The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men/gang aft a-gley. (oft go awry) “To a mouse”

Robert Burns, 1759-1796

Ch 11...gang aft a-gley

Faramir stood, holding his sword, letting it sink almost to the ground. Râsual gloated, taking joy in the wounding of the Steward. He took pleasure in knowing Faramir would die, lonely, with no loved ones near to farewell him.

The Haradrim swiftly raised his sword and charged at Faramir. Faramir barely got his sword raised, blocking Râsual. They exchanged blows, until Faramir made a misstep. He went to his knees, totally exhausted and weakened with the loss of blood. Râsual rained blow after blow upon the fallen steward.

Aragon and Éomer saw a grove of trees ahead and could clearly hear the fighting. The two kings urged their mounts onward, hoping they were not too late. As they rode, both men loosed their daggers, ready to use them.

Hearing the sound of hoof beats, Râsual knew he had to slay Faramir. There would not be another chance. As he raised the sword for the final blow, he felt a blossoming pain in his chest.

Falling to the ground, his eyes clouding in death, Râsual saw two daggers protruding from his chest. On one, the White Tree of Gondor. On the other, the White Horse of Rohan.

Aragorn dismounted before his steed came to a stop. He raced to his friend, with Éomer right behind. Éomer knelt by Faramir’s side as Aragorn checked the Steward’s wounds. “Brother, stay. Please. The world would be a dark place without your light,” pleaded Éomer, tears coursing down his cheeks. He did not care who saw him weep.

Faramir asked haltingly, “Râsual? Where..is..” He stopped speaking as a grimace of pain flashed across his face.

“He will seek you no longer,” Aragorn answered Faramir. Realizing he was safe, Faramir closed his eyes, embracing the darkness.

“Bring my pouches and get a fire going. Also, send someone back for the carriage and bring it here. We will have to set up camp until it is safe to move Lord Faramir,” said Aragon. After he had issued his orders, he turned back to the wounded man.

Quickly the camp was established. Éomer would not allow anyone but himself to move the unconscious Faramir to Aragorn’s cot. He stood near, ready to all he could to help his brother by law.

Aragorn was brought clean warm water. He took athelas, breathed on the leaves as he broke them into pieces, and cast the pieces into the water. He then bathed Faramir’s wounds. He was especially concerned about the blood loss from the deep wound in Faramir’s side. There were several other wounds that were cause for concern.

Éomer smoothed his friend’s hair, soothing him as Aragorn bathed the wounds and bandaged them. Together, they clothed their brother in clean garments, and then settled in to watch and guard the steward.

Aragorn had sent a messenger back to Gondor with news of the rescue. He had thought to use the carriage to move Faramir, but now knew it was not possible. Faramir would not survive the return trip.

Throughout the night, Faramir’s fever rose. It continued to rise to dangerously high levels. In his delirium, Faramir was again with his Rangers, awaiting the Haradrim and their Mûmak. “Damrod! Marblung! Watch out! Take down the Mûmak! Let no one escape!” He became agitated, reliving the battle.

Aragorn placed a cool cloth on Faramir’s forehead, trying to quiet the steward. Éomer assured Faramir that his orders were carried out. Faramir quieted for a spell; then started to murmur. The two watchers caught a word here and there, but were able to follow the thoughts of the steward. “Frodo…Sam…Boromir…” came the broken words.

Both kings knew the fight for the life of Faramir was reaching a crisis. As Anor rose, Faramir opened his eyes, gazing on his friends. Aragorn changed the dressings on the wounds, attempting to stem the flow of blood.

Faramir whispered to his friend and king, “Do not worry, my friend. I have no pain. I am ready to join the circles of the world.” Eomer’s heart clenched in dread as he heard his friend’s words. He said nothing, merely held on to Faramir’s hand. The Prince of Ithilien gazed at Éomer, saying “Thank you for being here, at the end. I wonder what it will be like, when I pass. I hope it is as Mithrandir told Pippin. A curtain of gray rain, then a far green country.” He sighed, then closed his eyes.