Chapter VII – Naught But A Shadow
Twelve and a half days. Twelve very long nights. A blanket was draped crookedly over the chair beside Faramir's bed. The path on the carpet where Elphir was wont to pace was worn thin and ragged. He stood beside the window now, looking down from the Tower of Ecthelion upon the seven levels of Minas Tirith and to the Pelennor Fields one thousand feet below. It was a dizzying sight. His head spun and swooned, creating the impression that he was tipping slowly over the edge of that great drop, about to plummet down that thousand-foot fall.
Quickly, he turned away and settled his eyes on the bed in the center of the room. Sweating and tossing beneath the covers was Faramir, his cousin, struggling miserably with some horrid nightmare. Faramir had not stopped shivering all night. Whether he was cold or whether he was suffering from the horrors of his dream, Elphir could not say. He glanced down at the thick blankets that covered Faramir. Five layers of down, wool, and fur. He could not be cold.
Again, Elphir looked out the window. This time he looked at the horizon in the distance. He could see the shiny blue cascade of the ocean, near which lay his home, Dol Amroth. He thought of his wife, of his four daughters and five sons, of fishing and sailing, of shell-lined beaches, of peace and tranquility and brightness and joy. He thought of happier days, when Faramir had visited often and even come out on Elphir's personal boat. He thought of Faramir's unsteadiness at sea and laughing at his cousin who normally lived so far from the water.
He thought of Éowyn, of her smile, of the way she had of making everyone feel like they were welcome and that not a single thing was out of place and nothing could go wrong. He thought of seeing Faramir with her, his arm around her shoulder, with Elboron between them as a boy. He thought of Éowyn's recent pregnancy and the excitement of betting on whether it would be a boy or a girl. He thought of Elboron's proud hauteur as he was told that he would soon be a big brother, of his own wife's pregnancy, of her and Éowyn talking about the pains and the joys of childbirth.
He thought of meeting Faramir and Éowyn the day they came into Minas Tirith, of seeing how full and round Éowyn's belly had become, of the love that glowed in Faramir's eyes when he looked at her. He thought of a meeting interrupted by a young healer, an eager father dashing off to see his newborn child, an anxious Aragorn excusing himself to make sure that everything was alright, the silence of a frightened city, the bells tolling the news, the denial, the guilt, the blame…
Elphir moaned softly and looked away, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the tears he felt beginning to flow. The memories made him feel nauseous, and he was forced to sit down before he swooned and fainted. Now he, too, was shaking uncontrollably. His hands trembled so badly that he clenched them tightly together to make them still.
Faramir was gasping and wheezing in his sleep now. His body was taut with stress and fear, and his lips were blue from the cold. His handsome black hair was matted and scraggly, sticking to the pillow beneath his head. He was naught but a shadow of the man he had once been. Elphir hesitated and considered summoning a healer, but he knew that it would do no good. Faramir would awaken as soon as a healer touched him, and then he would refuse again, just as he had all the other times Elphir had tried to help him.
Instead, Elphir left the room in a daze, wandering down through the Tower in some kind of trance-like, hazy state of distorted reality. Twice he almost fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck, but both times he managed to steady himself at the last minute. His guards, dressed in blue tunics fixed with the silver swan and boat of Dol Amroth, were situated at the bottom of the main staircase. Stumbling his way blindly down the steps, they helped him down the rest of the way and asked him if he was well.
"Do I look well?" Elphir snapped waspishly. The guards were too unsettled by his quick retort to say anything further. "Elessar," Elphir demanded. "Where is Elessar?"
"His Majesty has just taken breakfast in the feast hall, and we have been told that he is now working in his office."
Elphir apologized for his irascibility and thanked them before moving along down the drafty corridor in the direction of the King's office. The guards had said that he would be working, but Elphir found him only staring silently at the ceiling and smoking on his pipe. He was dressed in what appeared to be old Rangers' clothes from before the War. A mug of ale stood half-empty on the desk beside him, and his feet were propped up next to the mug. Elphir doubted that he had ever caught Aragorn in a less kingly moment than this.
"I must speak with you," said Elphir. Aragorn blew a smoke ring into the air and closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if composing himself. Finally, he turned to look at the Prince of Dol Amroth.
Elphir was exhausted. It showed in his eyes, in the way he held himself. Aragorn was tired, but Elphir looked to be on the verge of collapse. "Elphir, you should go to the Houses of Healing. You look like the picture of death."
Elphir laughed bitterly. "You think I look terrible? You haven't seen Faramir lately, have you?"
"Elphir…"
"I must speak to you, Elessar, and I will. Sending me to the Houses of Healing is only your way of trying to avoid a conversation that you don't want to have."
"No, Elphir, it is not. You truly need to see a healer. Your face is ashen, and your eyes are sunken in."
"Then I will see a healer after I have spoken with you."
Aragorn sighed and rubbed his temples. He could already feel a headache forming at the base of his skull. "Very well, Elphir. Speak."
"Faramir is dying."
Aragorn took his pipe away from his mouth and covered half of his face with one hand, looking sideways at Elphir. "Yes," he agreed slowly. "I know."
"So what are you going to do about it?"
Elphir's flat, brusque, almost rude tone was completely foreign to Aragorn. What had happened to the young, polite, cheerful prince that Aragorn had known before? Had he been so consumed by Faramir's illness that he, too, had taken on a morbid, desolate view of the world? Aragorn thought back to the letter Legolas had shown him. He remembered how King Thranduil had spoken of hope and how they must all seek to rekindle it. What hope was there left to rekindle in a man such as the one who sat before him?
"What would you have me do, Elphir?" Aragorn spoke as gently as he could. "Everyone is doing their best to help Faramir, but he does not hear us."
"He hears, he just does not listen," Elphir corrected angrily. "Not everyone is doing their best. You have done nothing at all."
If it had been anyone else, Aragorn would have been furious at the level of insubordination such an accusation represented. Coming from Elphir, he felt only a strong pang of guilt in his stomach.
Elphir wiped a hand across his lined brow. "Elessar…forgive me. My insolence is inexcusable. It is only that I…I feel as though I am at the end of my rope. I have waited and waited for almost two weeks since Éowyn's funeral, hoping that Faramir will pull himself out of this, but…" He shook his head and seemed to shrink inward with fatigue and grief. "He isn't going to…is he?"
Pity wrenched Aragorn's heart. "I did not say that, Elphir."
"You do not have to! I can see it in your eyes! I can see it in his eyes!" Elphir teetered on the edge of hysteria. "The pain in his eyes is so great! How can I deny him eternal peace? Yet it is driving me mad, because I was supposed to be the one to protect him when Boromir died! I promised! Boromir made me promise!"
"Boromir was always asking for too much!" Aragorn cried. "You cannot tear yourself apart over a promise made to protect a dead man's brother!"
"It is a dead friend's brother!" Elphir's voice was high-pitched in his weariness. "It is a dead friend's husband! And Faramir is another friend who is about to die! I cannot—!" He choked. "I have watched him suffer for so long! I am the only one Boromir trusted, and I—!"
"How could Boromir have known what would happen? He could not have foreseen any of this! Look at me, Elphir! No, look me in the eye!" Aragorn grabbed Elphir's jaw and forced him to meet his eyes. "Faramir is dying, but he is not yet dead! We will help him! I swear to the Valar above that if I must strike him and shake him and beat his senses back into him, I will! I will not let Faramir die!"