“Do you think that Faramir even wanted to be with us today?” asked Sam.

“He did look tired still even though he seemed to be in good spirits,” Merry said.

“He ate normally today– I told the chef to get the Steward’s favorites for both breakfast and second breakfast,” said Pippin. “I make a great Knight of Gondor- i serve everyone to the best of my ability,” Pippin stood up straight and proud.

“Indeed you’re a shining Knight of Gondor,” joked Merry. “If we get through this, you will be promoted.”

I think he needed to rest despite everything- perhaps we could’ve let him speak on what he thinks,” said Frodo. “He was still too quiet.”

“It’s almost supper time– we should get him to come to dine with us and this time let him do the talking,” said Sam. “Try not to speak, Master Pippin.”

“You cannot force a person to talk when they do not want to. We all know what’s bothering the Steward,” said Frodo. “He is grieving, but he does not admit it.”

“How do you know, Frodo?”

“Because, I was the same way when my parents died,” said Frodo with tears in his eyes. “I was closed off and did not want to talk about anything to anyone. I fortunately did not have bad dreams because Bilbo very quickly came to Brandy Hall to collect me, and I felt fortunate to have such a caring uncle.  Merry and Esme and Sara helped too, but Bilbo made me feel very special.”

“Poor Faramir,” said Merry. “We need him to see there are many who care about him, to prevent him from falling into the Black Breath.”

“Do you have a plan, Merry?”

“Let’s go collect him for a hobbit meal at the dining hall.”

When the hobbits reached Faramir’s room, they were shocked to see Aragorn and Imrahil already there trying to rouse Faramir out of another dark nightmare. Faramir did not seem responsive for a long while even with the usual herbs. He was pale and sweat accumulated in his brow. He seemed to be fighting in his dream, arms flailing about, in an internal struggle of wills.  He murmured incomprehensible words and it seemed like he wanted help. Aragorn looked as tired and gray as when he was at the Houses of Healing the first time battling in the shadowy vale.

“Faramir! Awake!  Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan nan galad. Faramir!”

The hobbits were scared with tears in their eyes. 

“What can we do?” asked Frodo anxiously.

“Get more warm water and athelas,“ replied Aragorn.

“How did this happen?” Sam asked worriedly.

“We left him in fine spirits before. He was fine the whole day!” Merry said frustratedly.

Aragorn crushed as many athelas as they found, gave it to Faramir to smell to revive him. The shoulder was wrapped in warm cloths. Faramir’s skin was clammy and his pulse elevated.  Aragorn kept saying elvish incantations, put his hand on the Steward’s forehead and concentrated as much as he could to bring his friend back.

“Faramir! Come back to the light!”

Finally after what seemed like forever, Faramir blinked open his eyes and gasped, “What happened? “ A smell of athelas permeated the air instead of the salt water in the dream. He blinked tears away and saw Aragorn by his side.

The hobbits and Imrahil cheered, so glad that the Steward was awake again.

“Another dark dream is what happened,” said Aragorn, gently bringing Faramir to a sitting position and a mug of tea to Faramir's lips.  “It took a long while before you awoke. The Black Breath is serious, and we have to battle it.”

Faramir sighed–he was so weary. He felt like he was constantly fighting in a labyrinthe of darkness, and he feared falling asleep. “It was the wave this time. I feel it upon me,” he closed his eyes and did not speak more and shivered in recollection. Now he felt dizzy and nauseous at the effort of speaking. 

“You are safe now. Do not fear.  It was just a dream,” Aragorn was worried- this last time was difficult to revive Faramir from the Black Breath infested dream. He was fatigued from this effort. Aragorn applied more fresh athelas, crushing them in warm water to dispel the smell into the air. Even though Faramir was cold, he was also feeling a bit too warm. The shoulder wound had healed but it was abnormally cold. Physically there was nothing wrong but mentally? Aragorn thought that either he was failing in his effectiveness or there was something Faramir wasn’t telling them that could help aid in recovery.  The Black Breath was not going to leave on its own.

“How are you feeling, my Steward?”

Feelings of blame and guilt surfaced– blame for himself, guilt of surviving and also feeling insufficient. He shook his head, “Not too well–”

“Relax, you need to fight the inner demons. Don't blame yourself on things you cannot change. Be glad you survived.”

“We know there’s change and much to grieve for, but nothing is your fault and you’ve already done so much, my lad,” added Imrahil, holding onto his nephews’ cold hand, looking at Faramir anxiously. 

“Here, drink the honey lavender which will help with your anxious thoughts.. Calm, take a deep breath,” Aragorn said.  

“I…am… not well.” Indeed, he felt sick, like he really swallowed the water from the dream. He rejected the tea and looked out at the window which showed that it was already dark. “What time is it now?” He then closed his eyes for a wave of nausea overwhelmed him. He leaned over and became sick and fortunately Aragorn had a chamber pot ready. He leaned back into the pillows, hoping the sickness would retreat.  

After a while, Farami caught his breath and closed his eyes. A mug of peppermint water was given to him to alleviate the upset stomach. “Drink up - do you feel less sick ? Take your time,” said Aragorn and he was glad that Faramir took some tea.

Faramir did not reply and felt out of sorts. The nausea was passing and he opened his eyes to feel a headache starting to impede upon him. He rubbed his temple with his good hand and closed his eyes again.

Aragorn stayed in the room also and dismissed the hobbits to go grab supper. He felt guilty he didn’t catch this was more serious a week or so ago before the funeral.  He had to help Faramir recover as soon as possible. The Black Breath only seemed to infect Faramir more. He could not afford to lose him to another dream.

“My lad- are you in pain,” asked Imrahil tenderly. 

“Just another headache–,” said Faramir with an effort. “And I feel cold.” He still felt the sea water, smelled the salty water- he shuddered in memory.

“I will get some feverfew with chamomile and lavender tea for you,” said Aragorn as he guided the mug to Faramir’s lips. Seeing him shiver, Aragorn retrieved an extra blanket and reapplied warming cloths.  He felt that Faramir’s shoulder was still cold and he was not moving it. 

Faramir drank the tea then closed his eyes, but sleep did not come. The past dream was too vivid. He shook in recollection. Cold sweat gathered on his forehead.

“Do you want to talk about what’s on your mind, Faramir? Especially about the dreams?  I encourage you to tell me so that we can help.” Aragorn said.

“No one can change the past,” replied Faramir thickly.

“Yes that is true but you need to allow yourself to know that these negative feelings are temporary. You are needed and loved and you need to understand that,” said Imrahil fervently.

“Remember when Mother died? Everyone said that she was getting better, but she never did get better and I still feel that pain of deception. And now …my brother and father–it …it… is a lot to bear,” After all the weeks of saying things were fine, Faramir broke down and started to weep.

“Yes, I know– it is hard,” Imrahil held onto Faramir, rubbing his back.  “They would be proud of you. Go forth in their memory.”

“Proud? Denethor? I cannot believe that!”

“He would remember and cherish you before the end, Faramir. He loved you. He did not leave your side when you were wounded. He did care- can you believe that?”

Faramir did not know if he could believe what his uncle was telling him. Again, who knew what his father was thinking as he burned himself and him? His father was selfish in taking his own life and wanted to take his life too. Why did his father take his own life?  Should he have joined him? But then, he wasn’t in his own mind- wasn’t the Enemy already controlling him? How would he know what his father thought at the end ? No one knew. The headache worsened.

“Peace, you cannot be over-exerted. Try to relax now.” Faramir’s pulse was elevated from the weeping and Aragorn gave a tea concoction to alleviate pain and calm down his nerves. He added some honey so the taste would be better.  

Then, Aragorn rubbed Faramir’s temples to aid in the headache. “Calm now, breathe slowly. Relax and close your eyes.  Breathe slowly and deeply.” Aragorn extended his arms and placed his hands on his friend’s face; thumbs resting lightly on the closed eyelids, fingers splayed from forehead to temples rubbing gentle circles across the furrowed brow.  “Breathe deeply and slowly.”

Faramir felt a bit better after Aragorn’s ministrations; the headache wasn’t overwhelming him and he could finally close his eyes without fear, breathing in slower breaths. “I am weary now - you can get supper while I rest.” 

“No, we are not leaving you as of yet,” said Aragorn firmly.  “Calm and do not fear. “

“We will be here when you awake,” Imrahil said.  He held onto Faramir’s hand gently.

“All right.” He did not have the strength to argue.  The intense nightmare, recovery and headache had sapped any strength remaining. Faramir settled back into the covers, closing his eyes, praying for a dreamless sleep.

TBC