Prologue:

"I walk across a darkling plain that is lit only by distant fires. The heat of the rocky surface stabs through the thick soles of my boots. When I stumble, I must stand up quickly, or my hands blister as I stop my fall on the rocks. The flames at least advance slowly, and give the only light to be found in this place. When I turn to see the fires, perhaps half a league off, they fill my heart with great fear."

 

Chapter I:

"As I rubbed my tired eyes, Gandalf entered the tent. He too must have seen hardship of late. His fair white robes were tattered at the edges, and dulled by the residue of smoke. His face was shadowed, and his staff was gone, yet his eyes brightened when he saw me."

 

"Throughout my examination, Denethor’s son lay still and silent. It seemed to take all his strength to breathe; and his breathing was very faint indeed. The Black Shadow usually chilled its victims. The fever’s presence could signify that he was fighting the blight’s advance. But he was failing fast, and I could not yet tell why."

 

Chapter 2:

"I looked out, and saw, far below me, the man I had come to find. Faramir of Gondor moved slowly through the terrible valley, flanked by strange, half-visible creatures out of nightmare. They would surge from the flames and the smoke, stabbing and clawing at the man."

"Faramir stared at what appeared to be his father. The figure shambled forward with a beseeching hand outstretched and implored: "Help…they will take me to the fire if you do not come down to help me. Help me now, my dearest son!"

"No…it cannot be" Faramir said softly. He stared intently at the phantom. "No. My father would never plead for aid. My father would never call me…that.""

 

"He squared his shoulders, turned from the shadowed, flame-haunted plain before us, and began to slowly climb towards me. It was not far, merely some thirty feet, and though the rocky slope was steep, it was filled with crannies and shelves for footholds. But for a wearied and wounded man, the ascent was a torment. Faramir faltered more than once. Each time he stopped, he pushed on, forcing his injured left arm to balance his other limbs. I could hear, over Faramir’s labored breathing, his utterance of some words, or a verse, over and over again."

"He leaned against me with a long sigh, as if relinquishing a burden he could no longer bear. I was glad to give him some badly needed respite. Then the Elessar stone hummed with some strange power. A sudden Light burst forth around me, shining so brightly that I felt like Earendil himself, bearing the Silmaril through the heavens. Its source seemed to be my own heart! The light pulsed outward through the stone with each heartbeat, glowing over Faramir’s hands."

 

Chapter 3:

""My lord, you called me. I come," Faramir said quietly. He looked upon me with love, as if he had known me all of his life. "What does the king command?"

By the Valar, he had called me king! And suddenly, my doubts, my anxiety about the next battle with Mordor’s forces, melted away before the fierce hope and devotion I saw in my Steward’s eyes. Though I would make no formal claim until Sauron fell, I knew I was king now, King of Gondor. Faramir’s King. For he was the first to hail me as lord of the realm his sires had ruled."