To Ease The Pain

for my fellow musketeers Ithil-valon and Evendim

Suddenly Faramir stirred, and he opened his eyes, and he looked on Aragorn who bent over him; and a light of love and knowledge was kindled in his eyes, and he spoke softly. ‘My lord, you called me. I am come. What does the king command?’ – J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King, The Houses of Healing.

O-o-O-o-O

Faramir was free. He was no longer aware of the raging fever that burned through his body. The sickening ache of the poison brandishing its biting whips through his veins was gone. He no longer felt the throbbing nausea that made him wonder what was above or below, no longer did he feel suspended in mid-air surrounded by a warm gooey substance that pulsated against him, sending him in ongoing spirals of vertigo, leaving him uncertain whether his head was up or down, or whether, indeed, he was still in possession of the uppermost bodypart. The paralizing fear had vanished, as had the cold that had fallen upon him when he had first come in contact with the Black Breath of the Nazgûl King.

Faramir was free.

Sky-clad and happy as when he had been a small child he walked onto the flowery meadow, feeling the soft caress of the green blades on the soles of his feet as the sun shone on his skin and warmed him with her love. Drawn by the sound of a leaping brook, Faramir broke into a run with a delighted smile upon his face, eager to explore the wonders of the world like a young chipmunk in the eaves of the forest.

A strong wind blew about him, fresh and clean and pure, and it bore the scent of air carrying over fields of snow, and yet the cold touched him not. The blue sky unclouded stretched her dome above and around him and his heart overflowed with serenity and peace.

He waded through the stream and marveled at the dance of the brightest of lights as the water sped and swirled between the rocks.

Faramir...

A barely audible voice on the wind whispered in the golden-hair of the playful child of men. The rays of the sun seemed to wrap about him and gently pulled him towards the path that spiralled up the steep slope of the mountain, ahead.

Enthralled by the warmth that stirred in his heart at the sound of the familiar voice, Faramir stepped away from the grass and began the ascent. He shivered when his feet grew cold on the rocky path. The sharp stones bit in his skin and chafed his toes, but he seemed to grow numb to the pain.

So cold…

His movements slowed and his weary head wanted nothing but to lie down by the side of the road.

Faramir... Come

There it was again, the warmth that flooded his heart and filled his chest. Encouraged by the love in the gentle voice, Faramir found his courage and followed the soothing sound up the winding path.

So lonely...

As he climbed higher and higher a deep sense of loss began to fill him, an emptiness as though his very heart had been ripped out of his chest, leaving an ache and a pain far too great for him to shoulder or to bear. A silent scream formed in the back of his throat, forcing the last of his breath from his lungs.

‘Boromir!’ he wailed, tears of despair and the deepest of grief wetting his cheeks, his shoulders shaking as he bent over on the path, seeking support with his hands, yet finding nothing but razor sharp rocks.

Faramir... Return to me

The warmth of the voice surrounded him and helped him to his feet. Staggering on despite the ache that threatened to tear him apart, Faramir once again continued the ascent.

He could glimpse, far below him in the depths, the contours of a great, white city.

“Home…” he whispered, uninvited tears coming into his eyes once more as he glanced over the vale of the Anduin. The view of the city lifted the veil from his memories, and images of the fall of Osgiliath and the wrecking of the Causeway Forts relentlessly flooded his mind, the screams of his men as they were skewered by the Orcs echoing in his ears, their faces contorted in terror as the masses of the Enemy came upon them and swallowed them.

Then… a cold and disapproving voice, devoid of even the remotest care or attachment…

Faramir stumbled and doubled over by the side of the road, retching, clutching his stomach. Sliding down to the ground and pressing his head onto the cold, sharp stones, Faramir son of Denethor tried to numb his heart-rending, agonizing pain by forcing the rocks to pierce through his skin.

You cannot hide... came the gentle voice. There is no running from the truth, Faramir. Your pain is real...

‘Help me!’ pleaded Faramir, holding on to the love emanating from the soft and gentle presence.

Return to me, Faramir... came the voice. Gondor needs her son. I need you to return, brave child of the City of Stone.

Faramir struggled to all fours and crawled, willing himself to move onward, even though he knew inwardly that he could not. The all-consuming darkness was too great and his grief was too deep. And the cold… The cold was once again eating at him, chilling him even to the core of his bones.

You are almost there, Child of Eru... Hold on! Return to me!

The warm embrace of the voice seemed to soften even the pain of the rocks that drove themselves into his hands and his knees. His heart, though hurting deeply, felt soothed…strengthened.

Rise, Faramir! You have more strength than you would have yourself believe. No longer shall you cower in the dark, wishing for a recognition that will come too sparingly to sustain you.

Rise! For Eru himself has chosen you to walk in his Creation, and no father with a broken heart can undo the purity and beauty of your heart, nor can he make void the essence and the purpose of your very existence. Rise, Son of Anárion!

Faramir stumbled to his feet.

“I am coming,” he mumbled softly, placing one foot in front of the other and slowly continuing the ascent.

O-o-O-o-O

When at last he reached the end of the path, he came to a high field below the snowy cloak of the mountain.

“Welcome Faramir, Son of the White City,” spoke a kind voice.

There, beside a small sapling of a tree, stood a tall man with an air of high nobility. His eyes were of a deep grey, and they were touched with the wisdom and grace of the Elder Race.

“My King…” whispered Faramir, his mouth falling open as he recognized who was stood before him. “You have returned…”

He wanted to drop to one knee, but the mesmerizing grey eyes held his own with a love more pure than the child of Gondor had ever encountered.

“My heart rejoices in your presence,” spoke the king, smiling kindly. “Now stay. Stand here with me, and look out with me over our lands.”

And it seemed to Faramir, as he stood beside his King, that the scent of orchards filled the air, and the fragrance of heather in the sunshine on a Summer’s day, and his heart was lightened. And his spirit was filled with joy for the coming of his Sovereign as he watched the sun rise over Gondor once more.

O-o-O-o-O

‘Now Aragorn knelt beside Faramir, and held a hand upon his brow. And those that watched felt that some great struggle was going on. For Aragorn’s face grew grey with weariness; and ever and anon he called the name of Faramir, but each time more faintly to their hearing, as if Aragorn himself was removed from them, and walked in some dark vale, calling for one that was lost.

The cloaked healer breathed on the King’s Foil leaves and crushed them, casting them into bowls of steaming water, his eyes smiling as he held one before Faramir’s dreaming face.

Suddenly Faramir stirred, and he opened his eyes, and he looked on Aragorn who bent over him; and a light of love and knowledge was kindled in his eyes, and he spoke softly. ‘My lord, you called me. I am come. What does the king command?’ ’

The End.

AN: Quotes from the last section: J.R.R. Tolkien, Return of the King, The Houses of Healing. The particular descriptions ‘the scent of orchards’, and ‘the fragrance of heather in the sunshine’ were also borrowed directly from J.R.R. Tolkien’s description of the effect of athelas when Aragorn heals Merry.