DISCLAIMER: I own Faramir and every Tolkien character not.

"His fever has lightened"

"How are his wounds?"

"…healing slowly but if we give him some herbs…"

With hesitation, Faramir opened his eyes, and found two figures staring down at him. Iroleth, who was a personal family friend and a healer, smiled and quietly said "Good evening, My Lord,"

Faramir sighed, his tired eyes scanning the unknown room he was in, then back to Iroleth. "What happened?", he barley whispered, voice cracked and dry. The other maiden looked at Iroleth, who gave her a glance, and focused back to Faramir. She took one of his warm hands, and gentley placed it on a bandage, over his unclothed chest. "Do you feel pain?", she asked softly. Faramir nodded, as his brow creased, confused. Iroleth sighed and covered his chest with a thin layer of blanket. She issued a cup to Faramir's mouth. Whatever it was, he drank, for his throat was burning dry. As she placed the cup on the nightstand, she glanced again at the maiden, who nodded once in approval of something, and left the room.

As Iroleth turned back to Faramir, he winced suddenly, closing his eyes in pain. Iroleth quickly took his hands and held them. "Its alright, your healing. You'll be ok". Faramir opened his eyes again, tears glistening them. "What happened to me", he spoke, his chest visibly rising and falling. Iroleth was silent for many a second, pondering on what to tell this wounded soul. "what do you remember last?"

Faramir closed his eyes again, thinking deeply. Why was he wounded? It then suddenly hit him. "Osgiliath…", he said softly. He remembered… he remembered the heartbreaking parting of him and his father, remembered riding out with his men on the futile attempt to re-take the city…lost in memory, he absent mindedly touched his wounds, remembering…or trying to recall what happened after wards. He closed his eyes and tried to think..just then he saw something..blazes of orange surrounding a figure..he instantly opened his eyes. He remembered voices, someone screaming he's not dead…from the corner of his lips, Iroleth saw him whisper "I'm not dead.." He remembered the stench smell of something. .pour oil on the wood.

Faramir's heart did a jolt as the fatal memory took place again. His father was screaming in pain, as Faramir unfortunately opened his eyes to witness the death of his own father, the flames consuming him with every sparing moment. He stared blankly at Iroleth, his sight blurry, tears threatening to fall. "My father…he..he..", he couldn't finish it off. But Iroleth knew,as she nodded. It was the slowest nod ever, but not as slow as Faramir's falling tears, slowing crawling down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry", she whispered. He knew it. He knew this would happen. That his father would come to an end like this. On the edge of sanity. Years did he worry about what would be come of his father. He had gone mad, burning himself alive, and attempting to take his son with him. At that moment, Faramir did wish that he had been taken with him, But no, he was still here. Still kept on this hellish cruel world. Alone. Alone as ever.

"Why?", he asked aloud, more to himself. He looked up at Iroleth, tired, saddened red eyes, tear-stained cheeks. "Why am I still here?", his low broken voice expressed so much sadness that it brought tears to her eyes. She moved closer to him. "We saved you from death," she said softly. "…I didn't want to be saved…death alone would've saved me…", he couldn't hold it in much longer, he broke into tears. Racking sobs that shook his body. Iroleth instantly gathered him in her arms, and consoled him, held him real close, told him it was all going to be alright, but still Faramir wept. Wept the tears he never had a chance to shed for his beloved brother, wept for his fallen men, so many lives taken, wept for his father and the fate he intentionally suffered. Wept because he was still here.

It wasn't until 30 minutes later that he ceased the sobs but an hour until he fell asleep in Iroleth's arms, it was an uneasy sleep, interrupted by sudden movements or bad memories still floating about. She set him lightly in a comfortable sleeping position, then wiped the undry silently wept tears from his face. "Get well, young one", she whispered, as she kissed his forehead. Young one, In her eyes, he'll always be that little boy who would run around the city with his brother, getting into mischief or discovering things. She quietly picked herself up and left the room, leaving Faramir to rest. The moonlight leaked into the room, shadowing this young man's face, every inch saddened. How will this broken soul ever mend again?

A/N: Bad? Good? Lets hear it. and shall I go on?