Author's Note: Never thought I'd delve into LOTR fan fiction. Just trying something new here. This story is solely drawn from the movies and some other information from the books. Faramir and Eowyn develop a relationship in the books, but this story focuses on what was not shown in the "Return of the King" movie.
White pain.
There was no memory, no horror, no fear. Only pain that threaded through Faramir's being like white streams through a treacherous forest.
And then, in the pain, he could see forms begin to shape. The face of his brother, strong, grim, laughing. And then foam came from his mouth and Boromir's visage faded like a wisp of fog.
Next, Osgiliath blew on with the sound of a thousand voices roaring in the distance. It was a city of destruction, overrun, dark, crumbling, and desolate. Faramir seemed to be flying on the back of a fellbeast as it swooped down on the bridge.
A figure stood there, small, alone. At first he thought it was that halfling, Frodo—the one with the ring of power. But no, it was a man; a man he hardly recognized but somehow he still knew.
It was his father.
The fellbeast was getting closer. Faramir could see now his father's face, haunted, eyes wide, staring at the creature.
"Fight!" Faramir tried to yell, the shout clambering at his throat. Yet no sound came out.
His father held a sword in his hand, but as the fellbeast approached—Faramir's vision bound up with the animal's view—he saw his father drop it.
The blade clattered on the ground as if in the Great Hall of Minas Tirith, echoing again and again. The sound of despair and defeat.
Now the white pain was back in force. Something wet and lukewarm dripped on his face. Faramir moved his head and tightened his lips.
Then the horror, the terror, the blood, all the desperation of the final attempt to recapture western Osgiliath came back in a rush.
But he couldn't think. Voices were grumbling above him and behind him. There was a loud shout, a crash, the clomping of hooves as of a horse loping inside, and he heard a voice shout,
"He's not dead!"
Who was not dead? Whoever, it was a relief.
Unless they were talking about him, and the fact of life would mean torture and horror at the hands of the orcs.
Oh, father. Why would you send me to my death?
Something hit him. Someone was clawing at his body, pulling and pushing. His chest and shoulder exploded in pain.
A crackling overtook all other noises. It sounded like...fire.
Faramir forced his eyelids—heavy as lead—to open just a little.
The image that blurred before his eyes would remain to his dying day.
Through flames and smoke he saw his father standing above him, tall, face slick with oil, staring down at him.
"Faramir," Denethor said, his voice so soft Faramir could only read his lips.
He could not keep his eyes open any longer and his world faded to blackness as his father's scream overwhelmed the room.
The Houses of Healing were not a peaceful place. Men were screaming and groaning everywhere through the day and into the night. Faramir refused to be given special treatment because of his status. These were men he had fought alongside throughout his life, and he was not ashamed to be with them in healing as much as in victory and danger.
"How is the shoulder this morning?" Grinamil asked him sweetly as she handed him water.
"Healing slowly," he said with a soft smile. "Don't tire yourself out, Grinamil."
"I will be fine." She swiped her graying hair from her face and peered at him. "You have suffered more than many of these men. You have had to lead them."
"My hands were bound by duty, but I will never forget the charge toward Osgiliath," he told her quietly.
"Many will remember, but not like you," she said, laying a hand on his arm.
She was right and he leaned wearily against a pillar.
"I am going to see the White Lady now," she said. "If you are anxious for anything, ask Loriel."
Faramir stared in interest. "A woman? The White Lady?"
"Eowyn, a shieldmaiden of Rohan. She came with her father's brother, King Theoden of Rohan, to fight in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, though she disguised herself as a man. She suffered from the Black Breath as you did, and Aragorn helped heal both of you."
He had been told Aragorn had healed him and he blushed again at the thought of the future king of Gondor caring for him.
And this shieldmaiden from Rohan; what a venture!
"I am grateful for the brave warriors of Rohan coming to the aid of Gondor though we did not deserve it. And for a woman, too!"
"Yes."
As Grinamil moved off Faramir turned at a disturbance above him in the highest room of the Houses of Healing. In the light of the evening moon he saw the white lady herself, this Eowyn, standing in a window, staring out across the plains that still held the rotting corpses of orcs and men.
Faramir had never seen a woman so beautiful. Or perhaps he had never noticed women before, always occupied with his father, trying to earn an impossible love, until he went off as captain of the Rangers of Ithilian, where no woman graced his presence for many years.
Her hair shown in the moonlight, waves of silver-gold flowing down her back. She turned suddenly, sensing eyes on her, and met his steady gaze with her own fearless look firm on her pale face.
She certainly knew nothing of him, but he could see, even from so far away, the cares that troubled her. She was a warrior, a fighter, and he smiled softly, proud of such a woman.
Eowyn did not turn away immediately and Faramir held her gaze until she finally stepped back, and the stone wall broke the connection.