I watched my friends die in horror
Crying as they were all slain
I heard their final moments
Calling their captain in vain

From: 'Six hundred strike' by Jorge Rivera-Herrans - Epic the musical

Calling their captain in vain

Gasping for breath, Aragorn bolted from his bed. He needed fresh air, now! Without really thinking, he dressed quietly into his rangergarb, and was out of his room before someone could stop him. He stuck to the shadow, and reached the upper level unseen, leaving his personal guard behind.

His breathing slowed when he inhaled the cool night air. His gaze caught the white tree. It was no longer dead and he could see the first buds forming, promising new life.
Aragorn bowed his head to the tree and walked to the wall. His hands grasped the stone edge until his knuckles saw white. Before him lay the Pelennor Fields. He took a few deep, shuddering breaths, as his memories were playing tricks on his mind. He could see the soldiers. Hear their screams. His hands trembled when he rubbed his tired eyes. Not real. It was not real, he told himself.

"Everything alright, my lord?"

No matter how gentle the voice was, Aragorn jerked. His hand reached for a weapon that he wasn’t carrying, before relaxing. "Ah, Faramir. I didn't hear you approaching."
The younger man joined him at the wall. Silence fell between them while they watched the bare lands stretching from Minas Tirith to the river. "The grass will grow again. It will be green once more. You do know that, don't you?" Faramir watched his king and gestured to the white tree. "Your coming here has already started healing the land. Yes, the Field will bear memories, but it won't always be like this."

"And what about the people? Will they heal?" His words were soft, barely audible. Aragorn rarely showed any weakness, knowing the people needed a strong leader. But tonight, the dreams had been too real. Not really a nightmare, for those were fiction. This had been real. He had been fighting alongside many good men, not that long ago. They had buried and burned more fallen soldiers and citizens than one could count.

He started again when Faramir touched him gently. "Aragorn. You saved my life. You healed some of the darkness in my mind that was threatening to consume me. Trust me when I say this."

When he paused, Aragorn looked up, locking eyes.

Faramir smiled kindly. "Yes. The people too. They will heal, grow old, tell stories to their children and remember what happened, but they will focus on the good." He squeezed the king's shoulder. As if to tell him that he too, should focus on the good moments in life. "Now tell me, what troubles you?"

It remained quiet for a long time between the two. Aragorn had not confided to anyone about his reoccurring dreams. Eventually, he just sighed. The tension seemed to seep out of his shoulders, and Aragorn lightly shook his head. "Just dreams. I guess there's finally a quiet moment. Most of the rebuilding is done. The first three rings of the city with the most damage are more or less restored. The fallen are buried or burned, whatever the family wished for. Gimli has finished the main gate. Sam has finished with the gardens. The fellowship has returned home." He thought of Boromir, and Frodo. "More or less." Aragorn glanced at Faramir, but the other simply nodded, encouraging him to continue. "Now... Now everyone looks to me, to lead them into an Era of peace and prosperity. But... War still clings to me." Aragorn gripped the edge again, staring ahead, seeing nothing. "I can still hear their screams as they were slain. They called for me. I heard their final moments, calling their captain in vain."

"Aragorn..." Faramir was dumbfounded for only a moment. "That's a dangerous path for your mind to wander."

The soft, carefully spoken words hit Aragorn as a slap in the face. He crumbled. "I know. I know this. I just... Some nights it feels like the weight of the future is crushing me. That this city is choking me. I've been a chieftain in the wild for years, have studied decades with the best Elven teachers I could wish for, fought in wars before this one, and have known my destiny all this time." He leaned against the cold wall. "I just never expected it to be this lonely, I guess."

His confession was met with silence. Aragorn had not meant to utter those words, but, now they were spoken, he wouldn't take them back. It was the truth, after all. He felt lonely. And loneliness brought his self-doubts to the front of his mind, making it impossible to focus on the good things. These doubts made the dreams of the war return vividly.

"If I may be so bold..."

He had almost forgotten Faramir. Aragorn raised an eyebrow, and gestured with his hand for the man to continue.

"I know the Fellowship has been broken apart. Most have returned home. Others... who knows. I know you care for them, would fight fiercely for them, and love each and every one of them equally fiercely." Faramir chuckled. "Even my stubborn older brother."

Aragorn could only nod.

"But you are not lonely. Not unless you choose to be." Faramir gripped his arm, squeezed with enough strength to emphasise his words, but not with enough force to hurt him. "I know all about duty. About following rules, and wishing to change them. In front of you is an empty page, Aragorn. You can change the future. Better yet, you can lead us into the future. For barely three months ago, we didn't believe we would be alive today." He turned to him with a shy smile. A bit taken aback by his own words, yet meaning every single one. "I'd like to be there when you start making history. As an advisor, as someone who knows both these people and city through and through. But most of all, I would like to be there as your friend. You're not alone, Aragorn. And most certainly not the only one with bad dreams."

Faramir's passion was quite something, Aragorn thought. The man nodded, taking in the face of the younger captain. His Steward. And now his friend. "Indeed, the future doesn't seem too bleak, Faramir, with you next to me."
Together they watched as the sky turned from black to indigo to grey. Beams of sunlight shone on the mist, before gaining strength. Soon the sun chased all the grey away. "Not too bleak at all," Aragorn murmured.