Chapter VI – The Words of a Coward

Nimhiril's adoring grey eyes stared back up into her father's, and she made a burbling noise in her throat that resembled a giggle. It was such a light, gentle sound that for a moment Faramir felt his cares washed away by its caress against his ears. How good it was to hear laughter. How sweet it was to hold his infant child in his arm, to capture her tightly against his chest and coddle her, simply knowing that she was the last piece of Éowyn left to him in this world.

As soon as it had come, Faramir's moment of lightness and joy was gone, and he was plunged instantly back into the shadows of his thought. Nimhiril loved him, there was no doubting that. Though she was yet no more than a tiny babe, he could see it in her eyes, in the way she gripped his finger with her tiny hand, in the soft black tresses which curled neatly about her chubby face. She loved him, and she was the only person in Middle-earth who expected nothing from him. Yet it was she whom he felt he had wronged the most.

"By what grace does a child live while the mother perishes?" he whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "By what poor chance is a child left alone in a darkening world with nothing but a memory of a long-dead love and the promise of misery and woe to come…" He shuddered heavily and closed his eyes. "I love thee, Nimhiril. So greatly do I love thee that I would surrender my own life if it were necessary to save thine. Yet…in this instance…it is my life which you cherish the most and which I fear I do not have long to give…"

"Faramir." Legolas stood at the entrance to his room, balanced gracefully, catlike, on the balls of his feet, as if expectant of something to come. The Elf still wore traveling clothes, as if he had just arrived in Minas Tirith after a long journey. His green cloak was wrapped about him loosely, and his green eyes pierced Faramir's own.

"Why do you speak of such things, mellon nin?" Legolas took a few steps into the room. Faramir let his gaze fall. "Tell me not that you are ill?"

"I am ill, Legolas." Faramir pulled Nimhiril closer into his arms. "Sick of heart and of mind. I have not slept in three days."

"Then you should be abed!" cried Legolas, moving quickly to Faramir's side. "You must get as much rest as you can! Gondor cannot have you falling ill again."

"Gondor does not concern itself with me any longer." Faramir closed his eyes. "I am resigning, Legolas. I have already informed Aragorn and the other lords. In a matter of days, I will step down as Steward, and another will take my place."

"Ai, fuin loki golodh le!" said Legolas mournfully. "Gondor has such need of you, mellon nin! Why must you resign? T'would be better for you to take leave from your duties, spend some time in Dol Amroth or Rohan, Arnor even, and recover your strength and your health! No man would begrudge you time to heal. We all know what sore trials you have endured."

"Please, Legolas, I beg of you as a friend, do not add to the guilt I bear with me." Faramir looked away again. "This decision is already difficult enough to make. I will not change my mind. You are only making it more painful for me."

"Perhaps I am telling you what you need to hear," Legolas insisted. "Gondor has scarcely seen a finer Steward than you, Faramir. You are a good man and a shrewd one, and the cares of your people lie closest to your heart. Ithilien has grown and prospered in the time you have been Prince, and you know how the King relies on your wisdom on the Council!"

"He cannot rely on me anymore!" Faramir tried to sound angry, but sorrow seeped into his voice. "I cannot focus on anything! The simplest tasks have become for me a wearisome burden! I no longer hold influence over the other lords as I used to, and my 'wisdom' on the Council has become nothing but folly! I make mistake after mistake, and I no longer have the energy to try to fix them!"

Nimhiril began to wail in her father's arms, and Faramir's fervor softened immediately to regret and apology. He sat in a nearby chair to comfort his daughter, cooing gentle words in her ear and rocking her back and forth.

"Please don't cry, my little lady," Faramir whispered, kissing her forehead. "Shhh…"

Legolas looked on passively, his eyes captured by the tiny girl's bright red face. Even when she screamed, she was still beautiful. So delicate and fragile, like a newly bloomed flower whose petals are silky soft and sensitive to the sun. More than anything, Legolas wanted a child of his own, but he could not bear the thought of binding himself to a woman for eternity.

Nimhiril's wet nurse hurried into the room and reached to take the child from her father.

"There, m'Lord, I'll settle her down right quick," said the nurse soothingly. Faramir reluctantly passed his daughter to the nurse's arms. "She's hungry, is all, no doubt. No need to fret."

Faramir mumbled something under his breath and watched the wet nurse leave with Nimhiril. He leaned forward in the chair and rested his forehead on his hands. This stress was even beginning to make him a bad father…

"Come, walk with me," Legolas offered kindly. "I arrived early. My appointment with Aragorn is not for another two hours."

"I am tired, Legolas."

"Then it shall be a short walk," the Elf assured him. A little while later found them strolling slowly down through the city, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of daily life in Minas Tirith. They avoided the well-trafficked markets and kept mostly to the wide main streets where they could walk abreast and still not worry about being run over by a wagon or a group of soldiers dashing by.

"I wonder if you have considered this decision well," Legolas murmured. "It is uncharacteristic of you, and I worry that you are influenced by forces outside of yourself."

"No." Faramir kept his eyes steadily on his feet. "It is my will only that I should resign. I was unsure until…" Faramir stopped himself with a pang of guilt. He had not joined the Council meetings since that day when his failure to interpret the lords' demeanors had led to a vote for a war against Khand. He could not stand the thought of seeing the haughty look in Glosfalath's eyes or the dull, self-assured glaze over Damrod's or the forlorn misery in Elphir's. As he had decided then for sure that he must resign, Aragorn had pardoned him from future meetings. His duties as Steward were truly beginning to fade away.

"Until what, Faramir?" Legolas prompted, bringing him back to the conversation.

Faramir sighed heavily. "We are going to war, Legolas. We are going to war, and there is nothing now that I can do to stop it. I-I could have prevented it, if I was still the man I was when I accepted my office, but…" He shook his head. "I am losing…everything. Whatever skill as Steward I once had, it is vanishing right in front of me…"

"What happened?" asked Legolas in shock. "We are going to war? Against whom?"

"Against the Variags." Faramir swayed on his feet. The lightheaded feeling had returned to him more and more frequently lately. The world seemed to spin, and it was only by Legolas' hand on his shoulder that he was able to steady himself.

"I do not wish to speak of it," he muttered, passing a hand over his eyes. "The vote was cast, and by a mistake of mine the result was in favor of war. I misinterpreted everything. I missed so many obvious signs… I cannot be the Steward anymore, Legolas. The stress is beginning to take its toll on me."

"Enough so to claim your life?" asked Legolas solemnly. "I heard you speak of death. What has made you grow so morbid? Everyone was so hopeful that you were beginning to mend."

"This is not what I want, Legolas. It is merely what I am condemned to." Faramir looked up at the sky with bleak, empty eyes. "I can feel cold, bitterness, pain. There is not a moment when I am awake that I am not in agony, whether physical or emotional. My heart can only resist darkness for so long before it surrenders. I am consumed by my nightmares, and I am too weakened by lack of sleep to fight them."

"Are you the same Faramir I call my friend?" asked Legolas sharply. "How can you give up so easily? Your friends are here for you, as always, and yet you turn us aside and say that you will not try! I thought we had gotten you out of that stage at least, Faramir!"

Faramir lowered his eyes to look at Legolas, but instead his gaze caught on the harsh glare of a dark man walking past them. Instantly he was pitched into blackness, and a series of images flashed in front of his eyes. Tears…a trial…furious crowds…an execution…blood…

Faramir stumbled sideways and collapsed, and Legolas hastened to catch him. Cold and shivering, Faramir closed his eyes and gasped.

"Faramir!" cried Legolas anxiously, kneeling with his friend in his arms. His eyes fluttered closed, and he laid one hand upon Faramir's brow. "Gwathrandir, ú-guino fuinesse! Minno galad! Non thoniel estelo le. Edrathon annon echoiro le. Lasto beth nin!"

Faramir wrenched his eyes open and at first saw nothing but the eyes of the man who had shot him that black look. Slowly, as his heartbeat receded to normal, the eyes faded away into Legolas' concerned face.

"They're…they're changing…" Faramir panted. "The visions…the things I see… They aren't…they aren't Éowyn anymore… They're…darker. They're different. Things that have not yet come to pass… Things I cannot stop…"

"What are you talking about, mellon nin?" said Legolas in a low voice, stroking Faramir's damp brow. "Ú-tiro fuin."

Faramir choked. "Someone is going to die… Someone…but who? I thought…I thought these visions would go away…once I resigned from the Stewardship… The fault cannot be mine if I am in no position to help! It is no longer my duty to protect the King and Queen!" He twisted fitfully in Legolas' arms. "The fault cannot be mine! It cannot be mine!" He wept weakly, as though he barely had strength enough even to cry. It was out of helplessness that he wept, out of the knowledge that something was going to happen that was beyond his control. Once again he would be forced to stand by and watch someone he loved be wrenched brutally away from him, just another blow to his spirit.

Legolas watched the shadows flicker behind Faramir's teary eyes, full of fear and pain. He closed his own eyes again, whispering words of comfort in Elvish, in Westron, in any language he could think of, if only Faramir's pain would subside. They had brought him out of utter oblivion, but now his struggle was merely prolonged. Instead of allowing him to die for months ago with the death of his wife, they had dragged him back to reality, back to life, forcing him to struggle through however many years it would be before his natural death. Which was better, in the end? Which would have been more cruel, to allow him to die or to force him to live?

"You will mend, Faramir," Legolas said, his voice soft and quiet. "I promise you, this darkness will not endure. You will mend…"

Faramir wavered, on the brink of speaking the very words he dreaded the most. Finally he surrendered, and the words flew from his mouth. "I do not wish to mend. It is like mending a wound in the flesh; it will only hurt all the more when it is reopened afresh. I would rather die than continue this!" The instant the words left his lips, he regretted them. He had spoken the thing which haunted his mind, the thing which he had known he could never utter aloud to any friend. Now Legolas knew, and he would never be at peace.

"Don't say that, Faramir," said Legolas harshly, his grip tightening on Faramir's shoulders. "You cannot give in! Those are the words of a coward!"

"Then I am a coward…"

"No you are not!" Legolas hauled Faramir to his feet, forcing him to stand unsupported. Faramir swayed but did not fall again. "You are only fooling yourself, Faramir! I am growing tired of this game! You lie to trick yourself, and you believe the lies! You know that you are making it up, yet you deceive yourself into believing it is the truth!"

"It is the truth, Legolas."

"No." Legolas settled his fierce eyes on his friend's, and Faramir flinched. "Do not lie to me, Faramir. If you are going to lie to yourself, there is nothing I can say or do to stop you, but do not lie to me. I know you better. We all know you better. You do not know yourself."

A weak smile turned up the corner of Faramir's mouth. "You are right. I do not know myself. I am lost." He turned away. "When I leave Minas Tirith three days hence, I plan never to return." He paused. "You must understand…this is the only way I can protect myself. If I must die, I will not die like he did."

"Like who did?" murmured Legolas, already knowing the answer.

Faramir closed his eyes tight, squeezing out a tear that fell silently down his pale cheek. "Like my father did," he whispered, his eyes growing hazy with memories. A strong breeze tossed his raven hair in front of his eyes, and he shivered. "He died in madness and in ruin, a crude shadow of the man he once was, a crumbled figure of a human being. Legolas, I…" The tears swelled so quickly that Faramir could not contain them all. "…I-I swore that I would never die like him. It is a promise to myself that I cannot break. If I break it, I will truly forget who I am. Do you not understand? I can only be saved by resigning and by a swift death, so that I do not have time to decay into the rotting soul that my father became."

Legolas put a hand on Faramir's shoulder. "I have said it before, and I will say it again: You are not now, nor will you ever be your father. He was driven by madness and despair and corruption. You have none of these things."

"I had none of them," Faramir corrected. "My heart is now accustomed to despair, and madness will soon follow if I do not…" Weary, he shook his head. "Nightmares, visions, sickness, wars… I can't deal with it all, Legolas. For my own health, I must step aside."

"And yet you are certain that you shall perish nonetheless!"

"For my sanity, then." Faramir averted his eyes. "Would you rather have me mad or dead, Legolas?"

"Neither," said the Elf sternly. "But if one or the other, then certainly mad. I confess that I have thought you rather batty for years."

Faramir frowned. "I know you would lift my spirits, but it is no laughing matter to me."

"Nor to me. Do you think I speak in jest?"

"Legolas."

"Faramir."

Faramir sighed. "It is late. I should retire."

Legolas groaned dramatically. "No witty rebuttal? No clever banter? Come, Faramir, where has your scholarly spirit gone?" he teased, desperately hoping to awaken in his friend some forgotten laughter, some hidden joy, some lost playfulness.

"Good night, Legolas."

Legolas stared after Faramir long after he had left the narrow alleyway where they had stood. The rush of the markets began to dwindle around him, as the sky darkled in the east. The cobblestone streets echoed with the empty trod of forlorn horses driven by equally oppressed masters. Minas Tirith was dying with the sunlight and with Faramir's hope.

"Ai, mellon nin," Legolas lamented gently into the growing darkness. "More like your father are you already."

mellon nin

(my friend)

Ai, fuin loki golodh le!

(Alas, darkness has bent thy wisdom!)

Gwathrandir, ú-guino fuinesse! Minno galad! Non thoniel estelo le. Edrathon annon echoiro le. Lasto beth nin!

(Shadow-wanderer, live not in darkness! Enter the light! I am the kindler of thy hope. I will open the door of your awakening. Listen to my words!)

Ú-tiro fuin.

(Look not towards darkness.)

Ai, mellon nin.

(Alas, my friend.)