I wish they were mine. A certain Scot would be in the cupboard below my sink if they were. Also, thanks to all who reviewed. You are far too kind. Please read and review.
His sleep was light, his ears ever alert for any sound, any indication of danger. His head was aching with strain, from long hours of watching and waiting for the inevitable to leap out at him, scimitar drawn, snarling with lust for blood, his blood. A distant splash, as of a minute pebble in a deep well, bade him open his eyes to be greeted by pitch night. He did not move but instead flicked his eyes around his surroundings, taking in every detail, scanning for danger. Every sense was screaming, tingling with anticipation and adrenaline. He could smell the river, hear the distant sound of rustling leaves, see the outline of a soldier standing watch on a parapet. But the sudden rank odor of orc drove Faramir to his feet with a sudden rush. His keen ears caught footsteps before they reached him and he whirled, sword in hand, only in time to parry a blow from a squint-eyed, snarling orc. With a roar of fury the creature stumbled back, then raised its hand to attack again. Silently, teeth bared, eyes narrowed, Faramir ducked beneath the blow and rammed his sword to the hilt into its gullet. He felt the dark blood splash over his hand, and he twisted the blade with the practice of a career soldier, feeling muscle and meat tear and give. He looked into the wild eyes of the orc and with a rush of anguish saw reflected there, pensive and pale, the face of his dead brother.
Faramir woke with a start and immediately stared at his hands, looking for blood. Realization flooded him and he slumped back against the bolster, exhaling a shaky breath. Dreams were his bane now, refusing him respite from battle even as he recovered behind the walls of the city. In sleep war found him.
Knowing that rest would elude him now, he thrust the coverlet away from his legs and stood, grimacing as a knot twinged in his neck. He straightened and stretched his hands toward the sky, feeling muscles unkink and bones pop. Grasping his shirt he gingerly threaded his arms in, careful not to brush against the bandaged wounds on his chest. As he opened the door and stepped into the hallway he took a long look around. Lined up and down the corridor there were men...dead men, injured men, weeping men, silent men. His men. He rubbed his palm over his mouth, trying to force the weariness from his mind, to put on determination and hope for his soldiers. Part of his mind screamed at him, "Betrayal! Betrayal!" He closed his eyes against the thought, the knowledge that he was cloistered in the city while his men went out to die. Never before had his soldiers faced battle without him. What now would they think of their captain, watching as they marched away without him?
Shaking the self-doubt from his mind he knelt on the stone floor. Before him there lay a battered young man, his head pillowed on his own bloodstained cloak. A large, gory wound slashed its way across the soldier's face, from temple to chin, so changing his features that he barely looked human. Faramir lightly touched the man on the chest and whispered, "How are you doing, son?" The soldier opened one eye, the other gummed shut with blood.
"It's nothing Captain. I'll be back in the brawl in less than a day." He tried to smile, but his wound stretched and tore with the effort, and he let out a moan of pain, a bubble of blood frothing on his lips. Faramir gently mopped at it with a square of bandage.
"Rest you well, young warrior of Gondor. There will be plenty of fight left for all of us, there is no hurry." Faramir rested back on his heels and regarded the young man with a heavy heart. "You did well, son." He couldn't bring himself to say more, so he patted the soldier's shoulder and stood, rubbing a forearm over his weary eyes. He looked up and down the corridor at casualty after casualty and his heart constricted within him. He didn't think he could go on, up and down that passage, looking at the battered faces of the young men who had followed him into hell. A pang seized in his chest, reminding him yet again of his own wounds. He rested his palm over his breast, taking a deep breath against the pain, but then a sudden sight took that breath away.
Eowyn was kneeling at the side of one of the soldiers, gently cleaning a gruesome stab wound on his shoulder. Her fair hair was knotted into a loose bun, though a few gossamer strands had escaped, falling to frame her face. She smiled as she spoke in low tones to the wounded man, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. The soldier was smiling back, though his features were creased with pain. Faramir's heart gave an odd jump as he looked at her there, unworried about the blood on her hands, concerned only with distracting the man from his agony. With a final gentle look, Eowyn began wiping her hands on a rag that she had draped over her arm. She glanced back over her shoulder and her eyes locked with Faramir's. He gave her a shaky smile and rubbed his hand over his cheek, suddenly aware of the unshaven scruff on his face. She laid her bloody towel back across her shoulder, mindless of her gown, and held her hand out to him. He took it, helping her to her feet, and she was supremely conscious of the feel of his hand on hers.
"You have a way with the men." Faramir tucked her hand into his elbow and smiled. "It is nice to see them smile in the midst of their pain." He laughed quietly, "You are a much fairer visitor for them than I. You've stolen my thunder."
"Don't rob yourself of credit, my lord. Your men love you, I can see it. I've spoken with many of them and all have asked after you. They feared for you, and are so grateful that you were spared." Eowyn tipped her head to the side, unconsciously shaking a strand of hair out of her eyes. "A captain so loved by his men is rare, and your soldiers know that they are blessed to have you."
"I know of one who would differ," said Faramir under his breath, barely aware that he had even spoken aloud. Eowyn looked at him from the corner of her eye and tightened her grip around his arm. He sighed heavily and patted her hand. "May I show you something?" Eowyn nodded silently and tucked herself against his side as he led her out of the houses of healing. There was a light drizzle in the air, softening into fuzzy glows the lanterns that were lit against the dusk. Faramir ducked beneath a stone overhang, which snaked upward and out of sight, and with his body sheltered Eowyn against the rain.
They were silent as they walked together, Eowyn taking in for the first time the city outside of the houses. It was clearly a city under siege, marked with the filth and decay that accompanies war, but behind the crumbling stone and the debris-filled streets, she could see the glory that had defined Minas Tirith in its golden age. There was a sad beauty in the ruin, an echo of the past, a token of the future. Faramir walked on without seeing, his eyes distant, face sad. He led her through a domed tunnel, and for a few short moments she could sense only the warmth of his arm against her hand, then a speck of gray light grew to wide open sky.
They were at the brink of the city. Only the White Tower surpassed them, reaching high above them like a pillar of ivory. In the gray of dusk the White Tree stood, shrunken, twisted, naked. Its guardians stood around it, facing north, south, east and west, silent and still, their eyes fixed on some invisible point beyond the horizon. Faramir stopped for a moment beside the tree and reached up to gently stroke one of the bare branches. Without a word he touched his fingers to his lips, then led Eowyn away from the tree, toward the escarpment that jutted from the mountain.
Spread out beneath them lay the city, and beyond the field of Pelennor. Farther still Eowyn could see the mountain peaks of Mordor, backlit by some uncommon red glow. Faramir walked ever closer to the precipice, leading Eowyn on. Disquiet began to grow in her heart and she slowed, feeling Faramir continue walking inexorably toward the edge. She let go of his arm and finally he stopped, turning to look at her. He looked in her eyes, and she felt frozen in his gaze as he asked softly, "Trust me?" She felt her mouth set into a hard line and she hesitated a moment, then stepped forward to take Faramir's outstretched hand. He escorted her to the very brink of the stony prow, and she looked down on the vast, white stillness of the city. Far below moved tiny specks of men, hurrying to and fro in the business of war, their voices swallowed in the distance. The height made her head swim and she clutched at Faramir as an anchor. She felt his arms encircle her, holding her firmly, and her fear evaporated, and she marveled at the sight.
"This is where I said farewell to my brother for the final time. We stood here on the height and looked at one another for we could not think of any words to say. I knew in my heart that he would not return, though I hoped that I was wrong. I believe he knew it too, somewhere inside, for finally he put his arm around me and whispered in my ear that now I must care for his men. I have striven to do him justice in the way that I lead. But I know that the men remember their true captain, Boromir of Gondor, for he was the truest and best that they had ever known, or could know." Eowyn tilted her chin to look up at Faramir. His eyes were sad and the corners of his mouth were pinched. "I have done my best."
"My lord, your best is more than enough. Your men do love you. You are not your brother, no, but a man apart from him. And they would follow you to the gates of Mordor and beyond, because you are their captain and they trust you."
"Should they?" Faramir's voice was not much more than a whisper. "They are marching away without me. They rush on to death while I linger here."
"What would it benefit anyone for you to march with them only to fall in battle because you are not yet well enough to fight?" Eowyn paused, carefully considering her words. "Lord Faramir, your father is gone. Your brother is gone. You cannot prove anything to them now." Faramir looked at her sharply and she feared for a moment that she had wounded him deeper than she had intended. But despite the gleam of pain in his eyes there was also grim resignation. "You are a good man Faramir. Never doubt that." Eowyn's heart softened as she saw the corner of his mouth tremble and she snaked her arms around his waist. He rested his cheek against the top of her head and she stood there in mist, feeling his heart beat against her cheek.