50th chapter and over 130,000 words, this story has been an epic quest in itself :) Thanks for all the lovely messages ^_^ (Pip, Agape4Gondor, robbie), and to those who had a read of my new story. Hope you enjoy this chapter and a couple of reunions ;)

Chapter 50 - What shall my life be?

It was as "if all lowering Ilion had been burning top to bottom in fire... What shall my life be in my sorrows, now you are dead?"
~ Iliad XXII ~

"Your wisdom does not extend to your own hurts I see." Legolas' brow was furrowed, looking sidelong at Faramir as they walked toward the tent bearing Aragorn's standard. "Should you encounter that healer again take care, she could have breathed fire."

Delivering Pippin and Eowyn into the reliable hands at the city gate and avoiding abduction themselves had been a difficult task.

"I have clean new bandages," Faramir said, "and would not forgo this reunion for all the hearty meals and hot baths in the city."

"At least the temptation of a hearty meal was too much for Pippin, else he may not have got the care he required." Legolas made the jest, but in his heart knew the Hobbit had barely reached the city gates.

They had come now to the tent, and took a short moment to gaze upon the standard Arwen had woven raised high above the entrance. Legolas saw a delight and reverence kindle in his companion's eyes.

Their quiet moment was broken by wonderfully familiar Dwarf tones booming from inside. "You cannot think to perch out here while the wizard masses his forces - and with another wave from Mordor set to cross the river?"

They shared a look before pushing the tent entrance open.

Joyous surprise greeted them and their friends' open arms. Legolas saw in Aragorn's features a greater weight and strain than he had seen before in their long friendship, but great delight also in their reunion. Gimli's embrace crushed his pained chest, but he did not mind so glad he was to see the Dwarf once more.

"And now is the time you choose to return," the Dwarf was saying. "After battle and fear is been and done."

"The war remains," Aragorn said, but his eyes were smiling also, "and the worst is yet to come. But come, my friends, and eat and drink awhile with us. You look as though you need it."

"It cheers me to see you have been made welcome," Faramir said, and thanked Gimli for the food he offered.

"The people of your city, while reserved, are generous in their food at the least!" Gimli shook a leg of chicken to demonstrate his point.

Legolas gazed hungrily at the food and drink, but knew things must be put right before they rested.

"Estel," he said, and Aragorn turned from where he poured drinks for his weary companions. "I return something you have long missed."

Legolas lifted Anduril on his palms, presenting it to his friend with reverence.

"I did not think to see this blade again." Aragorn took it, and his eyes shone with some unknown sadness. "Thank you, my friend. This means much."

They ate ravenously, so long on the march with only the Orcs' foul food for sustenance. Legolas himself felt quite sleepy after the companionable meal.

"And as I was saying before I was interrupted," Gimli began again when they all sat back in satisfaction, "what is to be done? Surely it is not our plan to sit here and feast on the edge of ruin, waiting for both Saruman and Sauron to knock on our tent, or for some mumakil to trample it into the ground?"

Aragorn looked away, his thoughts clearly troubled.

"I must go up to the citadel," Faramir said, and set his cup down. "Now that I have seen you both alive and well." His gaze was steady when he looked to Aragorn. "Will you not walk beside me?"

Legolas watched, and remembered long ago in Lorien when he had foreseen this moment. How different were his feelings now!

Aragorn thought long, hooding his eyes. "Not yet, my friend. But seek out your kin, and I may come after when I deem the time is right."

Faramir stood without showing any surprise, "Farewell then for now, but do not tarry long in your coming. Gondor has waited long for her King, and she grows impatient!"

The three companions remained in Aragorn's tent some time after Faramir had departed, and they exchanged stories of the time they had been separated.

Legolas marvelled at the stories of the Dwimaborg, and saw in Gimli more fear and trembling than ever yet the stout Dwarf had shown. In the coming of the grey company to Pelargir, however, Legolas felt he had evaded a more deadly peril, for what would it be just as Elves were leaving Middle Earth to stand upon the deck of a ship and look upon the sea!

In return Legolas told his own adventures: how he and Faramir had come to Edoras only one day behind Aragorn and Gimli, and of how they had schemed to shake Saruman off the scent of the ring.

"Ah! So we can blame you for the second army on the doorstep?" growled Gimli good naturedly.

Legolas hesitated in describing their journey from Rohan to Gondor, as the memories were still fresh. While they had not suffered beyond endurance at the hands of the Orcs, their helplessness had been mortifying, and the wizard's cold intent still lingered in his thoughts.

"This wizard needs some harsh justice," Gimli said, and reached aside for his axe as though to set out at once. "But at least Middle Earth is less one scheming servant of Saruman," he added, as Legolas told of Eowyn and her encounter. "Grima Wormtoungue will not be missed."

"And yet he played his part," Legolas returned, "but I will not speak of that yet."

In the midst of Legolas' telling of his meeting with Saruman overlooking the besieged Minas Tirith, Gandalf slipped through the gap in the tent.

Legolas bowed his head deeply, the wizard's new white robes almost blinding his sight.

"You have returned to us, master Elf!" Gandalf said, "at the very edge of the shadow may all friends be gathered together again."

Without more speech he swiftly approached Aragorn, gripping his arm in some earnest haste.

"What has happened?"

'Denethor requests your presence inside the city."

Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "I know you too well not to suspect you had no hand in this."

"His son teeters on the edge of life and perhaps your hand alone might draw him back. Saving this man's life will give Denethor the justification you need to command the armies of the city."

"You speak truly? I had not expected this."

Gandalf looked to Legolas and Gimli, already turning on his heel to go. "I will go ahead. Follow fast."

Crossing the Courtyard of the Fountain, Faramir shrugged off his cloak, folding it under his arm to hide the worst of the mud and blood. It was strange to walk amid his people again after so long. Heads ducked in acknowledgement as he passed, and he felt conscious that he had not even found a moment to bathe.

He spared a look for the still barren tree as he passed, before entering into the citadel and proceeding to his father's halls. His footsteps echoed in the empty corridor. What welcome could he expect after so long a journey? From whispers overheard as he passed through the circles he dreaded what might be awaiting him.

On the steps below the king's chair stooped Denethor. His father appeared to have aged many years since their last meeting, not with the unnatural weight of sorcery that had cast Theoden into docility, but with strain and grief.

Beneath his withered hands lay Boromir in a fevered sleep. Faramir's steps echoed to the hollow feeling in his own chest as he approached brother and father.

"So you have returned," his father said as Faramir knelt by the bier, reaching out to feel for himself the sweat dampened cheek of Boromir.

He searched for something recognisable in his brother's features, for they were much wasted with illness and it grieved him to see Boromir laid so low.

His breath was caught up in his throat and he made no reply to his father's words. Though the Steward said no kindly words, Faramir thought his father's eyes softened, and in them he saw one who had been driven to the very edge of a precipice, and with some small mercy had taken a step back from the edge. Perhaps his homecoming was not unlooked for.

He brushed aside as stray hair that clung to Boromir's fevered forehead, then looked to his father, asking the question he could not speak allowed.

Denethor understood him, and his voice became very quiet, though not now with compassion. "He was in Ithilien."

The revelation came as a shock. He swallowed. Aware of the petitioning and vigilance required to maintain Gondor's furthest outpost, and knowing too that their Captain would not have left them to disrepair, Denethor could not have wondered why Boromir was in Ithilien.

Faramir looked up, meeting the accusation with the full force of his anger and grief. "Do not lay this upon me."

With a snarl his father stood, "Why else should he go there? What other voice could turn him from his duty at the forts? Swords are no protection from darts and arrows."

Harad arrows could cut though soldiers easily, Faramir had seen it often, and tended the wounded until the cruel poisons with which their weapons were laced, drained and slowly destroyed the strongest men. The cruellest of deaths... Boromir... His eyes remained dry even at this last revelation, for he knew that a thousand tears would not appease Denethor's grief and anger, or his own.

"And what now is to be done?" he asked, knowing in his heart that his father would lose this war in losing his son.

Denethor waved his arm dismissively, "At this last my hand has been forced. Your ragged King and his tame wizard come even now to the citadel. Await their coming if it pleases you. I care not what you do."

Whispers besieged Faramir's already aggrieved mind as he passed down the halls to his rooms; murmurings of the army of dead warriors that had saved the city from certain ruin. The people were confused, frightened.

The city appeared lost and floundering with no leader. Imrahil had led his swan knights from Dol Amroth by the sea and had been in command of Gondor's forces since the fall of their Captain General. Yet it was clear that not all would follow his orders alone, nor even obey the wisdom of Gandalf who had, it seemed, done much to strengthen the defence of the city since his return. It grieved him that for all his father's teachings, in the Steward's eyes the fall of his son and the destruction of his city were akin, and he would lift no hand to do what might still be done.

Slowing his steps he stood for a while unmoving. All was silent, and even the beat of his own heart was dull. Leaning his back against the wall a moment, he recalled Lorien when he had suspected this would come to pass, but not so soon... he had thought, had hoped that he would come before it was too late.

He heard his named called, and opening his eyes recognised one of Imrahil's men. Brushing off the man's concern he received the man's message, that his uncle and the rest of his companions had taken to the Houses for council.

As the healers carefully bore Boromir to the lower levels of the city, he himself would swiftly wash and find a change of clothes, and thence follow them to the houses.

When he entered the largest room in the houses he found many familiar faces. Mithrandir's white robes caught his eyes at once, and it was a dream to see him there whole and well as Aragorn and Gimli had described.

Merry was seated by Gandalf at the end of the long chamber, his eyes distant and red with unshed tears, and Aragorn and Gimli sat near by. Legolas stood against the far wall and Eomer paced like some caged animal, his mind clearly occupied by thoughts of his sister.

He walked the length of the room, feeling their eyes upon him. Imrahil approached him at once, gripping his upper arms and holding him still as he searched his nephew's face.

"I am not about to fall apart, Uncle," he said, though gently, for he could see in the other's clenched jaw and haunted eyes the restrained fear that must have shown in his own.

Imrahil slacked his grip, nodding. "No," he smiled sadly, "No I can see that." He shifted his hand to his nephew's shoulder and guided him to a chair. "It would take much to break you, Faramir," he said very quietly.

Saruman had once said something similar.

"What of the wounded?" he asked quickly.

"They are both stricken by the same malady," Eomer said thickly, and Merry's sniff showed he was equally uneasy about the fate of his cousin. "One the healers do not understand." There was undisguised anger and fear in his tone, and in the glance he threw at Aragorn.

"I will tend to them as soon as we are done here," Aragorn promised in return.

"Thank the Valar you did not strike out at the shadow king, my friend," Legolas said, "for in daring to strike such a foe both Hobbit and lady have been accursed."

"Your own brother has had some care," Eomer said, and there was only the smallest of bitter feeling in his tone. "And you will find all three in the adjoining room together, though none have yet woken."

Faramir looked quickly to Aragorn, seeking some kind of reassurance.

"He is well for the time-being, my friend, and your father looks over him."

"We must," Gandalf said firmly, speaking for the first time since Faramir had entered, "make decisions for the here and now, and then time can be gifted to the wounded."

Imrahil stood once more, "You are right, we must discuss how we stand."

Faramir eyes flickered to the adjoining chamber, but he took his place by Legolas' side to listen.

"Our position as I see it," Eomer said, ceasing his pacing for a moment to speak his mind, "is that the two armies will converge on the city together, and our forces will be overwhelmed by sheer numbers within one, perhaps two days at the very most. Even if the people retreat into the upper levels of the city, once the great gate has fallen there is little hope of holding such a large force at bay, and no reinforcements at this late hour."

"You think so?" Gandalf was stroking his beard absent-mindedly, yet his eyes were sharp. "I believe Curunír will not wait. He will hope that by attacking first without waiting for Sauron's bidding he will gain faster and surer access to that which he seeks."

"The ring," Merry said flatly.

Imrahil gave a small cough, not having been privy to the fellowship's true purpose - his mind worked quickly however. "Does he believe then that we have this thing?"

"He does not know for sure," Gandalf said, "yet it has always been a possibility - and perhaps he would not suspect us to be so rash as we have been."

Faramir's mind was suddenly alight with ideas - the vague plan that had been forming for days was taking some shape. "Perhaps we should ensure all doubt is put aside," he said, speaking his thoughts aloud.

It was a wild idea, reckless and perhaps foolhardy. "We are outnumbered, trapped. If Frodo still lives and is to complete his task we must give him time. The odds of maintaining a siege are slim if non existent. Two separate armies seek our destruction, and what I have long considered is these two forces turning their strength not to breaking down our defences but upon each other."

"How would such a thing to be achieved?"

The sober nature of Gimli's question forced him to realise his idea had been credited with some hope of success. He looked to Legolas, who seemed already to have understood, and placed the precious object he had taken from the remains of the Lord of the Nazgul upon the table.

The small golden ring shone in the light shining through the bright windows of the Houses of Healing.

Gimli's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"

Gandalf looked at the object warily, and did not reach out a hand to touch it.

Eomer breathed out through his nose at the sight. "More talk of rings and devilry? This is not warfare as I have known it."

"This is not warfare at all, my lord," Gandalf said. "This has ever been a battle of stealth and will, and swords and spears only our veil over the dark tower's sight.

"This is not war as Gondor has seen it," Imrahil said, "but if Mithrandir can summon another grey host to save the city as yestereve I will support the way of stealth."

"But what can be done with this accursed thing?" Eomer's frustration had broken through to his voice. "Surely you do not suggest one of us dons this trinket? All know the rings gifted to the kings of men are deadly, and that any man who wore it would even now be subsumed by the enemy's will."

"It looks," Merry said quietly, "as much like Frodo's ring as no matter."

The others all looked to him, and in his simple words began to understand.

"Saruman already believes the ring lies in Minas Tirith, to make that into certainly, to focus the wizard's mind so that nothing else is noticed."

"But how?"

"There is," Legolas said, "among Saruman's possessions a glowing orb, kept secret. And it lies there still... if it survived the fire I set amid his belongings before we escaped."

"A palantir!" Gandalf breathed, leaning forward, looking with an intense question to Legolas.

"But how can a stone help?" Merry asked.

"The Seeing Stones of old were not only devices of sight - they were also used to communicate in thought."

"So through Saruman's stone," Gimli said, "he communicated with the Dark Lord?"

Gandalf nodded. "Now we know how the link between Isengard and Orthanc may be used to our advantage."

"But how?"

"I have seen," Faramir said, knowing that at this last he could hold nothing back, "another such stone here in the city."

"One with strength of mind and an iron will might turn the stone to his own purpose," Gandalf said, his gaze unfocused. "The Stones of Seeing do not lie, but such a one might, by his will choose what things shall be seen, or cause them to mistake the meaning of what they see."

"I don't understand," Imrahil shook his head. "what advantage is there to make the wizard more sure of his suspicions. Surely his attack on the city will be all the more vicious."

"Saruman would seek out the citadel, and might disregard in his haste the decimation of the city."

Gandalf nodded. "If Sauron too believes Curunír has reached out his hand to claim his possession he may empty his lands to prevent it, bend his full will to crushing the servant who betrayed him. If the conflict can be played out to give Frodo his chance, it would be worth the risk."

"Using the stone would be a dangerous undertaking," Legolas said, "even for you, Mithrandir."

"Not I," Gandalf said at once, "there is only one here who may have the strength and right to bend it to his will."