Brilliancy – part 2

By skaia7

Okay, so I enjoy writing stories where strong, handsome men suffer illness and must be cared for by strong, beautiful women. Faramir doesn't mind… I mean, he probably does mind, but I didn't start it. Altariel did! (points) Probably somebody started it before she did, so the whole thing is probably moot…

Anyway. Faramir's POV.

xxxx

I was exhausted.

The Council meeting had gone all night without pause. Lords shouted ceaselessly at each other… the King's hoarse words as he sought to bring them under control… my own glazed eyes fixed upon the maps strewn across the table that had been the source of the malcontent… The Easterlings were not satisfied with the treaty we had proposed over the summer, and were once again threatening our borders. This had driven the king to march once before, and I had no doubt he would do it again, if they posed sufficient threat.

Where does it end? Will we continue this ceaseless chain of war and death until the end of time? Is there no hope for lasting peace?

Finally, I could take no more. I had excused myself, the King nodding briefly at my departure before turning back to his nobles' arguments. Both he and my uncle had urged me to leave the meeting at midnight, but I had stubbornly refused, thinking that if I held out just an hour or two more we could come to some kind of agreement.

I think they were both surprised at how long I had lasted. The hours passed, each one more merciless than the next, and the growing pressure behind my eyes told me that I would pay sorely for my folly. So I had escaped the close walls of the Council chamber, retreating first to that familiar passageway where I have always been wont to gather myself.

Leaning against the wall, I slid slowly to the floor. I closed my burning eyes. Arms on my raised knees, head tilted back to rest against the hard stones, I could not help issuing a weary sigh.

"Faramir?"

I cracked open one eye. My uncle knelt next to me, concern lining his grizzled features. I batted away a hand as he went to place it on what I am sure was my bloodless cheek.

"I am well." My clipped if rasping reply to his unspoken question. "I simply need to rest."

His eyes raked over me, and I am sure what he saw did not ease his distress. I gave another haggard sigh, then dropped my chin to him in what has become my expression of firm resolve. "Uncle, please. Give your Steward a little credit."

His rumbling response, "The Lord Steward's judgment is always beyond reproach. My nephew's, however, is another matter entirely." His mouth was set in a grim line, but his eyes had a spark that revealed smug amusement. He paused, softening. "Son, tell me you are going home."

I did not miss the term of endearment, but chose instead to close my eyes again, feeling the hammer strokes behind my eyes, the bone-deep weariness that leeched away all strength.

"Uncle," I breathed, "I am going home."

He grasped my arm and helped me to stand, not breaking his hold until I could remain upright without the assistance of the stone wall. I was afraid he would insist on accompanying me to ensure I arrived safely, but thankfully he did not. A quick glance over his shoulder told me why: my bodyguard hovered a short distance away, and shame stabbed my heart. We both nodded our farewell, with him adding both a reassurance and a gentle admonishment: "I will send word if there is any change. Please, Faramir," his eyes were kind. "Do not return until you are sufficiently recovered." He put a hand on my shoulder as I made to move past him, "No matter how long it takes."

I paused long enough to issue a reluctant nod, which only served to exacerbate the pain in my head. Wincing, I raised a hand to pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, and then made my way out into the city.

My man and I kept to darkened alleys, not wishing to run into any of the exuberant citizens while battling weariness and a splitting headache. I normally return their joyful greetings, even if my naturally shy nature balks at the inevitable encounters when I venture out into the city. But today, I knew I would not have the strength.

These alleys were in an area of the city that we had not yet fully repaired since the Ring War, and unfortunately I had not reckoned the toll seeing them would take on me in my already weakened state. After turning down the third passage, tripping over yet another piece of blackened rubble, my heart was pounding, my mind swirling with a maelstrom of images. Screams of the Nazgul, the thunder of hoofbeats, clangs of sword upon shield, death cries of my men… then shifting to the crackle of flames, the dark clouds of smoke, my father's dark eyes, incensed at yet another failure on the part of his second son…

My bodyguard stepped closer, offering his strong arm when my steps faltered. Mercifully, I did not run into anyone in those relentless pathways, and nearly collapsed with relief upon reaching the new grand entrance to our house. I shrugged off his support once inside, mumbling some sort of dismissal before steering - almost blindly - for the stairs that led to our quiet chamber. I barely remember how I got there, so desperate was I to cling to any semblance of control. I only dimly realized when Eowyn removed my boots and tunic, for by this point the ache in my head had become full blown agony, my limbs shaking with strain.

I felt the rim of a cup pressed to my lips, and drank the bitter liquid gratefully. It was stronger than the draught we had in Ithilien; my wife, it seemed, had become more adept at preparing the concoction. Inwardly I grimaced, knowing that she must have been in conference with the healers since our return to Minas Tirith. I knew there was no outward cause for alarm - she was nothing if not discreet; between her loving care and the King's open support I had no fear of the public thinking their Steward unfit for his position.
The Steward himself, however, was currently experiencing strong misgivings.

I hated that my wife must tend me in the throes of my affliction; I hated that I had abandoned my King to the bickering lords. My uncle was there, of course, as was my cousin…

But it is not their responsibility! It is mine! I seethed, swept in a dark wave of shame. My father's harsh words echoed in every corner of my mind, reminding me of our line, our duty, my incompetence, my inevitable failure…

They were all still in Council, and here I was, my body torn between my frozen limbs and my burning brow, fighting desperately to push the retreat safely back behind the veil of memory. How many indignities can a Man bear? I wondered, dejected. How much more must his soul withstand before it shatters into a thousand worthless pieces?

Then I felt my wife's cool, strong arms steal about me, a loving fortress that shielded me from the worst of the figments. The clean scent of athelas and her own sweet perfume began to break through the evil embodiment of my fears, and I began to come back to myself.

I love my wife. I love her deeply, truly, with every fiber that encompasses my being. I will never forgive myself for what she endured those terrible months with my coldness. My ignorance. My damnable pride. There are days still I awake expecting to see the bed empty, as if I had only dreamed that she and the children returned to me. Those days I fight not to weep at the sight of her lovely golden hair strewn upon my pillow, her snowy shoulders glowing in the early morning light.

It is more than I deserve.

My head found its way to her shoulder, and I reveled in the peace found within the loving circle of her arms. My body, however, continued to betray me. I could not seem to stop shivering, my lungs burning as I gasped for breath, my heart beating like a bird in its cage.

How I hate this feeling! Such wretchedness! Such weariness!…

In the midst of my churning thoughts, something Eowyn had said once came back to me, when she was so ill expecting our first child, Elboron…

"How I despise myself for being this weak - and I loathe it! To be constantly so ill and so unsteady! I long to be well again!"

It came to me that the Valar might be revenging themselves upon me for the indignities of child-bearing women everywhere.

I could have laughed, had the hurt not been so fierce. Instead, I believe I wept.

I felt her arms disappear, and experienced a momentary surge of panic as I sank down onto the bed. Surely I did not dream that she held me… The specters surged forth, eager to return…

My eyes flew open, seeking her in the dim firelight. Instantly her sweet voice called softly, "Do not fear, my love, I am here. You are not alone," and she pressed a soft kiss to my brow.

I think I reached out to her. I cannot be certain, for my head was pounding, red waves washing over my vision with each pulse of my heart. I pressed a shaky fist to my brow, as if simply the force of my will could compel the pain to vanish. An icy breeze blew into the room, and I curled in on myself, shivering for warmth.

I felt the mattress shift as she settled down beside me. Something cool, smelling sweetly of mint, floated across my face and chased away the sweat of my fever. The air in our chamber felt fresher, more wholesome, and I suspected the king had generously provided something from his garden to that effect. Our shared body heat and the warm coverlet began to reduce the fierceness of the chills. But my mind was still unsteady, and I could not help but seek again the shelter of her arms. Gathering my strength, I lifted my body until I could lie alongside her, curling around her, resting my head on her breast with an unreserved sigh.

To those who have not experienced such love, there are no words to describe the sway she has over my heart. There was a time I believed that words had the power to overcome any deficiency, and it was a lack of words that was almost our undoing. But from the very first moment I laid eyes on her - on a serene garden path in the midst of the most terrifying war our world has ever known, when it seemed each beat of our hearts might be the last - in her beauty and her sorrow lay such salvation! I knew then no eloquence afforded me would be sufficient, despite my long years of study.

Her soft body yielded beneath my touch, her arms coming to enfold me once more. Peace filled me, like a long drink from a crisp stream fills one desperately parched. I drank her in, savoring the softness of her skin, the healing beat of her heart, the slow whisper of her breath…

My wits began to wander, all thought becoming vague. I know the tea deserved some small credit, but to my mind a much larger portion belonged to my devoted wife. Not for the first time, I vowed to do all in my power to restore her faith in me, and to endeavor to merit the selfless care she has provided – both to my own health and to the greater task of the restoration of Gondor - each day since our reunion.

Her long fingers began to comb through my hair, and I was utterly lost. Before her second stroke, I had slipped quickly into a deep and restful sleep.