, my lady."
I closed my mouth, which I found hanging open of its own accord. "As am I," I finally breathed, "for you are young indeed to have killed a full- grown Haradrim warrior, though, on Faramir's behalf, I thank you for your help. . . ."
"I am Madach."
"Madach." I nodded to him. "Well met, Madach. I am Éowyn and this is Faramir's cousin, Lothíriel," I said, deciding that this boy had as much right as any of us to be here with his lord. Faramir has the ability to make friends regardless of where he goes, it seems.
Madach nodded at us both in turn and then his eyes roamed to Faramir again. "He looks bad, Éowyn."
I would not cry before this boy, so I said naught, trying to master my emotions.
"Éowyn, does he still have the Southron's sword? I never got to see it up close when the warrior was holding it to Faramir's neck."
I shuddered in anger, unable to speak, and so Lothíriel spoke softly. "It lies yonder, young Madach." She gestured to the corner of the tent. He rose and with enthusiasm, went to examine the Haradrim sword, pulling the black blade from its sheath and testing the weapon's weight and balance.
"Might I see that blade, Madach?" I asked, noticing the odd color of the blade, and he carefully brought it to me, allowing me to take the hilt in my hand and inspect the blade. I saw immediately that it was blackened, not from disuse or dirt, but because the blade was actually coated with a thick, oily, black substance. I realized that I was looking at the instrument of my husband's death. I barely managed to keep my calm facade and requested that the boy sheath the sword immediately and put it back where he found it. He seemed a little disappointed, but complied.
"I hope King Elessar arrives soon," said Lothíriel, her face pale, having also realizing that the blade was poisoned. Madach sat down again next to her, and we all waited as patiently as we could for Aragorn.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I did not take long to get to Faramir's tent, for everyone who met me, made way when they saw my stern expression and noted the speed with which I rushed through the camp. Dismounting, I pushed my way inside, followed closely by Imrahil and Beregond.
The sight that greeted my eyes did not hearten me much, though Lothíriel and Éowyn were still attempting to get liquids into the steward as Madach looked on, so I knew at least that Faramir was not dead.
"My lady, forgive my absence," I began, but she interrupted me.
"Aragorn, he has been poisoned. Look." As I came near, she turned his head slightly, and his throat was exposed to me. I knelt next to him for a closer look. "Madach, show him the sword."
There was the tiniest swollen cut upon his neck, but instead of blood, it was crusted with some poisonous, black foulness, and when the boy presented the unsheathed Haradrim sword for my inspection, I quietly cursed my own stupidity, as I instantly stood and trotted back to my mount for the bag that Arwen had sent to me. Returning to the tent, I drew out the dried athelas, and set about making a potion from it as quickly as I could, causing the air in the tent to become pleasantly scented and to feel much fresher.
Éowyn held the cup of liquid for me, and I opened the wound with the tip of my dagger, and then squeezed it slightly, trying to drain as much of the foulness from it as possible. When at last, I noticed some red blood flowing there, I bathed the wound with a little of the liquid, before I allowed Lothíriel and Éowyn to continue feeding him, substituting the rest of the potion for whatever they had been using before.
"What is this?" I asked, sniffing the slightly amber-tinged liquid.
"Honey-water," said Lothíriel as if it was the most natural thing to drink in the world.
"Oh."
It took much less time for them to drain that cup than I should have deemed it would based on Faramir's condition before I had departed previously. Though they tended their patient very well, I saw that Éowyn's strength was flagging from the combined strain of Faramir's condition and her own. In my most authoritative voice, I commanded her to rest and, though she argued anyway, I had Beregond escort her away to the Prince of Dol Amroth's tent.
"Lothíriel, do you require rest as well?" I sternly asked the prince's daughter, but she shook her head.
"I have slept, lord king, which is more than I can say for some people," she added, pointedly glaring at her father.
He raised his hands in mock surrender before he leaned over and patted Faramir's shoulder. "I know when to obey my daughter. I shall go keep Lady Éowyn company." He bowed to me and departed before either of us could say more to him. Beregond and Madach both made themselves unobtrusive in the corner of the tent, and I settled down onto a trunk and kept watch over the steward, hoping that the athelas potion had not come too late for him.
Lothíriel and I spoke for some time about the latest events in Dol Amroth, as she loved to gossip about the happenings at court there. Such talk was not my favorite subject, but it seemed rude to not speak with her. But it was not long until I found myself nodding off, and after I asked her forgiveness, citing that I had not slept well of late, I laid down in a corner and slept.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was two days after Faramir drank the athelas draught when he at last moved. Lothíriel had remained his main care giver throughout that time, and as she seemed quite competent, I had sent Éowyn away to receive her proper rest and nourishment on a daily basis, usually staying behind to make certain that the steward was yet showing improvement. And, thankfully, he was.
The wound in his side finally stopped weeping the foul green liquid and began to heal properly, and the tiny gash on his throat had all but disappeared. And he had color in his face again besides just the colorful bruises that were beginning to fade. Suddenly, with the shadow of death gone from his countenance, we did not tiptoe around him when we came into his tent. We all felt free to speak aloud, and looked forward greatly to his awakening, knowing that it should come soon.
Lothíriel spoke to him as if he were sitting there awake, completely able to converse with her. I almost envied his oblivion sometimes, as the girl never seemed to pause long enough to take a breath. But finally, as she was giving him a quick bath and telling him a particularly uninteresting story about her handmaiden's tryst with a young groom in the prince's stable, Faramir moved. So enthralled in her own story was she that Lothíriel did not notice him shift until I pointed it out to her.
Instantly she was bent over him, speaking his name and offering him a cup of their honeyed water, which I was pleased to see was quickly gone, before he once again slept soundly.
Éowyn was extremely wroth with me the next day for sending her away from her husband's side when she learned from Lothíriel that he had taken some water on his own, but again that afternoon, I forced her away from him, and though I am the king, she cursed me in Rohirric, though I did naught but sigh at her show of disrespect. I have heard that pregnant women are sometimes temperamental.
As he showed no sign of rising soon, I, myself, departed to take some rest as well. And then the next morning, he finally woke enough to feel pain, which I knew should happen eventually. Though he was most uncomfortable, I was encouraged by his progress, and as I fed him a potion to send him back into a deep healing sleep, I reassured him that he should be well soon. I was glad that I no longer had to wonder if he should awaken from his slumber.
But I was not present when at last he awakened fully.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first thing that I was aware of was a voice, soft and feminine, but I did not try to determine whose it was, nor could I understand the words that she spoke. But the sound was reassuring, and I let it wash over me as I lay there, floating comfortably within a cocoon of darkness.
Then I remember hearing the musical sound of water splashing softly somewhere nearby my ear. I felt a gentle hand lifting my right arm, as a warm, damp cloth swept over and under it. Satisfied that I was safe, I let the sensation carry me back to sleep.
"Faramir?"
The single word startled me from my rest, though it was spoken softly, but yet I attempted to resist it, unwilling to return fully to consciousness. With consciousness came pain, and I had had my fill of it, enough to last a lifetime or more. I tried to ignore the woman's voice, but she repeated the word, and a small part of me felt compelled to listen.
I tried to speak then, hoping that if she knew I had heard her, she might leave me be, but I discovered that I had no voice. Instantly there was a hand lifting my head and a cup at my lips, and I sipped greedily at the cool water within it, surprised by the sweet taste of it.
"Slow down, Fara," she urged me, though, thankfully, she did not take the water away from me. I drank until it was gone, but still I could not speak. I felt a warm hand rest briefly upon my brow, and though I wished that she would allow me more to drink, she bade me to sleep, and I found that I could not resist her suggestion.
The next thing that I remember was a horrible burning ache in my chest akin to naught that I had ever felt before. I desperately attempted to open my eyes, hoping that someone would notice that I was awake and offer me something for relief. But for some reason, my eyelids would not obey me. It mattered not though, for someone was with me. "Peace, Faramir," murmured Aragorn, providing me a warm, sweet potion to drink. "Rest, my friend. You shall be well again before you know it." I remember briefly wondering what had happened to me before I once again slept.
The birds were singing sweetly, but they awakened me from my slumber nonetheless, and I moaned in annoyance, opening my eyes and blinking against the light coming from the open tent flap. I found myself lying upon a mound of furs, and buried beneath another mound of them. Everything was still, save for the birdsong, and I wondered for a while how I came to be here and what had befallen me, as I discovered that I was unable to move much at all.
I turned my head and saw that I was not alone after all. Someone, a woman, sat resting with her head down upon a pile of furs near my head. Her hair was as dark as mine, and there was something vaguely familiar about her, but I could not see her face, and so I did not know her. But I felt that ache in my chest, and I coughed, disturbing the quiet, waking the dark-haired lady. She sleepily looked up at me, and I knew immediately who it was.
"Thíri?" I croaked in confusion, and then I coughed violently. Quickly she brought some water to me, and when the coughing spasm passed, I drank deeply. When the water was gone, she grasped my shaking hand from beneath the furs as I asked, "Where am I?" thinking perhaps that I had somehow fallen ill and been sent to Dol Amroth for some reason, but there was nothing in my memory that would indicate that.
"Relax, Fara. I will tell you all." And so I obeyed my cousin, but she remained silent, stroking my hand, and it was then that I saw that she was close to tears.
I was alarmed. "Uncle?" I questioned, greatly worried that something had befallen him.
She shook her head. "He is well, Fara."
I remembered then that my wife had been in danger, though I could not recall the exact nature of it. "Éowyn?" My heart was pounding and it was making me weak. Suddenly an expression of remembrance crossed her face, and she rose quickly, darting from the tent without a word. "Éowyn?" I asked again as my cousin retreated from the tent, my voice unable to speak her name very loudly, but definitely able to speak it insistently. I was nearly faint with worry, my entire being shaking in fear at Thíri's reaction.
But then suddenly, she was there in the tent with me, my glorious wife. As she reached me, a swirl of white skirts and silky, unbound tresses of gold, I thought that perhaps she was only a beautiful dream. But then she spoke, and her voice brought me back to reality with its grave, frightened tone.
"Faramir?" As she knelt over me, her worried grey eyes searched mine as if she had lost something valuable within them. I inched my shaking hand toward her.
I nearly wept at the sight of her, attired in one of her lovely, flowing white gowns, her hair flowing around her face and tickling mine, the scent of it both familiar and calming.
"How fare you, my love?" She clutched my hand and stroked it tenderly as if attempting to quiet its shuddering.
My voice was the merest whisper. "I know not, wife. What has happened? And you, are you well?"
My confusion was complete when Éowyn began to laugh and cry at the same time, kissing the fingers of my hand again and again. "I am very well now, my husband. We have all just been so dreadfully worried about you."
"You are certain? You remain unharmed?" From where I was lying, she looked well, but quite exhausted and disheveled as if Thíri had disturbed her rest.
She nodded vehemently, tears spilling from her eyes. "I am certain."
"And our son?"
"He is well also, Faramir." She smiled, as she placed my trembling hand upon her abdomen. "I have waited as patiently as I could for you, my love. And though the time did not pass quickly, it did pass, just as you said it should."
It was odd, but the moment that I was completely assured that Éowyn was well and safe, the tremor in my hand stopped as if it had never been there. We both noticed it at the same time. "I have been dreadfully worried about you as well, my dear," I spoke, my voice nearly spent now. As we were yet alone, I relaxed my guard and wept openly before her, relieved that we were at last together again, and she clasped me against her bosom and wept as well.