The ethereal Faramir watching his other self remained disconnected as the side of Faramir who held the old cat dissolved into nothingness. The dream ended, Faramir was aware again of his surroundings, though he found he could not move or respond in any way. He tried to fight from the shadow sleep when he heard Denethor's voice. 'That dream, it was only just that, a dream,' he thought desperately. He needed to wake, he needed to ask his father if all that had really been true. It couldnt have been, but he had to know.
Faramir had no idea how long he slept. There was much noise around him but nothing sounded distinct. There was great heat about him. His mind fluttered closer to painful consciousness again. The heat, he thought, was surely a fever, his face and hands felt oily as though he was sweating hard.
He could make out shouting but had not the clarity of mind to understand the words. The next thing he knew there was a very slow sensation of falling, so long-drawn-out did every motion register with him. He knew he had hit ground long before he felt it, it was as though everything was far-away and vague. He felt as a stricken wanderer.
At some point he opened his eyes, almost involuntarily, to try to at least see what was going on. There was fire and smoke, shouting and rushing, but none of registered very much with the young man. He could only just make out Denethor, but something was very wrong. His first thought was that his father was extremely angry with him for being out cold for so long and causing whatever commotion ensued.
"Father...," Faramir half began to apologize and half asked as much his weakened state allowed. Before he could go any further he started slipping back into darkness, the strain of opening his eyes and uttering so weighty a word being too much under the venom of the Nazgul. As his vision clouded with grayness, he saw flames rising about Denethor, the sound of terrible screams drowned out by the enveloping oblivion.
The first thing in some while that registered with him was the song of a sparrow not far away. After some while he sensed that there was gentle light around him. In these things, Faramir was content enough to rest quietly. His body felt extremely weak, but no longer pain-ridden. The breeze that came through the room was not warm, but Faramir welcomed it just the same. Fresh air was something he thought he might not experience again.
Then there was a gentle scent on the breeze. Faramir wondered if he had indeed slept a whole month until the blossoming of spring but he knew well enough that the scent was of no flower that grew in Minas Tirith. It was carried to him as a vapor and in it he felt heartened again, no longer desperate, wandering, and in shadow. His heart felt joy in thriving again with cloudless senses.
Faramir sensed that someone was very near to him, looking after him. He slowly started to open his eyes, a flash of hope crossing his mind that maybe Denethor was there and concerned about him. At first all he could make out was a dark figure beside him.
"Father?" Faramir forced his voice to speak, though it obeyed him but a little and so quietly that only the one nearest him heard at all. As his eyes focused measure-by-measure he could tell that the man beside him was decidedly not Denethor, nor even one of the city's healers. This man was indeed rather unkempt and looking battle-weary. He could see the man's countenance change greatly though when he turned and looked with steady grey eyes at Faramir and saw his gentle blue ones. A smile broke out across the man's features.
---
Hours earlier, the ragged, grim-looking man entered Minas Tirith with some of his company, all looking equally ragged and grim, with the exception of three who, though obviously drained, looked little the worse for wear. Only by the imploring of the White Wizard did he step foot inside the vast stone city, and only wrapped closely in a simple cloak, clasped by the only emblem he now bore, a leaf of green and silver.
With little delay Aragorn entered the Houses of Healing with Gandalf. As he looked around seeing men hurt in most every conceivable way he felt despondency rise. "Gandalf, i am only one man. I could not cure so many if i had a year."
"The many will need less than the King's help in their recovery. There are three, however, who need your hand, now," said his old friend, directing him to the rooms where Faramir, Eowyn, and Merry slept precariously.
"Who has the greatest need, mellon-nin?" Aragorn asked, dreading the response.
"He who they call the new Steward of Gondor needs you most of all, Estel," the wizard answered gently, clasping an encouraging hand to the man's shoulder.
Aragorn went quickly then, though a crowd was gathering to him which he greatly wished would make themselves scarce. "Curious healers," he thought, annoyed, to himself, "but they should know better than to swarm this way."
Upon seeing the young, fair man laying upon the bed motionless, Aragorn's heart sank low. "Why? Why Faramir?" Aragorn queried silently within himself. He laid his hands gently upon the stricken steward. "Faramir... Faramir.... Wake, Faramir. Kwivo, ion-nin, hi. Faramir...." Aragorn's calling voice grew softer and softer as he gazed at the young man and fought a bitter struggle to bring him back toward the waking earth. Faramir didn't seem to be coming back to wakefulness willingly, and Aragorn forced himself not to wonder what desolation lay within the younger man. "No!" his heart and mind defiantly shouted within. "He will NOT be lost again!" "And yet you should have been here sooner," another voice of his own reproved him. "Much sooner."
Finally the young lad rushed in with some old, dry athelas leaves. The scent filled the air quickly when crushed in the steaming water and Aragorn, kneeling beside Faramir, now rose as though a fresh man had taken his place. All those who were present felt the rejuvenation of their hearts and they felt lightened of their burdens. Aragorn turned to set the bowl of asea aranion aside, when his well-honed ears caught the sound of the voice he had longed so to hear. Those in the room saw his face light up and all grimness vanished from him. One lone tear managed to slip its bonds and trace a very noticeable clean path along his right cheek. Was weariness catching up to him, or had the highly impressed throng vanished into thin air at the moment he looking into Faramir's eyes?
Kwivo, ion-nin, hi = Wake, my son, now
asea aranion = athelas, kingsfoil
