Far away, in his cell beneath the fortress, Faramir forced himself out of the twilight realm where he had been wandering, and opened his eyes to darkness.

The pain had never left him, even in his half-conscious state, so it was not so much of a burden to bear when awareness fully returned to him. He shifted a little on the cold stone floor, bracing himself against the anguish, relieved to find that at least this time the Orcs had not bothered to bind him. Perhaps they had seen little use in it, as he could no longer stand, let alone attempt to escape.

For several long minutes he stared into the utter blackness, allowing his mind to fully right itself after so long adrift. How long had it been this time? he wondered. It had seemed like ages since they had returned him to his cell and not come back for him, far longer than before, although his ability to discern time had completely fled. But he somehow felt that they ought to have taken him back to the chamber before now...

The ever-present visions of the chamber flashed before his mind's eye, and he shivered, the recollection causing the pain to flare anew as if the wounds were still being inflicted. Every bone and muscle in his arms throbbed from the endless hours he had been bound to the wooden frame, his wrists torn from the ropes that cruelly held him there. Terrifying memories filled his mind, and it was only through the force of his will that he drove them back to the nether regions of his mind.

As before, his wounds had been crudely tended so as not to kill him. This was not a comfort, as he fully understood the reasoning behind it, just as he knew why they had not come back for him as quickly as before. The rest they were granting him now was not a boon, but merely a prelude to worse torment; they were only ensuring that he would not die from their efforts until he had given them the information they sought.

Faramir considered this as he lay still upon the floor, curled on his side to ease his raw back, determined to find solace in the respite even though he knew what lay at the end of it. There was much to think upon, and he was resolved to do so while his mind was clear. In recent days there had been periods, growing longer each time, when he could not seem to control his mind, and he would become consumed with dreadful imaginings formed from his torments. Thus he was determined to arrange his thoughts while he could, before the darkness fell upon him again.

Masrak's foul words concerning the fate of Henvain and Legolas came back to him, and he fixed upon them for a start. As a commander, he knew the prudence of examining every possible aspect of a situation, no matter how unpleasant, so as to determine the best solution. He had no belief that the Orcs had found and burned their bodies, yet he was still forced to consider the possibility that his comrades may be dead nonetheless, as much as the mere thought grieved him.

He had not been imprisoned as long as Masrak had claimed, he felt certain of that, and yet Faramir knew it had been a long time. Long enough to make him wonder if, perhaps, fate had been against them, and his friends had indeed perished upon the road to Gondor. Nightmares of their deaths had plagued his fitful slumber; he had seen them wandering, lost and bloodied, in the wide empty spaces of Mordor, their path fraught with increasing peril until it seemed impossible that they could have reached Minas Tirith alive. He had already begun to mourn them, asking their forgiveness even as he knew they would lay no blame on him. They had known their duty and sought to do it, even as he sought to do his.

It was the form that duty would take that was the question. In the earliest days of his captivity, he had faced a similar choice; but then he had been stronger, and there was more of a chance that his plight would soon be remedied. Now his strength hung by the merest thread, and there seemed more of a likelihood that none knew where he was, or even that he had been taken at all.

What, now, would be his course?

One matter had not changed. Never, he knew, would he betray his king and his people by even pretending to comply with Karil's demands. No matter how often they promised a swift and painless death in return, and how tempting such an offer seemed to be, the very idea was unthinkable.

Yet, as the Orcs and the Haradrim delighted in reminding him, such stubbornness would only lead to further, unspeakable torment for him. How was he to withstand the affliction without breaking, or entering into madness, now that hope for deliverance had all but vanished?

A memory struggled through the numb fog of his wearied mind, whispered from the many tales of lore he had recited to himself during his torment to preserve his mind and lift his heart. True, it murmured to him, release may not come from without.

But perhaps it could be found within.

Faramir's thoughts drifted back to the days of his youth, when he had often heard tales of Gondor's ancient ancestors, the Numenoreans. When their lives were near their natural end, it was said, the Numenoreans were blessed with the ability to appoint the time of their deaths, and slip from their mortal bodies of their own will. As the ages passed, as the stories went, the sons of Numenor lost this ability, except for those whose veins beat with the purest blood of their forebears.

In Faramir, the blood of Numenor ran nearly pure.

The prospect rose before him now, and he studied it, hope and fear entwining in his breast. He knew that weakness and exhaustion had driven his strength to the very edge of its endurance; he sensed himself drawing closer to death with each passing hour, at least as close as his ancient kin who had reached that state due to their great age. It would be but a small effort, he believed, to release what grasp he still held upon life, and embrace the Gift of Men at an hour of his own choosing, as they had done.

Almost he could see himself accepting the bequest of his ancestors, abandoning the ceaseless agony of his torn body simply by willing it so. His suffering had been too great for words, his weariness without end; surely there would be none who would deny that he had fulfilled all that Gondor could ask of him? If Henvain and Legolas were slain, it may be months before the fortress was discovered. He would certainly be dead by that time; Karil would not remain patient for much longer. Aragorn would know Faramir had done his duty to the fullest; his family would understand, particularly if they were able to learn what he had endured; and Eowyn...

Her face came again before him, beautiful, strong and gentle, and he felt tears sting the corners of his eyes. Eowyn would not want him to suffer needlessly, and with escape impossible, compliance unthinkable, and rescue ever more unlikely, the suffering would be needless, indeed. He would die either way; was it not more wise to do so quickly, at his own will and without pain, rather than allow himself to be torn apart by the merciless hands of his tormentors? Had he not earned this?

Even as he mused upon this course, however, Faramir knew that he could not take it. He yearned dearly for salvation, and he felt certain that it would be his if he simply yielded to the desire for it, so thoroughly exhausted was he in body and spirit. Yet it was that wearied spirit that strove against such an end for himself; it would win him a swift and easy rest, but the cost of such an act would render such rest a troubled one indeed.

The more Faramir mused upon his choice, the more clear it became, and he firmly cast aside the notion of slipping silently into death. Hopeless his plight might be, yet he would not accept defeat placidly, and shrug his life away without a struggle. Perhaps he would not be rescued, but Karil would find no satisfaction in seeing Faramir despair because of it. He was the Steward of Gondor, sworn to protect his beloved land to the last breath; and so he would, thwarting his enemy's plans with the only means left to him.

Gondor rose before him in his mind, its beauty and splendor washing over him as a refreshing rain, until his could almost smell the fragrance of its fields and feel the gentle breezes blowing over its boundless hills. Would he consent to die now, and lose any chance of returning there? There was still much he longed to accomplish for his people, much healing and rebuilding that needed to be done.

He thought of Adir, and the hope for peace that he still nurtured. Gondor would need him if all was to be set right between his land and Harad. At times during his suffering it had been very easy to believe that the ancient hatred between their lands could never be breached; certainly he had no kind thoughts for the Southron demons who afflicted him. Yet even as the wicked faces of the Haradrim interrogators loomed before him, Faramir fought to recall the nobility of Adir and his men. Not all Haradrim accepted the will of evil; this he had seen himself. As long as there was one man in Harad such as Adir, and one man in Gondor such as his King, Faramir knew there would be hope for peace, and he swore to himself that he would live to see it.

He saw Ithilien in his mind as well, blooming in springtime, his new-built home shining in the sunlight, surrounded by breathtaking gardens bathed in utter radiance. Eowyn was also there; upon seeing her face, his heart broke with longing, and he knew with even greater conviction that he would bear any cost to be with her once more. She would not want him to suffer; but even more, she would not want him to leave her before every chance of survival and reunion had been exhausted. For the love of her, and his people, he would continue to bear the agony and darkness, grasping life to the last possible moment. If he was fated to perish beneath the hands of his tormentors, he would do so as a soldier and Steward, with the names of Eowyn and Gondor upon his lips.

The bright vision stayed with him for a short time, then faded, and the icy air of the cell and the anguish of his wounds pierced his senses anew. He felt himself trembling; it seemed as if he had been drifting in the shadows for days, yet the rest had done nothing to diminish the pain and exhaustion wracking his body. The interrogators would come for him soon; Karil's army was surely close to readiness, and the Prince would be eager to begin his assault.

Yet with his decision came a newfound sense of calmness. It settled over him slowly, clearing the troubled thoughts from his mind, uplifting his anguished soul. Faramir welcomed the serenity without question; his mind was utterly clear now, his heart unafraid. Never had he seen his duty more plainly, and never had he more willingly accepted it.

Faramir bowed his head in the blackness, his lips moving now in an earnest prayer for strength. The words came from the depths of his heart, hopeful, sorrowful, and steeled with resolve. Long unmarked moments passed, and still he prayed, committing his spirit to the hands of Eru.

After a time he fell into a strange half-swoon; a drowsy, pleasant warmth flowed through him, the agony and cold lifting away until it was almost entirely gone. He did not know if it was a trick of his wearied mind, or if his nearness to death had sharpened his perception, but as he whispered his hushed supplications, he began to feel that he was no longer alone in the darkness. A multitude of unseen spirits seemed to fill the lightless air around him; he saw nothing before him, yet sensed their presence, their strength enfolding him in an undeniable embrace.

'A dream', he thought, closing his eyes as he slipped deeper into the soothing trance. There he felt more clearly those who were with him, though they remained unseen; his grandfather Ecthelion, his father and mother, friends and fellow soldiers, numerous others lost to him over the years and now found again. Perhaps they had always been there, and only now could he be aware of it, feel their gentle touches and profound, undying love.

He lay silent for a while, falling gradually into a sweet slumber without pain, the first he had enjoyed since his capture. As he faded away, he sensed one more spirit had come beside him, one he knew well and had dearly missed. Perhaps it was a dream that he felt this spirit take his hand, and tenderly stroke his hair. It might have been a mere fancy that caused him to feel a soft kiss touch his brow, and hear affectionate words murmured into his ear, the voice faint as if from a great distance, but one that Faramir knew without question.

'Sleep well, little brother!'

Faramir, however, preferred to believe otherwise.

-------------------

Eowyn sighed wearily to herself, and wondered if the night would ever end.

Around her bustled the rest of her fellow healers, working as quickly as they could to tend their duties during the short time the army would be halted. Overhead, the moonless sky was ablaze with stars; it was well past midnight, and the sky was already moving towards dawn. To the east loomed the black shapes of the Ephel Duath, its foothills rife with legions of sleepless Elvish soldiers clearing the way for the army to continue its march unnoticed. In a few hours, they would be on the march again, and not stop until they reached the enemy's fortress.

She swallowed the sorrow that was choking her, and returned her attention to her task at hand, arranging the handfuls of letters given to her by soldiers who wished to send word to their loved ones should this battle prove to be their last. She was seated on an empty barrel by one of the wagons, waiting for more letters to arrive, turning a pleasant face to all who approached her, and wiping her tears when they departed.

Her heart trembled to think of the morrow, much as she fought to still its fluttering. Earlier she had declared no desire to fight; now it filled her to the brim of her soul, and she was helpless to deny it. She was devoted to her healer's art, but longed for nothing more now than the feel of cold steel in her hand, to smite and vanquish her enemies as she had done before. There was a comforting oblivion to battle, a single-minded nature that drove all other thoughts away. When one was fighting to survive, the mind had room for no other troubles.

But no, she thought with a rueful smile as she tied the letters together with a string, she would find no solace in battle when dawn came. This was her calling now, and she understood why it would be folly for her to don armor once again. The longing to see Faramir again overwhelmed her senses, and she knew he would need her as well; what would they tell him, if he survived his ordeal only to learn she had fallen in battle? How then would her spirit find peace?

'Ah, my husband!' she thought, lifting her tear-filled eyes to gaze at the stars above her. The sight of them brought her no joy; she thought only of the stars they had watched the last night they were together, the love they had shared, his gentle arms holding her, his soft lips upon her skin. He was not dead; this she knew, for if he had died, she would feel a part of herself die as well, no matter how far apart they were. But was it truly a comfort to know this, when the alternative was for him to be alive, and enduring unbearable suffering? What would they find when they reached the fortress at dawn?

"Eowyn?"

She blinked, and looked up to see Eomer coming toward her, without his armor and clad in his camp-clothes. He was eying her with concern, but when he drew closer, she could plainly see that he was as wearied as she was.

She rose quickly and embraced him, and for a few moments they stood, held strongly in each other's arms.

"I feared I would not see you before the battle," she admitted quietly, nestling her head into his shoulder.

He chuckled softly, stroking her golden hair. "I shall tell Aragorn to have the healer's wagons placed closer to our camps next time," he offered.

Eowyn smiled and looked fondly up at her brother. In reply, he gently touched her face, and frowned a bit.

"You've been weeping," he noted in a worried tone, then shook his head at himself and pulled her close once more. "Well, but that was a foolish thing to say. You have cause enough, my sister; your brother's heart weeps with you."

"That, I have never doubted," she said, relenting to the embrace for a few more moments before stepping back and looking up at him. "I am as blessed to have you for a brother as Rohan is to have you for her King."

He took her hands and smiled. "'Brother' is the title I far prefer," he confessed as he studied her. "As a King, I fear I can offer you little comfort, but as a brother, it is fully within my power."

She gave him a halfhearted smile, and dropped her eyes.

He peered at her, uncertain, and gripped her hands so that she looked up at him again.

"We will find him, Eowyn. He is alive," Eomer insisted.

She regarded him solemnly, then nodded, whispering, "I know."

"We shall bring you to him the moment it is safe," he promised.

Eowyn sighed. "It will still seem so long," she said.

He smiled. "We will make short work of the Orcs and their Haradrim allies, I swear to you," he declared. "At dawn we attack; by noon they will all be in Morgoth's realm, and you will be with Faramir once more."

There was a pause as he glanced down at the horn that hung by his side. His fingers touched it, then he lifted his gaze to her, a resolute glint in his eyes.

"You know the voice of my horn," he said. "When Faramir is found, I shall sound it for you. If you hear three notes, you will know he lives." He hesitated before adding, "I will sound two if it be otherwise, but that will /not/ happen! Then you will have only to wait a short time, and I will come to bring you both together."

She smiled at the thought, her unfallen tears glittering in the starlight.

"It will be my gift to you both," Eomer went on, leaning close to her, "for nothing will heal Faramir more swiftly, than to know you will soon be with him."

She nodded, pursing her lips and lowering her gaze as one tear dropped from her eye. There was a pause, then she heard him take one step forward and felt a brotherly kiss touch her brow.

The sound of slow footsteps caused them both to look up. Henvain was walking carefully towards them, clad in his light leather armor, leaning most of his weight upon the cane he swung in one hand.

"Oh! Er, beg pardon, your Majesty, milady," he coughed, an embarassed look crossing his plain features. "Didn't mean to interrupt...um..." He let the words trail off, then abandoned that sentence and straightened as if assuming an official capacity. "King Eomer, King Elessar's wantin' all the leaders in his tent for a briefing before we move on again. They asked me to tell you."

Eomer sighed, gave the soldier a nod of acknowledgement, and turned back to Eowyn.

She lifted her face and examined him. "It feels impossible that soon it will all be over," she observed in a somber tone. "The past few days have seemed an unending lifetime."

Her brother gently caressed her hair. "There will be a good ending, we will make certain of it," he promised.

For a few moments Eomer gazed at her, thinking, then shook his head.

"I would leave you with profound words, my sister, but I fear my tongue is not as nimble as that of Faramir or Aragorn," he said, his quiet voice beginning to tremble. "I can only tell you farewell, and should I not return, recall always in your heart how much your brother loved you."

She smiled, and they embraced again, tears shining in her eyes once more. "You need say nothing else," she whispered, kissing him fondly on the cheek. "Tomorrow you shall make proud the house of Eorl. Farewell!"

They stood together for a few more moments, unspeaking, before duty called Eomer away. Once he departed, Eowyn stood alone, her arms crossed as if to ward off a bitter cold, looking down the now-empty path he had trod, a painful mixture of anticipation and dread for the coming day filling her heart.

After a short time, Henvain limped back to her side, studying her with a anxious expression.

"Is there anything I can do for you, milady?" he asked in a plain, worried voice.

She rallied herself from her somber reverie and looked at him, shaking her head. "No, Lieutenant, I thank you," she said quickly, gracefully wiping her damp eyes. "Naught but the contest of arms may answer my cares now; they have moved beyond our helping."

Henvain pondered this. "Suppose that's true enough," he mused, before giving her an encouraging look. "But I'll tell you, milady, don't worry about Lord Faramir. If anybody has the courage to spit in the eyes of them Orcs, and that Karil, it's him. He'll be all right."

"So Eomer has promised, along with many others," sighed Eowyn as she walked back to where she had been sitting, the pile of letters awaiting her. "And I know it to be true, but my heart is too heavy to truly believe it, until I behold him with my own eyes."

She stood silent for a moment, then turned to him, squaring her shoulders. "But I shall not think so much of myself, when our duty now bids us to look to the cares of others above our own," she asserted. "We shall march again soon; is all in readiness?"

Henvain bobbed his head in affirmation. "Yes, milady, I checked, and all the water-skins are filled, the horses fed and properly rested, and here-" He reached into a pocket inside his cloak and withdrew a small stack of letters, "-are a few more letters from the boys."

She accepted them with as much of a smile as she could summon.

"Oh," added Henvain with a cough, reaching into another pocket and giving her two more, slightly crumpled missives,"and, um, here's a few from me. I know we're not expected to be attacked, but just in case."

"They shall be well cared for, fear not," she promised, her smile widening a bit.

He seemed slightly nervous yet. "Now, I'd like those back if I live, is that all right?" he asked. "I mean...nobody will read them."

"If you wish it," replied Eowyn, sitting down and adding the letters to the pile.

"Good," Henvain nodded, "because if my brother Turwaith ever reads what I wrote him while I'm still around, he'll never stop teasin' me about it, and, well, he's hard enough to put up with as it is."

"He is in the army, is he not?" asked Eowyn, looking up at him. "Is he not here?"

Henvain shook his head firmly. "No, he's up north, too far off to get called back in time," he answered, shifting his cloak around his shoulders and glancing off into the distance. "Haven't seen him for months, really. Odd, when he left I wasn't all that sorry, but now after all that's happened, I feel like it'd be nice to see him again. And I keep thinkin', what if somethin' happens and I don't?"

His lip twitched and he leaned against the wagon, fiddling with the head of his cane. "Didn't think I'd ever really miss him, but I do, and I'm not too sure what to do about it."

Eowyn gazed at him with sympathy, then reached up and laid one hand gently on his arm. He looked up at her, surprised.

"You shall do as we all must do, Henvain, all that we have left to us," she said softly. "You shall do your duty."

He gazed at her for a short, silent time, then nodded.

"Yes, milady," he said quietly.

She grasped his arm briefly, to encourage him, then released it. For the rest of the time, they remained together without speaking, Eowyn lost in her thoughts as she sorted the letters, and Henvain watching as the stars turned silently overhead, relentlessly drawing them all closer to the momentous dawn.

------------------------

On the other side of the mountains, Karil also watched the skies, but his manner was far less patient.

His was a spectacular view from atop the fortress' highest tower. From there he could see the glittering heavens expanding from horizon to horizon above the plains of Mordor. It was a sight of breathtaking beauty, but he had no care for it; his interest was wholly taken up by the scene in the valley below him.

Torches and fires blazed across the valley floor, the barren land crawling with thousands of Orcs as they labored to make ready the Prince's army. The siege towers loomed over all, their massive wooden frames appearing as the skeletons of fearsome beasts against the night sky. The land rang with the falling of hammers and the clanging of steel as armor and weapons were forged and finished. Piles of swords and helmets gleamed in the firelight, waiting to be donned by the Orcs. A pall of dread hung over the scene, as if the very air knew that evil was preparing to make its savage assault.

Karil then turned to the two Haradrim interrogators who had been standing silently beside him, waiting. One bore a scroll of parchment.

Nearby, half-cloaked in the shadows, Masrak stood watching in silence.

"And you are certain he will break tomorrow?" the Prince asked in a sharp tone.

"There is no doubt of it, sire," said the elder Haradrim with a slight bow. "I have seen him myself, today; he has recovered some of his strength, but it is still near its end. He will not endure long, once we have begun our work."

"Pray that it is so!" barked Karil, fixing them both with his piercing wolf's glare. "Had you succeeded in your tasks as I expected, we might have begun our march upon Gondor two days ago."

"I am certain the wait will prove beneficial, my prince," the older man offered. "He has yet enough strength within him to tell us what he knows; two days ago, this would not have been the case."

Karil grunted and scowled at them, shaking his head.

"I have far too merciful with that Westron dog," he proclaimed with self-disgust, clasping his hands behind his back and pacing back and forth across the tower floor. "He should have been suffering the torments of Sauron from the first day. There is some of my father's weak nature in me, I fear, but that shall end this night!"

At length, he halted, and looked keenly at the interrogators. "You shall commence at once, and do not cease until he has given me all the information that I require."

The two men glanced at each other, then bowed together before the Prince.

"It shall be done as you command, sire," said the elder Haradrim. "We need only some time to prepare. Irons must be heated, blades sharpened, and the leathers and nettles of our whips oiled and honed. By dawn, we will able to begin."

The younger interrogator hesitated before adding, "It is probable, sire, that our methods will not be long in taking his life."

Karil gave him a furious look.

"That matter no longer concerns me," he snapped, his burning gaze fixing them both in their places. "Let him die, and be damned, so long as his will is broken, and the secrets of his City are mine."

The interrogators swiftly bowed, even lower than before.

"Fear not, my Prince," said the senior of the pair, "he shall be pleading for death before the sun's first hour has passed."

"It should be so," replied the Prince in a chilling voice, "else you find yourselves in his place. I am sure the Orcs would have great curiosity to try the methods you have suggested."

The ingratiating smiles of the two men slipped slightly.

Karil waved a hand behind him, and Masrak stepped forward from the shadows. "Masrak will see to your needs. Come to me when he has broken, and you will find the reward for your success as great as your punishment should you fail."

At this, the smiles returned, and the two men bowed and followed Masrak down the steps from the tower to the depths of the dungeon below.

Behind them, Karil resumed his stance, gazing with great joy at the sea of fire and death before him. In his mind, he saw his army sweeping through the green fields of Gondor and across the plains of Rohan, killing and burning all that stood in their path.

He saw Minas Tirith ablaze, its people falling dead before the flaming missiles of his siege towers and the poisoned arrows of his Orcs.

He saw the bloodied body of Gondor's Steward hoisted before his troops as the war's first spoils, reminding them of what they had conquered, and what the fate of the West would be if they only followed him.

He saw hundreds, thousands, of his fellow Haradrim, casting off the chains of reluctance at last to follow him, redeeming his land from its current shame of defeat and slavery.

Most wonderful of all, he saw the name of Sauron glorified once more, his master's death forever avenged, and his standard raised on high over all of Middle-earth as it should have been before the foul betrayal. Karil would be his voice and hands, and through him, the spirit of the Dark Lord would cover all the lands, as had been ordained from the beginning of the ages.

Karil saw all of this as he beheld the teeming scene below him. As the joyous visions filled his mind, he turned his eyes to the stars at last, eagerly watching to see them extinguished, so that the day, and his victory, would ascend all the faster.