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The Long Road Home (R) Print

Written by Minx

26 March 2005 | 14519 words

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4. Bravery and Valour

Faramir had obviously been in the grip of a very violent nightmare the night before. His screams had woken everyone up. He had yelled over and over for his brother, and even when the three friends tried to comfort him, he would not be satisfied. His brother was all he asked for, over and over and over again. He screamed each time he was touched, and lashed out violently, the blankets were thrown off, the cloak lay in disarray and through the ripped shirt it could clearly be seen that some of the healing wounds on his chest were now bleeding again as Faramir twisted and turned and thrashed violently on the hard ground.

When he had finally woken up his eyes held the look of a scared rabbit caught in a trap, his breathing came hitched and in short gasps, and silvery tears flowed down his pale cheeks.

“Faramir, it is alright, you are safe,” Aragorn whispered quietly, helping up the younger man, and holding onto him despite his struggles to break away. Harsh sobs racked his friend’s fame as Aragorn held the trembling body, the mind still hovering over past events not yet willing to enter the present. Finally, however, the soft and quiet words managed to calm down the Steward, enough to make him move out of his King’s embrace and speak.

“I am sorry I woke you,” he had said quietly, wiping at his tearing eyes furiously. The gentle words of unnecessary apology had struck his companions greatly.

They had returned to sleep after that, after comforting their friend as much as he would allow them. He would shy away from touch, but let them cover him up and talk to him gently. But, he did not sleep after that.

The others got a few hours’ rest, then they set off, driving the horses hard. Legolas had suggested he ride with one of them but Faramir had said he’d manage. He spoke only when spoken too, and rode as hard as anyone else the whole day, not even once complaining about his injuries.

The narratives completed, the three friends planned out the next day. They would require another day’s hard riding to reach Minas Tirith.

“Will he be able to withstand it one more day?” Gimli asked looking at the sleeping man. He had been riding by Faramir most of the day. At first he had been the one trailing due to his little experience on horseback but as the day progressed Faramir began falling back, as his injuries took their toll. Gimli, riding by him, had thought more than once that the man would faint, one reason he had stayed abreast with him after that. But Faramir had stayed awake, and had ridden as fast as was required as though seeking to atone for yesterday’s delay all by himself.

Aragorn sighed, “I do not know Gimli, he is hurt and tired. We must see in the morning. If he cannot ride we will not ride. We will stay for I will not let any harm befall him. We lost his brother, that is bad enough.” He stated emphatically, looking at the tired face of the sleeping man he realised he valued not just as a friend but also truly as a brother.

Aragorn was grateful for the ease with which Faramir had accepted him and his position as King without hesitation, and not even that, but had also accepted him as a friend, and in fact as good as a brother.

He looked at the figure lying on the ground, looking much younger than his years. He had heard much of Faramir and his valour in defending Gondor from the dark forces, how he had obeyed his father and led the forces of Gondor in the fields of Pelennor, before being struck on the field. All he had asked was that Denethor think better of him, of love from his father he had given up on long before. He was still the same, not giving into his grief so he could help Éowyn, not giving into his grief when Aragorn was crowned, showing little of what he went through.

Boromir, whenever he had spoken of his brother to the Fellowship on their journey, had spoken with love and great affection of this gentle natured being who was yet brave and ever loyal. He had given unquestioning loyalty to his father, the Steward, and now he gave the same to his King. Once Faramir had accepted Aragorn as his liege the moment he entered the White City, all dissenting voices in the city were silenced irrevocably.

To see that courageous figure now as scared as a child due to the actions of a boorish man angered the King greatly. He knew Faramir had not gone back to sleep after waking up the night before; the lines on his face testified to that. That was why he had given him herbs designed to cause sleep.

“You must not let him ride alone tomorrow,” Legolas said, “He is much too stubborn, if he had ridden with one of us, he could have slept more.”

“He will need much rest,” Aragorn agreed, “When we reach the city, I will ensure he stays in bed for some days. He has many worries without adding the weight of his daily work.”

“He loved his brother much,” Gimli observed.

“Yes.”

“And his father too.”

“Yes.”

“You must look after him.”

“Yes.”

They lat down to sleep after that taking turns at the watch, and waking up in a few hours at the first crack of dawn, Faramir having spent those measly few hours in quiet slumber. Aragorn checked over Legolas’ nearly healed injuries once again, and then moved on to the Steward.

Faramir was now awake, glad to have gotten even the little sleep he had gotten the night before due to the brew he had ingested. He had had very little sleep the night before. After waking up from his terrible dreams, he had lain awake, watching the stars searching for succour but finding none.

Instead he lay tormented by the same thoughts that tormented him when asleep. The only difference being that while awake he could control himself from crying and shouting and waking up his companions. However this night Aragorn’s herbs had put him back to sleep even after his dreams had woken him up, and he was glad of that. For he knew that by not sleeping enough he would only be more sluggish, and thus delay the company even further.

Aragorn pulled off the tunic and looked at Faramir’s wounds. The cuts were healing very slowly, his chest and back now riddled with black, blue and other multicoloured marks. The skin felt a little warm to touch but that was likely because of the stress the body had gone through. Faramir sat stoically through the ministrations, except the odd hiss of pain or a wince or two, head bowed low at all times, refusing to look Aragorn in the eye.

“Will you be able to ride today?” Aragorn asked gently as he finished tending to the man and helped him pull the tunic back on.

Faramir nodded, “Yes, we must move on. You are required in the city. We have tarried here too long.”

“You will not ride alone today,” Aragorn told him, and raising a hand as Faramir’s head jerked up suddenly, mouth open to speak, said very firmly, “You have not the strength.”

“But my lord…”

“As your King, I command it,” Aragorn interrupted him.

Faramir stared at him for a second and then, “As you say, my lord.” His eyes had suddenly filled up, and he could not hide the tears before he swiftly moved his head away. He remembered the last conversation he had had with his father. He had commanded him to defend the Pelennor.

“Ah, my friend,” Aragorn , moved and concerned simultaneously, put a hand on Faramir’s shoulder, “I did not mean for the words to sound harsh. You are hurting, are you not? But you are weak, and I will not let you get hurt worse.”

Faramir still struggling to cope with the memory of his father could only nod slightly. He had obeyed his father, and his father had finally displayed his love, by trying to take him away from a seemingly terrible future.

When he managed to compose himself, he got up and helped Gimli clear up their camp. He was not surprised to hear that he would ride with Legolas, for he was the most skillful rider among them. His own horse followed the party obediently enough. Legolas had a knack with horses; they listened to him.

Faramir got onto the huge mare, not with little difficulty, stiff joints crying for attention, healing muscles protesting, and every welt, cut and bruise on his body asserting its presence. He bit back a sob as he scrambled on in an ungainly, awkward manner.

Legolas sat behind him. He wanted the man where he could see him, knowing he might not have enough strength to stay atop on his own.

Faramir hugged his cloak tightly around him trying to stay calm. But he felt suffocated with the tall Elf brooding over his shoulder, and the swift motion of the horse made him nauseous. He felt very cold and his head throbbed. He kept telling himself it was his friend behind him, and he was safe but it did not make the headache go away.

When they finally stopped around mid-day for the horses to drink water and to eat some fruit and bread, the sun was high up but Faramir still felt cold, so he wrapped his cloak tighter and waited for Legolas to dismount first.

Then he dismounted from the horse, the pain still assaulting him everywhere and tiredness seeping into his mind. He let one foot hit the ground and then another, and then greeted the enveloping darkness as he crumpled to the ground in a faint.

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1 Comment(s)

cool story bro :) last couple of chapters made me lol too XD

— Power Of Funk    Tuesday 29 June 2010, 21:59    #

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