“I always thought that I wouldn’t be ready,” Merry snorted as Faramir sat
down beside him.
“What?” Faramir asked surprised.  “Ready for what?”
“Death.”
“Oh,” Faramir disagreed sullenly, “I was always sure it would be sudden. A
blinding flash of red or white and all my pain would disappear, like I went
directly to the heavens.”
“I thought I would see it coming, and I would be scared or lonely. I want to
pass peacefully, though. A brave battle death wouldn’t suit me,” Merry
continued gazing off into space. “Coming close at Pelennor was really scary,
but I felt ready to die.” Shocked he looked up.
“You never think that really, when event leads to event, that by the time
you are in a troubling situation you are calmer than you thought you’d be,”
Faramir looked ahead. “When your body senses the end is near it is almost as
if it begins to prepare for the worst emotionally and physically.  You start
to give up and accept it.  For those who survive they will always remember
that feeling. The feeling that they are being forced to give up hope as
their body loses strength.” Faramir grimaced and continued, “With the pure
evil you have experienced no matter how physically healed you are, you will
always remember the icy reality of the wicked world.  The long frozen
fingers of defeat grasping at your still fiery heart.  With what you have
seen, you will never be free.”
Merry shuddered and a single shining tear found its way down his cheek.
“Why,” he pressed Faramir, “why are those men strong enough to survive
constantly tormented by memories they are trying to forget?  Why are we
tortured?” He slumped forward and put his head in his hands.
Faramir laid a hand on Merry’s shoulder and said, “Truly, no one can know.
For those who almost suffer death, but brave the tricks of it, for those who
survive, it is all they experience.  For those who have had no contact with
death, they cannot compare.  Death is part of life’s mystery.  I am not one
to give accurate information for I have been on the doorstep of Heaven, too.
You, Merry, you cannot explain the feeling to someone who has never been
near the Witch King.  It is an impossible puzzle.”  A faint smile appeared
on Faramir’s solemn expression.
“But how then, how can the storytellers, tell their adventure stories?  How
can they stand to relive that emotion?  How are they not emotionally worn
down every time they try to tell someone new how they survived the cave
troll they faced at Pelennor?  How can they come to grasp that event?” Merry
choked out as he peered up at Faramir over glistening cheeks.
“Being a storyteller is their job, not their life.  It is their occupation
to conceal their true emotions. Usually they feel the same way, but it is
their job to hide it.  It is why they are storytellers. It is what they do
best,” Faramir answered grimly.
Merry nodded and tried to smile as Pippin marched over from where he was
talking to Eowyn.  “Thank-you, Faramir, I am glad that you will talk to me
and answer my questions.  Without a friend like you I don’t know where I
would be,” Merry said as he got up from his seat to join Pippin as he moved
towards a table set with food.
As he watched Merry, Faramir smiled sadly and moved towards Eowyn.