DEFINING MOMENT

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-five

TA 3019

Houses of Healing, Minas Tirith

A hand lay on his brow, heavy and cool.

"Faramir...Faramir..."

Why could he not see? Why could he hear a voice—so weary, so strong?

"Faramir...Faramir!"

Was he lost? Faramir struggled, but his hands were weak. The man called again. "Faramir!"

Slowly the darkness fell like scales, and the joy of spring came to him. A beautiful, fair world. Untouched by Shadow. Faramir's lungs constricted painfully, and he gasped in a breath. Air filled his lungs.

"Faramir!"

His mind clear, and Faramir was only aware of one thing. He opened his eyes and stared into the kindly face of a man. Powerful, commanding. The prophecy was fulfilled. Isildur's heir had returned.

"My lord," he said softly. "You called me. What does the king command?"

The King laughed, and the sound was healing to Faramir.

"Awake! Do not walk in the shadows anymore. Rest, and be ready when I return."

"I will," Faramir felt full of joy. He leaned his head heavily into the soft pillows and looked through the windows. Sunlight streamed in. For who could lie idle when the King has returned?

۞۞۞

Death. Death all around her. A red, dark sky. Hideous beings surrounding her. Their weapons were dipped in poison and they were pointing the tips at her. And she was caught in the middle.

Far away, was her uncle. He was dead. And Éomer was dead, too. All dead. And she'd be next. There was no hope. She'd failed. For she was still alive. If she'd fought her hardest, perhaps she could have joined Théoden and Éomer.

"Éowyn, Éomund's daughter! The Enemy is gone!"

No, they were still surrounding her.

Something soft and gentle brushed her brow. "Awake."

Then the darkness fled away, and she breathed deeply. Clean air, fresh, new. As if it had blown from the stars.

"Lady of Rohan!" the voice commanded. A rough hand took her own hand. She clung to it, feeling as if she let go, she'd fall once more to the darkness.

"The Shadow has fled. All darkness has been made light." The hand placed her hand in someone else's hand.

"Éowyn!"

It couldn't be. Éomer was dead. Something hot and wet splashed on her hand. She struggled to open her eyes. And Éomer's joyous face met her sight.

"Éomer?" she gasped, in shock and pain. Had she died? "I dreamed you'd died!"

"Not so, sister," Éomer's grip threatened to break her bones.

She didn't need to ask about her uncle. She knew he was dead. Tears streamed from her eyes and dripped into her hair.

Merry's smiling face came to her mind. She couldn't bear to think of him as dead. Not when he'd been so faithful to her uncle and to her.