A/N: Thanks to athelas63 for labeling me a schizo! :) I must be doing something right!!

Chapter 13

Faramir had thought to die in Ithilien, slain unmercifully at the hands of the enemy, unable to defend himself against the hands of so many orcs that had sought his destruction. Unbelievably, he had found that he yet lived, a unknown female leaning over him as he had awakened, gasping quietly in excruciating pain. His eyes would not focus, but though she was dressed all in black, he knew instantly that she was a friend, his friend, and he reached for her, desperate to keep anyone who was friendly close to himself. For some unknown reason, just touching her hand brought him marvelous relief. At the same time, it was disconcerting as his mind was instantly flooded with unfamiliar thoughts, thousands of them rushing through his brain, peaceful and happy at first before suddenly turning into torturous thoughts of death and despair. He even saw his own torture, his death at the hands of the orc with a sword, the Elf finding him dead. . . . Was he dead after all?

When she suddenly pulled away from his grasp without so much as a word, he learned that the pain he had experienced before had been nothing. It was a hard lesson, and he could not hold himself silent any longer, wailing as the agonizing wave slammed into his body, rendering him mindless. There was nothing but pain for what seemed an eternity until he heard a soft, musical voice, speaking ever so softly to him, felt a gloved hand upon his brow. Her tears were wetting his face as she softly apologized to him in Sindarin, and though she quietly promised to help him, the relief that he had felt at her presence had dissolved now into fear. As he sank back into darkness, he panicked, realizing that he was no longer alone in his private thoughts.

The next thing he knew, Boromir was with him, his face betraying the grave condition that Faramir knew himself to be in. Breathing was extremely difficult, but the ranger needed to find out where Lachdúliel had gone. He had so many questions for her, as he searched his mind for memories that would explain what had happened to him, no, to them. It was obvious that Boromir thought his little brother was delirious, but Faramir had to make him see the truth of the matter, though the pain in his body was nearly blinding in its intensity.

His memories grew fuzzy here, but he remembered when Lachdúliel had finally returned to him and how she communicated with him through her thoughts. It was a strange way to converse, but it was so much more efficient than speaking aloud, especially when one could not breathe properly. But before he could ask but one question, the pain was fading, and he was peacefully drifting into unconsciousness again, remembering her words.

. . . we are each burdened with the other's pain . . .

And then his father's face was swimming before his eyes, an odd, loving expression fixed upon it. With his consciousness, the pain had returned with a vengeance, each touch upon his body its own torment, but his father had demanded his attention, and Faramir listened as well as he could, trying his best to ignore the agony of his tortured back, where Ioreth was tending his wounds. Had Denethor not been there, bathing his son's face while speaking softly to him, Faramir would have begged his nurse, without shame, to save her efforts, for in addition to the pain she was causing, he could feel his life slowly slipping from him. Had he been alone with her, he would have begged her to hold him as she had when he had been little, willing himself to slip into death while safe within her arms.

But his father prevented that, and as Faramir listened with tears falling from his eyes, he heard the most amazingly shocking words pouring from the steward's lips. Words of understanding and acceptance reached his ears, and, not for the first time today, he thought that he must be dreaming.

Nay, Faramir, do not be daft. It is only his guilt which speaks this day, he thought to himself, but the longer he listened, the more sincere the words seemed. When at last his father told his youngest son that he loved him, Faramir was stunned. And the ranger knew as he spoke the words aloud to Denethor that indeed, he would never forget that his father had at last relented and showed his true feelings this one time.

Ioreth continued her torturous ministrations upon his body, but he was exhausted. His father bade him sleep, and he did as well as he could to obey.

Through the darkness, Faramir finally heard Lachdúliel calling to him, and he wearily went toward her voice. When he opened his eyes, he found her and Boromir with him in the room at the Houses of Healing, only now it was dimly lit. Though he felt wretched, he was determined to ask his questions now, but he found that his body would no longer allow him to speak, as the Elf loosened his bandages from his damaged ribs.

He tentatively sent his thoughts toward her, but Lachdúliel seemed to ignore him, as Faramir watched her removed her gloves. As she rested her bare hands upon his torso, a strange light glowed around her hands, which felt unnaturally warm to him. When the light eventually enveloped him, he was filled with the same feeling that he had experienced when first she had come to him, the welcome relief from the pain causing him to sigh aloud, before he freely drew air into his healed lungs.

Boromir drew nearer, a look of wonder upon his weary features, and Faramir could not help but smile at him. His big brother knelt next to him then, and Faramir took his hand within his own before he turned his attention back to the Elf. "My lady," he finally whispered, speaking aloud in Sindarin, "thank you." Never will I take breathing for granted again, my lady. Faramir watched the black-clad Elf maiden next to him as she rested her gaze upon his face and then nodded in recognition of his words and thoughts, the delicate and ruined features both framed with hair as black as his own, her amber-tinted eyes now glassy with pain, his pain. He didn't fully understand what she had done, but he was grateful to her anyway.

Boromir was speaking to her as he stood, and then she replied before she fell insensible into his arms. The warrior cursed softly as he gently laid her upon the floor next to Faramir's bed, while Faramir tried to send his thoughts to her. But it was no use, she was beyond his reach. "Bo?" he questioned, and his weary voice conveyed all of his worry. Boromir remained hunched over her for a moment longer before he answered.

"She is just exhausted, little brother." He stood and stepped into the corridor, searching for someone to help. Finally he spotted a young female healer emerging from another room, closing the door softly behind herself. "My lady, I require some aid in Lord Faramir's room," he said urgently. She nodded as he retreated to his brother's room while she quickly found Ioreth.

"Lady Ioreth, it is Lord Faramir!" she said in a rush.

Ioreth nodded and took a deep, steadying breath before she said, "Fetch Lord Denethor quickly." The younger woman nodded and flew from the building as Ioreth gathered her courage and started toward Faramir's room, hoping that she still might have the opportunity to say goodbye to him before he passed beyond the veil.