That night Aragorn had finally resorted to exercising his authority to make it plain to Éomer that no matter what personal matters existed, he was King of this land they were in, and thus would be retiring the argument for the night when he said so. He really felt more sorry for the two guards that he called to drag the enraged Horselord to his chamber and lock the door. On his way to his own bed, he reminded himself to give them good compensation.
Passing Faramir's door, Aragorn took a deep breath. He needed to apologize to his son. Just as he was about to knock, Éowyn approached from the other end of the hall. She told Aragorn that she too had come to apologize, but because she confided in Lothiriel some things she perhaps shouldn't have, judging by her reaction when Faramir appeared at the door.
Aragorn knocked, receiving no response. "His world is weighing upon him so heavily. Perhaps he is asleep, and i hate to wake him, but i know if i put this off till morning it will make things worse."
Éowyn agreed that he had been through much lately, and though he needed his rest, he also needed much support. "The Lady Galadhriel said something about his behavior that i did not understand. I have never heard of this fell spirit of darkness that she thinks follows Faramir."
"The remnants of Morgoth's spirit?"
Éowyn nodded. "She said something at my uncle's funeral feast, but i thought she said that Faramir had overcome that influence."
Aragorn's voice sounded dismal. "Morgoth was one of the Valar, and before that was one of the Ainur. His power is still ever-strong. All along i have thought that Sauron fed on his evil and kept it closely guarded in Mordor. I did not think that with Sauron's destruction there would be nothing that needed to keep that power for itself." Denial took him away from his thoughts, "That can not be what overreaches my son, though. He is just having a difficult time with all that has gone on lately. I expected as much, and we just need to give him our full support until he sees that there are people in his life who will never abandon him, no matter what."
Aragorn knocked again. No response. He bid Éowyn to be seated there in the hall until he came out again. He was a little worried for Faramir, having never met the Ranger who did not wake to the slightest sound in the middle of the night. He suspected that his son had been down to the Merry Widow again and had passed out, hopefully in bed.
Aragorn tried the door, found it unlocked, and so entered. He could see Faramir's figure slumped over the end of the bed. Aragorn shook his head, thinking he should never have let him drown his sorrows alone. As he crossed the room to straighten Faramir into a position that would not cause him severe stiffness in the morning, he saw out of the corner of his eye the glint off his hunting knife, laying at Faramir's feet. The Elven letters in Feanorean script were illuminated: Gûd daedheloth.
He picked it up to return it to his sheath, wondering how he had forgotten it there. He remembered that he meant to leave it as a gift to Faramir and started to remove the sheath from his belt, when he noticed the blade was not clean and had been recently used. There were dark stains along the coverlet as well. Aragorn's breath came faster, trying to keep up with his wildly beating heart, as he frantically searched for the source of his son's spilt lifeblood.
Seeing the gaping wound in Faramir's left arm made Aragorn shudder deeply. His heart tightened and suddenly the King could not breathe. The father's instinct took over before the healer's, and he held Faramir close to him, mindlessly assuming the worst. "Not my son...," he muttered tearfully against Faramir's unruly tresses. "Please not my son."
Something at the back of his mind shouted a phrase that Elrond had used many times, "Do not mourn before you check for pulse, it can mean the difference between the Hall of Fire and the Halls of Mandos." Aragorn forced himself to gently lay his son down again and he pressed two fingers to Faramir's neck, silently begging to feel even the slightest current. He was just removing his fingers in defeat when he thought he felt the faintest throb.
Aragorn wept of thankful relief as he kissed Faramir's forehead. "Cuio, ion-nín!" he whispered desperately. "Éowyn!" he shouted, "Send for Glorfindel and Erestor, i need them immediately. And the Lady of Lorien. Be of haste!"
Sending the guard to fetch the three Elves Aragorn called for she rushed in, fearing what would be found. As Faramir lay still on his bed the silver moonlight covered him making him look ethereal and Elf-like, the sight chilling Éowyn. She stiffened visibly seeing the trail of blood leading the wound on his arm that Aragorn was trying to staunch.
Aragorn swore under his breath wondering how long Faramir had been bleeding. "I need water and bandages, Éowyn," he said hurriedly.
As Eowyn was about to leave the room, Arwen entered with a cauldron and her husband's healer's gear. Rushing closely along were Glorfindel and Erestor, Galadhriel following them.
"Someone please light a fire," Aragorn said steadily, though he did not feel it.
Glorfindel knew Estel well enough that he could tell the man was not comfortable with so many bystanders, and he gently ushered Éowyn and Arwen out of Faramir's chamber and explicitly told the guard that there were to be no interruptions of any sort.
"Do you have Athelas, Glorfindel?" Aragorn asked worriedly.
"No, Estel," Glorfindel said softly, bringing a candle to the bedside. The Balrog-slayer cringed to see the wound closely. He knew it was going to need to be sutured and that Aragorn would not have the nerve for it.
"Damn! Nor do i, i gave all i had to...." He realized that the last Athelas he had was what he had given Faramir in Rohan. Letting Glorfindel take over the care of his wound, Aragorn looked for the pouch on Faramir's belt and thanked the Valar when he found it still full.
"Aragorn..." Glorfindel began gently. "That wound is going to need -"
"Stitched. I know, Glor'. You're going to have to...," Aragorn was finding it hard to verbalize. Under his touch, Faramir seemed neither to be fighting for life nor departing to death. Rather his son's spirit seemed to hover and waver in indecision. Aragorn felt his heart sinking. Why didn't Faramir try? As a father, Aragorn felt despair, as a healer, it made him angry.
Glorfindel handed Aragorn the Athelas-soaked cloth, hoping that it would take the King's thoughts off his torn emotions. He and Erestor took to the farther end of the room, staying nearby in case they were needed, but also out of the way, not minding if Aragorn forgot them for a while.
Galadhriel leaned in closer to the Steward, laying a hand over his wound. "This is not the end of Faramir, son of Aragorn," she said softly. "You must but stop the bleeding long enough for healing to begin and the rest shall take care of itself. I must speak with him when he awakes, though. There are things that Faramir must know in order to fight." Galadhriel smiled at Aragorn's wordless nod. "Set your son on the path of healing, then rest yourself Elessar." Again he only nodded, and pressing a reassuring hand to his, the Lady departed
Aragorn's heart was filled with unease though. He still did not feel Faramir trying to fight to wakefulness. It was as it had been when Aragorn first laid eyes on his son again in the Houses of Healing, only worse. Now it seemed more like Faramir almost wanted to lay down his life, whereas under the Black Breath it was more of a struggle just to get his son to wake again. His kingdom was not worth this, not worth losing his son. Aragorn wept bitterly, lowering his head in anguish, uncertainty, and a particular sense of failure as a father. The horror that none of this would have happened if he had done things differently flooded him. Aragorn's whispers were desperate. "Faramir... come back, please. Please don't go into the shadow. Faramir.... Do not leave me, my son. Please."
