Faramir Fiction Archive

The Long Road Home (R)

Written by Minx

26 March 2005 | 14519 words

5. Those that Remain

Legolas rushed forward and caught up the fainting Steward of Gondor for the second time in three days. He gently lay him down on the ground, and pushed the hood of the cloak away from the face. The skin of his forehead felt warm to touch, and the man shivered a little as the clasp of his cloak was undone.

“He is not well,” he told Aragorn who had joined them by now.

Aragorn pushed up Faramir’s tunic to uncover his chest. The injuries had not improved much; Faramir’s healing was very slow. He placed a hand against the chest, frowning at the warmth radiated.

Gimli brought him a cloth and bowl of water. Aragorn dipped the cloth in water, and began brushing the Steward’s face with it, trying to wake him up.

Faramir felt the wetness of the cloth against his face, and was immediately transported to the memory of Haldorn licking his face in anticipation. He had tried to cry out, but Haldorn had immediately brought his mouth on his, choking back his cries. His hands had wandered all over Faramir’s bruised chest, pinching and scratching, and then down to his leggings. Tears had streamed down his face, and he had whimpered all through as the leggings were yanked down, his hands bound, and body aching all over, and he could do nothing. He had been roughly thrown onto his stomach, and then had heard the noises of a scuffle. It was not until later that he had realised what all had happened. But even then, the experience had unnerved him and left him scared. It scared him that he could have been defenceless, and so, when he felt the wetness slap against his face now, he immediately lashed out in anger and pain. His arms flew out violently and his legs kicked.

Legolas’ elven reflexes came to his aid and he ducked an outstretched leg just in time, but Aragorn and Gimli got clouted on their chest and face respectively. Faramir screamed in anger, and a cursing Gimli promptly rushed forward and pinned his hands down while Aragorn sat up rubbing his chest.

Legolas moved up to the sobbing man.

“Gimli, let go of him, you are scaring him,” he said sharply, as he watched Faramir writhe unable to move his arms, panicking at the situation, not knowing what to expect.

“No, he’ll hurt himself,” Aragorn said sharply.

Elf and man sat by their friend, and tried to rouse him, calling out to him. Finally, they were able to get through and rouse a very dazed Faramir. He woke to the concerned faces of his companions peering at him, and realised that he had been in a stupor.

He struggled to sit up, with Legolas helping him, and lay leaning against the Elf’s chest, as he tried to catch his breath. His head was pounding miserably and he felt cold. Legolas picked up his cloak from the ground and wrapped it around his shoulders. He hunched gratefully into it, savouring the protection it afforded.

“What happened?” he asked tiredly.

Gimli rubbed his swelling chin thoughtfully, “You fainted,” he said.

Faramir stared uncomprehendingly at him. And then blushed at his weakness as he remembered the tiredness falling over him when he’d gotten off the horse.

Aragorn sat in front of him, “You cannot travel in this state,” he said firmly.

“It was just tiredness,” Faramir assured him, trying to ignore the pain radiating from behind his temples.

“You are running a mild fever,” he was told.

“We are not far from Minas Tirith now,” Faramir insisted again, “I can ride, we must get back. The councillors were not happy when you left. They will be even less so, that we return some days later than promised.”

“Imrahil and Mithrandir will see to that.”

“Please my liege, we must leave these forests soon,” Faramir begged. He was tired, so tired, but there was much work back in Gondor. This was no time for weakness, his mind told him.

Aragorn sighed, “We will leave soon, but you will rest here for some time. Until you are able to stand up on your own, we are not leaving.”

Faramir could barely sit up on his own. He was leaning heavily on Legolas now, and at Aragorn’s words, he tried to move away but swayed and fell back again.

“The horses are tired too,” Gimli added, raising a laugh. A ghost of a smile flickered across Faramir’s face, and Aragorn felt strangely uplifted seeing it, as he leaned back and ate some of the food Gimli had pulled out of their supplies.

He realised suddenly that he had hardly ever seen Faramir smile. A few times a smile had crossed the face was when Éowyn had been with him. But after her departure to Rohan, never. After the ring had been destroyed, it had been all laughter and joy for the inhabitants of Minas Tirith except the young Steward. He had mourned his loss silently and mourned alone.

Gimli noticed it too, “So, the human can smile,” he declared smiling himself.

“There was little too smile about in Gondor for many years,” Faramir said sleepily, “The enemy was always near, very near. We lost many good men, so many good men.”

“Yes, but their sacrifice will not go in vain now that those they left behind can laugh and be happy with little worry,” Legolas said. He understood what Faramir was trying to say. His own realm of Mirkwood had been under threat from the darkness for many years.

Faramir would only shake his head in response.

“They were brave men,” he said finally.

Aragorn knew what he was thinking about. A meeting of the White City’s council two weeks ago had ended in acrimonious words. One of the councillors, a trusted lieutenant of Denethor’s in his heyday, had taken strongly to some of Faramir’s suggestions. In not so many words he had managed to indicate that he though of Faramir as a poor second best in the Steward’s chair.

Faramir’s face had clouded over as he had remembered what his father had said before the siege of Gondor; that he would rather have had it that Faramir had gone to Rivendell in Boromir’s place.

Aragorn had been greatly angered then. He had not missed the whispers by the former Steward’s trusted men. All had been encouraged by Denethor’s own behaviour to treat Faramir as a poor alternative to the stewardship with some even going on to suggest that Faramir had plotted to send Boromir to Rivendell in his stead for his prophetic dreams had foretold death in the journey. Whether these slanderous tales reached Faramir’s ears or not was yet unknown, but there was no doubt that he looked more tired after all these happenings. Aragorn had resolved to retire all those councillors. In the time he had gotten to know his Steward he had developed a fond liking for him, and respect for his thought and opinion, and he valued him at his side.

He had also heard of Denethor’s deteriorating relationship with his youngest son. They had differing viewpoints often, and the father had gone so far as to hit the son more than once. It explained Faramir’s reticence and habit of thinking carefully before speaking.

“There is no shortage of bravery in Gondor even now,” he said firmly.

Faramir shook his head again. He moved away from Legolas as he tried to sit up on his own. He could manage it if he curled up his legs to his chest and rested his head on them.

“Boromir said you were very brave,” Gimli said suddenly, leaning forward, “That he knew Gondor would be safe in your hands, for you would protect her with your life.”

“But I did not,” Faramir pointed out, raising his head to look at his friends out of sorrowful eyes, “I am alive.” He smiled bitterly looking at the ground.

“What foolishness is this?” Gimli retorted, “You are alive, so is Gondor, it lives because you live.”

“It lives because the King has returned,” Faramir said simply.

“But the King needs his Steward,” Aragorn told him quietly.

“I am not the right man for the realm, my lord, “ came the serious reply, “You need one of courage and valour.”

“I have one such, he is my Steward,” Aragorn insisted.

“I am a coward,” Faramir spat out, “I cannot defend myself, how will I play a part in defending the realm?”

“It is not you, it could happen to anyone,” Legolas said soothingly, placing hand on the man’s shoulder, “It was the circumstances, and the same circumstances sent us our friends before you could fall to harm.”

Tears were glistening on Faramir’s cheeks now.

“No, another would not have fallen, such as I did. Another would not have been captured to be a – a plaything…” Faramir broke off with a sobbing gulp. He was feeling really terrible now. Headache and tears combined to make him feel more ill.

“What may have happened is unknown, Faramir, it is not for us to know these things. But know this; you are no coward, you who fought off the Southron forces and Orcs and held Gondor against them. Such is not cowardice. You were weakened that day, and you must stop feeling it is your fault,” Legolas said in the same soothing voice, clasping the tired and hunched shoulders.

“You are alive and that is important, your people love you and that is true. Now rest yourself for some time, for all this talk and needless worrying will only tire you more,” Aragorn added sincerely.

The tired eyes closed slightly, still unconvinced of what the others were saying, and Legolas soon found himself holding onto the half asleep figure of the Steward who had slumped into his arms. It seemed to comfort him so he remained that way till the breathing evened out, and he was sure that the sleep was a peaceful one. He laid his friend back on the ground with his own cloak for a pillow, and wrapped him in his cloak.

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