Eowyn had rarely been as occupied as she was in the weeks following their return to Minas Tirith.

Every waking moment, it seemed, she was with Faramir, a duty she accepted with perfect willingness. It was hard for her to think, now, that at one time she had felt awkward and unfamiliar with the healing arts. She blessed whatever impulse had driven her to learn her newfound skills, for it enabled her to ease Faramir's discomfort in ways impossible to her before. She had been unable to strike any blows against the enemy upon the battlefield, but she discovered that this method of battling their evil was just as satisfying.

For three weeks she was at Faramir's side in the Houses, doing all she could to assist. It was not that she did not trust the healers there, or Aragorn who often oversaw the Steward's treatment; she merely knew she could not bear it if it were not her hand wiping his brow, her gentle touch helping him through the worst of his pains. From Ioreth and the others she took as much instruction as she could, so that when the day finally came for him to be moved to his own apartments, she felt prepared to look after him in the proper manner.

There were some injuries from his ordeal, however, that she had not foreseen, and could not soothe away with any healing art known to her.

Eowyn had first noticed a peculiarity to Faramir's sleep during their times in the fortress. More than once she had felt him stir sharply as they lay together in the night, and heard him moaning or gasping as if he were in great pain. But he was always awake when she looked to him, and would say nothing other than it was only a foul dream.

She needed no more explanation at the time, for she had often been visited by such dreams after the War and knew of their terrors. He had insisted he was well, and indeed seemed so; in later days she would realize that he had simply been very skilled at hiding the true depth of his affliction.

On the third night after Faramir had been released to his own home, Eowyn had been torn from her wearied rest by a scream. Coming completely awake, she quickly turned to Faramir, alarm overwhelming her. She had never heard him scream before.

He was on his side, facing away from her, his arms crossed before his face. As she threw the covers aside he cried out again, and she could see he was trembling violently.

In an instant she leapt to the floor and raced to the other side of the bed; she dared not turn him on his back, for the flesh there was still mending. As she knelt before him, a third scream pierced the air, weaker than the first two and mingled with racking sobs.

"Faramir!" she cried, placing her hands on his arms and stroking his hair, hoping her touch would wake him. After a moment she drew her arms around him, mindful of his still-healing injuries as she pulled him close, repeating his name.

He choked, and covered his face with his hands, but gave no other sign of awareness. Then, slowly, the sobs subsided. She heard him gasp and swallow, before lifting his face and looking at her with wide-open blue eyes, his face covered with tears.

She peered at him closely, unsettled by the half-veiled look in his gaze. For a moment, he only stared, still trembling, before touching her cheek with one fingertip.

"Eowyn?" he whispered in a broken voice, as if shocked to see her there.

She nodded, feeling the coolness of his tear-dampened touch upon her face. "Yes," she replied softly. "I am here; it was another foul dream, my love."

No sooner had the last word left her lips than he seized her in an embrace, so fierce in its nature that it frightened her. The weeping began anew as he bruised his face in her shoulder, and Eowyn knew it was best to simply hold him, stroking his hair until it passed, her own heart full of sorrow for him.

When the time seemed right, she asked quietly, "Will you tell me?"

She heard him draw a sharp breath. "I cannot speak of it," he said, after many moments of silence. He drew away, and she could see he was fully awake now, though spent. "Do not ask me, my heart. It is over, I shall be well. It was only...quite...fearful."

He settled himself back on his side, seemingly relaxing, although Eowyn noticed he still held her hand very tightly and never took his eyes from her.

She bent over him, frowning. "Are you in pain?" she inquired, although there seemed to be no blood on his bandages. "Aragorn asked to be summoned if you were in distress."

But her husband shook his head as he lay it back on his pillow. "Aragorn has enough to deal with, after being away from the City for so long," he said, wiping his eyes upon the loose sleeve of his linen nightshirt. His arm still shook slightly. "Pray believe me, my wife, it is nothing, truly. Take your rest, you are in as great a need of it as I."

She sighed, frustrated, knowing that the matter was not so trivial. "Faramir-"

He gave her a level look, his expression set in a way that told her he had no desire for further discussion. "Please," he murmured.

Eowyn peered at him, then gave him a kiss and rose, walking around to climb back into the bed. To press him against his will would only upset and tire him further, she decided. Better to let him rest; perhaps it was only a passing nightmare, one that would not be repeated.

She would always have at least some small amount of regret for not insisting more that night.

A week later she awoke to another scream, and a crash, and found her husband on the floor beside the bed, writhing as if in the greatest of agonies.

She was at his side before even realizing she had moved, her long undone hair hanging in her face as she tried to calm him. His eyes were wide open and staring, but she knew he did not see the tranquil confines of their moonlit bed-chamber. He was crying out a stream of words, rambling and swallowed in sobs, his voice hoarse, his face drawn in an expression of unspeakable horror.

Terrified, Eowyn bent over her husband, talking to him in a soothing voice, stroking his face and hair and calling his name. After a moment she realized he was shouting her name, over and over, but it was to the demons of his dream, not to her.

As she strove to calm him, Faramir began to struggle, and in the course of his movements struck Eowyn a glancing blow across her right cheek.

She tumbled backwards with a gasp, one hand reaching up to her face. It throbbed, but there was no blood, and she quickly turned her full attention back to her husband. He appeared to be weakening, and was now sobbing into his hands as before, the sound far more agonizing than the previous occurrence.

She knelt beside him and slowly enfolded him into her arms, lifting him from the floor. There was no blood, but she felt certain he had been bruised from the fall. He offered no resistance now as she pulled him close, but he had rested only a moment before raising his head and opening his eyes with a shudder.

"Oh," she heard him gasp as he looked around him, one last tear dripping from his cheek. "Oh-"

She gently caressed his face, hoping he would look at her. "Fear not, my lord, you are safe," she murmured.

Faramir blinked and turned to her, his paleness evident even in the darkness. He gazed at her steadily, as if convincing himself that she was real, the full light of awareness coming gradually to his gaze.

He licked his lips. "I..." He paused as a new expression of amazement fell over his face. "Your cheek."

"Oh-" She had forgotten it, though it was very sore. "Do not mind it. Are you-"

"Was it my hand that struck you?" It was little more than a horrified whisper. His eyes were wide with self-loathing.

She shook her head, once, as if to drive the question away. "You did not know-it is not important-"

He grew even more pale, and lifting up his hands lightly caressed her golden tousled head before drawing her to him in a trembling embrace.

"Forgive me, " she heard him say, the mournful sound half-lost from where he had bruised his face in her shoulder, "Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me..."

She held him close. "You are forgiven, my love," she said softly, praying he would accept the reassurance. "I blame instead the evil that has done this to you. Are you injured? Shall I summon Aragorn?"

He did not quickly answer. He held her in silence for a few moments, then gently cradled her head one last time before drawing away. As he pulled himself upright, she saw the tears yet shining upon his face, his expression one of grim determination.

"I...I believe I am not freshly injured," he said with a sigh, taking her hands in his and gazing solemnly into her face. "And yes, I pray you, summon Aragorn."

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The pink traces of dawn had barely begun to brush the eastern sky when Aragorn entered the Steward's quarters a short time later. The early hour mattered little to him, and he stood on no ceremony, being satisfied with a swift, concerned greeting to Eowyn before being led at once to Faramir's bedside.

Eowyn had helped him back into the bed with a small amount of difficulty. He lay now with his newly-healed back supported by many soft pillows, pale and weary but unwilling to close his eyes again until he spoke to the King. As Aragorn sat himself down next to the bed, Eowyn climbed beside her husband and took his hand, resolved to steady him as best she could.

Faramir gave his Lord a wan smile as the King entered. "You oblige me by foregoing your rest on my behalf, my Liege," he said.

The other man shook his head as he settled himself in the seat. "I wish only that I could have come more swiftly," he replied, laying a warm hand on the Steward's arm as he bent close. "It has been said your sleep has been troubled."

A haunted look passed over Faramir's face. "Troubled is not the correct word, I fear," he remarked. "It..." His words faltered, and drew a heavy breath.

Aragorn drew closer. "Have no fear, my dear friend," he said quietly. "Say only what eases your heart; I will ask nothing else, only that I might find some way to help you."

Faramir peered at him, then pursed his lips before speaking slowly. "In my dreams, it seems I am back in the fortress," he said, the words hushed with dread. "In pain, and darkness, with no hope. As it was, but even worse, for it seems far more time has passed and there is no chance for reprieve."

He hesitated. Aragorn kept his hand on Faramir's arm, saying nothing to allow his friend to continue as he saw fit.

"There was a man named Masrak," Faramir said, looking away to some distant place only his eyes could see. "He was Karil's advisor, and the chief dealer of my torments. I saw him more than any other. None can tell me what his fate was. I feel certain he is dead, yet in this vision he is alive, his cruelties against me even harsher than in truth." He swallowed, and looked at Aragorn. "I wish not to describe it."

Aragorn nodded in understanding.

Faramir licked his lips and looked away again. "In the dream, following the endless tortures, Masrak takes me to the top of the high tower overlooking the valley. He shows me Karil's army destroying yours, and although I am far distant I clearly see the bodies of those I love below, crushed beneath the weapons of the enemy." The words faltered, and he forced himself to swallow. "Even those who have long passed...Boromir, my father..."

Sorrow choked the words, and Eowyn swiftly pressed a glass of water to his lips. Aragorn gripped his hand as she did so, his expression pained.

"Dread visions indeed," said the King with great sympathy. "Do not overpain yourself to tell of it, Faramir; you are already dearly taxed by these dreams."

Faramir shook his head as Eowyn withdrew the glass. "If I speak of it, its hold on me may ease," he suggested, settling himself back on the pillows. "Of late the dreams have turned more foul. He...they..." He ceased speaking, then turned to look at Eowyn, his eyes filling with tears. "I have seen you there, my love, among the dead, and it has become more than my heart can bear."

She gently stroked his cheek, unsure of what to say.

"I know it is mere illusion," Faramir continued, turning back to Aragorn, his expression filled with pain. "Yet when I dream, that is the reality, and I feel nothing more certainly than I am alone and have lost all that was dear to me." He sighed. "It has grown thus that I have struck out in my blind agony against she who is dearest above all to me. My own darkness I may bear, but I will not endanger Eowyn, even if my pride suffers as a consequence of ensuring her safety."

He fell silent, still gazing at Aragorn. The King smiled in a kindly manner and gently gripped Faramir's arm.

"My dear friend," Aragorn murmured, "feel not ashamed of what you have confessed to me. Many a man has revisited his darkest hours in dreams, including myself. It is not a cause for reproach."

"As have I, before now," Faramir admitted earnestly, "but it has never been like this. Often have I retraced the steps of battle, or seen those I loved perish again; but now..." He bit his lip and shook head. "I feel I am drowning in a great black icy sea, unable to breathe for the pain, while the taunting voice of Masrak fills my mind. I fear..." He hesitated, then spoke again in a low voice full of dread, "I fear if it does not cease, I will go mad."

Aragorn regarded him gravely for a few moments, then leaned forward and tenderly laid one hand upon the side of Faramir's head.

"Peace, Faramir, peace; we who love you will not allow you to be consumed by darkness," whispered the King, looking deep into the eyes of his Steward. "I shall do all in my power to ease your mind into tranquil dreams. In time, the ill dreams will fade, when your heart truly knows that you and those you hold dear are safe."

Faramir's gaze turned from fear to gratitude.

"I thank you, Sire," he murmured, resolve stealing into his voice. "Whatever you ask of me, I shall do, for I have not lived thus far only to allow the enemy victory in the end."

Aragorn gave him an encouraging smile.

"We shall defeat him together," he said.

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