Smoke. Fire. Voices. His father. A child? The Wizard!
"Am I dead?" Faramir asked the wind, standing in a field he'd never seen before.
There was no end to it. No collection of villages in the distance, only a few trees, but each tree looked unimaginably old. His brother would have called the trees gnarled, their roots and branches twisted. Faramir thought of them as fluid, swayed and moved by winds and time.
Faramir turned, trying to find out where he was, what he was doing there. The last thing he remembered was his father, standing over him, smoke and flame everywhere.
"You're not dead yet, love," A comforting, familiar voice, Faramir turned - hadn't he looked that way already?
"My lord," Despite their years as lovers - though seldom in the flesh - there was a majesty to Elrond's presence, even here - wherever they were - that was inescapable - and Faramir enjoyed Elrond's reactions.
The elf's lips quirked - even near death his lover was gently irreverent as ever. "I cannot travel far enough to heal your body myself, beloved," he said, moving closer to Faramir. "Though until then, I hope I can heal your soul."
The pair embraced, and Faramir closed his eyes, feeling his beloved close for the first time in some years. Wonderful as it felt, however, there was a tangible lacking to Elrond's presense. Whereever he was it was in mind only. "Have I died?" he asked. He'd always known -- no one had told him but all his life he'd known that, through his mother, when he died, he would join the elves. There was just enough elf-blood in him and Boromir to allow it - if they had reason.
"Not yet, but you're close. Close enough that your father thought you dead, and Mithrandir was right - he did remember his love for you before the end. The loss of you drove him mad. A feeling I cannot find argument with." Elrond's age old lips smiled gently, even as he thought of losing the only man he had loved, and who had loved him, putting rank and valor aside.
"Where is this place?" Faramir asked, lifting his head from Elrond's shoulder after a few moments.
"This is my dream path. I cannot stay here long but when I entered, I felt you, and I knew what had happened. You should know ... they're winning, now. Your city will be rebuilt."
The world around them seemed to ripple and Faramir could swear he heard voices. "I must go, my love," the elf leaned in, ghosting his lips over Faramir's. The steward closed his eyes for the kiss and when they opened again, everything was gone except the grimy darkness he recognized as the house of healing. A tear escaped one eye and Faramir slipped back into unconsciousness, resting now, letting his body heal.
