It was harder to sleep than past nights. Faramir tossed and turned in his bed until late. Even the sleeping draught Aragorn gave him wasn’t working. Faramir’s shoulder ached and every time he closed his eyes, the fire and hollow darkness threatened to swallow him whole? . It reminded him of his fevered dreams in the Houses of Healing. Was there no escape?

He wept quietly, remembering his father in all the good ways he could. Yes, he was harsh with him and they hadn’t seen eye to eye on many matters of state, but he was kind to him during his childhood and wanted the best for him. Even though he berated him for daydreaming, writing too much, and not paying attention in arms class nor valuing the sword as much as Boromir. 

Even though he clearly favored Boromir, he did not deserve such a fate. He would forgive his favoritism. All of Denethor’s life was dedicated to protecting Gondor. He had played his part but he shouldn’t have perished the way he did. He would learn in his heart to forgive him for he didn’t want to hold a grudge against the dead. But how could his father take his own life during such a key moment? Why did he use the palantir? He was not sure how to process that.

His weeping left him more tired than usual. He closed his eyes but all he could see was his father sending him out with no blessing. He would not have peace of mind concerning his father.  He could never say his final words. But did he care at the end? Is that why he wanted to burn him too? So that they could be together in the afterlife? Did it even make sense to have chosen life?

Faramir shivered, his tears subsiding but giving way to anxiety and fears that would not abate. He remembered when Aragorn drew him back from death and saved him in the Houses of Healing– how easy it was to not choose life. He was drawn back; he was holding out for something. Was it going to get easier to handle everything? He was hopeful, but his heart was heavy and he could not come to terms with how his father met his death. How was he going to say a few words at the funeral procession that he wanted to have?  How his father died was too tragic to mention. He could not say he fell into madness. What would others think about the line of Hurin? Would they mark him for a madman too?

He needed a strong drink. He kept some bottles hidden from view for when the pain was intolerable from thinking too much. Only a little could numb his senses. He could not change the past after all. 

He used to drink with Boromir and had played drinking games when he became of age. He did not drink in excess when he was on duty, but his friends and he did overindulge a little during a special occasion.  As a result, his tolerance was not the best. Usually only two drinks was his limit. Now, among the friends left to him which were few, he wasn’t sure when he was ready to use spirits to relax. He missed Boromir more than ever.

He went to his stores to grab a bottle of wine–he felt more relaxed after a long sip. The wine dulled his senses. After two glasses, he finally felt a bit drowsy. However, the drowsiness didn’t make him feel better. Instead, a strange darkness seemed to touch upon his consciousness. If there was no knock at the door, something seemed to want to grasp his subconscious and lead him astray. 

But the knock broke him out of his stupor and half dream. Faramir wondered who it could be this late. It was already two hours past midnight.

Faramir was so glad of who it was. Éowyn.

He opened the door quickly, “My dear Lady, It is good to see you but is something wrong that you came at so late an hour risking your reputation? No matter, though, I’ve missed you so much,” Faramir smiled and embraced his betrothed, and Éowyn’s smile brightened his heart immediately.  “How did you know I was in need of company?”

“Sleep has been elusive  – have you been sleepless as well, my love?”

“Yes, it has been hard to—I learned from the hobbits how—how— my father passed… today,” said Faramir with his voice wavering.  ”He…he took his own life and burned himself and wanted to do the same to me too.  Pippin, Mithrandir and Beregond saved me. I cannot sleep knowing this and the truth weighs heavily.”

“I’m so sad to hear this,” Éowyn looked upon Faramir with pity, wrapping him in her arms. His gray eyes were full of unshed tears and she saw the dark circles beneath them. “I'm so sorry about the circumstances around Lord Denethor’s death. Do not fault yourself for what has happened. I am sure your father appreciated you in the end. I apologize I have not been here for you. I’ve also been occupied and there’s much to do before we depart. And I cannot sleep thinking about you. Then I have been having odd dreams about slaying the Witch—” Éowyn couldn't finish, tears gathering in her eyes and falling down her cheeks.

“Shh, my dear, I understand,” and Faramir wrapped his arms around Eowyn tightly. Eowyn leaned in and took in the long embrace. “I’m here for you, I’m here for you.”

Éowyn gently kissed Faramir’s tear stained cheek and said, “I as well- just tell me how you’re feeling please.  We will depart in four days to Edoras to arrange the funeral, but I’ll be back. Will you be alright?”

“Yes, I'll be busy preparing for Denethor’s own funeral procession. We may need more than two days to prepare. Also, I need to settle where the homeless will be housed. And we need to draw up the plans for the first circle’s renovations—”

“Don’t overextend yourself -one thing at a time. You have the King to assist, and you still have to ride out to Edoras to meet me. I wish I could be here for Lord Denethor’s funeral ceremony.  How will you fare? Since you have not been sleeping well and doing too much, you also need to be mindful of your own health.”

Faramir was touched by Éowyn's concern. “You as well. But I’ll be well enough- knowing that you are with me makes me so glad.”

“So glad– and you’re drinking wine without me?” Éowyn gestured towards the third empty bottle and looked at him quizzically.

“I could not sleep,” started Faramir. “The King prescribed me something, but it hasn't worked. And, at times, I’ve been having strange dreams.”

“Neither could I– seek me out instead, and don’t do anything drastic, my Prince,” admonished Eowyn, laying her hands on his and leaned forward to kiss him gently on the cheek. “What do you see in your dreams?”

“Of course I would not,” replied Faramir, kissing Eowyn back, holding onto her hands tightly. He didn’t realize he was shaking. “Please be safe riding back to Edoras. I’ll miss you so much. I miss you already. Regarding my dreams—I–I – can’t speak of them yet,” a shadow of weariness passed and Faramir leaned into Eowyn. The wine had helped but not in the way he intended. He felt out of sorts and there was still a darkness that seemed to want to snatch him. He shuddered, but Eowyn pulled him closer and he felt more at ease and the darkness receded. He snuggled closer to Éowyn. She stroked his raven hair and held onto his hands.

“Yes, I will not either. They’re dark, and I feel like I'm before an abyss all the time, and then I wake in tears, remembering my dear uncle, my cousin’s last words. I dream of the numerous orcs and blood during the battle, and then, then… then i can’t sleep the rest of the night,” finished Éowyn. She held onto Faramir’s waist and then kissed him once more. She felt comforted by his presence, willing him to also feel the same.

They fell into silence for a moment just comforted by each other’s company. Faramir had to be strong for his fair maiden. Éowyn looked sad like how she was at the Houses of Healing. Faramir forgot his own sorrow and spoke words of solace to Éowyn, stroking her long yellow hair.

They talked about happier topics, about the betrothal ceremony and about the trip to Rohan. After speaking for an hour, both felt weary enough to sleep. Faramir escorted Éowyn to her guest quarters.

“Thank you for coming by, my dear Lady,” Faramir kissed Éowyn’s hand, bowed, said goodbye, and walked slowly back to his room. He felt better, but he was still afraid that the nightmares would return.

Faramir fell into a fitful sleep. Images of dark and fire kept rousing him. Waking right before sunrise, Faramir decided to slip into the office earlier to begin work to keep his mind occupied. His appetite was on and off these days, but he found himself hungry after consuming the wine a few hours before.  Recently he relied on strong coffee to keep him awake at all hours of the day when he felt tired which was quite frequent. 

He drew up tentative ceremonial seating arrangements, made assignments for ushers, prepared an announcement to inform the city about the pending funeral procession, and made a list of veteran soldiers who died, all before the Council was due to meet at two hours to noon. Then he left the drafts at the King’s desk for him to look at.

Faramir felt accomplished but also melancholy. He took a walk to clear his mind and get a breath before the meeting, which would take a lot of energy. The list of the dead were mostly people he knew and some he had been close to. It was a lot to process. He sat on a bench in the garden, one of the few in the city that was not mowed down by the enemy, and lowered his head in grief but no tears came. 

TBC