Éomer woke before Faramir, though he almost wished he hadn't. In the empty cell, all the king could do was stare at the dagger in his hands. His mind dwelt on the blade and its intended purpose. 'I can't do it. I can't kill Faramir. Nor, though, do I want him under that vile man's control.' He toyed with the idea of attacking Pelatarn, but discarded that thought almost instantly. The necromancer would be on his guard next time, he would not let Éomer get close enough to do any harm. 'Perhaps…perhaps we will be able to escape before he comes again. Perhaps Lothiriel will return.'

It was not to be. The doors banged open and Pelatarn strode in, followed by five guards. Three quickly subdued Éomer, who tried not to look over to the food where he had just hidden the dagger. The other two guards held Faramir upright, his own strength not enough. The Steward shivered at the new glint in Pelatarn's crimson eyes. The necromancer just laughed. "I will not waste time with pleasantries. Bid farewell to your friend, king Éomer, for this is the last time you will see him as he is."

Faramir lifted his chin. "You assume much."

"We shall see."

((Faramir gasped as he realized that he was not in a memory of his father. It was instead the day Boromir had left for Rivendell. The last day he had seen his brother alive.

As Boromir left the city gates, he stepped out of the shadows. "Take care, Boromir. I love you, brother."

Boromir smiled down from his seat on his horse. "I love you too little brother. Be careful out there in Ithilien. I will be back before you know I am gone."))

But he wasn't, was he? He died on the mission you should have taken. He did not want you to be hurt, knowing how dangerous the journey was. You should have died but you didn't, your brother died instead. He died because of you.

Faramir's mind whirled, not prepared to defend against this attack. "No!"

((He was again in the fever-dreams of the Black Breath. He watched as Denethor and Mithrandir radiated with light, ebony versus ivory. Faramir discerned words at last, the words of his father. "I would have things as they were in all the days of my life and in the days of my forefathers: to be the Lord of this City in peace, to leave my chair to a son after me. A son who would be his own master and no wizard's pupil, or elf's son. But if doom denies this to me, then I will have nothing! Neither life diminished, nor love halved, nor honor lessened."

Denethor grabbed a torch and thrust it by the table, which erupted into a pyre of flame. To Faramir's horror, his father leapt upon the pyre and laid himself down amidst the fire, the glowing orb in his hands.))

You drove him to that. It was you, stricken from fighting for his love, that broke him. And when he finally loved you, you did nothing to save him, you let him burn in flames! Pelatarn smiled as he saw Faramir weaken.

The Steward closed his eyes and groaned, but he couldn't shut out the images. His tired and beaten mind couldn't sort out the lies from the truth, the falsehoods breaking down his barriers. "Stop, please."

But Pelatarn was not done.

((The Golden Hall was filled with men and women gathered to remember King Theoden who had been buried that morning. Éomer, the new king, had just announced Faramir's engagement to Éowyn and they had been trothplighted. Now Éowyn went up to Aragorn, eyes bright. "Wish me joy, my liege-lord and healer!"

Always the gentlemen, Aragorn answered, "I have wished you joy from the moment I saw you. It heals my heart to see you now so happy." Faramir could not help the jealousy that rose within him. 'Will she always love him?'))

You were her second choice. How could you compare to the King of Gondor and Arnor? Always you have been second best.

Faramir bit his lip so hard that he drew blood. "It's not true, it's not true." His head spun as Pelatarn suddenly threw at him all his memories, twisted and darkened till he couldn't remember any light. "Stop it! Please stop it, stop it, stopitstopitstopit!" Faramir felt the shields of his mind break down against the onslaught. 'I'm failing. I can't…I can't hold back, I can't…fight. Ada, help me!' The Steward hardly realized when the soldiers holding him let go and he fell against the floor. 'Ada! Ada, where are you? Save me!' He tried to focus on the memory of his foster father, but to no avail. The elf's face swam tantalizingly out of reach. 'ADA!'

Eru, save my son!

Suddenly, lightning flashed across Faramir's mind and he found he could remember his Ada, his brothers, his family. He used those memories as a wall against the darkness. But Pelatarn kept throwing the evil memories at him and Faramir could only pull back into the dark corners of his mind, giving the shadow free reign.


Éomer realized from the beginning that something was wrong. The confusion and terror on Faramir's face confirmed his fears. The king of Rohan could only watch helplessly as his friend weakened before this new tactic. Éomer's heart twisted as he listened to Faramir plea for mercy, something the king never thought would happen.

Soon he was adding his own pleas to Faramir's, the sight too much for him. Then all was quiet. Pelatarn's lips curled up as Faramir lay still on the floor. The soldiers holding Éomer let go and the king hurried to his friend's side. "Faramir." Turning the Steward over to face him, Éomer sucked in a breath. Faramir's eyes, normally gray as the ocean or silver like a mirror, were ebony black. Only the rising and falling of his chest told the king that his brother-by-marriage was actually alive. Éomer looked up and glared at Pelatarn "What have you done to him?"

Pelatarn grinned. "He is mine now, little king. My revenge is realized, after so many years. My ringnar failed to kill him, he evaded my trap so brilliantly baited with his own fiancée, but now I have succeeded at last!" He lifted his hand and, to Éomer's horror, Faramir rose mechanically to his feet as if summoned. "Faramir, murderer of Lokir, is now my mindless, soulless slave!"

Éomer stood up and shook his head in disbelief. "No."

The necromancer laughed and turned to Faramir. "Slave, punish him." And Faramir, who would never, ever hurt anyone in his family, roughly backhanded Éomer across the face and then shoved him with such strength that the king flew against the wall and fell with a thud on the stone floor. While Éomer tried to reorient himself, Pelatarn chuckled. "You see? He is mine and tomorrow the whole city will watch him as he cold-bloodedly murders his own wife's brother by my order."

With one last triumphant look, Pelatarn turned and left the cell trailed by the undead soldiers and, finally, Faramir mindlessly followed. Éomer grit his teeth as he gripped the dagger in his hand and ran to the bars of his cage. "Faramir! FARAMIR!" The Steward didn't turn around and he gripped the knife tighter. This was his only chance, he could still hit him from where he stood. 'You promised. Do it, do it now' But he couldn't. As Faramir disappeared, Éomer slid to his knees. He stared down numbly at the blade in his hand. Faramir had fallen. He had failed. His only task, the last wish of his brother, and he had failed.


I guess Evil Skittle escaped custody for that chapter. And probably the next one as well.