"Just how do you propose to stay astride in the shape you are in?" Legolas asked, pulling the pipe out of Aragorn's grip. His hand was so unsteady that smoldering ash had started to shake out of the bowl. The sun was starting to rise, riders were assembling, the Knights of Dol Amroth were preparing to make their way down the circles of the city, and Aragorn was smoking like a fiend in a nervous fit.

"You aren't leaving your son with the knowledge that, for one, this ruse might not work, and two, even if it does the chances of me coming back here are nearly none at all." Even his voice was shaking.

"A thousand times have I seen you stare death in the face and smile. What is different this time?" Legolas asked.

"A week, Leg'," said Elrohir, coming up to join the party with his twin. "Valar! What would our ada say about that!" Elrohir put on a shocked expression, pointing at the smoking pipe Legolas was still holding and getting an exasperated glare for it.

"There is nothing the matter with my legs, neither one is remotely weak," Aragorn protested in a grumble.

"A week, Estel, that is how long it will take us to get to the Morannon," Elladan clarified. "You have too much time to think on this. It is always easier to face these things when you do not expect them."

"A week? Gods! That is impossible! It can not take -" Aragorn had not been in the mood to having anyone suggesting such a thing. He could not possibly bear this waiting for another week.

"It can and will with entire armies to lead, or have you forgotten that you move faster alone?" Gandalf said, suddenly appearing as he tended to do.

"Well that means that Frodo and Sam will surely move a great deal faster as well," Aragorn said, now thoroughly frustrated. "Why did you not say before -"

"Sedho, Estel!" Legolas said. "They do not move as fast as we do, shorter legs." That drew a snarl from Gimli and a roll of the eyes from Legolas.

"Do you really have such little faith in me, Aragorn?" Gandalf questioned. "Would I have put together this whole operation only to have the timing, the entire point of the thing, askew? If you do think that, I see no reason why I should continue to accompany you."

Gandalf's closing remark was not lost on Aragorn who remembered those same words from a point on the road between Edoras and Rivendell some 37 years ago. "You can not promise to keep us both safe this time, Gandalf," he said quietly, referring to him and Faramir.

Gandalf merely gave a small, unhappy shake of his head, indicating that he would not contradict Aragorn, as the Mortal had so wished he would do.

Taking a moment to glance back up to the sixth level of Minas Tirith. "I am just scared. May I be permitted a bit of that?"

"It's the only one thing that there is enough of to go around," Gimli said in a voice surprisingly sympathetic.

Aragorn took a deep breath, nodded, and said simply, "let us go."

A week to the Morannon. A week to have sleepless nights even if he did his best to make everyone else believe that he was quite well enough rested. A week to come to terms with what surely would be his death. 'Well,' Aragorn thought, 'at least Boromir lives and Gondor will have her Steward, if Faramir finds that he can not bear that which I never wanted to him to bear.' There were so many things he had wanted to say to his son, and he thought about those things each night in great detail.

As if that wasn't enough, Aragorn had started to notice that those around him, the soldiers who had initially rallied and jumped at the chance to join their would-be King in the final fight with the Dark Lord, were beginning to realize how hopeless this was. There were a couple of nights he had walked the camps silently, wrapped in his Lórien cloak, trying to find solace in solitude. More often than not he overheard conversations between men and always did they echo his own fears. Men had wives, sons, and daughters sheltered in the City who they feared they would never again see. Some were angry at him for bringing them out on such a suicide mission and told him so to his face, or rather his hood, though they had thought him one of their own rank at the time and had no idea they were really telling him to his face. Sometimes he would walk noiselessly passed a lone man, a soldier, weeping uncontrollably, whether he was alone because he removed himself from company, or company removed themselves from him, was unclear. Aragorn understood them all though, and it gnawed at him that these men were following him. If Sauron was really so petrified of Isildur's heir, why couldn't he just walk up to the Black Gate and turn himself in without risking anyone else?

---

Faramir stood by the balustrade in the healing garden. This place was the closest thing to home that he had found in this great stone city. He wasn't really sure if he was "permitted" to have gone so far from his bed yet (an entire 40 paces as he counted them) but he wanted to watch as his father rode at the fore of a long march into a terrible place. Of course, it hadn't been too bad at first, it felt quite good to finally leave that bed. But as he stood clutching the column and looking out over the Pelennor, he began to actually tremble. It wasn't possible, he thought, to be so exhausted by merely standing in a garden! He figured it was more to do with the emotion of his father departing and tried to stay and watch until the entire company was beyond his sight, but that feat was beyond him at the moment. Instead he sat down on a bench and tried to catch his breath. He had a feeling the road to recovery was going to be a bit longer than he anticipated.

As Faramir sat there in the garden, his weakness having caught up to him, such a sadness fell over him. He had never felt so alone before. His father, his uncles (all three of them), and Gandalf had left. His brother was not able to walk down from the Citadel, and clearly he was unable to go visit him yet. His grandfather remained in the North. Many of his men had not survived, those who had were likely either following Aragorn or unable to leave their beds either.

"Hullo!" said a surprisingly cheery voice.

Faramir glanced around him but did not immediately see anyone, until the little Hobbit walked into view. "Greetings," he said. "Merry?"

Merry nodded. "You are Strider's son, Faramir, right?"

"I am," Faramir said, sadness and pride in equal measures in his voice.

"I thought so, Pippin figured that you were Boromir's brother, but I could that you were Strider's son. I guess all big folk are alike to our Pip. So, what's kept you here, then?" Merry asked with all of his usual attention.

Faramir started to shrug, but there was a pain at his shoulder that reminded him of the wound he had taken there. It was a good enough reason to give, he figured, as it would likely be too difficult to explain that he had fallen under the "Black Breath" and would have perished if his father hadn't revived him when he did. "What about you?" Faramir asked in return. He was just happy to have someone to converse with at that point.

"Oh, I don't rightly understand it. I think it was something like what happened to Frodo, only not as bad, after all, I stabbed him this time, not the other way round. That one was for cousin Frodo! Anyway, I don't really know whatever happened to me, but I had terrible dreams for what seemed a long time, until Strider woke me up. He's as much as a riddle as old Gandalf when he wants to be. Pip thinks they're related."

Faramir started to laugh and could not help himself, it was perfect irony that he should want to find a way to skirt the issue of the curse of the Nazgûl, only for Merry to talk about it without compunction. Besides, he had often wondered if Elrond and Gandalf weren't related, and now he thought about it, his father could behave rather like the old Wizard at times as well.

Merry seemed delighted that he was able to cheer the sad-looking Faramir. "This garden reminds me of Rivendell. I have to say I was rather jealous of old Bilbo, getting to spend all that time there with Lord Elrond and all the maps he had in his library. I should love a chance to explore that a bit more!"

Faramir agreed and they began to talk of Rivendell and how they both hoped to return there before long. While they talked there was no fear of the future, just what they hoped would be, there was not even a consideration that things could go wrong, or that loved ones would not be returning to them. In that time, there was just confidence that in time all would be well again.

ooo

linda: I agree, usually when Boromir makes it passed Amon Hen there is practically no mention whatsoever of what happened there. Me, i'm always the one to route out all those festering feelings :) It is good that Fara' has met Imrahil and Mithrellas, it must be so strange for him, only just now learning of the maternal side of his family.

Elenhin: I do try to be nice to Faramir sometimes, becausei know he's been through too much already, poor lad. Boromir is absolutely miserable, true, and more about him next chapter. Did i tell you i saw GoldenEye this week? Just one of the things i decided to do while i was doing nothing all week. I'm going to miss this week off come Monday! But, once again, you have done the magic of seeing something deep in the past of one of the "bad guys" that shows something more to them. You are right, as usual! It's not a bad idea, seeing if Faramir can spend some time with Boromir, if anything would cheer the poor man it would be that. I shall have to see if i can't negotiate with Ioreth about that.