I have redone chapters 1 & 2, and will be redoing chapter 3, then will concentrate on new chapters.

Do not go gentle into that good night

Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Dylan Thomas

Ch 1 Assassination

Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien watched the dust motes dance in the early morning light. He idly wondered what it would be like, to dance with wild abandonment in a sunbeam. He managed, barely, to wrest his attention back to the supplicants before the throne.

Faramir also noted that Elessar, King of Gondor, was shifting slightly on his throne.

As Elessar looked toward his steward, Faramir gave a slight nod and slipped out of the small door leading to the rear chambers. He had just remembered where and under what circumstances he had seen the current supplicant. He made his way to the archives. As he searched for the records of twelve years before, the archivist approached.

“May I assist you, My Lord Faramir?” he asked with a smile. The archivist had been a mentor for Faramir, and was glad his former pupil had finally gotten the recognition that was so richly deserved.

“Aye, Îlbal. I am looking for the land book of twelve years ago. Ah, here it is! Exactly what I need! See? Every time you are near, I find what I am searching for right where I am standing. I do not know how it is done.” This was an old jest that was ongoing. Îlbal merely laughed.

“Tis a talent, steward, that shall never be told. I merely think of your need, and it appears.” With a wink, and a slight bow, the archivist walked over to his desk. Faramir chuckled as his eyes sought the information he needed.

“Îlbal, I need to take this to King Elessar, with your permission,” said Faramir, keeping his finger in the book and walking over to the desk. “I will return it as soon as is possible.”

Îlbal smiled and nodded. “Very well, Lord Faramir.”

With a smile and a hand on the shoulder, Faramir took his leave.

Faramir returned to the throne room. With a bow, he walked to Aragorn. He showed the entry he had earlier marked. In a low voice that only the king could hear, he explained the significance of the entry.

The king raised an eyebrow, and exclaimed “Indeed! Well done, my friend! Perhaps you would be so kind as to acquaint Lord Huldán with your findings.” Only Faramir caught the quick wink Aragorn gave him.

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Faramir smiled as he bowed to the king. The silence was almost deafening. All were waiting to hear how the new king would rule.

Faramir walked slowly down the steps and stopped in front of Huldán. He sketched a small bow.

“Lord Huldán, twelve years ago you stood in that exact spot, and swore an oath that the lands you owned were not usable for crops. Therefore, you received a reduced tax on said lands. Is that not correct?”

Huldán swallowed nervously. He wondered what this upstart steward had in mind. He did not answer at first.

Elessar said, “Did you not hear the question, Lord Huldán? Our steward asked you a legitimate question. We are awaiting your answer.”

Finally, Lord Huldán grudgingly answered “Aye.” He glared at Faramir but the steward refused to back down.

“Very well,” replied Aragorn, “It is my understanding that you sold this land to a lad that has wed your daughter.”

As Faramir turned to speak to King Elessar, Huldán suddenly pulled a small dagger from his sleeve and drove it into Faramir’s abdomen. The steward, a shocked look on his face, went completely white, collapsing as guards took down his assailant.

“Aragorn!” gasped Faramir, striving to rise. He was growing cold, shock taking over.

A voice entered the cacophony of sounds assaulting his ears. “Faramir, stay with us! Try and stay awake, my friend.” The voice was that of Aragorn.

“I..will..try. Tired.” Even as he spoke, his vision was growing darker. He was fighting, trying to keep the darkness at bay. “Never..thought ..a small..dagger..could..hurt..so much,” he gasped. His back arched as a new wave of pain hit. He could not stop the low cry of pain that slipped out.

“I know, just stay with us.” He did not have the energy to open his eyes. He let out a sigh and welcomed the darkness as it washed over him.

Aragorn assisted in carrying the wounded man to the healing wing. Once there, the healers labored for some time, stitching the wound closed. The biggest obstacle they had to overcome was the bleeding, which would not stop. Finally, a healer was able to stem the hemorrhage. Faramir was unaware of the drama as it unfolded.

After almost six hours, the steward was moved to a private room. Aragorn had ordered a guard to keep watch at the door. So many volunteered, but Beregond simply planted himself there.  Aragorn knew he was defeated, and let him stay. 

Ch 2 Questions and Answers

Aragorn was heart-sore and mind-weary. It had been an exhausting day, and it was far from over. Faramir lay in the Houses of Healing, fighting for his life. The news had been sent to Éowyn as well as Éomer. He had also sent word to Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth about his nephew.

There was still the matter of the assassin, Huldán. Aragorn knew he needed to interrogate the prisoner. The king also knew he needed a bit of time to calm himself, so the interrogation would proceed in an orderly manner. As he walked through the hall, he noticed it had become dark and dreary. The rain was pouring down as though the Valar themselves were adding their tears for Faramir.

As he neared the cell where Huldán was being held, he motioned for the guard to unlock the door. The guard did so, then retreated to outside the door. Aragorn nodded his thanks and entered.

Huldán merely looked up as his visitor entered. When he saw who it was, he knelt. Aragorn just stared for a few minutes. “Why?” was all he asked.

Huldán stared at the floor, then turned his gaze up at the king. “Money. I did it for the money. It was nothing personal, Sire.”

Aragorn shook his head. “I do not understand. You try to murder my steward. There would be no escape. Your life would be forfeit.”

Huldán agreed, saying, “Aye, but I am already dying. The healers can do nothing for me. I have the sweet sickness. They have told me it is almost time.” He shrugged. “Therefore I had nothing to lose.”

“Your lands are also forfeit. They will go to Faramir as reparation for your deed. Does that not bother you?” Aragorn asked.

Huldán replied, “Nay. Since the land is no longer mine, I care not. My daughter has disobeyed me when she married. She deserves nothing. Her husband is a farmer. Twas not my desire.”

Aragorn asked, “Who was it that paid you? Was anything said as to why they desired the death of Lord Faramir?” He waited as the prisoner debated about answering. When nothing was forthcoming, he told Huldán grimly, “I am a patient man, but I am quickly losing that patience.”

“As to why, it is very simple. Some years ago, Captain Faramir had led the Ithilien Rangers in an ambush on a group of Haradrim as they were marching to Mordor. They had a Mûmak with them. The Ithilien Rangers ambushed them, killing all, including Râsual’s brother. Râsual, himself wounded, was able to hide from the Rangers as they hunted down and killed all.”

Aragorn nodded, he had heard the same tale from both Sam and Frodo, as well as Faramir. “Where is Râsual now? Where is his lodgings?”

“I know not. We would meet at The Black Hart. He was always there waiting for me.” Huldán was unable to meet the gaze of the King. He kept his eyes on the floor.

Suddenly there was a tap on the doorframe. The young guard was holding a blue silk pouch. Aragorn walked over and was handed the pouch. He raised an eyebrow as the guard explained that a messenger had brought it, and told him it was for Lord Huldán. As it was handed over to Aragorn, the jingling of coins could be heard.

As the contents were poured out, there was a piece of parchment inside. Captain Faramir will die.

Aragorn stared as the thirty silver coins glowed blood-red in the rays of the setting sun.

A/N  "sweet sickness" = Diabetes.  The ancient Egyptians were the first to call diabetes the sweet sickness as early as 1500 BC. 

I realize this is short, and I apologize. AU.

Ch 3 Plotting

Râsual entered The Black Hart, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark interior. He walked over to a rear table and sat down. Having given his order for ale and food, he waited. He was aware that the guardsmen of the Citadel frequented the establishment, and he knew he could gather the information he needed from their gossip.

Again the door opened to admit an older man dressed in the garb of the guard. The man searched the room then spied the one he was seeking. Râsual listened as the two talked.

“Bergil, please convey my apologies to your mother. I have duty tonight, as one of the guards was taken ill. I will be at the Houses of Healing with Lord Faramir should any need arise. However, I know you are capable of attending to any problem that may arise at home. I will be there tomorrow morn.” He smiled at the younger man.

“Aye, Da. I will send your regrets to Ma along with flowers. I have the duty tomorrow night. Is there aught I should be aware?” asked Bergil.

“Nay, I know of nothing. However, make sure you check the guard book for any problems that may arise. Now, let us eat then we will have to depart.” Beregond smiled as his son ate. Bergil had ordered earlier and the two finished their meal in companionable silence.

Bergil broke the silence asking, “Da, any change in Lord Faramir’s condition? I know he was fevered.”

Beregond shook his head, answering with a sigh, “Nay, he is still fevered. The healers are unsure if he will live. It was a grievous wound he received, my son. We can only hope he will recover. He has the best healers, including Lord Elrond. Lord Faramir is a fighter. Ah, well. Time is passing, and I must go. Take care.”

“Aye, you also, Da. It is time for me to leave. I will be certain to tend to your wishes. Take care, Da.” As the two embraced, Bergil whispered, “I love you.” Beregond responded, “And I you.”

As the two departed, another person entered. He searched the room then saw Râsual. He went over and sat down. He motioned for drinks, and waited until they were served.

“Any news?” he asked in a low voice. “Did Huldán do as he promised?”

“Pah! Huldán is a fool. He should have waited until they were alone, not at a public audience. As for the steward, he lives - for now. It appears he is fevered, and the healers do not know if he will live.

“Too long has the blood of our brother cried out for vengeance. I promised him, Telnéth, and I will not be denied.”

Telnéth nodded, saying, “I agree. We must finish what Huldán has started. Have you planned as to how the death of the steward will be accomplished?”

“Aye. It will be by my hand. I will acquaint him with the reason as the deed is done. Come, let us go and I will ready the means of death.” They then departed the inn, Râsual to his rooms, and Telnéth to the stalls of the marketplace to find the articles his brother needed.

Sorry for the late update, but have been busy working.

Have redone Ch 1, replaced Ch 2 with a brand new chapter, and apologize for Ch 3. It is bad, and will, in all probability, stay bad. Mea culpa. You might want to reread Ch 2, so this chapter will make sense.

A special Hannon le to all my reviewers.

An extra special hannon le to Eleanor of Aquitania for her assistance.

A very special thank you to my archivist, my sister. Thanks, Bon!

Ch 4

As Aragorn scooped the coins into the bags, he had one more question. “What does this Râsual look like?”

Huldán shrugged his shoulders, saying, “He always came to me hooded and cloaked. I could never see his face.”

Aragorn nodded, expecting nothing less. He realized Râsual was clever enough to hide his face. The name was, most probably, also false. He knew it would not be an easy task to find someone hiding behind a false identity.

The Gondorian King made his way to his study. He entered it and stood for a few minutes, then made his way to the desk in front of the windows. He realized he was still carrying the bag of coins and threw the bag on the desk.

Sitting in the chair, he stared at the bag, but not really seeing it. He closed his eyes, trying to blot out the memory of Faramir, bleeding, falling to the floor. He again saw the Steward, lying on the bed in the Houses of Healing, unconscious.

He did not hear the door open nor did he hear the soft footsteps as they approached him. A hand on his shoulder made him look up. Arwen stood there, lovely as always.

“Meleth nin, you must rest. You will do Faramir no good if you are exhausted. I had the kitchen send something.” As she was speaking, she brushed the hair off Aragorn’s forehead and tucked it behind his ears. She could see the exhaustion on his face and in his eyes.

Sighing, he acquiesced, rising from the chair and letting Arwen guide him to their chambers. Once there, he bathed his face and hands.

He told Arwen, “I have sent for Éowyn, Éomer, Lothíriel as well as Prince Imrahil. Faramir mentioned earlier they were visiting Emyn Arnen, so they should arrive by this evening.”

“Everything is in readiness. Their apartments are ready, and the kitchen will be ready to serve a hot meal when they arrive,” stated Arwen. She asked Aragorn, “Will Faramir recover?” She loved the gentle steward, as did everyone who knew him, and it saddened her that he would be so injured.

Aragorn sighed, and then said, “I certainly hope so. He has been grievously injured. I fear infection of the wound. The warden will send word if he worsens.” Aragorn toyed with a piece of apple, then set it down.

Arwen stood and walked to the balcony. Aragorn joined her. He took her in his arms, holding her tightly, taking comfort from her presence.

Arwen was taking comfort being in her husband’s arms. She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. She let her tears fall, knowing her beloved was there for her.

Ch 5 The Houses of Healing

Faramir had asked that they send for Lord Elrond. The two had met at the coronation of King Elessar, and instantly become friends. The two were kindred spirits - both were scholars, lore masters, and warriors. As a result, they spent many evenings debating everything from battles to history as seen by both human and elf.

He readily agreed to assist in the care of Faramir, for he, too, had come to regard the steward as a friend.

Elrond and Aragorn entered the sickroom. Elrond noticed that the steward’s face was flushed with fever. He also noticed the quick grimace of pain that crossed Faramir’s face.

Turning to the healer, he said, “The wound has become infected?”

“Aye, and the fever has risen as well. We must re-open the wound so it will drain.”

Aragorn stepped to the bed and spoke to his steward. “Éowyn will be here shortly. She is traveling with Éomer as well as Prince Imrahil. I have received word she will be arriving within the hour.”

Faramir suddenly arched his back as a searing wave of pain hit. He gasped, then slowly settled back on the bed.

Elrond, Aragorn and the healers conferred. “We must drain the wound,” one said. “It must be re-opened. It is the only way. However, we can not give Lord Faramir any sleeping potion.”

Aragorn nodded, then took a crystal on a chain from a pocket of his robe. He took a lamp, setting it on the table and turned it up. He started the crystal spinning, showering the room with rainbows of color. He noticed Faramir’s gaze had focused on the spinning jewel.

In a quiet voice, he said, “Watch the crystal. See how it spins, flashing. Just keep watching.” He watched as Faramir concentrated on the glowing crystal. “Look deeply into the center and see the flame as it dances.” Aragorn noticed Faramir’s eyes had started to glaze over. His eyelids started to droop.

Aragorn nodded, and continued talking in a quiet voice. “Sleep, my friend.” He smiled as Faramir gave a small sigh, and settled deeper in the bed. “Can you hear me? You will be able to answer without waking.”

“Aye” Faramir breathed softly.

“Very well. Go even deeper, let nothing disturb your rest.” Placing his hand above the wound but not touching it, he spoke. “You will feel nothing until I say. The healers must open the wound to drain the infection off. As they do so, you will feel no pain. You will feel pressure, but only that. The pain will drain away with the infection. Do you understand?”

Again came the soft answer “Aye.”

Aragorn nodded to Elrond, who then proceeded to open the wound and drain it. The entire time the healers watched for any signs of pain from the steward, and were pleasantly surprised when he did not stir and never showed any sign of pain.

Finally, Elrond was finished and he nodded to Aragorn. The king then spoke to Faramir. “All is well, my friend. You will feel rested and alert, remembering everything. The numbness will slowly recede, but the pain will not return.”

Again came the almost silent “Aye” as the steward slipped into a healing sleep. As the healers were gathering their supplies, there came a page with the news of the arrival of the riders from Emyn Arnen.

Ch 6 Faramir awakes

Faramir was drifting, not awake yet not asleep. He could feel the firmness of the mattress; the crispness of the sheets; the scratchiness of the woolen blanket covering him. The warmth of Anar’s rays on his face. He felt a slim cool hand holding his. He knew there were other beings in the room, but he was unconcerned.

He noticed the scents around him. He could smell sunlight and wind from the bed linen. He noticed lavender emanating from the sheets. There was the scent of other flowers. First, roses, which told him Éowyn was near. The tang of the sea told him of Prince Imrahil’s presence. Sandalwood meant his cousin Lothíriel was also near. And if Lothíriel was there, King Éomer was also. Yes, he noticed the aroma of hay and horses. Lastly, he noticed pine and pipeweed, which meant Aragorn.

He heard the low-pitched voices but was unable to understand what was being said. He tried to open his eyes, but they would not do as he wished. Again, he drifted on a sea of nothingness.

Suddenly, he heard Éowyn speak. “Faramir, open your eyes. Please, for me.” She brushed the hair off his forehead. “Please, love, wake up.”

Finally, he was able to open his eyes. His White Lady smiled as he looked at her. He opened his lips to speak. “Nay, try not to talk, just rest for the nonce.”

“Aragorn has told me the tale,” said Éowyn as Faramir looked at her. “He has told me of your wounding.”

“Aye,” replied the King, walking over to the bed. “It is good to see you awake.”

Faramir nodded, then asked his friend, and king, “How long?” He knew it had been some days, but was unable to recollect very much. He could remember, vaguely, of being wakened and having his dressings changed, but it was all so dreamlike.

Aragorn told his steward, “You were wounded seven days ago. Do you remember what happened?”

Faramir cast his mind back to the assassination attempt. “Aye, I was showing you the record of Lord Huldán’s tax being reduced, then the attack.” He remembered the searing, white-hot fire of a dagger entering his body. “I do not know why.”

“Huldán has told me the tale. He did it simply for greed. He received thirty silver pennies for the deed.” Aragorn turned to his steward. “He was paid by Râsual of Harad.”

Faramir frowned, and said, “I do not understand. I have been in contact with several wandering tribes, and have found them to be no different. They wish for nothing more than to have peace. They love and laugh and live even as we do.”

Aragorn sighed, then replied, “Râsual has declared blood feud upon you for the death of his brother in Ithilien. Râsual was wounded, but escaped.

“He has tried once, but he will not rest until you are dead.”

Faramir closed his eyes, harking back to when he had ambushed the troop of Southrons headed for Mordor. He remembered the warmth of Anar, the twang of the bowstrings, the clash of swords. He shuddered, hearing the cries of the dying and the wounded. He again felt the tremors as the Mûmak charged; heard the trumpeting as the great animal went down under the arrows of his men. “Leave none alive..Leave none alive..”

“Leave none alive..” he whispered. He was unaware of having spoken out loud. He looked around, puzzled at being in the Houses of Healing instead of the glades of Ithilien. Memory came rushing back. “I…”

Aragorn merely smiled and told him, “I understand.” He started to pace. “However, there is still someone who wishes your death.”

Éowyn then spoke. “If this Râsual wishes Faramir dead, why should we not show him what he so desires?”

Ch 7 Best laid plans of mice and men…

“Have you heard? Lord Faramir will be going to Emyn Arnen instead of staying in the Houses of Healing!” was the whisper of gossip sweeping through the streets of Minas Tirith.

“Is he not wounded? I heard it ‘twas almost to death.”

“Aye, ‘tis true. Mayhap the King has decided his Steward should return to Ithilien. The only reason for that is the Lord Faramir is dying and does not want to pass in Minas Tirith.”

“How do you know this? It would seem you have ears that hear what most others do not.”

“Pshaw! I have a friend who has a friend in the Houses of Healing. She only passes on what is true.”

“Would not the Steward stay in Minas Tirith? Why should he journey to his home in Ithilien?”

“Aye, he would were he the ruling steward. With the return of the King, he need not stay. Lord Faramir would still be returned here for entombment with the rest of his ancestors.”

“I heard the king will be going to be with Lord Faramir when he passes. The Lady Éowyn has already gone ahead to prepare for the arrival.”

Three days later, a closed carriage rumbled through the White City. It continued on to the Houses of Healing, where it was drawn up to the doors. As the guards stood watch, a figure, cloaked and hooded, was escorted to the open door. Just as the figure was entering the carriage, the hood slipped back, exposing the face of Lord Faramir. All could see the flush of fever on his cheeks, while dark circles shown under his eyes, which were dull and listless. A grimace of pain seemed to sweep across his face.

“Tsk, it is not seemly he should ride out,” was the considered opinion of the good folk of Minas Tirith. “King Elessar does not do right by his Steward.”

“I heard ‘twas the Lord Imrahil who insisted Lord Faramir return to Emyn Arnen.”

Faramir was helped into the carriage, and slowly the carriage, with its passenger, was driven through the circles of Minas Tirith. As they did when Faramir led his Rangers to the final defense of Osgiliath, flowers were strewn in front of the carriage. There was no sound save the clop of the horses’ hooves and a sob here and there. The perfume from the flowers spread throughout the circles.

Inside the carriage, Faramir again went over the plan Éowyn had set out. He could only hope that the Haradrim would hear the gossip and would fall into the trap that was so painstakingly set. He hoped that he had put on a convincing act. He resisted the urge to wipe the paint off, wondering how on Arda the King’s Players wore it.

Earlier, in The Black Hart, Râsual listened to the gossip. His heart was inflamed. How dare Faramir die without hearing from Râsual himself why blood feud had been declared! It was not enough for someone else to tell the tale. It would have to come from himself, and only him.

Râsual watched as the Prince of Ithilien entered the carriage. He saw the signs of fever, noticing the signs of death upon the face of his foe. He paused, then decided he must act before it would be too late. Suiting thoughts to action, he went to the stable and retrieved his steed and tack.

He followed the carriage as it rolled across the Pelennor Fields. As it approached the Anduin, he turned aside. Riding upstream, he found a safe place to ford the great river.

Having forded the river, Râsual continued towards a copse of thick brush surrounding several tall trees. Here, then, would be the place to confront Captain Faramir.

Ch 8 Abducted

Râsual dragged the smaller of the two trees across the road, blocking it. He then hid his horse and waited for the carriage to appear. He did not have to wait long. He watched from concealment as the driver stopped and got down from the box to assess the situation. Râsual could see the driver was wary, standing with his hand on his sword, as he approached the obstacle.

Râsual made his move, grabbing the driver from behind and putting a gloved hand over his mouth. The driver fought desperately to save himself as well as the Prince of Ithilien. Râsual drove a dagger into his back and caught him as he fell. Quickly, he moved the body into the brush and quietly approached the carriage.

Faramir heard footsteps approaching and sat back, waiting for the door to open. Suddenly, the door was thrown open and there was the Haradrim, holding a sword to Faramir’s chest. “Râsual, I believe?” said the Prince of Ithilien coolly. He pretended not to see the sword in the man’s hand.

“Aye, Captain Faramir. We finally meet. Your life is forfeit. You killed my brother, now I will take your life,” said Râsual with a feral smile. “However, I will give you the chance my brother never had. We will fight to the death. Not here, though. You know where you will die.” As he finished speaking, he entered the carriage and took a piece of rope and forced Faramir’s arms behind him, binding them. He missed the dagger Faramir had secreted beneath the cushions. He then bound Faramir’s legs together, shoving Faramir back.

Râsual then mounted the box and guided the horses around the obstacle. As he whipped the animals into a gallop, Faramir was able to retrieve his dagger. He knew he would not be able to cut the rope, so instead he managed to get the dagger and scratched a note as to his destination, for he did indeed know where Râsual was taking him. He only hoped Aragorn would be with the rescue party, and that his note would be found. Faramir then settled back, conserving his strength for the coming fight.

Meanwhile, at Emyn Arnen, Éowyn awaited Faramir’s arrival. The later it grew, so too did her unease. She paced, hoping to hear the sound of wheels that did not arrive. As dusk drew nigh, she sent for a guard to ride the route and offer assistance, should it be needed.

As the guard neared the ambush site, he could see, in the light of the full moon, the tracks of the carriage where it went off the path. Alighting, he searched the surrounding area, afraid what he might find. A short distance into the woods, he found the driver. As he reached to check for a pulse, he realized blood was still seeping around the dagger. Quickly, he retrieved his bag of herbs and bandages that Faramir insisted all the guards carried. He opened it, taking folded pieces of linen and putting them around the dagger. He then took strips and wound them around the pads, holding them in place. Taking the man in his arms, he set the injured driver in the saddle, making sure he did not touch the small dagger. He turned the injured man slightly so the dagger was in the clear and, having gotten into the saddle, he rode for Minas Tirith. 

Upon the guard’s arrival, King Elessar was immediately summoned. The King strode into the Houses of Healing. “Elatan? Please tell me everything you saw.”

Elatan did as he was bade, told of the tree across the road, finding the driver, giving aid, and bringing him to Minas Tirith. He told of the tracks leaving the road, branching off into the unknown.

“I will send word to Lady Éowyn. Would you be willing to ride with me?” Aragorn asked as he turned to leave. He signaled to a young page as he wrote a quick note. “Please find Éomer King and give him this message. Wait for a reply, then meet me in my study, please.”

“Aye, my liege. I will ride with you,” replied Elatan.

“Aye, Sire,” said the young boy as he dashed for the Citadel. Aragorn smiled, then, turning back to Elatan, grew serious. “Thank you for bringing Bergil back. He will live. Please take rest and eat. We will leave within an hour.” Aragorn then left the Houses of Healing and headed back to the King’s apartments.

Entering his study, he wrote to Éowyn, giving her all the information he had. He left out nothing, adding his assurances that he would find Faramir, and bring him home. As he sealed the message, there came a knock on the door. “Enter,” he called out. He handed the document to a messenger with instructions for its delivery to Ithilien.

Éomer came in, saying, “I am ready. Let us go and find our brother and bring him back.”

Aragorn agreed and the two kings left for the stables, gathering supplies as they went. There were several guards ready to ride. After conferring, it was decided that only four would go with the rescue party. They would be able to travel faster with fewer men.

Both Aragorn and Éomer hoped they would not be too late as they galloped out of Minas Tirith.

Sorry for the long wait for an update. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

Ch 9 Signs

Râsual halted the carriage in a small glade. As Telnéth unhitched the horses, Râsual jerked open the door, reached in, and dragged Faramir out.

“So - we meet again, Captain Faramir, leader of the Ithilien Rangers. Our brother was lost because of you. His blood cries out from the ground for revenge. Never again will his voice be heard in our gatherings. He will never again hear the voices of his children nor hear the laughter of his children’s children. His widow weeps, as does his father and mother. He will never see his sons become husbands and fathers, never see his daughters become wives and mothers. This - because of you!”

“Such is the price all must pay in time of war,” replied Faramir. “Young men die. Young widows weep, as do mothers and fathers mourning their loss. There are those who glory in the lust of the battle, rejoicing in the slaying of their foes. I would rather see the young men live, raise their families, and grow old within their allotted span of time.

Know this, Râsual of Harad. I desire peace, yet I will not fail to raise the sword of war should my land and my people be threatened.

Your brother died as a warrior. Let him rest in peace.”

“Our brother will not lie in peace until you die!” hissed Râsual, his eyes blazing with fury. “You will walk to your grave, Faramir of Gondor.”

At sword point, Faramir was forced forward, stumbling over the uneven ground. Each time he stumbled, he made a show of being weak and taking his time in arising. There were stones, small ones that were moved; bushes with branches faintly bent; a leaf here and there stripped from trees; ground litter disturbed by a human foot; all leaving a faint trail that Faramir knew the Dúnedan would spot.

***

Aragorn had Elatan lead them to where he had found Bergil. All could see the marks of the carriage. The tracks led them to the grove where they found the carriage.

As Aragorn searched the carriage, his eyes were drawn to the back wall where he saw some marks that were scratched on the wall. As he looked, he realized the marks were Tengwar.

As Éomer joined him, he showed the Rohhiric King the marks. He explained their meaning. As the two stood there, the moonlight highlighted the letters, making them glow slightly in the light of Idril.

Henneth Annun. Where it started - and now would be finished. Rather than mount and miss the trail, they led the horses, the two Kings leading. It was an open book to one such as the former Ranger. A stone here, a leaf there, subtle changes to the landscape.

***

Henneth Annun. As dawn etched the sky with a cloak of golden light, the three reached their destination. Faramir could hear the ghostly trumpeting of the Mûmakil and the ringing of swords as he and his Rangers clashed with the men of Harad.

‘Yes’, he thought, ‘it will be finished.’ He turned, calmly, and awaited his fate.

“I am tired of fighting…from where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.”

Chief Joseph, (In-mut-too-yah-lat-lat - Thunder coming up over the land from the water)

Leader, Nez Perce Indians (1840-1904)

Ch 10 I will fight no more forever

  As Faramir stood, waiting, Telnéth moved forward and cut his bonds. The Haradrim then slid his sword from its scabbard and handed it to Faramir. Râsual glared at his brother.

“What are you doing?” he hissed. “He needs no sword. I have passed judgement. He is to die! You have betrayed our brother!”

Telnéth shook his head. “Nay, there is no betrayal. It is not meet for Lord Faramir to face death with no weapon at hand.” Turning to Faramir, he said, “Your words have found a place in my heart. I, too, would have peace between our people. I wish to see my children and their children living in peace with all. Hear my pledge, Faramir of Ithilien and Gondor. I will fight no more forever. Ever will I keep this promise.”

“You are no son of Harad, nor are we brothers. I name you oath breaker. Let every Haradrim raise his sword against you. Our people will know you for the traitor you are! You betray your family and the people of Harad!” raged Râsual.

“Our brother died because of the promises of the Nameless One! Promises were made that were never to be kept. Lies and losses were what we received from Mordor. He, not I, was the oath breaker!” Telnéth moved toward Râsual as he spoke. “Please, my brother. Release the steward. Let us return to our homes and families.” He held out his hand for the sword.

Râsual, eyes flashing with hatred, brought his sword up. Faramir yelled a warning, but it was not in time. Râsual thrust the sword into his brother’s body. Telnéth sank to the ground, whispering, “I forgive you.”

The Haradrim drew the sword from the lifeless body. He stared down at his brother. Turning, he saw Faramir holding his sword. The two protagonists faced each other. There would only be one outcome - death.

***

Aragorn had lost the trail in a rocky area. He dismounted and searched on foot. He noticed an area that was lighter. He knelt down, studying the ground. He saw that a rock, pointed at one end, had been slightly turned. His gaze automatically followed the pointing rock. As he searched, he saw a faint trail emerging.

Signaling his companions, he showed them the trail. They knew they were closing in. Dew had settled on the rocky soil except where rocks had been disturbed. This told them they were not far behind their quarry.

Suddenly, they heard the sounds of swords singing a duel of death. Aragorn led the way to Henneth Annûn, for he now knew where Râsual had taken Faramir.

**

Faramir and Râsual circled each other, probing for any weakness. Their swords rang as they clashed. Both had numerous small cuts, but none were life-threatening.

As Faramir stepped back quickly to avoid being struck, the heel of his boot caught on a tree root. Small though it was, it caused the Steward to stumble backwards, thereby giving Râsual a moment to bring his sword to bear upon Faramir. With a feral smile, the Haradrim raised his sword and sliced downward upon the hapless Prince of Ithilien.

Faramir recovered his balance and was able to counter the attack. He then began to attack, forcing Râsual to retreat.

Râsual saw an opening and went in, driving his sword into Faramir’s side. Faramir could feel the wetness as his blood flowed from his wound. He stood there, panting, willing the pain to subside. He dropped his sword to his side, as though it were too heavy to lift. Râsual, triumphant, raised his sword to end the Steward’s life.

The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men/gang aft a-gley. (oft go awry) “To a mouse”

Robert Burns, 1759-1796

Ch 11...gang aft a-gley

Faramir stood, holding his sword, letting it sink almost to the ground. Râsual gloated, taking joy in the wounding of the Steward. He took pleasure in knowing Faramir would die, lonely, with no loved ones near to farewell him.

The Haradrim swiftly raised his sword and charged at Faramir. Faramir barely got his sword raised, blocking Râsual. They exchanged blows, until Faramir made a misstep. He went to his knees, totally exhausted and weakened with the loss of blood. Râsual rained blow after blow upon the fallen steward.

Aragon and Éomer saw a grove of trees ahead and could clearly hear the fighting. The two kings urged their mounts onward, hoping they were not too late. As they rode, both men loosed their daggers, ready to use them.

Hearing the sound of hoof beats, Râsual knew he had to slay Faramir. There would not be another chance. As he raised the sword for the final blow, he felt a blossoming pain in his chest.

Falling to the ground, his eyes clouding in death, Râsual saw two daggers protruding from his chest. On one, the White Tree of Gondor. On the other, the White Horse of Rohan.

Aragorn dismounted before his steed came to a stop. He raced to his friend, with Éomer right behind. Éomer knelt by Faramir’s side as Aragorn checked the Steward’s wounds. “Brother, stay. Please. The world would be a dark place without your light,” pleaded Éomer, tears coursing down his cheeks. He did not care who saw him weep.

Faramir asked haltingly, “Râsual? Where..is..” He stopped speaking as a grimace of pain flashed across his face.

“He will seek you no longer,” Aragorn answered Faramir. Realizing he was safe, Faramir closed his eyes, embracing the darkness.

“Bring my pouches and get a fire going. Also, send someone back for the carriage and bring it here. We will have to set up camp until it is safe to move Lord Faramir,” said Aragon. After he had issued his orders, he turned back to the wounded man.

Quickly the camp was established. Éomer would not allow anyone but himself to move the unconscious Faramir to Aragorn’s cot. He stood near, ready to all he could to help his brother by law.

Aragorn was brought clean warm water. He took athelas, breathed on the leaves as he broke them into pieces, and cast the pieces into the water. He then bathed Faramir’s wounds. He was especially concerned about the blood loss from the deep wound in Faramir’s side. There were several other wounds that were cause for concern.

Éomer smoothed his friend’s hair, soothing him as Aragorn bathed the wounds and bandaged them. Together, they clothed their brother in clean garments, and then settled in to watch and guard the steward.

Aragorn had sent a messenger back to Gondor with news of the rescue. He had thought to use the carriage to move Faramir, but now knew it was not possible. Faramir would not survive the return trip.

Throughout the night, Faramir’s fever rose. It continued to rise to dangerously high levels. In his delirium, Faramir was again with his Rangers, awaiting the Haradrim and their Mûmak. “Damrod! Marblung! Watch out! Take down the Mûmak! Let no one escape!” He became agitated, reliving the battle.

Aragorn placed a cool cloth on Faramir’s forehead, trying to quiet the steward. Éomer assured Faramir that his orders were carried out. Faramir quieted for a spell; then started to murmur. The two watchers caught a word here and there, but were able to follow the thoughts of the steward. “Frodo…Sam…Boromir…” came the broken words.

Both kings knew the fight for the life of Faramir was reaching a crisis. As Anor rose, Faramir opened his eyes, gazing on his friends. Aragorn changed the dressings on the wounds, attempting to stem the flow of blood.

Faramir whispered to his friend and king, “Do not worry, my friend. I have no pain. I am ready to join the circles of the world.” Eomer’s heart clenched in dread as he heard his friend’s words. He said nothing, merely held on to Faramir’s hand. The Prince of Ithilien gazed at Éomer, saying “Thank you for being here, at the end. I wonder what it will be like, when I pass. I hope it is as Mithrandir told Pippin. A curtain of gray rain, then a far green country.” He sighed, then closed his eyes.

 Sorry for taking so long to post this, but I wanted to have it just right.

Ch 12 Facing the past

Faramir felt the warmth of Anor as he opened his eyes. Looking around, he saw a meadow in the full bloom of midsummer. The grass was the greenest he had ever seen. The sky was blue, with white puffy clouds. He smiled as he remembered the times he and Boromir had lain on the Pelennor Fields, looking up and seeing shapes in the clouds. For some reason, Boromir always saw horses in these types of clouds.

In the distance, he could see the rays of Anor sparkling on what appeared to be either a river or perhaps a small lake. He decided to do some exploring, to see this new land. He got to his feet and stood, searching for…what?

He had a vague feeling there was something he should be doing, but he could not remember what. He noticed, in the distance, a small grove of trees. Without conscious thought, he started forward.

As he neared, he saw a figure, dressed in a gown of many hues. She had a basket at her feet, with skeins of colored yarn. In front of her was a loom with a tapestry. Faramir could see figures on the tapestry; so lifelike he expected them to move.

She looked up as he approached. Warmly, she said “Greetings, Lord Faramir. I bid thee welcome. Sit, and rest.” Her voice was soft, yet commanding.

Faramir bowed, saying, “I thank thee for thy most warm welcome, My Lady.” He sat on the cushion that was indicated.

He had the unsettling feeling he should know the Lady. Suddenly it came to him - Vairë. She who was mate to Námo, or Mandos, of the Halls of Waiting. She was the Weaver of the Tapestry of Life. He bowed his head, waiting….

“Son of Númenor, watch, and remember.” Faramir watched as the tapestry unrolled in front of him. He gazed, seeing Finduilas handing Denethor an infant. Beside the bed was a young child. He realized it was his birth he was seeing. The young child was Boromir. “I had forgotten how beautiful my mother was,” he whispered. Faramir could sense the happiness of the young family.

Faramir’s heart ached as he watched as the tapestry showed the death of his mother. He saw his father put his cloak around the shoulders of his sons as they followed the funeral procession. “I had forgotten he shielded us from the stares of the people of Minas Tirith,” he murmured.

He watched as scenes of his life unfolded. His first days as squire; swearing his oath of fealty to his father as Steward; his entrance into the military as a cadet; learning to use the sword and longbow. A newly minted Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, as Denethor and Boromir personally endowed Faramir with the uniform of a Ranger of Gondor. As he watched the scene move by, Faramir sensed his father’s pride as the steward presented his second son as a candidate for commissioning as an officer..

For the second time came “Son of Númenor, Watch, and remember.” Now the tapestry seemed to move quicker. He saw his Rangers setting ambushes, fighting Orcs, Easterlings and other agents of Sauron. He saw himself in counsel with his father and brother, trying to hold back the blackness of Mordor. Here was his dream of the destruction of Númenor, with its green wave of water overpowering all.

Again, the tapestry moved. He was in Osgiliath, fighting alongside Boromir. He relived the breaking of the bridge and the rescue of his brother. Now came the dream of Imladris, the Sword That was Broken, and of Isildur’s Bane. He watched as Boromir was given the task of seeking the elven haven. He bowed his head, tears falling as he saw his beloved brother riding away from Minas Tirith, never to be seen in the White City.

“Watch and remember,” came the command for the third time. The scene changed to Ithilien. Now came the ambush of the Easterlings. He shuddered as he saw the Mûmak being brought down.

He smiled as he again saw the sun setting behind the Window of the West with its cataract turning to silver and gold. Damrod, Marblung, and the rest of his Rangers - all were there.

His breath caught as he again saw Frodo and Sam as they were brought before him. Again he murmured the words he had spoken to the two haflings. . “But fear no more! I would not take this thing, if it lay by the highway. Not were Minas Tirith falling in ruin and I alone could save her, so, using the weapon of the Dark Lord for her good and my glory. No, I do not wish for such triumphs, Frodo son of Drogo.”*

Now it was night as he and Frodo, along with Anborn stood watching as a small black figure dove into the Forbidden Pool. He watched as the tapestry showed him questioning Gollum.

Now came the time of parting from the two hobbits. Again the tapestry moved through time, showing him scenes of battles waged between his Rangers and the minions of Sauron.

Suddenly, a chill wind seemed to blow as he saw Osgiliath come into view. He shuddered as memories tore at him. Vairë saw his distress and came to him. “Close your eyes, Steward, and rest. All is well.”

Faramir nodded, not trusting his voice. He did as he was bid, knowing he would still have to face the past.

*The Two Towers, Ch V, The Window on the West