Uncertain Fates
Although Faramir hadn't really said much about when he would break off and head for Minas Tirith, Sonya figured that she had some kind of idea:
In her way of thinking, she thought that Faramir would accompany her at least halfway to Harad, to make the story, in her opinion, more believable.
Faramir had been hazy on the details because he didn't want to make her lie more than what was necessary, and since she asked him no questions pertaining to that subject, he spoke not of it either, and both journeyed in silence.
They had journeyed as far as Ithilien when they decided to rest for the night. Sonya had told him already that their stops would be very few and to 'Make the most of your resting place.'
But when she awakened in the wee hours, Faramir was gone.
Sonya looked around to see if she could catch a glimpse of someone stumbling up the hills. But no, Faramir was nowhere in sight.
Sighing softly to herself, Sonya packed up her meager things and set out for Harad.
0-0
As soon as Sonya drifted into her Elven slumber, Faramir took off. He ran as fast as his legs would allow him. He needed to rest, but his loved ones came first; he knew that he was probably presumed dead by now—even Tatiana probably thought him dead.
Was she still in Cair Andros?
That question plagued Faramir. He wondered if she had given up on waiting for him and had left to get on with her life.
He wouldn't blame her if she did, but it certainly would break his heart; yet, he loved her and wanted the best for her—no matter what.
He stumbled and toiled across the land which he thought his home more than Minas Tirith. Normally, he was used to walking miles upon miles in Ithilien; but after all that he had experienced, his body had broken down. If he would regain all of the strength that he had lost, he knew not. But that was not his main concern right now. Returning to Minas Tirith was.
He continued to stumble as he struggled to put one foot in front of the other. Eventually, after much toil he lurched forward and fell on his face.
000
Twenty soldiers of Gondor galloped across Ithilien; this was their fourth journey to Ithilien in the last six months. They were not alone.
Denethor still had quite a few soldiers searching for Faramir; he was determined to bring him back so the 'justice' could be served upon him.
Suddenly, Hiram, the leader of the search, saw something—or rather—someone ahead. He raised his right hand as a sign for them to stop, and then he dismounted.
On the ground was a dirty form, but it was clear by the build that it was a man. His hair color was bare recognizable, due to the dirt it looked more like dark brown than the red which was not too common in Gondor.
Thinking that he was just a wounded Ranger, Hiram roughly turned the man over with his foot. And when he did he gasped, causing the other soldiers to go and see.
Faramir's eyes slowly opened; he saw about twenty men staring at him in shock.
The reason that they were staring at him like that was half because they found him and half because of the way that he looked. His face was puffy and swollen, due to what Uthugly had done to him recently, and his eyes were almost blood red from exhaustion…not to mention the fact that he was wearing strange clothing.
Hiram instantly regained his composure and made sure that his men regained theirs also. He cleared his throat as he prepared to say the speech that he had practiced many times (and much to his embarrassment was caught doing so).
"Lord Faramir, Captain of the Ithilien Rangers of Gondor, second son of Lord Denethor son of Ecthelion, Steward of Gondor…" he paused for a moment to watch Faramir's expression.
The Captain of Gondor watched the man without even blinking; he was still in disbelief that he had been found, and that they recognized who he was!
"In the name of the Steward, lord Denethor, we soldiers of Gondor place you under arrest."
000
While Hiram was proudly saying his speech two weary soldiers of Gondor wearily made their way up to the White City of Gondor.
They were nearly there when one collapsed of exhaustion, and the fact that poison was ravaging his body.
The blond man groaned in despair when he saw this, and began to try to lift the man's weak body in a failing attempt to carry him the rest of the way.
"Don't worry, Laddyn," whispered Marcus. "We are almost there. Hold on…" the rest of his words muffled indecipherably as he fell under the weight of his companion.
A small groan from Laddyn was the only thing that let Marcus know his companion was still conscious.
Knowing that he would never make it to Minas Tirith carrying Laddyn, Marcus made the decision to go the rest of the way and bring back help for Laddyn. He saw it as Laddyn's only chance for survival.
"I must go, Laddyn," Marcus explained. "I will return with help; this is not the end."
Laddyn's head lolled from side to side; he could feel the burning pain of the poison as it slowly but steadily made its way through his body. He said nothing. He could say nothing, for the pain was so bad.
Marcus lifted Laddyn's legs, freeing himself. He then shakily rose to his feet and forced himself to run the last two miles to the gates of Gondor.
Two Gondorian soldiers, seeing a man dressed in garments of Harad, ran forward with their swords in hand.
"Who are you?" one asked roughly.
Marcus looked up; "I am Marcus, a soldier of Gondor," he answered weakly. "I was sent by lord Denethor to look for lord Faramir. I was side-tracked by orcs, taken to Harad. My friend Laddyn and I are the only survivors," he had somewhat found a way to explain this so quickly, that the soldiers could barely understand what he was saying.
Finally, the other soldier spoke up. "Where is your 'friend'?"
"He is two miles behind us. He has been poisoned and is gravely ill; please help him."
"Habakkuk!" the soldier called out.
In less than a minute and tall man, weighing about two hundred pounds ran up to them. He saluted the two soldiers in formal fashion, and eyed the stranger curiously.
"There is a wounded man two miles from here," said the soldier, pointing in the direction that Marcus came from. "Go to him."
Without further question, Habakkuk went to find Laddyn.
The soldier then turned his attention back to Marcus. "As for you; I will personally escort you to the houses of healing, where you will be taken care of."
"No!" Marcus protested weakly. "I must speak to the Steward at once."