Faramir

Eowyn awoke groggily, wondering for a moment where she was and in whose bed. A bleary glance around the room showed a shelf holding books, a battered orc helmet and a small statue of a horse, caved of a dark red wood. Seeing a dull sword that had once been Eomer's hanging on a hook, she remembered she was in Elboron's room. Through the window she could see a faint grey light and hear a steady drumming and realized that even though it was morning the rain had not abated. For a moment disappointment flared before the memory of the previous night came to her and she rolled clumsily to the edge of Elboron's bed and got up to make her way to her own room.

Entering quietly she found Faramir sitting in a chair beside the bed, his grey eyes looking both tired and troubled as he kept them on Aragorn, still lying exactly as he had been hours ago when Eowyn had gone to bed. He straightened and smiled as she came toward him. "You look much better."

She answered him with a soft kiss on the head and looked down at the king, lying pale and silent on the bed. "You do not. How is he?"

Faramir sighed as he sat back in the chair. "I don't know. The same, I guess. I checked the bandage a short while ago. There has been some bleeding, but nothing like before."

"Good." Eowyn reached down and felt Aragorn's cheek. It was warm, not the cold, sweaty flesh of last night, and she felt slightly heartened.

"He hasn't moved since you left," Faramir said. "Not a bit."

"That's what camwort does," his wife said softly, "you know that."

"I know." Faramir suddenly hunched forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands in front of him. "But it's still strange, unnatural." He looked up at her, and she could see through his calm expression to the worry underneath. "Do you think it was too much?"

"No, my love." She stood beside him and put an arm around him. "I was worried when I first gave it to him, but once I saw he was still breathing, I knew it was all right. Just be patient, he will awaken. Although," she pursed her lips thoughtfully. "If he wakes up too soon, I may give him more."

"Eowyn!"

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "I will if I must. Faramir, he has got to be absolutely still for as long as possible." She looked around the room, seeing for the first time it was empty. "Where is Eomer?"

"Sleeping in one of the guest rooms," said Faramir.

"I thought they weren't warm enough?"

"Not warm enough for you." He returned Eowyn's annoyed look. "What? I don't worry about him keeping warm, he could sleep out in the rain and it wouldn't bother him. He's fine." She thought about arguing but knew Faramir was right and said nothing more about it. "And the boys?"

"After I got Elboron up, I gave him a mission. Once their lessons are finished this morning he is to keep all of his brothers quiet and out of trouble until tomorrow, at least."

"Poor boy!" Eowyn gave Faramir a doubtful look. "Is there a reward if he succeeds?"

"Actually, yes." Faramir put his arm around her waist as far as he was able and leaned against her tiredly and rubbed his eyes. "That black colt he's been mooning after."

Eowyn smiled to herself, knowing her eldest had inherited the Rohirric love of horses and that was a sure way to get his best efforts from him. She kissed the top of Faramir's head again and stood quietly, watching Aragorn's soft breathing. It was some time before she became aware of the way Faramir's hands were trembling where they lay against her and that he had pressed his face into her clothing.

"Faramir?" She turned and took his face in her hands, raising his eyes to her, to find the stormy grey depths bright with tears. "What's the matter?" He pulled away from her and hung his head, once more hunching over his knees.

"It's nothing," he said in a shaky voice, rubbing his hand across his mouth and clearing his throat.

"What do you mean 'nothing'?" Eowyn slowly maneuvered herself down to kneel beside him and look up into his face. "You're crying. You never cry." Indeed he did not. Eowyn couldn't remember Faramir ever giving in to tears except once when Theoden had been a tiny baby and become very ill. They had been sure the infant would die and Faramir had wept brokenly beside the cradle. But Theoden had survived and since that time Eowyn had not seen Faramir lose control. Now she gently brushed his face with her hand, wiping away the tear that had escaped, her eyes full of love and concern. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head and looked away from her. "I was afraid last night, Eowyn." His voice was rough and he gave her a grimace that she knew he meant to be a reassuring smile as his eyes drifted over to rest on Aragorn and she saw his mouth tremble slightly. "I was so afraid he would die." He dropped his head and let it rest against her again.

Eowyn put her arms around him and held him close. She knew that while Aragorn had never replaced Boromir's place in Faramir's heart, he had come the closest, and her husband loved his king with a fierce, brotherly love. In all the chaos last night she had not given it any thought, but now, holding Faramir and stroking his dark hair comfortingly, she realized how devastated he would be if anything happened to Aragorn. He suddenly withdrew from her and rubbed his jaw, trying to cover his embarrassment at his loss of control, even to her. Eowyn knew fatigue sometimes caused him to drop his guard for just a few moments and ran her hand through his hair lovingly, trying to ease his discomfort.

She lowered her hands to grip his. "But he did not die, my love. He made it through the night and we got the worst of the bleeding stopped." She squeezed his hands tightly. "We have passed through the hardest part."

"I know," he said, leaning down so that his forehead rested against hers. "I know." He took a moment to compose himself, then stood up and pulled Eowyn to her feet before seating her in the chair beside the bed. "I have to go," he said. "I have to get to the city. The Queen must be told, and I need to be there."

Eowyn had expected this and she merely nodded at his words. Through all the years of their marriage she had understood his duty to Gondor, and his sense of responsibility. She thought about trying to convince him to get some sleep before he set off, but knew even if she did get him to stay a little longer, he would not rest, so she said nothing. What's more, he was right, Arwen must be informed of Aragorn's injuries, and Gondor would need her Steward now. "Be careful," was all she said.

He hugged her tightly and they kissed, slowly, a promise and an affirmation, and then he was gone, leaving her alone with the king. She sat beside the bed and reached for Aragorn's hand, feeling wide, square fingers, not the long, tapered hands of her husband. She held his large hand between her two smaller ones, stroking it gently, and thinking how much she loved this man. Not the way she loved Faramir, of course, not a passionate love, not the soul-melding love that made her and Faramir two halves of a whole, but a deep, trusting love, a warm, comfortable feeling that she had known since he had smiled at her and wished her joy at her engagement to Faramir so many years ago. Her mouth curved up in a smile as she thought of him that day, so alive and vital, and she watched the still form on the bed a little more closely.

The barest knock sounded on the door and when it opened at her word Eomer's face peered in. His eyes stayed fixed on the form of the king as he crossed the room. "How is he?"

"He's alive," she said, "that in itself is something to rejoice in."

Her brother looked hopeful. "I saw Faramir in the hall. I'm going with him to Minas Tirith. I can do nothing for you here, and I may be of assistance to him in the city. If I stay here, I'll just be underfoot, and Lothiriel will come, and the last thing you need is our brood added to yours."

Eowyn gave her brother a wide smile. She got along well enough with her sister-in-law, but Eomer was right, their four children added to her five would not make for a restful environment for the king's recuperation. "All right." She rose and went to give him a swift hug and kiss. As she drew back she saw his eyes resting on Aragorn with a troubled expression and she reached up and rubbed at the lines on his forehead. "You saved his life."

"Not I," he said. "You." The smallest of teasing grins appeared on his face. "You and that dog."

Eowyn let a chuckle escape her. "You'll never let me forget that!" His grin widened and he left the room, limping slightly on the injured leg, Eowyn noticed, but taking her assurances to heart and in good spirits again.

Shortly after noon Faramir and Eomer were saddled and riding down the muddy path accompanied by the remainder of Eomer's guards and a group from the White Company, even as the rain continued. The temperature had dropped slightly and now it was a cold drizzle, nearly sleet, that fell from the sky. Eowyn watched them go from the veranda, peering through the mist until they disappeared from sight, already feeling bereft and alone. She had left Nan watching over Aragorn and now headed to the kitchen to have lunch and see to her sons. The tutor was usually finished with the boys well before noon, but there had been a suspicious silence throughout the house all morning, and she was wondering what activity Elboron had managed to find to keep his little brothers all so quiet.

The kitchen was empty save for the requisite cooks and maids, and when Eowyn asked about the boys the head cook rolled her eyes. "They've been in Lord Faramir's library since this morning. I was just told to deliver "field rations" to them, by a note that came with one of the maids."

"Field rations?" Eowyn laughed. "What on earth do they mean by that?"

The older woman looked embarrassed. "Oh, we call it that sometimes when they get busy playing something. It's food like soldiers would take, bread, cheese, perhaps some dried meat or fruit. They can eat wherever they are, rather than come down here and sit down proper." She blushed slightly at her mistress's expression. "It's just for fun."

"It sounds lovely." Eowyn meant her words. "Well, pack it up and I will deliver it." The rations were prepared and soon thereafter she was knocking on the library door with a large box of food such as one might take on an extended campaign. The sound of raised voices came through the door.

"Enter and be recognized!" Theoden's voice came sternly as the door swung open. His expression matched his tone until he recognized his mother coming into the library. Eowyn stopped short in shock. Every toy soldier the boys owned between them, and that was a horrific number, was strategically placed about the library floor. There were mountains built of piles of books, and what she assumed was a large river, represented by a long sheet of something that looked suspiciously like the blue silk table runner from the front hall.

She had apparently interrupted a rather strident argument between Barahir and Sam as to who was in charge of a particular group of tiny Ranger figures, as both boys were squared off and appeared to be close to tears, Barahir's hands clutching a small warrior as Sam tried to pry his fingers open. Elboron was between them, talking and cajoling even as he frowned at them.

"Mother!" Theoden's voice squeaked in surprise and his brothers quickly turned to her. Immediately they crowded around her, peppering her with questions. "Where is Father going? Why didn't Uncle Eomer stay? You said we could see him. Is that lunch in the box?"

Eowyn quickly set the box down beside her in almost the only clear spot on the floor. "What is all of this?" she asked.

"We're playing War of the Ring!" said Barahir excitedly. "Elboron is in charge of the city," he pointed to Faramir's favorite chair, now draped with a light-colored blanket and covered with small soldiers. "And Theoden is here on the Pelennor," another wave to indicate the green carpet littered with miniature men. "And I am a Captain of the Rangers, just like Father!"

"No, I am!" Sam angrily resumed his attempt to wrestle the coveted piece from Barahir's hand.

"No, me!" Barahir's blue eyes snapped under his blond brows as he resisted his younger brother. "You have to be an orc."

"Boys, boys." Eowyn shushed them and looked at her middle son, crouched under the desk. "And who are you?"

Eomund looked at her and grinned. "I'm the General of the orcs, and I'm going to raze Minas Tirith to the ground!"

"Don't count on it," commented Elboron dryly and Eowyn couldn't help but laugh. She had them clear the battlefield enough so that they could spread out the cloth she had in the box and set out the food. As the younger ones ate, Eowyn drew Elboron aside to the door to speak quietly.

"This was a wonderful idea, Bron. I'll make sure to tell your father what a good job you have done with your brothers." Her eldest flushed with pleasure but then gave her a worried look.

"How is the king?"

"Did you father tell you what happened?" The boy nodded.

"I told Theoden," he said, "but not the others. I just said he was sick, I didn't want to scare them."

"Good thinking." Eowyn was both proud and sad to see how grown up he looked. "He is better, but still very, very weak."

"And Uncle?"

Eowyn smiled, knowing how close they were. "Oh, he's fine, you know how tough he is."

Elboron visibly relaxed before he spoke again. "But he and Father left-"

"They are going to the city. Your father will be very busy for a while and your uncle will be able to help him." She gave him a serious look and looked around the room at the others. "I will need your help here."

"Yes, my lady." He bowed gravely, a perfect imitation of Faramir despite his blond hair and green eyes, and grinned. She grinned back and turned to go.

"Good luck, men of Gondor!" she said and was answered by a cheer from the boys. Returning to the kitchen she fixed herself some "field rations" and ate hastily, going over any immediately vital household information with the cook. Outside the rain, which had lightened up a little when Faramir and Eomer had left began to pour down again. Eowyn suppressed a sigh of disappointment. No sunshine today.

When she was finished with her meal she returned to her chambers, dismissed Nan and seated herself in the chair, pulling back the bedcover a bit to check the bandages. The one covering the deepest cut showed where blood had seeped completely through, although compared to last night, even that was not a very large stain. Looking at the other bandages Eowyn had to pull them back from the skin to see that the blood was nearly all a rusty red, only small amounts of fresh bright crimson. She carefully changed the dressings and pulled the cover back up and tucked it around Aragorn's chest, watching the faint movement of each breath, the only sign of life visible. His face, though pale, seemed to be peaceful, the dark hair and lashes standing out starkly against the pallid skin. Gathering up the knitting she had carried upstairs she settled back in the chair and resumed her quiet vigil over the king.

An hour later she let the knitting rest on her belly, since she had no lap, and laid her head back against the chair. The ever-present rain outside had now definitely changed into icy sleet, coating everything with a fine shiny glaze. Looking through the window into the grey curtain of fog and drizzle she could see the small stream that usually snaked lazily through the field below the house was now a raging torrent of muddy water and she had a flare of worry about her husband and brother as they traveled to the city.

As though in response to her thoughts, the door to the bedchamber opened and Faramir entered, drenched to the skin. "Faramir!" Eowyn looked at him in amazement for a moment before she hurried to his side. She would have hugged him but he held out his hand to stop her and began to remove his wet clothes, trembling with cold. She saw how he shivered and added another log to the fire before she began searching for something to dry him with, since all the towels were soaking in the laundry. Pulling a heavy cloak from her clothes closet she rubbed him vigorously until the worst of the shaking had stopped and he could pull on some dry clothing.

"What are you doing back here? You're half frozen! Where is Eomer?" Eowyn's questions tumbled out.

"We couldn't get through; we had to come back." Faramir looked worried. "He isn't here?" Eowyn shook her head. "We split up on the way back. He took the usual road with his men, I took the trail that follows the ridge, to see how bad the flooding is." He gave another shiver and stepped closer to the fire. "The water is everywhere, Eowyn. I've never seen flooding like this. We couldn't even get to the main road, couldn't get across the creek there by that stand of big oak trees. That whole valley is flooded, the horses were in water past their knees most of the time. And now it's getting colder. I thought about swimming the horse across but Eomer said it would be foolish to chance it." She saw his eyes focus somewhere before him. "The Pelennor has to be under water by now, and the bridge, who knows what else." He grimaced in frustration at the same time he shuddered reflexively. "I should be there." Even in front of the blazing fire Eowyn could see him trembling with cold.

"Well, you're not and you can't get there now." Eowyn forcefully banished the picture of him urging the horse into the flooded valley from her mind. "The Queen is perfectly capable of taking care of the city for a day or two."

Faramir nodded although she could see he was aggravated by his helplessness. "I suppose." He looked toward their bed. "Any change?"

"No." Eowyn was torn between pleasure that he was back and worry that Eomer was not. Another shiver broke over Faramir and she put her arms around him and held him as closely as she could, not allowing herself to pull away from the chilled flesh. "Let's try to get you warmed up. Are you hungry, do you want something to eat?"

"No," he said, holding her against him, letting her body heat and that of the fire soak into him. They stood perfectly still for a long while, pressed against one another. "Mmm, you're warm," he said. She held him tightly until she felt the slight tremor deep inside of him stop, felt him lean tiredly on her just a little. A hesitant knock came on the door and Faramir started to straighten up, away from her embrace. Eowyn did not loosen her grip as she answered. "Yes?"

"Just to let you know, my lady, your brother is back. He and his men are at the barracks. He said to tell you." Nan's voice called through the door.

"Thank you, Nan." Eowyn breathed a sigh of relief and released Faramir, still keeping hold of his hands. "Come, now it is your turn to get some sleep."

"I'm all right." Eowyn only rolled her eyes at him and pulled him from their chamber down the hall to one of the guest rooms. She had had the chamberlain build up the fires this morning and now both this room and the one where Eomer had slept were cozy and warm.

"You have been up most of the night and ridden through that rain, you have to be exhausted." As she spoke she pulled back the covers and gestured imperiously, essentially ordering him to bed. She noticed he did not protest as he crawled between the covers and she knew he must be truly drained. After he was settled in she leaned over and kissed him, smoothing back his dark hair. "Rest." With a faint smile he let his eyes close and was asleep almost instantly. Eowyn let her fingers trail across his face before she stood up to return to Aragorn. "Sleep well, my love," she whispered.

Faramir had only been asleep for an hour or so when Eomer appeared in Eowyn's bedchamber, wet but warm and restlessly prowling. His late arrival had been the result of a change in the direction of his travel. He and the surviving Riders had ridden back to the quarry to recover the tents and equipment and what was left of the bodies of their comrades. It had been a painful task and once his sister assured him that Aragorn seemed to be doing well, Eomer devoted himself to softly but enthusiastically cursing rain, floods, sleet, cold weather, wargs, and anything else that came to mind. Eowyn knew his temper was really a cover for the anger and sadness he felt at losing good men.

Casting about for something to help distract his thoughts, keep him occupied and out of her way, Eowyn suggested he spend the time with his nephews. He readily agreed and in a little while she could hear them down on the veranda apparently running through sword drills. She listened closely, trying to hear them but the rain drowned out the sound of their voices so she stood and went to open a window, hoping to eavesdrop a little. Pushing the smaller side window open a tiny bit she heard a faintly voiced complaint from Eomund that it was too cold and rainy for outside practice. This statement was promptly met with dire warnings of what happened to young lords who were too prim and proper. Eowyn listened, smiling, able to picture perfectly Eomer's horrified expression at the idea that a warrior might be unwilling to get wet or dirty.

"Pardon, my lady." A weak voice behind her whirled Eowyn around and she saw Aragorn trying to sit up in the bed.

"No, no, my lord." She flew to the bedside as quickly as a woman near the last month of pregnancy could, and pressed him back against the mattress. "You must lie very still."

Aragorn, finding that every movement sent a wave of pain through him that made his vision swim and his heart beat madly, let her ease him back down flat on the bed and looked up in puzzlement. "Eowyn?" His last memory was of setting up a camp near the quarry, and a meal in the rain with Eomer. His eyes roved around the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings. "Where am I?"

"You are in Ithilien."

"Your house?" She nodded and smiled.

"What happened? Where is Eomer?" She saw his confusion and worried that he might try to get up again, she lay a hand across his forehead and chest and kept gentle pressure on them.

"Eomer is fine. You are not. You were attacked by wargs." He lay still, not because of her hands but because a sudden terrible lightheadedness had swept over him. Aragorn gasped slightly and closed his eyes and Eowyn leaned down, feeling panic steal through her. "My lord? Aragorn?" She removed her hand from his forehead and felt his face. "Aragorn?" She started to pull down the coverlet, fearing his movement had opened the wound once more, when his eyes opened slowly and met hers and she could see pain and dizziness and alarm mixed in them. A furtive glance at the bandage showed only a small amount of blood and she smiled at him and replaced her hand across his forehead, smoothing back the dark hair as she would a sick child.

"You're going to be all right," she said reassuringly. "You've been injured, but you're going to be all right. But you must stay as still as you can."

Aragorn gave a short nod and made no further effort to move; instead he let his body relax in the bed and waited a while, hoping the pain and dizziness would leave, or at least lessen. When it did not he groaned faintly. "Wargs?" His eyes closed again and Eowyn could see his face tense as he thought hard, trying to remember. "They came into the camp."

"Yes, so my brother said." Eowyn sat down in her chair and took his hand.

"Eomer? Where-?"

"He is fine, I promise. Please, Aragorn, don't move about." She laid a restraining hand on his bandaged shoulder as he shifted slightly in the bed and he opened his eyes and looked at her.

"What's wrong, Eowyn?" he asked softly, his eyes narrowed as he tried to force himself to concentrate. His head was spinning, the room seeming to tumble about him. "What worries you?"

"You cut an artery and nearly bled to death." Eowyn had never been one to shrink from speaking of injury or death although as she spoke her green eyes were warm and full of concern. "Any sudden movement could start the bleeding again."

Aragorn suddenly understood the overwhelming weakness that threatened to send him spiraling down into some dark place and he let a faint little moan slip from him. Beside him Eowyn patted his hand. "You must stay very quiet for a while, my lord."

He gave a small nod and then gripped the edge of the coverlet with weak fingers as another wave of dizziness washed over him. When it had passed Eowyn poured him a cup of water from the pitcher Nan had brought up earlier and helped him drink, supporting his head as he took a tentative swallow. It only took a few seconds before he was exhausted and she lowered his head back to the pillow again. His face was white and strained and she could see his pulse beating rapidly in the hollow of his throat.

"Go back to sleep. Rest will do you more good than anything else." She smoothed the blanket, tucking it around him with careful movements.

"Where's Faramir?" he asked in a faint voice. "I need to see to Faramir."

"He is just down the hall. Shall I get him for you?" He made a small movement of his head in affirmation and Eowyn rose to her feet. "You must promise me you will stay quiet."

"I promise" It was a whisper breathed dully through bluish-white lips.

Eowyn hurried down the hall and gently shook Faramir into wakefulness, hating to do so but knowing that would be what he wanted, and despite the short duration of his rest he was, as always, awake and alert in a matter of seconds and on his way to the bedchamber. Moving swiftly to the bedside he couldn't help smiling with relief to see Aragorn's grey eyes blink open and rest on him for a moment before they drifted shut again. "My lord." He took the chair Eowyn had been using and sat down, keeping his eyes on the king.

Eowyn had followed and now bent down to whisper in Faramir's ear. "Don't let him talk too much and tire himself out. I'll be back in a few minutes." He murmured in agreement and she quietly left them together, pulling the door shut behind her as she exited the room.

"How do you feel?" Faramir found that now Eowyn was gone it was easier to reach over and take the king's hand in his own, gently place his own palm against the colorless cheek. Aragorn's skin was warm and dry and Faramir was encouraged. He sat quietly for a while merely holding Aragorn's hand between his, watching each breath, inspecting each line and shadow across the bearded face. Aragorn had turned 100 last year, but he looked almost exactly as he had when Faramir had first met him, like a man in his mid-40's, a few strands of grey in the dark hair, a few more lines on his face. There were times when Faramir thought he looked much like Denethor, and felt a vague discomfort, but today Aragorn's face was so pale it was nearly luminous, the skin almost translucent. He went to sit back but the king's hand tightened just a little around his and he immediately halted. "What is it?"

"How fares Gondor, my lord Steward?" Aragorn opened his eyes and his gaze was steady as he looked at Faramir, but his voice was rough and strained, evidence of the effort he had to exert merely to keep awake and focused.

Faramir hesitated. "I know not, my lord. There is a great deal of flooding. I could not reach Minas Tirith today, although I did try. I will try again tomorrow. I apologize, Sire."

Aragorn let his eyes slip shut. "No need, Faramir." Just as it seemed he would say more Eowyn reappeared, carrying a small goblet. She motioned for Faramir to lift the king's head as she held the cup to his lips.

"Drink this, my lord, it will help you." Aragorn obediently swallowed the liquid, some small part of his brain that held his own healing knowledge recognizing the faint smell of apples as cider to cover up the bitter taste of medicinal herbs. As Faramir lowered his head Aragorn's hand lifted from the bed and grasped at his sleeve.

"Don't go," he said in a slightly pleading voice. "I must speak with you."

"You need to rest," said Eowyn firmly.

"Faramir!" Aragorn tightened his fingers where they clutched the soft cloth of Faramir's shirt.

"I will stay, fear not." Faramir gently pulled the king's hand from his sleeve and once more folded it into his own. He looked up at his wife. "If it will help him rest easier, I will stay."

Eowyn expected no less from him and nodded. "I mixed some scutellaria in with the other healing herbs in that cup, he should go back to sleep soon." she said, her voice hushed. "I'll send someone up with something for you to eat in a little while." She watched Aragorn closely while rubbing Faramir's shoulders and he made a noise of acknowledgement so that she knew he heard her, but said no more and she kissed him on the top of the head and went back down the stairs.

"Faramir, we must speak of important matters." Aragorn's voice was low and his words ran together slightly as his weakness and Eowyn's medicine worked together to persuade him to give in to slumber. "You must care for Gondor, my lord Steward." The king forced his eyes open just long enough to meet those of his Steward before they fell shut again and he breathed out a sigh. "I leave Gondor... in your… capable hands."

Faramir felt a twinge of foreboding. "Just for a short while, Sire. Until you are recovered."

Aragorn made no answer, instead seeming to sink further down into the bedcovers. His hand between Faramir's twitched slightly but he was silent.

"My lord!" Faramir felt growing alarm and reached out to shake the king's shoulder, then had second thoughts, worrying that it might agitate the wounds. Instead he squeezed Aragorn's fingers and put a hand back on his face. "Aragorn! Aragorn!"

"I hear you, Faramir," said Aragorn faintly, his eyes still closed. "But I am so weary." He turned his head painfully and looked at Faramir and the other man could see fear in a face where he had never seen it before. "Am I going to die?"

"No, Aragorn." Faramir spoke fiercely. "No. You are not. You cannot. You have too much left to do here. There is too much unfinished for you to go now." He felt a prick of horror. He had sat at the bedsides of soldiers who died, he knew how often the state of the heart could affect that of the body and he sought for something, someone, whose need might strengthen the king's will. "What of your wife? Would you leave her alone?"

"That time… will come," said Aragorn. "Whether now… or some distant future. I… will… leave…her." His words slowed and tapered off as he succumbed to Eowyn's herbal concoction, drifting down into a dreamless sleep, his face becoming tranquil as he slipped away from the reality of pain and infirmity.

"You cannot go, Aragorn." Faramir's hushed voiced was thick. "Not yet. You must fight." There was no answer from the injured man beside him and he sat without moving for a few minutes, listening to the rain on the roof, the faint voices of the boys and Eomer on the veranda below, the soft sound of Aragorn's breathing. Eventually Aragorn's hand loosened and lay limply in Faramir's, the strong, calloused fingers looking somehow childlike and defenseless. He bent his head, feeling the wetness run down his cheeks.

It hurt him to see Aragorn so powerless and frail. He had always been a strong man, a man who seemed able to carry the weight of all his responsibilities and expectations easily. To see him now, barely able to lift his head or speak a complete sentence without his face getting that strange, tight look, made Faramir feel as though the world was suddenly unbalanced, unsafe, a feeling he had not had in years, not since he had awoken to find Aragorn's face above him in the Houses of Healing long ago. Raising his head up, he leaned over and gently kissed Aragorn's forehead. "You cannot go yet, my lord. I will not let you go."

He carefully pulled one hand loose from the king's so that he could move the chair closer to the bed and settled back, still clasping Aragorn's hand, to wait as long as necessary, until the King no longer needed him.

Aragorn blinked and opened his eyes, feeling as if the act was almost beyond him. The room was dark and he knew he was lying in a bed, could hear the faint crackle of the fire nearby, could hear the sound of rain on the windows beside him. Slowly memory came back to him, the night at the quarry, darkness and rain, the sudden arrival of the wargs in the camp, in the tent itself, the hot breath and gamy smell of the beast as it tore at him. With effort he forced the thoughts to the back of his mind and shifted his eyes to look around him uncertainly.

This place was far removed from any muddy tent; the dim light of a bedside candle showed wood-paneled walls holding colorful tapestries, heavy velvet curtains softened the window wells and the fire glowed brightly beneath a mantel set with framed drawings and piled with books. Books…Faramir! Suddenly Eowyn's face swam into his memory, her words echoed in his ears. He was in Ithilien, in Faramir and Eowyn's home. He turned his head, finding that even that slight movement caused such a surge of dizziness and nausea that he was sure the room had suddenly risen up and spun around.

Beside him in a chair Faramir sat dozing, his head slumped over to one side, his long dark hair falling over his face.

"Faramir." His mouth formed the word but nothing came out. He took a deep breath, feeling a burning ripple of pain across his chest as he did and tried again. "Faramir." This time his voice functioned, not as loudly as he would have liked, but enough that his Steward heard him and sat up in his chair.

"Aragorn!" Faramir quickly reached out for Aragorn's hand, searching his face for a sign of his earlier dark mood. "How are you?"

"Tired. Tired and sore," said Aragorn. He swallowed and considered a moment. "Thirsty." In seconds Faramir had a cup of water poured and held it for him as he drank, relishing the taste of the cold liquid. He drank half a cupful and felt somewhat strengthened. As Faramir eased his head back to the pillow Aragorn looked up at him. "Is it late?"

"It is very late. It is still several hours before dawn."

Aragorn considered this information. "I have slept a long while." He could feel a throbbing ache across his belly and chest

"You have, my lord, and you need to sleep longer." Faramir gave him an encouraging smile. "You must rest and get better."

The pain started to crawl across him and Aragorn was reminded of what he had been thinking about earlier. Grey eyes rested on the Steward attentively. "I need you to write out a declaration for me, my lord Steward. Do you have parchment and ink close at hand?"

Faramir crinkled his brow, slightly puzzled. "Yes, but surely there is nothing so vital it cannot wait until you are stronger."

"No, it must be done now." Aragorn winced and bit his lip as a swell of wooziness caused him to suddenly grip Faramir's hand and groan softly. "Please."

"Of course, Sire." Faramir went immediately to a table on the far side of the room and pulled out a clean sheet of parchment and a quill and ink. When he came back to the bedside he cleared a spot on the small bedside table and lay the parchment upon it, dipping the quill into the ink and looking at the king expectantly, and with some consternation, Aragorn could see.

The king took a moment to gather his thoughts, no easy task at the moment, then closed his eyes to concentrate and when he opened them began to speak slowly and deliberately. "Given this day under my hand and seal, by his majesty King Elessar Telcontar, Ruler of Gondor and Arnor." He paused, feeling a slight queasiness from pain and fatigue beginning deep within him. "Know ye by this declaration that it is my will and wish that should illness or injury befall me that lead to my death and there be no living issue of my house-" Aragorn halted, curling his fingers into the coverlet and breathing hard.

"My lord?" Faramir moved to lay down the quill but Aragorn shook his head slightly.

"No, it will pass, wait." He panted a moment until the pain and dizziness eased and he could think clearly again and continued. "It is my desire and command that rule and control of my kingdom be given unto Faramir, son of Denethor, Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor, of the House of Hurin."

Aragorn heard the scratching of the quill slow, then stop and he shifted his eyes to see Faramir staring at him, his face inscrutable. The two men looked at each other in silence, two sets of grey eyes impassive in the dim light of the fire.

"No, Aragorn." Faramir's voice was quiet and stern and his gaze steady as he looked at his king. "You will not do this."

"Faramir-"

"No."

Aragorn frowned in frustration. "It is merely a formality, Faramir. Should I die-"

"You are not going to die."

The tiniest bit of humor crept into Aragorn's eyes. "Some day…" He could see his Steward was in no mood for teasing, and truthfully, neither was he. Forgetting he was not supposed to move about Aragorn drew himself up to make his point. "Faramir, you are Steward of Gondor. If anything would happen to me, you would rule in my place. This merely-" His face twisted suddenly and he sucked in his breath as the pain abruptly clawed at him, causing a cold wave of dizziness to crash over him and he sagged back against the mattress.

"Aragorn!" Faramir dropped the quill and reached over to steady him, grasping him with strong hands. "You must not waste your strength. Do not worry about who rules Gondor after you. Concentrate on getting well." He picked up a cup of medicine that Eowyn had left with him on her way to bed. "Eowyn said if you started hurting this would help." He held it toward Aragorn, but the king clenched his teeth and shook his head. Sighing, Faramir replaced the cup and cautiously eased himself over to sit on the bed, careful to stay to the edge so as not to disturb Aragorn, who now lay limp and gasping under the blanket. "Please, Aragorn, do not talk of dying." He took the king's cold hand into his own warm one.

"I must." The king's voice was weak but determined. "If I die - there are those who would oppose your rule as Steward, Faramir; some of the factions in Arnor. There are others…" he groaned softly and his fingers dug into Faramir's palm. "Others who would have you crowned as king, even if it meant starting another civil war. I cannot allow that..." His eyes met Faramir's. "WE cannot allow that."

"I do not want to be king," said Faramir passionately. "Even if it were offered to me-"

"It does not matter!" Aragorn wished he had the strength to shout down his stubborn Steward but even his fervently whispered answer had sent a rush of silver sparkles dancing across his vision and caused his heart to race as jolts of pain shot through him. He waited until the worst of it had passed before going on in a calmer tone. "It would not matter what you want, Faramir. You know how some of the nobles are, the way they are constantly at each others throats. They need only an excuse for war. We cannot give it to them." He pulled his hand from Faramir's and reached up, grasping the younger man's forearm. "Help me put my mind to rest. Write the declaration for me."

Faramir dropped his head and wrestled with his emotions. Were it anyone else he would understand the wisdom of the action and encourage it, seeing it as nothing more than putting a generally-accepted understanding down in writing. But if he allowed Aragorn to fix his mind on death -

"You are father and brother and friend to me, Aragorn," he murmured, keeping his head lowered. "Please do not speak so calmly of your death. Do not talk as though once your kingdom is in order you can go." He raised a tightly controlled face to the king, his eyes dark and desolate. "I will not lose you. I will not let you go."

Aragorn knew the cost of those emotionally charged words from the reserved man before him and he valued them all the more for it. He squeezed Faramir's arm and dropped his hand back to the coverlet, feeling the last bit of his strength fading. "I will not go easily, I promise you that. But-" He faltered as pain flared dully across his belly and the room shimmered before him. "But I am in a bad way, Faramir, and you know it. Should anything happen, we must protect Gondor, above all else." He gazed up at him, the love in his eyes plain to see although the room was lit only by the small candle and the dancing flames of the fire. "If you love me, Faramir, if you love Gondor, write the declaration and I promise you I will do my best to live."

Faramir looked into the fire, his mouth pressed into a thin line and weighed the king's words. Outside the rain had eased and the silence sounded strange after so many days of heavy drops drumming against the windows and roof. At last Faramir gave a nod of acquiescence and turned back to the parchment. Taking up the quill he completed the sentence and looked up at Aragorn. "Anything else?"

Aragorn gave him a weak smile. "Add 'It is my will and decree that the rule of Gondor shall rest with the House of Stewards, passing from father to son from such time thenceforth.'" Faramir wrote the words with a resolute expression, as if the act itself was a difficult trial. When he finished he dated the document and handed it over, along with the quill. He had to steady the king's hand as Aragorn scrawled his name at the bottom, and was slightly appalled at the shakiness of the handwriting. Aragorn lay back in the bed, feeling like a great worry had been lifted, and he stopped fighting; stopped fighting the dizziness, stopped fighting to hold off the pain that had begun to gnaw mercilessly at him; instead he gave himself up to it and let it flow over him. It blotted out everything else and carried him to the edges of consciousness but refused to let him slip across and he heard himself moan quietly. As though in a dream he felt Faramir raise his head again and hold the cup to his lips.

"Drink this, it will help the pain and let you sleep." Faramir's voice was soft and encouraging and Aragorn thankfully swallowed the faintly sweet liquid that was trickled into his mouth. He lay back, riding the crest of the pain until the medicine began to blur his thoughts and sensations.

"Aragorn." Dimly he heard Faramir's voice and he roused himself enough to respond.

"Hmm?"

"You must fight. You made a promise to me. You may sleep now but you must awaken in the morning." Aragorn smiled to himself, hearing the steely voice of a Ranger captain giving orders.

"Yes sir," he answered, sinking effortlessly into the empty black space that hovered around him. "I will, Captain."

TO BE CONTINUED

NOTE: Scutellaria is the Latin name for skullcap – a plant-based sedative used by Native Americans. I just liked the sound of the name.

Again – Thanks for Raksha for the beta, and I THINK she and Clarion were the first to use the nickname "Bron" for Elboron.