Faramir had been very fortunate that Ioreth had not caught him out of bed the morning when the host departed for Mordor. Likely even she was watching them go, slightly derelict in her duties. After his chat with Merry, Faramir headed back to his chamber. He had no idea he had weakened so much and it was extremely aggravating to him. Even if he couldn't be there beside his father, as he wished more than anything else, he would have done something to help. The City was an unqualified disaster. From what he could see from the Houses, it looked like the Gate had been completely destroyed and much of the first level was going to have to be rebuilt. Ah, but there he was thinking so far ahead again. Some good it would do to start rebuilding the Old Guesthouse if Sauron ended up getting his Ring back and came to destroy the entire mountain, not just the city at it's base.

Faramir sighed deeply. It had been so nice to forget about such possibilities for a while as he talked with Merry. Faramir was seeing now more clearly than ever just why Gandalf insisted that the Dúnedain Rangers fight so hard to protect the Shire. There it seemed was some of the last real hope and kindliness in a weary and worn Arda. If only he had the strength to drag himself about, he would sit and talk with Boromir for a while, he must surely be miserably lonely, all alone in the "King's House" up there. Or the library… gods, he would not mind this laying about so much if he could only get his hands on a book! That decided it for him; he would ask whoever came in next if it would be possible for him to get a few books.

It just so happened that it was Mithrellas who Faramir next saw. She had managed to bring him a richer soup than simple broth and fresh bread and fruit as well. It was as much of a feast as Faramir had taken in some while. Mithrellas smiled as Faramir nearly pleaded with her for books. Oh, but how proud Fin' would be to hear that! She promised to have Bergil fetch him a few from the library as soon as was possible and asked if there were any particular subjects he was interested in. Faramir's immediate reply was Númenor, star lore, and whatever ancient tales the lad could find and carry.

Mithrellas looked so weary and Faramir asked her to stay a while and share of his meal. It was the least he could do, so he insisted. She looked ready to decline, but guessed that she could rest for a few minutes, and she had not taken any meal since morning, so she accepted. As she went to move a chair closer to the bedside, she saw a package sitting on it wrapped in a rich blue silk and bearing Imrahil's personal standard.

"Faramir?" she asked, holding the parcel. He had not noted anything there earlier, but the morning sun did not shine into that room so it was not a surprise. "This is your uncle's standard; he must have left it for you before leaving," she said handing it to Faramir.

Untying the knot revealed another fine cloth of the same rich blue. Unfolding it carefully, Faramir found that it was a cloak, silver stars embroidered about the hem. "The Prince cannot have meant to leave this for me," Faramir said, feeling the plush texture and gently running his fingers over the embroidery, "surely he was meaning to leave this with Boromir."

Mithrellas was too emotional to say anything for a few moments. She just smiled tearfully, for she would have known that cloak anywhere. "That was Fin's," she said at last, though she spoke so softly Faramir scarcely heard her.

"Then it must be for Boromir. Please, take it to him if you are going to the Citadel, I think he shall appreciate it," Faramir said.

Mithrellas reached to the floor where a piece of parchment had fallen when Faramir unfolded the cloak. The note explained that Eldor had kept the cloak for years after Finduilas's death, but asked Imrahil to keep it when they came to Minas Tirith. In turn, Imrahil wished for Faramir to have it now, since he had naught of his mother but her blood. Faramir's eyes misted over as he held the cloak close to him.

"Lily of the Valley," Faramir said quietly, recognizing the scent that seemed to be infused in the cloth.

"Aye, Fin' wore it often. The healers here often argued her, telling her that it was a poison, but she adored the scent and knew well enough to know that merely wearing the oil would cause her no harm. She often argued back to them, cordially, of course, that unripe potatoes were just as poisonous if not boiled," Mithrellas said with a smile. Finduilas was always one to use her knowledge wisely, but politely.

"This means so much to me, I only hope I shall be able to tell my uncle so," Faramir said. "She must have been so beautiful and intelligent."

"She was, Faramir," Mithrellas said. "There was a beautiful portrait of her in the King's House years ago. If it is still there I shall show you when you are well enough to visit Boromir."

Faramir asked of his brother. He imagined that if he felt weak, Boromir was likely languishing by then. Mithrellas simply told him that Boromir was well, though he was doing a lot of sleeping. It was to be expected and did not concern Faramir too much. As long as he was getting nutrition he would be alright. After all, he had been quite some time, on a couple of occasions without any real sustenance at all. He had hoped that he could go up to the Citadel before long, but he was realizing that he was going to have to alternate rest and training himself back to form. He would likely rest and read the next day, but he was not about to let his muscles atrophy either, Ioreth and her rules be damned!

And so Faramir did his best to take his rest for the remainder of the day and on into the next. Merry visited him and they talked for some while, taking their afternoon repast together. Faramir had decided he would make use of the overstuffed chairs in the room rather than sitting in bed like an invalid and, though it earned him a stern look from Ioreth when she passed the room, he noted that it at least made him feel a lot better about himself. For one thing, he definitely felt more like himself dressed in proper clothing again. He had made up his mind that the next day he would walk in the garden again, perhaps not for a long while, but enough to gradually help him regain strength. He promised himself, and Ioreth, that he would not rush things and that he would take a book and likely sit and read more than walk, but he could not stand to be locked up inside any longer.

Still, even as he was eased to be in the garden, the sun that now shone almost against all hope was almost unkind. Though Faramir was greatly more optimistic than just about everyone in Minas Tirith was at that point, he still could not help but harbor fears about so many who he loved dearly. As he looked north and to the east at the blackness that had not relented over Mordor, he thought of his father, two days out, riding at the helm, putting himself on the front line as ever he did. And yet, he was so proud of him and believed wholeheartedly that if any living man could come away from this "duel" it would be his ada. It was what he tried to impress to his father about being Isildur's heir since their reunion in Rivendell… Isildur survived Sauron.

Faramir sighed deeply and went to sit under a tree; he was beginning to breathe harder and knew it was time to force himself to stop worrying and to rest a while. After a couple of hours, Faramir had already exhausted half the book he brought with him, so he decided it was only fair for him to let the book have a rest from his enthusiastic reading. He stood and stretched a bit, though his muscles protested from the laziness they had been getting used to. He walked over to the eastward wall, warming up in the afternoon sun. Gone was the dark shadow from over the City, and from over him as well.

Yet, looking east he could not help the worry that rose in his heart. He had not permitted himself to really think on it yet, but the question came to his mind anyway: what would he do if he was orphaned by the battled at the Black Gate? He would not fool himself into thinking that he would be brave about it and rise to take the Crown that should have been his father's; it was a lot more likely that he would end up fleeing back to Rivendell and seeking his grandfather's comfort.

It annoyed Faramir that many were referring to him as Steward of Gondor (he never even had the chance to defend himself!), but Gandalf had counseled him to accept it for the time being and had said that, with one of those smiles that was meant to look hopeful, when Aragorn returned to take up the Crown the whole Steward situation would be sorted out properly. Faramir was aware that not many of Minas Tirith's citizens knew that Boromir was alive and in his own bed. There was really only a handful in on it; when he had been brought into the City, to the Houses, he was dressed in Ranger's attire that Faramir had clothed him in at Henneth Annûn, with his hood up, there was no immediately recognizing him. When Mithrellas recognized him, she was determined to keep quite about it, for she feared it would only raise false hopes in the people if he did not survive. There was also the healer who recognized him, but he could not afford him his own private chamber and feared the Steward's retribution should he hear of his son being treated as a commoner. Where Faramir spoke of his "brother", very few knew that he spoke of Boromir, and so it remained largely a secret.

Faramir was pulled from his burgeoning, burdensome thoughts by the Warden of the Houses calling to him. Turning, slightly afraid that the man was coming to scold him for being so long out of bed, Faramir saw with him the saddest, and fairest, lady he had seen. He saw very plainly how terribly hurt this woman was, it was clear in her cornflower eyes. He recognized her as the woman who had brought him food when he was "detained" in Edoras, the one who that parasitic worm of a man had cornered in the stable, the one who had slapped him for trying to help her and who had, as a child, punched his arm for calling her a lady in front of her older brother. "I know you," Faramir said under his breath, he was so moved by the sight of this woman that his breath was literally stolen away from him.

ooo

Did anyone catch the Shakespearean reference in a scene last chapter? Hint: It's about a King!

Grumpy: We shall certainly hope that Bor' starts to ease up on himself soon. That is a good point though, when the Ring is destroyed, perhaps his mood will lift. Time shall tell :)

estelle: Ah, here i am, then, back to worrying my readers for the fates of our beloved characters lives. At this point just about anything is possible. Even Faramir seems to be catching the doubting syndrome, though he is doing a lot better than everyone else. Just to drag a little canon back into this (i've gone so AU by now!) i had to wait a couple of days for Eowyn and Faramir to meet properly, but naturally it is there. Your reviews are always appreciated, whenever they come.

steelelf: I think Faramir could charm Ioreth out of her girdle if he wanted to! However, he knows he needs to work up to taking a trip all the way up to the Citadel. Soon though.

Elenhin: That just makes me smile, that you are enjoying so much that you will stop for a read, even just a quick one. My thanks. And anyway, suppose you said you made the computer yourself? Would that count as a Scouts project? I've known a number of people who made their computers, my grandpa used to love making computers.

linda: I am sure that leading that mission was one of the most difficult things Aragorn ever faced. He knew that a lot of men would volunteer without thinking itover and only realize what they had gotten into about halfway through. Faramir's not having a great time when he thinks on that mission either, he is hopeful, but realistic also. Hope your alerts "get well soon!" I know on some daysi check my messages every hour waiting for alerts!