EPILOGUE (Flynn's story)

I waited alone - it was what we both wanted, "Denethor" and me. Brendan Creagh understood, even though I know he really wanted to be present at the end of my journey. He has become a good friend, and to be honest, a big part of me needed him there, because I felt nervous and apprehensive about meeting someone who although a total stranger, had once been my father. Of this there was no doubt in my mind, for how else could he and I have shared the same memories of a time so long ago that all records have since been lost or destroyed.

As the door opened I felt a rising panic - I could feel my heart thumping, my throat became dry, and my breathing rapid. Was this just nerves, or was it, as my instinct told me, the effect that Denethor might have on Faramir.

At first he just looked at me, and I learned after that he was thinking the same as I - that neither of us bore any resemblance to the person in our regressed memory. He was tall, much taller than I, with dark hair which was very short and flecked with grey, and his eyes which were brown, lacked any kind of sparkle, although considering his history of depression and anxiety, this was understandable. Finally, he extended his hand to shake mine - his grip was strong, and it felt like a charge of electricity shooting into my arm.

"Martin Coulson," he said, and I was relieved that he, like me, was still in touch with his current personality. Despite reassurances from his doctor, I was afraid that he might have totally "become" Denethor, and I had been unsure of how I would react if this had this been the case.

Before I had time to respond, he added, "And you're Flynn." It was obviously more of a statement than a question, but I nodded in confirmation.

For a moment we were both silent, and I began to feel uncomfortable with his gaze.

"I'm sorry," he said, as he realised my discomfort, "But your eyes - they are quite disconcerting. Your face is unfamiliar, but your eyes are not - they are unquestionably those of Faramir, and I think they must have been forever in my subconscious, for they were eyes that said far more to me than his voice ever did, for he knew I would not listen. It is said that they mirror the soul, and in Faramir's eyes had I chosen to see it, was a soul as pure as a man's could be."

I smiled, although I now felt very tense, for I didn't know Martin Coulson. I only "knew" Denethor, and so this was who I saw in front of me. Suddenly I began to feel dizzy, as my head became a tangled mess of sensations and emotions, and although somewhat unbelievably I was still aware that I was Flynn Kearney, the part of me that was Faramir took over.

"You never showed me any love or even compassion," I said, "Not even when my mother died, or when Boromir died. Other people were kind to me - but I needed you......and then...then you wished me dead. Do you know what that did to me - that I lost control of all logic and sense. My men didn't die because of you...they died because of me. Because I was too grief stricken to defy you. I never truly recovered from that guilt."

"I know how badly I behaved," Martin replied softly, "And it grieves me that I can't change it, or the consequences."

Hesitantly, his arm went around my shoulder, and in an instant he was a stranger no more. He was Denethor, Steward of Gondor, and I was his son.

"Would that I could get that time back, and do things differently, but I can't," he said sorrowfully. "All I can do is say that I'm sorry, which is nowhere near enough."

He cupped my chin with his hand, and as he turned my head towards him, I noticed that his eyes were glistening. Then with both hands, he held my face and looked at me intently. "The guilt and shame I suffered has followed me through countless lifetimes. During my regression it was a feature of all the lives I remembered. Can you imagine the depth and intensity of those feelings - to have survived for so long, and to continually eat away at my conscience regardless of who I was? I have been in endless torment, and I believe I have been searching for you since that time and that my soul has never rested."

"So you just need peace?" I said, and I knew I sounded ungracious, as it occurred to me that once again Denethor was thinking only of Denethor.

He shook his head. "Of course I need peace," he said, "But my torment is of my own making, not a punishment from the Gods. They had no need to punish me whilst I was punishing myself so well. My regrets and my guilt come from within, for I know now how very wrong I was. You were my child - my youngest - my baby. You were my kind and gentle son - a son I should have been proud of."

At this his voice finally cracked, and he began to sob. "I don't ask your forgiveness," he said, "For what I did was unforgiveable - but I do want you to believe me when I tell you that my sorrow is genuine, and I wish more than anything that I could change the way things were - change the way I was."

"When you said I should have died instead of Boromir.....you did kill me in all but body. I went to Osgiliath to ensure that my death was complete. Had I not been so indifferent to my fate, I would have listened to Mithrandir, and not taken my men on a suicide mission."

By this time, I too was crying, and when Martin attempted to gently wipe away my tears with his hand, it only made me cry more. I felt as though the tears of several ages were spilling from my eyes, taking with them all the fear and doubt that I had ever endured. His arms engulfed me then, and he held me close to his chest, as he stroked my hair, and softly kissed my head, before saying the words my soul had longed for.

"I love you Faramir," he whispered.

After the encounter with Martin Coulson, I felt physically sick, and emotionally drained. I was still shaking as I rejoined Brendan - what had just happened to me was surreal. I had met my father from a previous existence, and maybe helped, or indeed invoked, by the deep feelings that lie within me, I had thought, and spoken, as Faramir. For a short while, every thought and emotion I had was his.

"What now?" asked Brendan as we left the hospital. "Will you see him again?"

"I don't know," I replied. "It's too soon - we're both still confused and emotional to think about that, and at the moment, something he said seems all too true - that he didn't expect my forgiveness, because what he did was unforgiveable. And that's how I feel. I can't forgive him yet, but I did give him what he needed - I accepted that his regret was sincere. Maybe in the future we'll see each other, I don't know - but I think we'll write now and then."

"So Faramir isn't going to just go away?" asked Brendan.

I thought for a moment before I answered, for I had suddenly realised exactly what I wanted to do...what I have to do.

"No," I said, "Because somewhere out there Faramir has a big brother who he never said goodbye to, and if I have to talk to every hynotherapist in the world to find him, then I will."

THE END. (Or is it.......)

Thanks to everyone for the kind comments. I think in the end poetic licence just took over, so thanks for your tolerance. Anyway, I got there in the end - I achieved what I wanted, Denethor and Faramir reconciling in at least one kind of reality, rather than in a dream or after death.