The hobbits and Aragorn left and Faramir was finally by himself. He needed to read Eowyn’s letter in privacy and plan for a reply back to her. He knew it was long overdue that he wrote to her. He was also feeling weary.

He read the letter several times and was so grateful. But how should he write so he would not worry her but not deceive her either? He tried to evade the topic of his dreams and health.

Dear Éowyn,

My beloved, I am so glad that you are safely back in Rohan. I am sorry I did not write earlier. 

The ceremony went well without any issues and I managed to plan everything accordingly. I am indebted to the King and the Council for allowing this to happen. I insisted that we needed to honor my father, brother, the soldiers that have fallen and to have the day be to honor the fallen.

I am feeling better. I did go to the King for my sleeplessness and dreams and most has been resolved- you need not worry about me. The King is quite the healer. I am in good hands- please do not fear for me.

Faramir paused writing. Should he mention the Black Breath to warn Eowyn? Eowyn had dark dreams, and she should be aware too.

How do you fare? Do you have dreams? Please be aware of those that are too dark for it could be the Black Breath. Have some athelas or kingsfoil nearby because they may help to help you recover. I hope that your health is well. 

You are sorely missed and I cannot wait to stroke your golden hair and feel your hands upon mine. I desire your embrace and hope we can soon be together underneath the stars and sun together for the new Age. I desire the day that we meet again in Rohan to approach more quickly. My beautiful dear brave lady, please be well and by my side soon. I do not believe the darkness will endure.

Yours always,

Faramir

He read his letter again- did he sound positive enough? Was it all right he did not include the whole truth? There was no use of worrying Eowyn after all.  He quickly sealed the letter and gave it to a servant to be sent out as soon as possible. He wondered what errand riders would be going forth from Rohan. Perhaps he had to send a special rider as well.

He remembered he had been hopeful in the Houses of Healing because meeting Eowyn seemed like light amidst the darkness. He knew he loved Eowyn when he first laid eyes on her. He could not explain it. He wanted to mend her hurts, to make sure she was loved. She was so brave and lovely at the same time. How could there be anyone like her? 

Before that, he was pulled out of the dark vale by the King that he had dreamed about so at least two things were going right amidst a world turned upside down by the war.  If the Vala had intended he join his family, there would’ve been a sign already but there wasn’t- he only kept meeting good men, hobbits, and other members of the Fellowship. It was not so easy to give up in life.

Faramir felt restless, so decided to take a walk in the gardens. It was overcast, but it was not raining. He felt weary from the fever, but he did not want to stay put and it was only two hours past noon. He would rest later.

It was unnaturally oppressive for May, like an oncoming storm was about to burst. Faramir hoped it would not rain since he needed the fresh air. After walking for half an hour, a familiar voice called out to him.

“Faramir!”

He turned around and saw his uncle Imrahil race down the path.

“How are you feeling, my lad? Why are you not in your quarters resting?”

“I am feeling fine and need to take a walk.  I will return soon,” Faramir smiled. “Thank you again for the kindness.”

“The King said you had a bout of fever this morning. Are you sure you are well enough?”

“I believe so–I am truly feeling alright,” Faramir was not being deceptive- he really needed to take a walk.

“Well all right, we can walk together and then we will go back. I do not think a ride out would be wise today since those rain clouds look like they’re going to burst.” Indeed, the rain clouds turned darker from the East, threatening to reach them soon with the wind.

Dark rain clouds looked like the ones in the dream with the salt water–water from the river that carried Boromir to him in a boat…like a dream. Dark clouds also occupied the skies in all those battles. Faramir shivered in recollection, heart pounding, and eyes closed trying to not remember that detail of the dream or the fact his brother was dead. 

“What happened?” Imrahil glanced at Faramir with utmost concern, holding onto his arm. Imrahil saw that Faramir seemed distressed, his face frowning, eyes closed, and his heartbeat had accelerated.

“No, nothing. Let us return now then. I think the rain is about to come down.” He did not want to repeat the details of the image. He opened his eyes. His mouth felt dry, but he felt water upon his brow. He lifted up his head but saw that it did not rain.

The rain did not come down before they reached the Citadel, but he felt overly anxious. He did not understand why the clouds bothered him and made him have such a reaction and elicited such an image. He sat down heavily on his armchair and closed his eyes, trying to block out the clouds. They were just clouds!

“You are feverish again,” Imrahil felt his nephew’s forehead when they returned to Faramir’s room. “The King did prescribe willow bark for you- you should have some.” 

“Yes, I will,” Faramir replied wearily and took the mug that his uncle had prepared. He felt worried again but did not know about what. Rain clouds? Why was he so foolish? His heart was racing and cold sweat had developed. He stood up and paced around in his room.

“Calm- you are safe, Faramir. Deep breaths. Calm down. Come take a seat,” Imrahil said, as he took back the empty mug from Faramir after he drank the willow bark. “Do you want to share what happened out there?” 

“No, nothing. I can’t explain it. I think there is an extra sleeping draught, the King told me I needed. I forgot which it is.” Faramir sighed and indeed felt too warm for comfort, and he was still agitated. 

“What happened?” a hobbit or two or three peeked into the room. Pippin, Frodo and Sam walked in.

“Nothing happened- thank you for the concern,” Faramir was in no mood to explain. He knew he didn’t need to act differently with the hobbits, but he was not used to the attention. He tried to breathe normally again and with time, he felt less anxious.

“Pippin - you were with the King this morning- do you remember which mug is for the sleeping draught?” asked Imrahil.

“Yes, I do! It would be this one- he pointed to the dark blue mug. This one's for uninterrupted sleep. Aragorn told me this morning. Lord Faramir must take this one. The yellow mug is willow bark. Then the glass one is feverfew, I think,” said Pippin.

“And what is feverfew for?” asked Sam.

“I believe it’s for headaches.”

“Thank you, Pippin,” Faramir grinned. “I am indebted to you remembering.” Faramir took a sip, bitter as it may be. He felt calmer now but very weary. “I will not be good company, dear hobbits.”

“It’s all right- we need to see how you are. Perhaps we will have dinner later,” said Sam.

“Yes, I believe so-” Aragorn’s sleeping draught was starting to have an effect, as Faramir’s eyelids started to get heavy. He felt calmer now, especially since his uncle kept trying to calm him. He took off his boots, and laid his head down on the soft pillow, and closed his eyes, trying to keep breathing normally. He still heard the hobbits and his uncle talk about him though.

“Should we call Aragorn again since he did tell him to let him know if the fever arises again,” said Pippin.

“Anything alarming happened?” Sam asked.

“No, we were just taking a walk, and he became very anxious,” replied Imrahil.

“Anxiety is common for Black Breath. I think we should be on the lookout. Someone should also get Aragorn just in case,” said Frodo.

Faramir felt frustrated as he turned in bed. Why did simple things make him feel so anxious? This had not happened before. He cursed at his weakness. He had no time to further worry as the tea made him fall asleep.

“Are you a wizard’s pupil? ARE YOU A WIZARD’S PUPIL, not my son!”

A smell of burnt wood filled his senses and filled himself with dread. He saw the dark shiny stone and he saw his father go mad, but he was not mad, but grieving for him, looking like one who has lost all hope, deep anguish, full of tears bearing down on him and looking at him like he had died already.  His dark hair was matted in sweat, his eyes burned like he was angry and he did not look like the father he knew.

“But father, I am not dead yet; and I want to live!

More wood was piled high in the pyre and all of his servants seemed to abide by his demands. The smoke billowed and filled his smelling senses.

But it wasn’t the right decision!

But father, did you love me at the end? Did you care at the end? What did you think of me?

And he replied, you are a wizard’s pupil, what do you think? Are you dense like the others- are you even my son?

What do you think, my Lord? I am always loyal to you. You must believe me.  And I also grieved for Boromir and wished he had not perished as he did. I can do as well as him, sire- please give me a chance!

“NO, father!”

Faramir woke with a start, sweat was on his brow, and tears in his eyes.  He rolled to his side, feeling sick.  A headache persisted when he awoke and he felt no comfort knowing it was just a dream.  A strong smell of athelas awakened him again and brought him to the present.

“Peace, calm down, Faramir, just a dream,” Aragorn brought him to a sitting position, giving him some warm chamomile honey tea.  “You are still feverish, so willow bark is needed.”

Faramir felt out of sorts and did not reply; he felt sick, nausea passing him and he got sick instead.  Aragorn was ready for him with a chamber pot brought to his mouth.  Faramir laid back down and closed his eyes. 

“I heard you in your dreams- you keep mentioning Denethor. I know it is hard to accept his demise, but you must trust us about how he perceived you in the end and also that he was not in his right mind,” started Aragorn gently, looking into Faramir’s somber eyes when he opened them.  He stroked his back to alleviate Faramir’s sickness.

“He is right, Denethor loved you before the end, and I told you that he would remember,” Gandalf was also by Faramir's side.

“I…”Faramir was lost for words. He still felt sick, not knowing if it was because of the fever or the vivid nightmare that haunted him.  Aragorn placed a mug to his lips to give him some healing teas.

“Relax– try to get better, dear nephew. Tell us what ails you.” Imrahil put his arm on Faramir’s shoulder.

Aragorn brewed feverfew and willow bark teas to aid in Faramir’s ailments, kept athelas and lavender infused in the room so that Faramir could relax better. He felt that Faramir’s heart rate was too elevated because of the fever and also anxiety that would not abate that quickly.  

“Do you have anything else to inquire about?” Imrahil asked gently.  “Please trust us when we say Denethor cared before the end. I know it is hard to understand the circumstances.”

Wizard’s pupil…did his father mean that? And what about if he had gone to Rivendell instead? Faramir thought about these unanswered questions and wondered if anyone could tell him for sure. If only he had a last conversation with Denethor… Tears formed in his eyes and he shook his head.

“No one can really guess anything at the end. Tell me- was he mad?” Faramir said slowly. His headache and nausea were starting to recede.  

“The palantir is to blame for this, my dear lad. Please trust us when we say he did care. I did see it in his eyes; he wanted to be with you till the end,” insisted Gandalf.

“Now for some more willow bark and chamomile. Please drink and relax.  Deep breaths,” said Aragorn.

Faramir did not feel like he wanted to ask any more questions. Knowing was not helping.  He breathed hard to keep the anxious thoughts away.  Aragorn started to lightly massage his temples too which helped take away the headache.  

“Relax, we are with you, dear nephew,” Imrahil repeated.

TBC