Chapter II – The Art of Dreams

"Sleep soundly, my little Estel," whispered Gilraen gently, stroking her son's soft hair. A shadow fell across the doorway, and Gilraen turned to see Elrond frowning slightly.

"I thought I heard the boy crying," said the elf-lord softly.

"You did," Gilraen answered, sighing. "He sees things in his dreams, my Lord. Visions of fire and shadow, of dark eyes searching for him." Gilraen gazed sternly at Elrond and saw his eyes grow wide.

The Elven Lord hurried to sit at the beside next to Gilraen and placed his slender hand upon the young child's brow. Closing his eyes, Elrond murmured soft words in Elvish intended to find darkness hidden within a person's mind. Little Estel twitched slightly at the touch but did not seem to wake.

"My husband was often haunted by similar dreams," Gilraen whispered. Elrond closed his eyes tighter. "What does it mean, my Lord Elrond? Can you keep the dreams from him? Can you chase them away?"

"Perhaps," muttered Elrond. "It is…difficult…but it has been done. Normally I would only permit such a thing for someone who has experienced too many horrors to recall in dreams and remain sane. Yet I cannot in good conscience allow the child to suffer through these dark dreams."

"What are they?"

Elrond hesitated, then sighed. "Arathorn once took council with me on the matter of his dreams. I do not understand them even now…but I believe that they may be the black memory of an even blacker spirit. The Dark Lord Sauron strove to find and destroy the Númenoreans above all others. Sauron was destroyed almost three thousand years ago, but his memory lived on in the One Ring when Isildur failed to destroy it." The bitterness in his voice was as sharp as a blade.

Gilraen's breath caught in her throat. "I thought the One was destroyed or lost long ago!"

"So it is said." Elrond's face grew shadowy and troubled and with the memory of darker times in his past. "Yet the proof against this belief is too strong for me to accept it as truth." His gaze returned to the sleeping form of Estel, and he frowned. "The child's dreams are proof enough for me. Fire and shadow…searching eyes…"

The elf-lord shook his head. "The memory of Sauron haunts the chieftains of the Dúnedain. Somewhere the One Ring exists still, and as long as it remains the memory will not fade completely. Someone is still seeking the Dúnedain, seeking Estel."

"Children are not meant to see such things," said Gilraen firmly. "Will you protect him from these visions?"

"Yes, Gilraen. I will watch over his dreams and avert them before they can reach the boy." Elrond looked with fatherly adoration upon Estel, brushing aside a lock of his dark hair. "Estel nin. Tirathon le hi dú."

Elrond stood and offered his hand to Gilraen. She accepted it and allowed the elf-lord to guide her gently from her sleeping son's room. At the doorway, she looked back and mumbled a prayer, putting out the candle that stood near the door. Elrond placed his arm gently around her back, and like the whispering wind in the dead of night, they were gone.

Estel's eyes snapped open. With a loud gasp he sat straight up in his bed, looking towards the door where his mother and Lord Elrond had stood just moments before. When he was sure that they were really gone and that he was in no danger of being discovered, Estel leapt out of his bed and hurried to relight the candle.

He shivered in the dark as the tiny flame flickered to life. It was a good thing his mother didn't know that he had not yet fallen asleep to the sound of her voice, or he would never have found out…

"The Dark Lord…"

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Aragorn remembered his childhood nightmares well. Once he had grown to manhood, Lord Elrond no longer took it upon himself to protect him from the horrible dreams of seeking eyes, and he suffered with them for a long time before he learned to block them with his own willpower. Long, long years had passed since the last time Aragorn had experienced such a nightmare, and now that the Ring was destroyed forever thanks to the bravery of Frodo and Sam, Sauron's memory could no longer haunt him.

Elrond had said that normally he would only shield someone's dreams under extreme circumstances, when the dreamer may be at risk of losing his very sanity due to the severity of the horrific nightmares. He had only agreed to help Estel because he was Gilraen's son and Gilraen had asked. Why had Aragorn agreed to do the same thing for Faramir? It seemed a little foolish now, especially since Aragorn had no practice in the art of dreams, unlike Lord Elrond.

At the same time, Aragorn knew that Faramir may very well be at risk of losing his sanity if these dreams continued. His health, at least, was rapidly deteriorating the longer he suffered without sleep. Aragorn couldn't bear to lose Faramir after saving him from the first, deepest darkness after Éowyn's death. It would be too harsh a blow to him for Faramir to collapse now, when it seemed that he was making such progress along the road to recovery. He must try to help Faramir in any way that he could, and that included trying to block his nightmares.

What Aragorn was about to do had never been attempted by a Man before, as far as he knew. It was a very irrational idea, and he knew he should not think of undertaking such a task, but Faramir needed a reprieve from his endless nightmarish evenings.

"You are sure that you wish to do this, my love?" asked Arwen. "Even I have never tried to interfere with another's dreams. It is a delicate art that can very easily be thrown out of balance. My father studied the practice extensively before he even considered administering to one with such dark dreams as Faramir. I do not think you should intervene."

"Yes, Arwen, I know," Aragorn replied calmly. "To be completely honest with you, I am no surer than you that this is the best choice. However, I promised that I would watch over Faramir, and so I shall. Even if it is only for this one night, I must try to help him. In four months, my sessions with him have not helped."

"How can you say for sure that they have not helped?"

Aragorn frowned. "Then they have not helped enough. Perhaps I misread the problem when I told him that his dreams were the result of his failure to use his ability of foresight. How can I know for sure that I was right?"

"So you would rather leap into a situation that may prove disastrous for you or Faramir because you may be wrong?" Arwen shook her head. "I do not approve."

Aragorn smiled and kissed Arwen gently. "You do not have to approve, my love." He bade her good-night and left their chambers quickly. He had promised her that he would not keep her awake while he struggled with Faramir's dreams. He knew neither how severe these nightmares were nor how much power lay behind them. These two things would determine whether or not Aragorn was able to accomplish his goal and guard Faramir from his dreams.

A locked room in the Tower of Ecthelion proved to be the perfect place for him to spend the night. A strange, rounded stand stood in the center of the room, as if it had once been used to hold a globe or orb of some kind. The room was bare and full of cobwebs; no one had touched it in ages. Aragorn wondered at it, suddenly curious about this small, locked room. The servants were normally very good about keeping the Citadel clean, especially the Tower chambers.

Aragorn settled himself down on a thin blanket in the middle of the stone floor and steadied his mind. His will must be iron, his nerve of steel, if he was going to go through with this. No matter how bad Faramir's nightmares were, he must hold on to his focus. He must not allow himself to be distracted by fear or concern.

He breathed deep, closed his eyes, and sought for Faramir's sleeping mind…

Faramir wasn't asleep yet, and his mind recoiled at Aragorn's presence. Soon, though, he relaxed again and allowed himself to begin drifting towards sleep. It was not long before Faramir was consumed by his weariness, and Aragorn's battle began.

Intercepting dreams was a very fanciful, fantasy-like concept. Aragorn wove for himself a net of his own will and consciousness. When Faramir's mind began to conjure the beginnings of a dream, the net caught and secured them, keeping them safely away from Faramir's vulnerable mind. Once the dream was roped in, however, it drifted back in the only direction it could find to escape, towards Aragorn. The first black dream hovered towards him like a dark rain cloud, swallowing him up and plunging him into the midst of Faramir's nightmare…

The battleground rocked beneath the monstrous, black bat-wings of the beast. Its petrifying shriek split Aragorn's ears. He was surrounded by fire and blood, and he stumbled in agony towards the motionless figure that lay near him on the ground. The figure was lying on its stomach, and Aragorn fell to his knees beside it to turn it gently over.

Arathorn's pale, skeletal face gazed up at the sky. His lifeless body was covered in blood and mud. Aragorn gasped and turned away, nauseated by the sight of his dead father mutilated so. Another figure appeared as the mist dissipated. Aragorn fought against his body's inherent motion towards it, but he found himself beside the corpse nonetheless. This time the blue eyes of his mother, Gilraen, stared at him, glazed over and dim. Aragorn choked and sobbed, overwhelmed by grief and rage simultaneously.

As soon as he turned away from one body, there was another waiting. Every haunted memory he had buried within his mind, every lost soul he had been unable to save, every friend he had watched fade appeared before him on the pitted battlefield. Gandalf, his flesh burned by the Balrog… Boromir, his chest pierced by black orc arrows… Éowyn…

Éowyn…

As white as a ghost and limp, dressed not in armor but in merely a pale green gown, she lay slathered in dirt, grime, and blood. Her beautiful face was contorted into a mask of pain and grief, her spirit torn brutally from her eyes.

"Oh, Eru…" Aragorn coughed up something but managed to swallow it again. "This isn't real… It isn't real… I know it isn't real…" In the distance he could see another figure lying beneath the fiery sky and the black wings. In pain and misery, he staggered over to the body. When he saw the face, he reeled backwards in disbelief.

It was Faramir. He wore armor, but it was rent in many places, and a puddle of crimson blood collected beneath his broken body. His raven hair was streaked with blood and sweat, and his eyes were closed. Bruises covered his face and his pale arms. Suddenly Faramir's body convulsed as he coughed up blood, and Aragorn realized that he was still alive.

"Faramir," he whispered, leaning over his Steward's form. "Faramir, you are not gone from this world yet! It is not your time!" Then Aragorn froze and realized that he was allowing the dream to seduce him. "No! It isn't real!" he cried. Faramir moaned low and coughed again, shuddering in pain. "Faramir!" Aragorn tore his eyes away from Faramir's body and focused hard. "This ends now!"

Aragorn severed the ties that bound Faramir's dream to him, and within an instant he found himself back in the small locked room in the top of the White Tower. Panting and ashen-faced, he tried desperately to get the memory of the horrid nightmare out of his mind.

"Faramir…"

He still had contact with Faramir's sleeping mind, and he could feel the rising levels of panic as the dream was rapidly transferred back to its rightful owner. Aragorn tried to wake Faramir mentally, but he felt faint from his ordeal restraining and then experiencing the nightmare. He rose shakily to his feet and hurried from the room, leaping down the staircase three steps at a time.

When he reached Faramir's room, Aragorn burst in and hurried to the bed where his Steward was shaking and sweating, pain etched in his features.

"Faramir! Faramir! Awaken!" Aragorn shouted. Faramir groaned but did not fully wake, so Aragorn seized him and smacked him sharply across the face. Faramir gasped as he woke and scrambled backwards in a panic. Only after he saw Aragorn standing beside his bed did he realize what had happened, and he collapsed back onto his pillow.

"I am sorry," said Aragorn quietly, shamefully. "I could not do as I promised. I could not protect you. The art of tampering with dreams…is one that escapes my talent. I am so sorry, Faramir. I did my best."

"I forgive you, Aragorn." Faramir gave him a weak smile and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. "I should have known…"

"Should have known what?"

"No one can help me, Aragorn. Not even you. This is something I must do alone. Oh, Eru, but I cannot!" Faramir pressed two fingers hard to his left temple, feeling the throb of a headache pounding in his head. "I give up… I give up…"

"Do not say that," said Aragorn sternly. "You must never give up."

"I have no choice, Aragorn. I am dying."

Aragorn froze and turned pale, but Faramir only closed his eyes and let out his breath in a soft sigh.

"You all see me, and you all think it. Am I the first to say so to you, Aragorn?"

"No," said Aragorn very slowly, "but you are the first to say so since that time just after Éowyn's death."

"A few short months cannot change a man's fate. I have resigned myself to that fate, Aragorn. You gave me hope when you said that you could turn away my dreams, but even that was a fantasy, I see."

"It is not a fantasy unless you give up!" Aragorn shouted angrily. "You cannot give up now, Faramir! I will not let you!" Faramir laughed. "Why are you laughing?" Aragorn demanded.

"What are you going to do?" Faramir's eyes were sad and lonely. "Will you confine me to a bubble to keep me safe from the world around me? Even that cannot protect me from dreams. Will you force me to work until I can no longer think of anything but submission to you? Will you cram food down my throat? Will you put me in solitary confinement? Will you dictate every moment of my life?" Anger flashed behind his eyes.

Aragorn paused, then said quietly, "I am not your father, Faramir."

Faramir's eyes softened. "I know," he whispered. "I know…" A slight tremor passed through Faramir's thin frame, and he turned a shade paler. "I am afraid, Aragorn. Despair is consuming me, just as it once did at the end of the War, before you rescued me. Aragorn…" He choked on his words and struggled to continue, "…I do not think you will be able to save me this time."

Estel nin. Tirathon le hi dú

(My Estel. I will watch over thee this night.)