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Part 11
“How do we lure the whelp out of the city?” asked
conspirator number one, a tall swarthy looking man with the faint trace
of an accent, in a hushed coarse whisper.
“He is canny and dangerous. They say that he can read minds,"
whispered conspirator number two with the same faint trace of an accent.
"We will not be able to approach directly with his wizard abilities
and him being surrounded constantly by elves," added the third
conspirator.
“We must discover his weakness and I think I may know a way,”
the first conspirator grinned evilly.
Over the next week Faramir's general demeanour improved as his workload
decreased enabling him to gain much needed sleep. His daily sessions
with Gandalf and to a lesser extent Elrond, were becoming ever more
gruelling. His conscience was pricked by Beregond's increasingly haggard
look for it seemed that despite having two extra aids and the assistance
of both his ada and uncle, the man was finding the going very hard.
“You were shielding him too much ion-nin,” Thranduil admonished,
on seeing his son's look of guilt when his friend yawned for what Faramir
thought must have been the thousandth time during the midday meal in
the great dining hall. The meal had been called in honour of a detail
of elves who had arrived from Mirkwood that morning, bringing news and
goods for their elven King.
“Indeed! I am still amazed, foxling, with how much you were doing
in addition to your sessions with Mirthrandir and Lord Elrond,”
Imrahil added from where he was seated opposite the Steward.
At the conclusion of the meal, Legolas and Faramir made their way to
the Steward's apartments where they entered through the vestibule and
thence through to the drawing room. There they were greeted by the sight
of a large, elegantly carved, wooden trunk perched on the top of Faramir's
work desk by the glass door that opened onto the balcony that overlooked
the King and Steward's private garden.
“Ada said that he had a gift for you brought from Mirkwood,”
Legolas apprised, grinning widely at Faramir's stunned expression.
Faramir approached the elegant trunk almost reverently and stood still.
“Well open it, muindor tithen,” Legolas laughed, motioning
with his hand towards the trunk.
Faramir did so tentatively and then jumped back with a yelp of horror
when the largest spider that he had ever seen, scuttled, rather clumsily
if truth be known, out of the trunk and onto the desk where it just
stood looking at him.
Seemingly unperturbed, Legolas just looked at the spider with an expression
of mild disgust.
“I do not think this hatchling is what ada intended to gift you,”
Legolas said as he eyed the baby spider.
“Hatchling?” Faramir squeaked incredulously, eyes as wide
as saucers as he continued to stare at the spider with a morbid fascination.
“Aye, you can see by the pieces of the egg still in the trunk.
I would say it has hatched within the last hour.
“Who would have…?” Faramir began.
“Amras,” both Faramir and Legolas answered at the same
time as they looked at each other, Faramir rolling his eyes and Legolas
shaking his head.
“I think that elf should seek counselling,” Faramir said
as his gaze shifted back to the hatchling.
Faramir started quite violently when he could have sworn he heard a
sibilant “Mama?” come from the hatchling.
“They speak?” Faramir asked on a rising inflection that
sounded slightly hysterical even to himself.
“Aye,” Legolas replied conversationally. “Although
their vocabulary is limited generally to words such as kill, poison,
dinner, 'feed on you' and suchlike.
“What should we do with it?” Faramir asked, at a complete
loss, having never faced this or a similar situation before.
“We should k…i…l…l…it,” Legolas
spelled out, not wanting to offend the hatchling.
“Mama,” the baby spider repeated looking up at Faramir.
This time the word sounded like a statement not a question, making Legolas
giggle and Faramir to glare at his brother.
“I have heard that you can see into the hearts of men and beasts
and thus charm them,” Legolas teased. “But I did not know
that it included arachnids.”
“Do you sense any evil from it?” Faramir asked his initial
horror and distaste turning to curiosity. “I cannot.”
“Nay. I do not either,” Legolas replied, perplexed.
“Is that not unusual?” Faramir asked, equally perplexed.
“Aye. That it is, muindor tithen. That it is,” Legolas
answered.
“Mayhap now that Sauron is no more, the spiders are just that;
spiders,” Faramir surmised.
“Nay, the ones in Mirkwood still reek of evil,” Legolas
countered
“I must confess that it is kind of cute, in an ugly, ghastly
sort of way,” Faramir said as he walked around the spider to the
other side of the desk. The spider scuttled around, losing its balance
at one stage as all eight legs skated outwards at the same time, thus
causing the creature to flop onto its belly. Getting its legs back under
it, it continued to scurry around making strange scuttling noises that
reverberated on the wooden surface of the desk.
“I know that look, muindor tithen. You cannot keep it!”
Legolas admonished.
“But I am loathe to destroy it when I can detect no evil,”
Faramir replied. “When are your compatriots returning to the halls
of Mirkwood?”
“Within two weeks,” Legolas acknowledged suspiciously.
“You cannot be thinking of asking them to take it back to Mirkwood.
They will kill it as soon as they are out of sight of Minas Tirith!”
“Not if we explain to ada our suspicions about Amras and suggest
that it should be returned to him with the decree that he is charged
with its upbringing until the elves leave Mirkwood. And that the decree
is to be overseen by the King's representative in Mirkwood,” Faramir
proposed with a decidedly demonic glint in his eye.
“You are pure evil, muindor tithen,” Legolas retorted with
more than a little admiration. “That should play beautifully to
ada's wicked sense of humour.”
“Why thank you, brother,” Faramir replied, acknowledging
the comment with a bow of his head and a very wide smirk.
“Before we tell ada, I would love to play a prank on a certain
dwarf,” Legolas said, his eyes afire with impishness.
“Are you out of your mind?! Do you have a death wish?!”
Faramir asked incredulously. “Ada would blister your arse and
Gimli would dismember you and not necessarily in that particular order!”
“Oh I suppose you are right. It was just a thought,” Legolas
replied petulantly.
“Not a very good one…,” Faramir began.
“Mama… hungry,” the hatchling piped up, quelling
the rest of Faramir's admonition.
“On what do they feed?” the young Steward asked.
“At this age, generally insects, mice, small birds,” Legolas
answered.
“Well there are plenty of mice in the disused dungeons where
wheat is being stored and we can keep him contained, under lock and
key. Come my little friend,” the Steward said as he pulled a throwover
from the couch beside the fireplace and wrapped it around the spider.
The princes made their way to the dungeons stealthily, taking care
not to be seen with their bundle. Faramir deposited the spider into
a cell that contained sacks of wheat, having ascertained first that
there were mice around. The Steward closed the door and looked at the
spider through as small, bared window in the topmost section of the
cell door, designed to allow guards to look in on prisoners. They stayed
until they heard a resounding burp from the satiated spider.
“Efficient little bugger,” Faramir whispered, impressed
by the neat efficiency with which the spider went about securing and
devouring dinner. “We will tell ada after the trade meeting later
this afternoon.”
The trade meeting, to be attended by representatives from Gondor, Dol
Amroth, Mirkwood, Rivendell and the dwarves to discuss the needs of
each and who could supply what, had been organised by Aragorn. As Steward,
Faramir had no choice but to attend the meeting. Legolas on the other
hand was free to attend if he so chose. He chose not to, begging off
saying that he had other important things to do. Faramir turned to the
elf, about to question him as to what these 'other duties' were but
his brother had disappeared. Shaking his head and with a feeling of
disquiet, the Steward made his way to the large meeting hall. There
he was met by his father. Also in attendance were of course Aragorn,
Maglor, Elrond, Gimli, Imrahil and a few other representatives from
both Gondor and Dol Amroth, including Beregond.
Well into the evening, the meeting, which had been most fruitful, had
almost concluded when the biggest spider the men gathered, with the
exception Aragorn, had ever seen descended quickly, and clumsily, on
a thread and landed with a thump on the middle of the table around which
the delegates were seated. There were various shouts and yelps of horror
and distress as the humans jumped up and back from the table. As the
only one armed, for Gimli was never found without his axe, the dwarf
raised it aloft and struck at the spider but missed as it scuttled towards
Faramir. Such was the force with which he struck, Gimli could not secure
enough leverage to remove the axe that was well and truly embedded in
the wooden table top. Oblivious to the growing cacophony of angry and
distressed voices, Faramir looked at the spider, which he noted, in
a detached kind of way, had a pink ribbon around its neck and was dripping
with water. He then looked up from whence the spider had descended only
to see his brother, pale-faced and looking absolutely mortified, looking
down at the chaotic scene.
“Mama, mama, mama,” the hatching repeated in its strange
sibilant voice as it scurried towards Faramir, who was sitting, unmoving,
as if carved in stone.
“Calm yourselves gentlemen,” Faramir heard Aragorn command
from his still seated position at the head of the table. “It is
but a hatchling. Although what it is doing in Minas Tirith I would very
much like to know,” he added. glaring at his Steward.
“A hatchling? A hatchling! How big do the bloody things grow?”
Faramir heard Beregond ask in an incredulous tone, as he continued to
stare at the spider.
'I wondered that myself' Faramir thought as the spider started pouncing
on the feathered quill that he was holding in his hand, occasionally
losing control over one or more of its legs which seemed to skate out
from under it.
“About ten times the size,” the Steward heard his King
reply.
That big thought Faramir with the same strange calm detachment,
his mind latching on to any thought that did not involve the amount
of trouble in which he was likely to be.
“Come down from there, my elfling. You have much to explain,”
Thranduil growled dangerously not taking his eyes from the spider, which
was still 'playing' with the feathered quill Faramir was holding.
“I think that concludes the meeting for today. If you will excuse
us gentlemen,” Aragorn commanded. “If you will stay please,
Imrahil, Gimli?” the King added quietly to the Prince and dwarf.
Aragorn waited until all the men, with the exception of his Steward
and Prince Imrahil, had departed.
Legolas climbed down from the rafter and walked over to Faramir and
sat down beside his brother in the seat his father vacated. The spider
took one look at the subdued elf and said in what was an amazingly humanlike
indignant tone “Baaaaadddd!” before scuttling closer to
its mama, who was still sitting as if carved in stone, as all eight
legs again skated out from under it, so smooth and slippery was the
surface of the table, causing the hatchling to complete a very undignified
belly flop. The ends of the pink bow fell over the hapless hatchling's
eyes as the poor thing had difficulty in getting its legs back under
control.
Aragorn, Thranduil, Elrond, Imrahil and Gimli looked upon the hatchling
in astonishment. Maglor snorted in amusement. Legolas blushed furiously,
having just been admonished by a baby spider and Faramir finally arose
from his calm detachment.
“Whatever did you do to it, brother?” Faramir asked in
a harsh whisper.
“I did not hurt it, muindor tithen. And if it had been more co-operative…”
the elf began.
“Baaaddd, baaaddd, baaaddd,” the hatchling kept repeating
in the same very human sounding indignant tone, despite the sibilant
delivery.
“Just what have you been up to?” Faramir asked, annoyance
and therefore temper on the rise.
“Aye, my elfling. Just what have you been about? Hmmmm?”
Thranduil asked in the same calm tone, sounding all the more dangerous
for its soft delivery, that sent shivers up Legolas' spine as it did
Faramir and Aragorn's.
The hatchling scurried over to Legolas.
“Baaaddd!” it hissed before scuttling back to Faramir,
almost slipping over the end of the pink bow around its neck that was
unravelling.
With all eyes, including the spider's, fixed upon him, Legolas gulped.
Part 12
The attention of those gathered was diverted away from the blushing
elf abruptly by the sound of the great doors at the entrance of the
meeting room, which had been closed after the men had left, opening
wide to reveal Gandalf. The White Wizard stormed into the room, staff
in hand, wizard robes billowing about him and glowing brightly with
restrained power as he marched over to where Legolas and Faramir were
sitting.
“What in Eru's name is happening in here?” Gandalf bellowed
as looked about him. “There are men fleeing as if being chased
by the very hounds of Sauron…”
Gandalf would have continued had he not spied the hatchling sitting
upon the table near Faramir, resplendent in unravelling pink bow.
“What, pray tell is that thing doing here?” Gandalf
asked, waving his hand at the hatchling.
“It arrived in the post,” Faramir answered without thinking.
“What do you mean it arrived in the post, ion-nin?” Thranduil
asked, his confusion evident.
“It was in the trunk that had been placed on the desk in my drawing
room by the detail from Mirkwood, ada,” Faramir explained.
“I do not remember requesting a hatchling as a gift for you.
I did not request a hatchling did I, Maglor?” the elven King asked,
turning to his Seneschal.
“I admit, mellon-nin, that you have done many strange and stranger
things in the time that I have known you but you did not, and have never
to my knowledge, requested a hatchling,” Maglor responded, garnering
a indignant glare from Thranduil, badly disguised chuckles from Aragorn
and Gimli, similar smirks from Elrond and Imrahil, but no reaction from
either Faramir or Legolas; each somewhat distracted. Faramir was distracted
by the spider, which seemed to find the quill endlessly fascinating
and Legolas, by the effort of trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible
in the hope that they would forget about what he had been about.
“We think it was Armas, ada,” Faramir suggested, tearing
his attention away from the hatchling. Legolas fought the impulse to
kick his brother on drawing any kind of attention to him, however vague
the reference.
“There is something singular about this spider,” Gandalf
mused as he looked at the small creature that was amusing itself with
the quill that Faramir held. “I can sense no evil in it.”
“That is wondrous strange, mellon-nin, for I can sense no ill
intent either,” Thranduil agreed, perplexed. “What say you,
Maglor?”
“I too, can detect no evil. That is indeed very odd,” Maglor
replied, looking as perplexed as Gandalf and Thranduil.
Frowning in concentration so intense that his eyebrows formed a bar
across his forehead, Gandalf looked 'into' the spider. The hatchling,
as if sensing the wizard's intense regard, stopped playing with the
quill, scurried around until it faced the wizard and looked at the wizard
as intently. After several long moments Gandalf's eyebrows seemed as
if they would take flight as his expression turned to astonishment before
he threw back his head and burst out into hearty laughter.
“Only you, my wizardling…” Gandalf could not continue
as he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes and face.
The wizard's laughter gained in strength as he saw identical looks
of confusion on the faces of men, elves and dwarf with the exception
of Faramir who had looked at him with an annoyed expression.
“What do you mean, mellon-nin?” Thranduil asked, from where
he was standing between his sons.
“Some wizard's are sent a familiar or familiars, in animal form,
by the Valar to act as warners of danger and protectors. Radagast for
example, was sent a bird that keeps him from wandering off pathways
and over cliffs when he is in deep thought. Most familiars are animals
such as cats, birds and dogs. Only you, my wizardling, would be sent
a spider that is going to grow to the size of a small horse, which is
probably an indication of how much trouble the Valar think you will
get into,” Gandalf laughed.
“Familiars,” Faramir squeaked, his voice containing more
than a tinge of panic. “Do you mean to say that I could have more
than one familiar…more than one spider…?” He was not
able to finish the question for the sheer horror that his imagination
insisted on conjuring in graphic detail.
“With your penchant for attracting and blindly forging headlong
into trouble, my boy, you could indeed end up with an army of spiders
sent by the Valar to protect you,” Gandalf teased.
Faramir's already rapid breathing escalated to an alarming level, making
him somewhat light-headed.
“Oh behave, Mithrandir,” Thranduil reproved as he squeezed
Faramir's shoulder to comfort his distressed son. “You are not
helping.”
“Could the Valar not have seen fit to send something that is
a little less conspicuous, like a cave troll for instance and mayhap
a little more advanced in age?” Faramir moaned, when he could
find breath enough to do so, as the spider pounced on the quill only
to have its legs skate out from under it again, resulting in a spectacular
belly flop and the ribbon, which had unravelled further, to whack it
in the face.
“I feel obliged, my wizardling, to point out that you were not
supposed to chance upon the ring for many years,” Gandalf chided.
“The Valar simply worked with what was available; a hatchling
on route to Minas Tirith.”
Although sorry for his brother's visible distress, Legolas could not
help thinking that Gandalf's arrival had indeed been fortuitous for
him and his posterior, as everyone's attention was focussed on Faramir.
Before the Mirkwood prince could so much as sigh in relief at the thought,
all attention was diverted yet again by the arrival of Arwen looking
angrier than Legolas, or for that matter Aragorn, Thranduil and Maglor,
had ever seen the she-elf. Dressed in leggings and tunic and her long
dark hair still wet, she descended upon Legolas like an elven warrior.
Elrond took one look at his daughter's expression and neatly sidestepped
so that he was not between her and her intended target, who at this
moment sat frozen and pale with fear; all blood having drained from
his face. Grabbing hold of his pointed ear before Legolas could even
think, let alone think of escape, Arwen took a deep calming breath and
turned to the hatchling which had, on seeing the she-elf in elven warrior
guise, practically jumped into Faramir's tunic.
Arwen had heard Gandalf's words that the baby spider was a familiar
and so calmly approached the hatchling, which was huddled close to its
mama.
“I apologise, tithen-pen, for frightening you and throwing that
bucket of soapy water on you,” Arwen soothed, in her gentle lilting,
if sounding a little exasperated, voice; all the while maintaining an
iron grip on the Mirkwood prince's ear, “but you startled me appearing
before me in my bathing chamber as you did.” On hearing the softly
spoken words, the hatchling approached Arwen tentatively and then all
but purred when she stroked its head. Turning to Legolas she said “You
are in such deep, deep trouble, elfling, that you will be lucky if they
ever discover where I have buried the pieces” in a tone Aragorn
had only ever heard used on the twins and only when they had done something
spectacularly awful.
Arwen pulled on the wood-elf's ear, forcing Legolas to follow or risk
having his ear torn from his head. Bent over sideways in an attempt
to reduce the pull on his ear and yelping and wincing in pain, Legolas
had no option but to follow Arwen as she marched towards the entrance.
As the angry she-elf was about to pass by Maglor, the Seneschal produced
'Faramir's Bane, elvish version, and handed it to her. Faramir winced
wondering yet again where the elf hid the heinous thing about his body
and Legolas whimpered. Arwen thanked Maglor and exited the room with
the hapless wood-elf in tow. Legolas' yelps and pleading could be heard
receding into the distance.
“Baaaddd!” the hatchling hissed after Legolas. The tone
held an odd hint of satisfaction, eliciting chuckles all around, as
it watched Arwen and Legolas leave.
“Well that explains why the hatchling is wet,” Aragorn
said with a rueful smile. “But it does not explain the pink ribbon.”
After a few moments, Thranduil burst out in such gales of laughter
that the hatchling startled badly, jumped into Faramir's lap and then
looked up at the elf reproachfully.
“I would venture forth,” Maglor supplied with a smirk as
Thranduil was having difficulty enough finding breath to breathe through
the laughter he could not contain, let alone find breath enough to talk,
“that the prince played a 'prank' on Arwen but did not want to
give her too much of a fright, so he tied a pink ribbon around the hatchling's
neck.”
“Is this some kind of elven logic of which I have been hitherto
unaware?” Imrahil asked, trying unsuccessfully to contain his
amusement.
“I am afraid to say that it is elfling logic and some
never do outgrow the tendency,” Elrond sighed thinking of the
twins.
“I certainly agree with that,” Maglor said, looking askance
at Thranduil whose eyes narrowed in suspicion as he took in his Seneschal's
meaning.
“I do doubt most sincerely, that my beloved would have seen the
ribbon for the spider, however pink and prettily tied it was,”
Aragorn laughed.
“Oh aye. I think the laddie will rue this day,” Gimli chuckled,
shaking his head at his friend's lapses into elfling behaviour.
“Where am I supposed to house the creature? And how am I to feed
it?” Faramir muttered in despair.
“I have noticed that you have a mouse problem, Estel. From whence
do they originate?” Thranduil asked.
“The dungeons, ada. We are using them currently to store stacks
of grain,” Faramir responded before Aragorn. “That is where
I had put it before the meeting, secure under lock and key or so I thought,”
he grumbled.
“You can thank the Elrondion twins for teaching Legolas to pick
locks, ion-nin,” Thranduil said, giving Elrond a sly look. Elrond
simply rolled his eyes and sighed. “So for the moment there should
be plenty of food for the hatchling to eat. It should keep down the
mouse population if nothing else.”
“And as it grows it should also keep down the rat, cat, dog and
undersized domestic staff member populations as well,” Maglor
added with a sly chuckle, eliciting an exasperated glare from Thranduil.
Faramir groaned.
“It will not be as bad as you think, ion-nin,” the elven
King soothed.
“People have been saying that to me a lot lately and it has yet
to be 'not as bad as I think',” Faramir retorted sullenly. “People
think me strange and frightening enough now. I can just imagine what
the reactions will be when they see me with a giant spider in tow, pink
ribbon or not.”
“The bright side is that Arwen is not adverse to the spider,”
Aragorn ventured optimistically.
“That is all well and good but you are married to Arwen. I will
be married to Eowyn, if she can accept a spider-toting wizard
for a husband. I only hope this hatchling is fully grown by the time
they meet. It, not to mention me, will need all the advantage we can
get when it meets the woman who killed the witch king,” the young
Steward groused.
“It could be worse, mellon-nin,” Aragorn said with a rueful
smile.
“How, pray tell.”
“You could be Legolas right now,” the King chuckled.
Faramir winced at the thought of what Arwen, as angry as she was, was
doing with that… that… thing but could not fault Aragorn's
logic.
“I suppose that if I am to keep this 'familiar', I should give
it a name,” Faramir sighed, thinking that his life had been quite
complicated enough, thank you very much. “What sex is it?”
“Congratulations, ion-nin,” Thranduil laughed. “You
are the proud mama of a bouncing baby boy.”
“Mama,” the hatchling agreed.
Part 13
"Owwwww Arwennnn! Ouuuccchhh! Please have pity on my ear,"
Legolas pleaded, bent over sideways as Arwen continued to drag the elf
by his now very sore ear down the corridor that led to the King and
Queen's apartments. The wincing, yelping elf was dragged past the occasional
guard who, to their credit, showed no reaction to the strange sight
until the elves had passed and then smirks and grins appeared. It was
never dull with the elves and Steward in residence each thought.
The two elves continued, Arwen pulling and Legolas bent sideways and
almost doubled over, until the Queen reached her destination - her drawing
room. Releasing the hapless Prince's ear finally, Arwen pushed him through
the doorway that led to her drawing room landing a mighty whack to Legolas'
posterior with the paddle as she did so, eliciting a pained and indignant
yelp from the wood-elf.
"I did not mean to give you such a fright, Arwen," Legolas
said with a very un-prince-like whine, rubbing his ear furiously in
an attempt to assuage the stinging pain. "Have you not seen a spider
before…" the elf began but stopped when Arwen gave him a
look that would have curdled milk. "You have not," Legolas
realised, cringing.
"Not a Mirkwood spider, elfling. Why else do you think I jumped
out of the bath so quickly and threw a bucket of water over the poor
creature," Arwen said in a tone that managed to convey equal measures
of anger and sarcasm; another trait inherited from Elrond no doubt.
Legolas would have mentioned the pink ribbon in his defence but realised
belatedly that the ribbon may not have been one of his more intelligent
ideas.
"I must admit, that the jump would have made a wood-elf proud,"
Legolas said with great admiration but no forethought.
"Aieeeee! Wrong answer, elfling!" Arwen exclaimed in exasperation,
pointing at the back of a lounge chair located with others around the
fireplace.
Legolas gave Arwen his most contrite expression but the Queen was having
none of it. Sighing deeply and mournfully, Legolas leaned over the back
of the chair.
"Leggings down elfling," Arwen ordered in a tone that Legolas
thought only Lord Elrond capable of producing.
"Allow me some dignity, please," Legolas implored.
"As much as I had when leaping from that bath, tithen pen, and
the hatchling when doused with the bucket of soapy water," the
Queen retorted.
The grumbling Prince straightened again. Loosened the ties on his leggings
and pushed them down to his knees before leaning back over the padded
chair.
"Mind your language," Arwen chided mildly. "You do not
normally curse like that. What has got into you?"
"Faramir," Legolas mumbled petulantly. Aragorn had mentioned
previously that Faramir was having a bad influence on his friend's vocabulary
and Legolas only just now realised to what extent.
"Faramir? Surely not sweet, gentle Faramir?" Arwen asked
shocked.
Legolas straightened again, turned and graced the Queen with a look
of unbridled disbelief.
"Have you gone mad!," the wood-elf exclaimed, leggings still
down around his knees. "I think you have been associating with
humans too long. Sweet! Gentle! Have you never seen him in a temper
or heard him cursing? He can curse fluidly in many languages and his
curses could make an orc blush."
"He can obviously hold his tongue and temper around a lady, pen-neth,
unlike a certain wood-elf," Arwen retorted, giving Legolas a look
that made him swallow hard.
Legolas was just about to make a an ill-advised comment regarding Arwen's
definition of a lady, remembering many a time, in dealing with the twins,
when she did not fit within any definition of a lady except maybe the
broadest definition of being female as opposed to male, when the commonsense
that had deserted the young elf over the past couple of hours reasserted
itself in the form of the thought that he should talk about
the influence of humans considering how much it seems his human brother
had influenced him and not positively. Arwen, as fey as her father on
occasions, smiled inwardly at the thoughts she knew were flitting across
the wood-elf's mind. Sighing in resignation, Legolas resumed his position
over the back of the chair.
Arwen began the chastisement letting loose with a whack forceful enough
to make Legolas gasp and whimper in the knowledge that he was not going
to be able sit comfortably for some time. Much to his chagrin, whimpers
soon turned to sobs and sobs turned to howls but still Arwen would not
relent.
"I... am... sorry!" Legolas cried out between gasps for breath.
"I... did... not mean... to frighten... ," he added in a rush.
"It is not only the fright you gave me, or the thought of what
I could have done to that poor little creature for which I am angered
but that my very young human handmaiden was in the next room,"
Arwen replied as she continued to apply the paddle to the wood-elf's
ever reddening buttocks. "How much of a fright do you think that
poor child would have received if I had yelled and she had responded
to my yell only to be met by the sight of that gigantic spider?"
"I... did... not.... know!" Legolas answered, mortified.
"I know, pen-neth, but you do not think things through,"
Arwen chided mildly as she ceased the chastisement throwing the paddle
on the lounge seat and rubbed the mortified and sobbing elf's back in
soothing circles.
Calming eventually, Legolas straightened, pulling up his leggings as
he did so. He stood, head bowed looking at the floor not wanting to
meet Arwen's eyes. The Queen placed a finger under the Prince's chin
lifting it until he looked her in the eyes. On seeing the tears welling
in the wood-elf's eyes Arwen pulled him into a much-needed hug, which
Legolas returned after only a moment's hesitation.
"I only ask that you think things through before indulging in
pranks, my elfling," Arwen said in her lilting tone. "Now
off with you and please no more pranks for awhile," the she-elf
added as she broke the embrace and stroked the side of Legolas' face.
"Come," said Legolas as he lay on his stomach sans leggings,
hastily covering his exposed buttocks with the top covering on his bed
when the tentative knock sounded on the other side of the door to his
sleeping chambers.
Faramir entered the room followed by the hatchling, which took one
look at Legolas and hissed.
"Oh, pipe down you," the Steward admonished softly, frowning
down at the spider. "You are going to have to learn the art of
forgiveness, little one." Faramir almost laughed when the hatchling
gave him what he would have sworn was a look of incredulity. "How
fare you brother?" Faramir asked gently as he approached the bed
and sat down beside his brother. Legolas sighed and pulled back the
cover once again exposing his buttocks to the cooling air. "Ouch!"
Faramir exclaimed as he took in the extent of the redness decorating
his brother's posterior. I knew the Queen was very angry but I did not
realise how angry."
"Deservedly so, muindor tithen," Legolas sighed. "I
did not realise that her young handmaiden was in the next room to her
bathing chamber at the time. I was very fortunate that the young one
was not alerted and thus not given a very bad fright."
"I would hate to think what the condition your behind would have
been in if she had, brother," Faramir whistled softly.
"Exactly," Legolas replied ruefully.
"I come bearing you a gift," the Steward said as he produced
a small glass jar that he hid behind his back.
"Maglor's numbing salve?" Legolas asked hopefully.
"No. We unfortunately exhausted his supply," Faramir replied
eliciting a disappointed groan from the elf. "However, my uncle
had replenished Boromir's supply of numbing salve from Dol Amroth,"
Faramir added shyly.
Legolas sighed in relief as Faramir applied the lavender scented salve
gently to his extremely sore buttocks, easing the throbbing pain.
"Thank you, muindor tithen," Legolas smiled shyly.
"You are welcome and that is quite enough out of you, Misto!"
Faramir chided looking at the hatchling, which had been hissing 'baaadddd'
quietly and repeatedly throughout his conversation with Legolas.
"You have named it," Legolas said as he eyed the hatchling
suspiciously only to have the same expression returned by the creature
as it looked at him as intently.
"Yes, I have named him Misto Flingil (Stray Spider). Come here,
Misto," Faramir called to the spider to join them on the bed. "Legolas.
I think you owe our little friend here an apology."
"I am sorry, tithen-pen," Legolas said after a few moments.
He had not meant to hurt the little creature.
"Well?" Faramir asked after several long moments, looking
at the baby spider intently with his eyebrow raised.
"Forrrgivvve," the hatchling sniffed reluctantly after several
more long moments and deliberately not looking at the elf as it did
so.
"We will also discuss the art of forgiveness with feeling
later, my little friend," Faramir promised.
“Mama, hungry,” the baby spider said in such a way that
Faramir suspected it was a diversionary tactic on the part of the hatchling.
“You will be hearing the 'h' word a lot, mama,” Legolas
said with a smirk. “Spawn, Fluffy, Charlotte, Ariadne, Bo Bo,
Webster, Sweetums, Daisy… “
“Spawn... Daisy? What, in Arda's name, are you prattling on about?”
Faramir asked, looking at his brother as if he thought him a few leaves
short of a tree.
“Just thinking up other names in case Mithrandir did not jest
and the Valar do send an army of spiders to protect you,” Legolas
snickered, then laughed when Faramir repeatedly hit him about the head
with a pillow before taking his leave of his brother; spider in tow.
Faramir walked the hatchling down to the dungeon, giving several guards
a fright as there had been a change of the guards and not one guard
on the previous watch had mentioned the spider. Leaving the baby spider
to munch away on dinner, under lock and key for the hatchling's protection
until all became accustomed to its presence, Faramir returned to his
apartments where, to his surprise, he was met by a very distressed young
servant.
“What is it, little one? What has happened?” Faramir asked
as he crouched down in front of the boy.
“Me sister, milord,” the young boy replied in a tremulous
voice as he handed a note to Faramir.
Faramir looked at the note. He did not recognise the writing.
Come to the old stables
on the first level. Tell no
one or the child dies.
“Who gave you this note, child?” Faramir asked gently.
“A tall man what had dark hair and dark skin and talks different,”
the boy answered. “Please help me sister, milord.”
“Stay here until I return,” Faramir instructed as he rose
to his feet and exited his apartments.
The Steward made his way quickly down to the first level where the
old stables were situated. The part of the city in which the old stables
were located had taken substantial damage in the Ring War and required
extensive structural work. As it was non-residential the reconstruction
work was scheduled to be completed at later date.
It was not until Faramir had reached the old deserted stables that
the thought that he should have advised someone of what he was about
entered his mind. Although, truth be known, this was an improvement
for Faramir usually left thinking until after the event. He tried hard
to contact Elrond mind-to-mind but drew a blank; obviously too far away
he thought. Mentally scanning the immediate area in an attempt to locate
the thoughts of the assailant or assailants the Steward picked up immediately
upon the terrified thoughts of a child. The overwhelming distress of
the child's thoughts battered Faramir's mind and blocked his attempts
to pick up on the assailant's thoughts. Steeling himself, Faramir entered
the stable.
“Throw down your weapons,” Faramir heard upon his entrance.
The Steward then caught sight of the terrified child, for she could
have been no more than five he thought, being held by a tall, swarthy
man who held a knife to her throat. Faramir could see that the poor
child was shaking violently and had tears of terror streaming down her
tiny face.
Berating himself silently for being all kinds of a fool, Faramir divested
himself slowly of his weapons. He was unable to use his powers as there
was every possibility that he would seriously hurt the child.
“Drink,” the man ordered, nodding in the direction of a
goblet that was on the floor in front of him.
“What is in it?” Faramir asked, eyeing the goblet suspiciously.
“Nothing that will kill, just make you more amenable,”
the man smirked.
“I will do nothing until you release the child,” Faramir
said with deadly calm.
Surprisingly, the assailant did let the child go. Faramir encouraged
her to run and so she did. Immediately, Faramir lunged for the assailant
in an effort to give the child as much time as possible to make her
escape.
"No! Leave the girl.... help.... me!" the assailant said
as he struggled with Faramir.
At that moment that Faramir caught the thoughts of two others. He was
just about to raise his hand when he was king-hit from behind. The blow
sent him sprawling but did not knock him out completely. Dazed, Faramir
attempted to fight but the three men were upon him, holding him tight
as one forced the liquid in the goblet down his throat. The liquid was
viscous, foul tasting and burned his mouth. Faramir tried to expel the
fell liquid but his nose was held tight until he was forced to swallow
the liquid or suffocate. Gagging, he had but a moment to think that
if he survived this his ada and Elessar were going to kill him, when
excruciating burning pain throughout his body robbed him of all thought
and then consciousness.
Part 14
The three assailants bound the unconscious Steward hand and foot with
a length of rope. The tallest and strongest of them hauled Faramir to
his feet and slung him over his shoulder, as if he were as light as
a child.
“Quick into the tunnel! We have but two hours to get to the river,”
he said in quiet urgency.
The smallest of the trio opened a well-concealed trapdoor in the floor
of the stable situated against the far wall of the stable. They descended
quickly and quietly through the trapdoor and into the tunnel below,
closing the door behind them.
“Faramir!” Thranduil exclaimed as he jumped to his feet
on hearing the distressed call of the tree under which he had been seated.
“Something has befallen my son!”
Thranduil, Elrond and Maglor had decided earlier that afternoon to
take a turn around the garden that Faramir's mother had created before
partaking of the evening meal, settling eventually on the benches beneath
the tallest tree.
“Faramir's ring is calling to the tree,” Elrond added as
he tried to make sense of what the ring was saying.
“The tree does not know where he is,” Maglor said concern
evident in his expression.
“And neither does the ring, just that he has been hurt by men,”
Elrond said as he turned towards the palace.
“Where is Estel?” Thranduil asked as he hurried beside
Lord Elrond and Maglor.
“He will be with Arwen in their quarters,” Elrond replied.
“What has happened, ada?” Legolas asked anxiously as he
ran towards the older elves. “The trees are aggrieved.”
“It is your brother, my elfling. Something evil has befallen
him,” the elven King said as they all hurried to the King and
Queen's apartments.
“Prince Legolas,” a breathless young guard called out to
the elf as he and the older elves were about to enter the King's apartment.
“What is it?”
“It is the hatchling, milord. Lord Faramir asked me to guard
the door until he returned. He has not returned as yet and the hatchling
is very distressed and calling for its mama.”
“Why did you not release it?” Legolas asked.
“I do not have the key,” the guard responded.
“Go see to it, ion-nin,” Thranduil instructed.
With a nod, Legolas turned and ran towards the dungeons. Utilising
his elven speed he arrived well ahead of the young guard who had followed
him. By the time the gasping guard arrived Legolas had succeeded in
picking the lock, letting the wailing hatchling out.
“Mama hurt, mama hurt,” Misto hissed as, in a panic, he
scurried out of the room and up towards the palace.
On reaching the ground level the hatchling continued towards the main
entrance. On finding the doors closed it scurried towards an open window
and climbed up the wall and out of the window. Legolas followed Misto,
jumping out of the window and down the substantial drop on the other
side onto the ground. The young guard made to follow but took one look
at the drop and changed his mind abruptly.
“Oh crap!” he exclaimed as he retraced his steps quickly,
exited through the main doors and followed the unlikely duo.
Legolas and the guard continued to follow the hatchling down to the
first level of the city.
“What has happened?” the young guard asked breathlessly.
“Lord Faramir has been abducted, I fear,” Legolas replied
and the young guard blanched.
The hatchling stoped finally at the entrance to the old stables in
the deserted section of the first level. Entering the stables it scurried
over to where the trapdoor was situated, with Legolas close behind.
Using his elven strength, Legolas attempted to open the trapdoor but
was unable to as it had been locked from the other side.
“I will seek assistance,” the young guard said as he turned
and ran from the stables.
It was not long before the guard returned with several soldiers. It
took the combined effort of all of them to break through the trapdoor.
Legolas descended and let loose a Gondorian curse so vile that more
than one soldier's eyebrow was raised.
“The tunnel has been collapsed, deliberately,” the elf
growled as he jumped lightly back from the tunnel and onto the floor
of the stable.
Seeing the way had been barred, the distressed hatchling scuttled out
of the stables towards the massive carved wooden doors that marked the
entrance to the White City. The doors had been closed earlier as was
the custom when night-time was descending. The hatchling scurried up
and over the vertical face of the stone wall. Legolas followed, almost
as easily as the spider, leaving the bemused soldiers behind. With much
yelling of commands and no small effort, the great doors were opened
finally and the soldiers poured out onto the plain, by which time the
hatchling and Legolas were already quite a way in the distance, heading
towards the river. Legolas inspected the site where the tunnel ended
not far from the river near some large rocks and then followed the tracks
to the river where they stopped. It was there that Misto lost the trail.
It was obvious to those gathered that the hatchling wanted to follow
as it kept walking into the water and then retreating, not knowing which
was to go, all the while repeating the words 'mama hurt'.
Legolas stooped and picked up Misto and with a tremulous sigh turned
back towards the city, murmuring soothing words to the hatchling as
he did so. They were met at the great gates by Aragorn, Elrond, Imrahil,
Gandalf, Gimli, Maglor and Thranduil, all of who were mounted looking
worried and distressed. Legolas saw that his ada held a small female
child, who had her arms wrapped tightly around his father's neck and
her face buried in his shoulder.
“He was taken through a tunnel which begins in a deserted stable
that backs onto the front wall of the city and ends near the river,”
Legolas said, still stroking the visibly distressed hatchling.
“And this little one was the bait. We found her trying to find
her home. We had already spoken to her brother who was still in Faramir's
room awaiting his return. He explained that this little one had been
abducted from the crèche where she was cared for, for she and
her brother had lost their parents in the siege, and Faramir had been
given instructions by the abductors to come to the stables,” Thranduil
said, anger and worry vying for dominance in his features.
“We lost their trail at the river. He was taken away by boat.”
“I will have ships sent both up and down the river,” Imrahil
said as he turned his horse and made for the Port a few miles away.
“I knew not of any hidden tunnel, “ Aragorn growled.
“Who were they and how did they know about the tunnel?”
Gandalf asked the questions uppermost in everyone's mind.
“I have my suspicions,” Aragorn said, offering a hand to
Legolas in a mute request for the elf to mount behind him.
Legolas jumped up lightly, still holding onto the hatchling.
“I will examine the tunnel and see what I can discern,”
Maglor said.
“And I will accompany you, Master elf,” Gimli offered.
“Can you detect anything, Mithrandir?” Thranduil
asked the wizard.
Gandalf sent out his consciousness again in an attempt to locate his
wizardling but was unable to pick up any sense of the boy.
“I am sorry, mellon-nin, but I can detect nothing,” he
responded dejectedly.
Aragorn ordered the soldiers back to their posts with the instruction
not to reveal the abduction of the Steward to anyone as yet. Nodding
in understanding the soldiers moved back into the city. The King, elves
and wizard made their way back to the palace. On entering his throne
room, Aragorn summoned the four suspended councillors; Malagar, Ulrahad,
Heriond and Aldahir.
As the guards went in search of the four councillors, Arwen arrived
with the young servant. Thranduil lowered the now sleepy young girl
to the floor and pointed towards her brother. With a yell of joy and
relief the boy ran to his sister and hugged her tightly.
“I think I should take these two to one of our spare rooms and
put them to bed,” Arwen said as she bent to pick up the little
girl. The child whispered in Arwen's ear and the Queen smiled. She walked
over to Thranduil. The little girl crooked her finger, beckoning him
closer and then put her arms around his neck and planted a huge kiss
on his cheek before letting go. “I think you have made a conquest
this evening” Arwen smiled as she turned, beckoned the boy to
her side and exited the throne room. Maglor coughed to hide a snigger
when Thranduil blushed.
Eventually, guards escorted each councillor into the throne room. It
was obvious that each had been roused from their beds. They looked around
nervously at those gathered.
“My Steward has been abducted,” Aragorn began without preamble
as he pinned each councillor with such a look that each in turn blanched.
“You, gentlemen, are at the top of my list of likely suspects.
One or more of you was in possession of knowledge of a secret passage
from the city to the river.”
The councillors protested their innocence, blubbering and blustering.
The hatchling, which had been standing between Legolas and Thranduil,
became agitated again, spider sense alerted. Misto stalked over to the
councillors, stopped and hissed. The councillors looked down upon the
very large, to their unaccustomed eyes at least, spider with both revulsion
and fear.
“Mirkwood spiders are renowned for being able to detect untruths.
Their bite is painful but the venom they inject causes the one so bitten,
excruciating pain,” Thranduil lied with such ease that Legolas'
eyes widened. The venom of Mirkwood spiders did not cause excruciating
pain. It just put the victim to sleep so that the victim could be stored
until later, killed and eaten. Legolas' doubted whether Misto could
inject enough venom to make the man drowsy. Misto, as if sensing what
the elven King was attempting to do, stalked the councillor Ulrahad,
causing the man to back away so quickly that his feet caught in his
night robe sending him tumbling backwards onto his rump. Misto climbed
onto the terrified councillor and made his way slowly towards the man's
face.
“Hurt mama,” the hatchling hissed.
Aragorn and Elrond watched the councillor's horror and Misto's performance
with detached interest and Gandalf with eyebrows raised.
“Alright, alright! I told them about the tunnel but I did not
expect them to abduct the Steward. They told me they wanted to smuggle
goods into the city thus avoiding taxes,” Ulrahad babbled, eyes
wide with terror.
“Who are they and where are they from?” Aragorn
demanded, his voice sounding deadly.
“From Umbar! Call it off! Please! Call it off!” the man
pleaded in terror as Misto reached his face and stood with front legs
raised, fangs bared, poised for the strike.
You put knowledge of a secret entry into the city into the hands of
the Haradrim?” Aragorn barked, incredulous.
The other councillors looked down upon their colleague and friend,
horrified.
“Without my councillor's income, I had little income and debts
to pay,” the man whined.
“You are a man of assets and wealth! What else did you discuss,
children perhaps?” Aragorn asked the terrified man.
“I may have mentioned in passing that Faramir had once risked
his life to save a few urchins, much to the annoyance of his father,”
Ulrahad answered.
“Take this piece of scum away,” Aragorn spat.
The guards approached the councillor but were reluctant to assist the
man to his feet with the hatchling still poised and hissing, as if to
strike.
“To heel, Misto,” Legolas called out to the hatchling as
if commanding a dog.
The hatchling turned towards the elf, giving him a look that spoke
volumes about its thoughts regarding the 'to heel' command.
“Come, Misto,” Thranduil said gently. The hatchling scuttled
towards the elven King but not before turning back to the human and
hissing.
The guards assisted the man to his feet and then escorted him out of
the palace and onto the gaol.
“See where your arrogance and your pettiness can lead. Get out
of my sight,” Aragorn snarled at the remaining councillors.
The very subdued men turned and left, each escorted by a guard.
“So he is on a boat headed for Umbar,” Gandalf said. At
that moment Imrahil, Gimli and Maglor entered the throne room.
“I have sent my fastest ships in both directions with instructions
to challenge and search all boats they encounter,” Imrahil said
breathlessly.
“Master Gimli and I traced the abductor's tracks to the river
where a boat had lain in wait. There appears to have been three men.
One man's tracks were much deeper than the others. I would assume that
he was the one who carried Faramir. My guess is that they rendezvoused
with a larger vessel, and that vessel is sailing towards Umbar as we
speak,” Maglor reported.
“They have chosen their time well. The prevailing winds are in
their favour,” Imrahil sighed.
“Ada, Imrahil?” Aragorn asked. “I ask that you both
remain here in the White City to look after Arwen and the city. I and
the others will go in search of Faramir.”
Both nodded their heads in understanding but it was clear that Imrahil
would have preferred to go after his nephew.
Fire… pain… pain… bound… sick… pain…
fire… burning… scream… water… cool… swallow…
darkness.
“No, tithen-pen, you are too young to come. You could get hurt,”
Legolas tried to reason with the hatchling only to be hissed at by the
annoyed little creature. “Where did you hear that word?
Do not look at me like that! I have never used that word! Bad Misto,
bad word!” Legolas added as he mounted the horse on which Gimli
was already seated, standing in the courtyard in front of the palace
steps.
Aragorn, Thranduil, Maglor and Gandalf were also mounted having said
their goodbyes. Imrahil, Elrond and Arwen were standing at the bottom
of the steps.
“Come, Misto,” Arwen called gently, having already kissed
Aragorn farewell and bid them all success in fetching Faramir home.
Hissing again at Legolas, the hatchling turned and followed Arwen reluctantly.
The rescue party made their way down the levels of the city and stopped
in front of the main gates until they were opened. They exited the city
and out onto the plains, Legolas and Gimli bringing up the rear. The
elf had just cleared the gates when a large something jumped onto his
head, making both him and Gimli yelp in surprise.
“Mama hurt,” Misto hissed in his ear. “Not sssstaaayyy!”
“He had best come, my elfling,” Thranduil said with a wistful
smile. “He may be of use.”
Legolas sighed, resigning himself to having two annoying passengers
on this mission.
Pain… burning… scream… stench… orc… pain…
scream… fire… sick… drink… swallow… foul…
ada!… blackness.
Faramir came to his senses abruptly. He felt his head lying on someone's
lap and that someone was gently massaging the lobe of his ear. He opened
his eyes tentatively and was surprised to see that he was in a forest.
Only the colours appeared too bright, too vivid to be real. He saw that
he was in a clearing and could hear a stream gurgling in the near distance.
“Hello, little brother,” a familiar voice directly above
him, greeted softly.
Part 15
“Aieeeeeee!” Faramir yelped as he scrambled furiously away
from the apparition, upon which his head had been resting, ending up
several feet away and on his knees. “You are… you are…”
“Dead? Deceased? Carked it?” the apparition supplied helpfully,
eyes twinkling as he sat on the ground with his back braced against
a large rock.
“This is no jesting matter you… you bastard!” Faramir
mewled, disoriented and trying desperately to understand what was happening
to him.
“Shame on you, little brother. That is a falsehood and you know
so. I do believe the record books show our parents were married
at the time I was conceived,” Boromir chided gently, amusement
tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, miel-neth nin (my kitten),
it is good to speak to you,” he added, softly, quietly, his expression
turning melancholy.
Faramir put a trembling hand to his mouth and tears sprang to his eyes
at the endearment miel-neth, Boromir's childhood name for him. It was
something Faramir thought never to hear again.
“If I touch you,” Faramir began tentatively, “you
will not disappear in a puff of smoke will you?”
“No, miel-neth, not here,” Boromir assured, rising to his
feet and opening his arms wide in invitation.
“Promise?” Faramir whimpered, tears overflowing and streaming
down his face.
“Promise, little one,” Boromir assured Faramir as he waved
the fingers of his outstretched hands, coaxing his skittish brother.
In but a moment, the Gondorian Warrior's arms were filled with his
sobbing, mewling brother. Faramir placed his arms around Boromir's neck
and if not for the fact that his brother was already to be counted amongst
those deceased, would have squeezed the life from him. Faramir breathed
in deeply, taking in the familiar scent of his brother and knew that
it was indeed Boromir for none other had that particular scent, one
he had known from his first memories. Boromir held his brother tightly
also, savouring the feel of his little brother.
“I have missed you… so… much,” Faramir sobbed
as Boromir held him tightly. Both brothers stayed like that for a long
time, each savouring the nearness and solidity of the other. “Am
I dead?” Faramir mewled eventually into his brother's shoulder,
when his sobbing had abated enough for his thought processes to resume.
“I have missed being able to hold you and no, little brother,
you are not dead but I fear you would wish it from the sounds of your
screaming before you lost consciousness,” Boromir said in a whisper,
hoarse with emotion.
“What is happening to me? Where is here?” Faramir asked,
gaining slightly more control over his thoughts if not his emotions.
“What is the last thing that you remember,” Boromir asked
as he guided his brother to the rocked and bade him sit down.
“I was in a stable grappling with three men when they pinned
me to the ground and poured a foul potion down my throat, forcing me
to swallow. Oh, how it burned!” Faramir replied, shuddering at
the dark memory.
“The three men have adducted you and are taking you down river
by boat. The potion they gave you is to keep your thoughts disjointed
so that you cannot employ your wizarding powers but I fear they have
given you too much of the evil brew,” Boromir said, tightening
his embrace to temper his brother's trembling.
“How do you know this?”
“Where ever you have been, little brother, so have I, watching
over you” Boromir replied, chuckling as the ramifications of his
statement began to settle on Faramir.
“Where is here?” Faramir asked.
“Betwixt and between,” Boromir replied vaguely.
“Betwixt and between what, buffoon?” Faramir asked, his
temper taking control of his mouth - yet again.
“Between the living world and the halls of our ancestors, a staging
area so to speak,” Boromir answered, amused at his brother's display
of temper.
“Why are you here? I thought you deserted me, that time in Mirkwood,”
Faramir asked a little petulantly.
“Only after I saw you placed safely in the hands of
an elven ada and brother who have grown to love you dearly, Fara,”
Boromir corrected, causing Faramir to blush, contrite. “And I
told you, I have been watching you. The bond between you and I is indeed
strong, little one, for not even death has been able to break it and
I admit that something else has been holding me here but I have not
thought overmuch on its cause for I have been far too entertained watching
your antics,” Boromir admonished, chuckling as he did so. “I
have laughed heartily and been ever so delightfully amused as I have
borne witness to Gondor's King, a wizard, a whole cast of elves including
King, Lord, Prince and nanny and our dear, dear uncle, run ragged attempting
to keep you out of trouble.”
“It is not my fault, circumstances just keep getting a little
ahead of me,” Faramir whined, pouting.
Boromir threw back his head and fair howled with laughter as he pulled
his brother more tightly to him, praising the Valar for giving him the
opportunity to do so.
“Ahoy there,” Aragorn hailed from the shore as his party
came across a small ship of Dol Amroth and a second ship, abandoned
and run aground.
The company dismounted.
“The vessel was ran aground deliberately, sire, when realised
that it could not outrun my ship,” the breathless young Swan Knight
Captain said from behind Aragorn, causing the King to turn quickly about.
“My sailors and I gave chase but were prevented from securing
the Steward by the largest orcs I have ever had the misfortune to fight.
Whilst we fought the abductors escaped with the Steward in that direction,”
the knight said looking inland. “I am sorry, sire.”
Legolas ran off in the direction the knight indicated with Misto scuttling
along in hot pursuit.
“Uruk-hai,” Aragorn spat. “This reeks of Saruman.”
“But they are heading towards Umbar,” Thranduil mused.
“I do not like where that thought leads us, mellon-nin,”
Aragorn responded, shaking his head in consternation.
“Neither do I. An alliance between Saruman and the Haradrim is
indeed a sobering thought,” the elven King agreed.
“Return to Minas Tirith, advise Prince Imrahil of what has transpired
and tell him that we follow on land,” Aragorn instructed the Swan
Knight.
“Legolas has picked up on the trail,” Thranduil explained
on hearing the elven whistle.
The company remounted, met up with Legolas and continued in pursuit.
“It is not yet your time, Fara. You have to go back,” Boromir
said at last, breaking the embrace reluctantly.
“My heart is torn,” Faramir moaned softly. “I want
to stay with you but I do not want to leave ada and Legolas.”
“I know, little brother,” Boromir whispered, again taking
Faramir into his bear-like embrace. “But you have much life yet
to live and great deeds yet to achieve.”
“Will you remain betwixt and between much longer?” Faramir
asked hopefully.
“Aye, little brother. I will be here for quite a while yet, I
think,” Boromir replied.
Pain… scream… Boromir!… fire… pain… scream…
“silence him!” … blackness.
“Well, that did not go well,” Boromir said, slightly exasperated
as he gently stroked his brother's hair.
“That hurt,” Faramir growled as he felt his head
again resting on his brother's lap.
“Can you hear the ring in this place?” Boromir asked.
“Aye, faintly,” Faramir replied bemusedly after several
moments, wondering what Boromir was planning.
“Concentrate on the voice of the ring and try going back again,”
Boromir suggested.
Faramir swore mightily, much to the amusement of Boromir, but did as
he was bid.
Faramir regained consciousness and wished promptly that he had not.
The pain, burning its way through his body, was excruciating, robbing
him of breath. Despite the pain he realised that he was aware, no longer
were his thoughts fragmented. Faramir could hear the voice of the ring
drawing him ever deeper into himself and conversely, further away from
the pain. He felt as if he had become detached, ever so slightly, from
his body. With awareness came the realisation that it was night, his
hands were tied behind his back, his feet were also bound and he was
slung over someone or something's shoulder. By the stench that assailed
his nostrils, very strong despite the detached state in which he found
himself, an orc carried him - a very large orc.
Faramir continued to feign unconsciousness whilst he formulated a plan
for escape, a very difficult task considering the pain he was in and
the blood rushing to his head, as he was virtually upside-down. The
Steward thought the fell creatures would never stop. From the snippets
of conversation, which was conducted mostly in grunts, he discovered
that the orcs were being pursued, in all likelihood he thought, by Elessar
and his ada. Faramir also ascertained that the orcs were hoping to meet
with a much larger group of orcs, who were coming from Ithilien, at
a predetermined point on the Harad Road. From the sippets of information
he deduced that Saruman had allied with the Haradrim, although for what
ultimate purpose he did not know; just that it did not bode well for
Gondor.
The orcs did not stop until they had reached the Harad Road and hid,
off road in the forest, to rest and wait for the other party of orcs
to arrive. Faramir felt himself being lowered, none too gently, to the
ground.
Feeling nausea and the strange detachment, Faramir felt his left leather
wrist and forearm protector and was relieved to find that the abductors
had missed the small dagger that was secured near his wrist. After what
seemed like an eternity to the nauseous Steward, he managed to free
the dagger and cut through the rope that secured his hands. Soon after
he managed to cut the rope holding his feet. Utilising his ranger-trained
stealth, he slipped quietly into the darkness. Unfortunately his escape
was witnessed by an orc who was returning from relieving itself and
the alarm was raised. Faramir ran as fast as he could, almost doubling
over at times due to the burning pain that still assaulted his body,
despite the detachment. It was not long before the ranger found himself
propelled forward and crashing to the ground, tacked by an orc. The
wind was knocked out of him and pain exploding in his head and body,
Faramir raised himself to his knees and began retching, which turned
into a series of dry heaves as he had had no food or water for some
time.
“Attempt to escape again, little rabbit, and I will have you
skinned alive,” the largest human hissed in his ear. “Punish
but do not kill him,” he ordered, comfortable in the knowledge
that the Wizard was unable to access his powers, for if he could he
would already have done so.
Faramir was pulled to his knees by two orcs and his leather over-tunic
and shirt ripped from his body. The two orcs held him in place whilst
a third orc, the one who had carried him, produced a large, lethal looking
whip with many tails; each with a jagged piece of metal tied at the
end. Smiling, the orc circled Faramir letting the human see the whip.
Too exhausted to fight, Faramir closed his eyes. He felt every stroke,
felt his flesh part and blood trickle down his back but although there
was pain enough to make him cry out, he still felt the strange detachment
and heard the voice of the ring, lamenting, drawing him further away
from the pain. The orc kept up a steady pace growing more and more annoyed
at the human's lack of response but finally ceased the punishment. Faramir
was released and promptly fell forward in a dead faint.
Not wanting to risk injury to the horses by travelling in the dark,
for there was not even moonlight to guide them, the companions made
camp for the night.
“Oh, my elfling,” Thranduil moaned as he sat with his back
braced against the trunk of a tree, near a small fire that had been
set alight. “I have such a feeling.”
“We will find him and bring him home,” Legolas whispered,
adamant, as he put an arm around his father's shoulders and pulled him
close.
Aragorn, Gandalf, Gimli and Maglor looked upon the elven King with
sadness in their hearts for each felt the same darkness as the elf.
Misto scuttled over to the elven King and sat down upon his lap, silent.
On first light the next morning the company mounted and rode until
they were within elven sight of the Harad Road. They stopped briefly
allowing Legolas to dismount and climb the tallest tree.
“I can see them just on the other side of the Harad Road. There
are three men and fifteen orcs that I can see,” Legolas called
down to his companions and then he gasped.
“What is it, mellon nin?” Aragorn asked, alarmed.
“There is a second group of orcs further up the road. There must
be at least three hundred heading towards the smaller group,”
Legolas replied as he climbed down the tree quickly, as only a wood-elf
could, and jumped lightly onto his horse in front of Gimli who was holding
the hatchling.
Wheeling his horse, much to Gimli's distress, Legolas galloped off
towards the orcs with Gimli holding onto the elf for grim death and
Misto attached, with all eight legs, to the Dwarf. Thus the race was
on - to reach Faramir before the two groups of orcs met and combined
forces.
Part 16
The others followed Legolas as fast as they dared along the rough forest
track, careful of tree roots and low hanging branches as they did so.
Eventually they came upon the Harad Road. Legolas made straight for
where he knew the abductors were hiding in a clearing through the thicket
on the other side of the road. The elf freed his bow and nocked an arrow,
prompting Thranduil and Maglor to do the same, Aragorn and Gandalf to
draw their swords and Gimli to ready his axe.
Legolas made straight for the human figure with gold-red locks he could
see, wrapped in a cloak and curled into a ball of misery between two
massive boulders. He jumped from his horse and onto one of the boulders
as he continued to nock and shoot arrows with lightening speed. Gimli,
with Misto still attached and hissing, slid from the horse's back and
ran towards Faramir to protect the human. Misto jumped from the dwarf's
back and scuttled to his mama. Legolas' heart sank as he saw the first
of the second group of orcs swarm into the clearing.
The orcs moved quickly to isolate Legolas and Gimli from the others.
Gimli swung viciously as orcs came within range of his axe, hacking
off limbs with ease. Arrows exhausted, both Thranduil and Maglor jumped
from their mounts, unsheathed their elven knives, sliced and carved
their way through the swarming orcs in an intricate and deadly dance.
Aragorn remained mounted as he swung his sword with skill born of many
years of fighting. Gandalf used both his staff to blind the orcs and
his sword to cut them down.
Having exhausted his supply of arrows, Legolas made to jump down from
the rock on which he was standing when his eyes widened, his expression
one of surprise, as he fell forward off the rock and onto the ground
near Faramir, a black orc's arrow sticking out of his back. Thranduil
let out a cry of alarm and rage as he saw his beloved elfling felled.
Gimli too yelled in distress, redoubling his efforts to keep the orcs
at bay. Sheer rage taking control, Thranduil gave an elven battle cry,
twirled and danced as he sliced and stabbed his way through the orcs
towards his sons.
Faramir regained consciousness to the sound of Misto's panicked voice,
hissing 'mama' repeatedly in his ear. The pain he felt almost sent him
back into the blackness but he saw, out of the corner of his eye an
elf with an arrow sticking out of his back and knew immediately that
the elf was Legolas. The strange detachment that he had been feeling
dissipated abruptly bringing agony enough to rob him of senses for several
long moments before he managed to struggle to his knees. Feeling a rage
such as he had rarely felt before build rapidly within him, Faramir
began to crackle and his hair to stand on end. He drew on the power
he felt around him, from the rocks, trees, orcs and from within himself.
The power built to such a level that Faramir was no longer able to contain
it and, raising his ringed hand, let loose blue bolts of energy that
took out every orc within forty feet, after which he fell to the ground
like a stone, where he remained - unmoving.
Seeing Faramir fall, Thranduil let out another cry of rage as he continued
his deadly dance towards his fallen sons, oblivious to everything else.
Maglor, recognising the signs of a rage in his friend in which all reason
has fled, attempted to remain close to his King and friend. Aragorn,
still mounted, also attempted to get to his friends but felt pangs of
despair as the orcs continued to swarm cutting off his access. His heart
missed several beats when he heard elven battle cries a short distance
away and his hope rekindled when Finrod, the twins and the Gondorian
Lieutenant rode into the fray.
Thranduil made it to Legolas first and, oblivious to the danger around
him, dropped to his knees to check that his son was still alive. He
breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the arrow had penetrated
his son's shoulder and that Legolas was breathing steadily and had a
strong heartbeat. The elven King rose to feet once more and ran the
short distance to where Faramir had fallen. His heart constricted when
he could feel no heartbeat in his son. Thranduil howled with rage and
tears streamed down his face. Spying Saruman and three humans he assumed
to be the ones who abducted Faramir in the distance, he jumped to his
feet and began his deadly dance, killing every orc in his path as he
made his way towards the disgraced white wizard. At Thranduil's howl
of rage and pain, Aragorn's heart sank for he knew that it could only
mean that either Legolas or Faramir was dead.
Maglor knew that they would need to make their escape soon as they
had no hope of killing all the orcs. Whistling to Finrod who was still
mounted, Maglor ran back to Legolas and cut through the shaft of the
arrow embedded in the younger elf's shoulder and passed the unconscious
elf to Finrod. Finrod whirled his horse and galloped through the orcs
and off into the distance towards the Harad Road. The Mirkwood Seneschal
gathered Faramir into his arms and whistled for Elrohir. The younger
twin took Faramir from Maglor and followed the path that Finrod had
taken. Aragorn collected Gimli and Misto and followed the elves. Maglor
whistled for his own mount. Gandalf, Elladan and the Gondorian soldier
protected the elven horse, slashing and hewing with their swords, as
the elven bred horse made its way to its master. Recognising that Thranduil
was in such a rage that he would continue to fight to the death and
would not listen to reason, Maglor approached the enraged elf from behind
and landed a mighty chop to the back of his friend's neck catching him
before he hit the ground. The Seneschal slung his friend over his horse,
jumped up behind him, whistling for Thranduil and Legolas' horses to
follow and galloped off in the same direction as the others with a very
surprised wizard, elf and human, following in his wake.
The company fled until midafternoon when they reached a position that
was defensible, if the orcs had decided to pursue them, and had water
and shelter available. Elladan dismounted and relieved Finrod of Legolas,
who was still unconscious, so the Mirkwood elf could dismount. Similarly,
Aragorn gathered Faramir into his arms and placed him on his side on
a bedroll near where Elladan had placed Legolas. Misto settled next
to his mama's head. Elrohir dismounted and ran to assist his brother
to remove Legolas' tunic and shirt so he could examine his friend's
wound. Maglor allowed Thranduil, who was slowly regaining consciousness,
to slip from his horse.
“What hit me?” Thranduil asked attempting to shake the
fog from his mind.
“Well, if you must know, I did, mellon-nin,” Maglor replied
as he also slipped from his horse. “It is a long time since I
have seen you throw such a temper tantrum.”
“Faramir!” the elven King exclaimed, looking about frantically.
“He is alive, Thranduil,” Aragorn called out from where
he and Gandalf knelt next to Faramir, “for the moment at least,”
he added under his breath.
A powerful wave of relief caused Thranduil's knees to weaken. Maglor
grabbed his friend's arm, pulled it around his shoulders and hauled
the elven King over to where Faramir and Legolas lay. Finrod, Gimli
and the Lieutenant went to stand watch for signs of orcs. Maglor busied
himself with starting a small fire, collecting water, putting it on
to boil and gathering the medical supplies. Aragorn groaned and then
swore mightily when he removed the cloak in which Faramir had been wrapped,
only to discover that his young Steward was naked from the waist up
and had been subjected to a merciless whipping.
“Oh, ion-nin,” Thranduil moaned, tears again welling in
his eyes as he stroked Faramir's hair.
When the water had boiled, Maglor brewed tea for both fever and pain.
The twins set about removing the remaining piece of arrow from Legolas'
shoulder whilst their friend was still unconscious, sighing with relief
when they discovered that the arrow had not been poisoned. They cleaned
and bandaged the wound, confident that his elven healing ability would
see Legolas back to full health within a matter of days. Not long after
the twins had finished, Legolas regained consciousness groaning as he
did so. Thranduil was beside his elfling in an instant.
“Faramir?” Legolas asked, struggling weakly to rise.
“Shhhhh… “ Thranduil soothed in a whisper as he stroked
his son's hair. “He yet lives, my elfling.”
Elrohir fed some of the tea that Maglor had prepared to Legolas and
it was not long before the elf slipped into reverie. Thranduil turned
his attention back to his human son. Aragorn used warm water and clean
cloth to cleanse the vicious looking welts and weals on Faramir's back.
He then applied an ointment containing arnica, comfrey, elm and marigold
to assist in healing before dressing the wounds in clean bandages.
“I cannot believe that you did that, little brother,” Boromir
admonished as he stroked his brother's hair.
“Did what?” Faramir asked in a tone that indicated his
confusion and disorientation, as he woke yet again in the surreal forest
with his head resting on Boromir's lap.
“Took the energy from within yourself! How many times has Mithrandir
warned you not to do so? You have all but killed yourself!” Boromir
chided.
“I am sorry but I was angry,” Faramir snapped. “They
shot my brother!” he snarled. On realising his words, his angry
expression turned sheepish and a little apologetic.
“Never be ashamed of the love you bear for both your brother's
and your ada, little one. I praise the Valar for guiding you to King
Thranduil,” Boromir said softly. “I do not think you grasp
truly the depth of his love for you, miel-neth. It is as deep as his
love for Legolas and my love for you.”
“How are they? Are they safe?” Faramir asked.
“Aye, little brother, they are safe for the moment. Legolas has
taken an arrow to his shoulder but the arrow has been removed and he
is in a deep healing sleep. Your ada is beside himself with worry for
you though,” Boromir replied.
“I should go back then?” Faramir asked in a tone that said
that the prospect was daunting to him.
“Nay, little one. Not yet. Rest awhile for if you go back now
you will be in seven kinds of hell. Your back!” Boromir exclaimed
as he began to gently massage Faramir's earlobe with his thumb and index
finger.
“Not good?” Faramir asked tentatively, in a tiny voice,
snuggling into his brother's thigh.
“Not good,” Boromir confirmed in a whoosh of breath
as images of his little brother being whipped to within an inch of his
life and he powerless to stop it, replayed in his mind. There were many
disadvantages to being deceased, he thought.
“He is still with us,” Aragorn sighed as he and Thranduil
lifted Faramir carefully and wrapped him in a clean blanket before wrapping
him back in the blood-encrusted cloak. “I do not want
to risk moving him but we cannot stay here.”
Thranduil closed his eyes in despair but nodded once in agreement.
Finrod, Gimli and the Gondorian Lieutenant were called back from their
watch. The company mounted their horses. Thranduil cradled Faramir in
his arms and Maglor held Legolas. They risked riding throughout the
night along the Harad Road. It was well past midnight when elven hearing
detected sounds ahead, sounds that did not belong to nature.
They rode quickly into the cover of the trees to the side of the road.
Finrod signalled that he would ride ahead to determine whether the sounds
ahead were from human or orc. The Mirkwood elf returned quickly, with
a Gondorian soldier in train.
“Soldiers. About one hundred sent by Prince Imrahil,” Finrod
advised the company.
“Prince Imrahil got wind of a large band of orcs on the Harad
Road, not long after you left, sire. He sent us to assist if we could,”
the mounted soldier informed them.
“That man is a wonder and despite what he says, every bit the
cunning old fox as was his sire,” Aragorn said with a rueful smile.
The company rode to the soldier's camp where Faramir and Legolas were
made comfortable. Misto again settled beside Faramir. Thranduil sat
between his sons with one hand on each as if to reassure himself that
both were still living and looking more worried than Aragorn had ever
seen the elven King look.
"I cannot lose him, Estel," Thranduil said as Aragorn approached
and sat down on the other side of Faramir, close to Misto.
"My Steward has great stubbornness and all of us on his side,
mellon-nin. He will survive," Aragorn said with more confidence
than he actually felt.
"He will be grounded, though," Thranduil growled.
"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked gently.
"I am going to lock him in that palace of yours where he will
remain until he is at least three hundred and sixty!" Thranduil
replied adamantly. "My heart cannot take it, Estel," he complained
when Estel smiled at him. "He is so young, not even one hundred."
"Whilst I understand the sentiment, for I too desire to see him
locked away safe from trouble, you are father to a human, who, I will
admit, manages to find more trouble than most, if not all, and you will
need to adjust," Aragorn counselled with a rueful smile.
"My respect for Elrond grows daily," Thranduil said with
just that blend of sincerity and sarcasm of which he alone was master.
"How fares, Faramir?" Elrohir asked quietly as he and Elladan
sat down on the ground near Aragorn, both eyeing the hatchling with
faint disquiet.
"Alive, though I think he would wish it otherwise if he was conscious,"
Aragorn replied sadly. "I have been meaning to ask you how you
came to be in the vicinity?"
"We found Saruman's trail in the hills of Emyn Muil... "
Elladan began.
"... we discovered that an old man was seen in the company of
orcs... " Elrohir continued.
"... and that they were headed towards the Dead Marshes ... "
"... We travelled to the marshes and ... "
"... discovered their trail and followed ... "
"... Two days ago we caught up with them ... "
" ... We have been trying to discover ... "
" ... their intentions ... "
"And have you discovered anything?" Aragorn interjected.
"Just pieces ... " Elrohir responded.
" … An alliance with the Haradrim ... " Elladan added.
" ... something about training wizards ... "
"Why do they want my son?" Thranduil interjected.
"We do not know ... " Elladan said.
" ... Just that they see him as a threat." Elrohir concluded.
"I think we should rest this night. We have a long journey ahead
of us, back to Minas Tirith," Aragorn said as he stood before making
for his bedroll.
Thranduil sat vigil over his sons the entire night. Neither son stirred
until morning.
“How is Faramir, ada?” Legolas asked as soon as he came
back from his healing reverie, stretching and wincing at the pain in
his shoulder.
“He is with us yet, my elfling,” Thranduil replied as he
looked down at Faramir. “How are you feeling?”
“I have been better I must admit but I will survive,” Legolas
smiled ruefully.
“Go eat, tithen-pen,” Thranduil said quietly to Misto,
for he knew the hatchling must be very hungry. “I will watch over
your mama.”
Misto scuttled off a short distance, turned back as if unsure but continued
to scurry into the forest when shooed gently by the elven King.
“Time to go back, little brother,” Boromir said as he smiled
down at Faramir.
“I love you, Boromir,” Faramir said as he prepared mentally,
to return.
“And I you, miel-neth,” Boromir said. “I am sorry,
little one, but you could not stay here any longer,” he added
in a whisper.
Faramir awoke and was immediately beset by pain, such as he had never
felt before.
“Boromir! You rotten, conniving, son of a… bastard! You
could have given me some warning!“ Faramir growled writhing in
agony, arm raised in the air, hand opening and closing, seeking his
ada. “Oh help, ada! It hurts!”
“Estel! Maglor!” Thranduil called out as he took hold of
his son's hand, allowing Faramir to grip it as hard as necessary.
“What hurts, Faramir?” Aragorn asked his distressed Steward.
“Head… back... stomach... everything!” Faramir replied
in gasps, between the spasms.
“Drink this, pen-neth,” Maglor directed, holding a cup
to his young charge's lips.
The pain was so great that Faramir did not fall into sleep as quickly
as was his wont when given a strong pain reliever, or, for that matter,
given even the mildest of pain relievers. Thranduil held his son's hand
through the spasms of pain until Faramir relaxed finally into sleep.
Part 17
“His fever is worsening,” Aragorn murmured, concern evident
as he felt the heat of Faramir's brow with the palm of his hand that
rested there. “We must needs get him back to Minas Tirith as quickly
as possible.”
“Is that advisable given his condition?” Thranduil asked
quietly, stroking his son's hair.
“We do not have the medicines needed and his condition will only
deteriorate out here in the elements,” Aragorn advised gently.
After the morning rations were consumed, the soldiers broke camp and
preparations were made for the journey back to the White City. Legolas,
who was conscious if very sore, complained bitterly that he was more
than capable of sitting on a horse by himself, that was, until Maglor
gave him a look that quelled the younger elf instantly and had him looking
like an elfling again - all eyes. Gimli chuckled at his friend's expression,
but was quelled equally as effectively by a look from the Seneschal.
“I am still very much vexed with your sire at the moment, Thranduilion.
I would suggest that you do not push me,” Maglor responded tartly,
turning his gaze once again upon Legolas.
Legolas looked at his ada with a questioning raised eyebrow. Thranduil
was mounted and cradling Faramir, who was still either sleeping or unconscious.
The elven King simply pretended not to hear his Seneschal's vexed words
or see his elfling's questioning expression. Legolas chose the wise
course of remaining silent and doing as he was bid as Maglor mounted
the horse behind him. Gimli, with Misto clinging to his back, rode with
Aragorn.
The troop travelled as far as they could as fast as they could before
Aragorn called a halt in the early afternoon to rest the horses and
check on both Faramir and Legolas. Whilst the soldiers rested and ate,
Maglor readied boiling water and healing herbs and salves for the two
patients. The twins tended to Legolas while Aragorn and Thranduil tended
to Faramir. Gandalf, Gimli and Finrod hovered in the background and
Misto settled near his mama. The twins changed the dressings on Legolas'
shoulder wound, pleased to see that it was healing well. Aragorn and
Thranduil removed the soiled cloak and blanket from Faramir; and were
met with the distressing sight of blood soaked bandages. Despite the
healing salve that had been applied, the wounds on the Steward's back
had become infected.
At that moment Faramir awoke to a world of pain. Thranduil took hold
of his son's hand and crooned quiet, soothing words in elvish. Faramir
concentrated on his ada's voice, trying desperately to divorce himself
from the pain, wishing that the fogged detachment he had felt earlier
would return but it did not.
“Faramir! Stay with me, tithen-pen,” Aragorn called to
his Steward, as he removed the bloody bandages, aware that Faramir was
on the verge of losing consciousness again. “Something is amiss
here. He should not be in such pain. Faramir, Faramir! Open your eyes,
stay with me, pen-neth. Were you given anything by the abductors, food,
liquid?”
“Potion… so could not… use powers,” Faramir
gasped out through gritted teeth as he squeezed his ada's hand hard
as another spasm of pain caused his muscles to contract violently. Thranduil
kept up a litany of soothing elvish words as Faramir writhed and arched,
his body in agony.
Gandalf groaned, causing Aragorn to look at him sharply with a questioning
expression before being distracted by Maglor passing him a brew for
pain and fever, which the Mirkwood elf had prepared. Thranduil raised
Faramir to a semi sitting position so that Aragorn could feed him Maglor's
brew.
“Drink this,” Aragorn said as he held the tea to Faramir's
lips. “That is it, mellon-nin,” he continued as Faramir
swallowed the liquid.
Still writhing as the agonising muscle contractions continued, Faramir
drank the foul tasting brew without complaint, in between gasps for
breath, so great was his pain. Again the brew did not have as fast an
effect on the Steward as in the past. Aragorn waited until Faramir had
drifted finally into the blessed oblivion of sleep before seeking clarification
from Gandalf on the wizard's groan earlier and tending the foetid wounds
on his young Steward's back.
“The potion of which Faramir spoke would, in all likelihood,
have been a poison of Morgul make,” Gandalf sighed deeply before
Aragorn had asked the question. "I know of no other that could
strip a wizard of his power. It is altogether evil."
“Will we never be free of the evil shadow of that fell place
and its poisons?” Aragorn exclaimed, as he finished applying clean
bandages to Faramir's wounds. “What can we do for him Gandalf?”
“We must get him to Elrond as fast as possible,” Gandalf
replied. “Only Vilya, the elven healing ring, will be able to
counter such a vile potion in time.”
“I will ride out now and take Faramir to Minas Tirith, Estel.
Maglor, the twins and Finrod can accompany me,” Thranduil added
when he could see Aragorn about to object. “We will be much faster
and can, with our elven sight, ride throughout the night.”
Aragorn paused for a moment before closing his eyes and nodding once
in agreement.
“I can ride too, ada,” Legolas said from his supine position
near Faramir.
Thranduil looked at Maglor who nodded agreement for both knew that
worry over Faramir could cause a debilitating grief reaction in the
younger elf.
“Alright my elfling but only if you ride with Maglor,”
Thranduil cautioned.
Legolas screwed his nose in distaste at the condition placed on him
but nodded his head in agreement, knowing that it was not the time to
argue.
It was not long before the elves set out for Minas Tirith with Faramir
held in the safe arms of his ada, Legolas with Maglor and Misto with
Finrod at Thranduil's request, much to the elf's surprise. Finrod thought
it wondrous strange that any elf of Mirkwood would befriend a spider
let alone their King. The elves arrived at the White city just on dawn
the following morning, having ridden throughout the night as fast as
they could allow the horses to travel in the dark. Thranduil had grown
ever more concerned for Faramir as they raced towards the White City
for his son had yet to regain consciousness, was beginning to have difficulty
breathing and his fever had climbed ever higher. Despite the early hour
of their arrival, Imrahil, Elrond and Arwen met the elves and Faramir
in the courtyard in front of the palace. Elrond had sensed their coming
and roused the others.
Imrahil groaned when he saw his nephew, unconscious and obviously seriously
hurt, cradled in Thranduil's arms. Elrond, understanding the severity
of Faramir's condition immediately, moved quickly to take the young
human from Thranduil, who released his precious burden reluctantly,
and walked quickly towards the Houses of Healing with Thranduil, the
twins and Misto close on his heels. Maglor assisted Legolas, who was
in danger of slipping into reverie at any moment, to dismount. He then
swept the exhausted elf off his feet and took him to the Houses of Healing
with Imrahil and Arwen in tow. Finrod stayed to see to the horses.
“What happened?” Imrahil asked as he walked beside Maglor.
“This one took an arrow to the shoulder trying to protect his
brother but should be back to his normal irritating self in a few days,”
Maglor said affectionately, eliciting a sleepy grumble from Legolas.
“And Faramir?” Arwen asked as she walked on the other side
of the Mirkwood Seneschal.
“I am aggrieved to say that he has been whipped to within an
inch of his life by his abductors and has been fed an evil brew of Morgul
make,” Maglor replied, eliciting gasps from both Arwen and Imrahil.
Maglor, Arwen and Imrahil arrived at the Houses of Healing and entered
the room in which Faramir had been placed. Maglor was thankful to see
that the room contained two beds. Faramir had been placed on the bed
closest to the widow, which overlooked a garden. Maglor placed Legolas
on the other bed, against the wall opposite the window. The young Prince
had slipped into reverie.
Elrond and Thranduil had already removed the cloak and blanket in which
Faramir had been wrapped for the journey to the White City and were
just removing the bloodied bandages. Elrohir and Elladan had gone to
fetch Elrond's healing supplies and boiling water. Misto was busy spinning
a web in the corner of the room above Faramir's bed, all the better
to keep an eye, or in this case, many eyes on his mama. Arwen and Imrahil
stood back out of the way; ready to do anything that was requested of
them. Elrond, aware that Faramir had been given, in all likelihood,
a potion of Morgul origin for Thranduil had to him so, gasped on seeing
the state of Faramir's back.
The twins arrived with their father's healing supplies, bandages, cloths
and boiling water in a large kettle that they put on a stand near the
fire that was alight in the fireplace. Elrond placed his ringed hand
upon Faramir's forehead, closed his eyes and sought out the poison.
“It is of Morgul,” Elrond sighed.
“You can help him, can you not?” Thranduil asked in a breathless
whisper, pale at the thought of losing Faramir.
“I can neutralise the poison but it will not be easy. It will
be extremely painful for him and will tax him sorely,” Elrond
sighed. “I cannot give him anything for pain until after the poison
has been neutralised. His condition is not good and he is having trouble
breathing. He may not survive, mellon-nin," Elrond said gently.
“My son is stubborn and he will survive,” Thranduil countered
adamantly, though tears welled in his eyes.
Elrond bathed Faramir's back with warm water containing herbs and potions
designed to kill infection and promote healing. He then applied healing
salve and clean bandages. Sitting down on the bed beside Faramir, he
waved Thranduil to sit on the other side of his ailing son. Thranduil
held Faramir's hand as Elrond placed his ringed hand over the young
human's face and began chanting in Elvish. Vilya began to glow. Even
unconscious, Faramir moaned and then writhed in agony as Elrond continued.
The Steward woke abruptly and began screaming from the sheer agony.
He felt as if he was being consumed by fire from the inside. The screaming
and writhing did not abate. Agitated, Misto started hissing but remained
in his web.
“Oh … Valar, help me, ada! Hurts! Boromir! … help
me! ... Ada!” Faramir screamed, writhing in agony.
Tears streaming down his face, Thranduil held Faramir's hand through
the entire ordeal as Faramir arched in pain, again and again. Imrahil
began pacing like a caged lion as he watched his sister's son's agony.
Arwen wept gently, arms wrapped around herself protectively, flanked
by the twins. Both twins placed their arms around their sister. Legolas,
awoken from his reverie by his brother's screams, was held and comforted
by Maglor both with tears in their eyes. Still the screaming did not
abate.
“Please… stop… hurts… stop, ada!” the
young Steward cried out, his voice becoming hoarse from the damage done
to his vocal cords.
To all present, it was obvious that Elrond was struggling. The normally
regal and calm elf was looking distressed and pained. Just when Thranduil
could take no more of his son's agony and screams and was about to ask
Elrond to cease the torture, Faramir's screams ceased and he fell back
on the bed, limp. Elrond collapsed over his patient.
Elladan ran to pull his father off Faramir and Elrohir moved quickly
to check Faramir. Thranduil felt his heart shatter at the thought that
his beloved son was dead. Arwen hurried over to her father's supplies
and pulled out a small vial. Taking the top off the vial she moved to
her father and waved the vial under his nose. Elrond shook his head
from side to side to escape the pungent fumes but it still took him
several long moments before he regained consciousness.
“Faramir still lives, King Thranduil,” Elrohir said, eliciting
a trembling sigh of relief from the elven King.
“The poison is neutralised, mellon-nin,” Elrond said wearily,
looking more tired than Thranduil had ever seen the Rivendell elf, “but
the battle is yet to be won. He is weak and fevered.”
“Yet he lives and where there is life there is hope,” Thranduil
replied in a horse whisper, filled with emotion.
“Go rest ada… “ Elrohir said.
“ … we will look after Faramir… ” Elladan continued.
“ … and Legolas.”
"Hannon le, ions-nin," Elrond said with great weariness as
he made to stand.
Imrahil walked over to his nephew, bent and kissed him on the brow
before assisting Elrond to his feet and out of the room. Arwen squeezed
Thranduil's shoulder, eliciting a small smile from him, before turning
and following her father out of the room. Maglor still rocked Legolas
who had slipped back into reverie. Elladan and Elrohir bathed sweat
from Faramir's face and arms and made sure that the young human was
made comfortable before sitting in vigil on two chairs near the fireplace.
It was going to be a long, long day.
Part 18
Thranduil sat, silent, still holding Faramir's hand as he watched his
son's chest rise and fall and his breathing becoming ever more laboured.
Earlier, Elrohir had applied a warm poultice, soaked in herbs and oils,
to Faramir's chest to assist his breathing. The elf was worried that
the young human was developing an infection of the lungs. The twins
sat on chairs near the fireplace, Maglor sat on the end of the bed in
which Legolas lay, deep in reverie, and Misto slept in his web above
Faramir.
“Lord Elrond is resting comfortably. Arwen is with him,”
Imrahil said softly as he entered the room and sat down upon the chair
that stood beside the bed in which Faramir lay. “I have never
seen him so wearied. The healing has taken much from him. Foxling's
breathing worsens,” he added on hearing Faramir's breathing. “I
do hope he is not developing pneumonia.”
“Please help me raise him to a better position, mellon-nin,”
Thranduil requested as he pulled Faramir gently to a semi-sitting position,
assisted by Imrahil.
With elven agility and grace, Thranduil moved behind his son and sat
with his back braced against the wooden bed-head and a leg on either
side of Faramir. Imrahil lowered his nephew gently so that Faramir's
back rested against his ada's chest. The elven King wrapped his arms
around his son and crooned softly in Elvish as Faramir stirred slightly
and snuffled in his sleep.
“He breathes easier,” Imrahil sighed in relief, after several
long moments. “Though I suspect that has more to do with being
held safe in the arms of his precious ada, my friend,” he added,
eyes a-twinkle. “He has always been a tactile little creature,
has my foxling.”
“This one has so much capacity to love. He loves whole-heartedly
and unconditionally but demands, no, expects, nothing in return, which
tells of a lifetime spent without love,” Thranduil said softly.
“Not without love, my friend. Many loved him although he did
not realise it,” Imrahil corrected gently. “But he did grow
up without love from the one person from whom it should have been expected,
unconditionally.”
“Was Denethor so blind to this treasure he sired?”
Thranduil asked sadly, without malice, resting his chin lightly on the
red-gold locks atop his son's head.
“Blinded by grief but alas, no less blind,” Imrahil replied,
a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched Faramir.
Thranduil and Imrahil spoke quietly and at great length about Faramir's
childhood as they watched him sleeping. Imrahil related many of the
more mischievous antics of his nephews. Twice, Elrohir changed the poultice,
tut-tutting as he did so, concerned over his friend's fever and his
continued difficulty with breathing. It was late afternoon when Legolas
returned from his reverie.
“How fares Faramir, ada?” Legolas asked as he sat up and
swung his legs over the edge of the bed, narrowly avoiding Maglor as
he did so, until he was sitting upright with his feet resting on the
floor. “He is not breathing right.”
“Nay, elfling. He is still fevered and his breathing, though
eased somewhat, is still laboured,” Thranduil replied as he looked
intently at Legolas. “You are looking better, though.”
The twins approached Legolas to redress his shoulder wound. They had
just finished when all the elves present heard Aragorn's approach, hearing
him ask to be taken to his Steward's room. It was not long before a
flushed and exhausted looking King entered the room. It was obvious
that he had come straight from the palace without bothering to change,
as he was still in his travel-stained riding clothes.
Aragorn saw Legolas sitting on the bed opposite the window. He smiled
brightly and sighed in relief that his friend looked well. Legolas returned
his smile. His smile faltered, though, when he looked upon Faramir propped
up against Thranduil, in a deep sleep. To Aragorn's unaccustomed eyes,
his Steward looked terrible. Faramir was flushed with fever, which only
highlighted the underlying pallidness of his skin.
“Arwen explained that ada was able to counteract the poison but
at great cost to Faramir and himself,” Aragorn said as he approached
his Steward, resting a palm on his friend's fevered brow. “By
the way, Arwen sends news that ada is feeling better and should be here
soon.”
After assuring himself that Faramir was not in imminent danger of dying,
Aragorn fussed around his Steward, changing the poultice and fetching
a bowl in which he poured boiling water and added athelas leaves. Aragorn,
pleased to hear Faramir's breathing ease a little, left to bathe and
change into more suitable clothing. It was not long though, before he
returned and joined the twins in front of the fireplace.
Elrond came later that evening but could do little more for Faramir
than the twins and Aragorn had already done. Faramir's fever receded
and spiked a number of times over the next three days but did not break.
Thranduil sat vigil beside his human son refusing to move despite Elrond's
urgings that he eat and rest and Maglor's more direct threats.
“You are digging yourself ever deeper, mellon-nin,” Elrond
cautioned, as he watched Maglor glaring at his friend from his seated
position near Legolas, after refusing yet again to rest. “You
do realise that your hide will pay the price eventually for both the
recent tantrum that so vexed Maglor and your refusals to rest.”
“I know,” Thranduil replied, screwing his nose in distaste;
the same gesture that Elrond had seen gracing Legolas' face on occasion.
“I can see his hand twitching,” he added, trying not to
look in Maglor's direction. “I just wish this damned fever would
break.”
It was several hours later, in the early hours of the morning, that
the fever did break finally but many hours later Faramir seemed no closer
to awakening. Elrond attempted to enter Faramir's mind to coax him back
but found that the Steward was too far away.
“Estel, you will need to go after Faramir and fetch him back
to us for I do not have the energy to reach him,” Elrond said
to Aragorn who was seated with the twins in front of the fireplace.
“Aye, ada,” Aragorn replied.
He moved to sit on the bed beside Faramir and placed a palm over his
Steward's brow. Aragorn went in search of Faramir. Having done so before,
he found it easier to follow Faramir's trail. He walked for what seemed
an eternity, calling out to Faramir constantly but receiving no reply.
Just when he was beginning to truly worry, he heard someone singing
a lullaby softly. Following the sound he came into a forest clearing
and gasped in shock, tears welling in his eyes, at the sight of the
two figures before him, one sitting on the ground with his back braced
against a large rock and the other lying down with his head resting
on the other's thigh.
Boromir saw Aragorn's approach. He waved and then put a finger to his
lips, gesturing for his friend to approach quietly. Aragorn walked to
where Boromir sat, knelt down beside him, placed a hand either side
of the Gondorian's head, bent it towards him, leaned forward and kissed
Boromir on the forehead.
“What are you still doing in this place, my friend?” Aragorn
asked in a hushed voice as he drank in the sight of the warrior who
was gently massaging his slumbering brother's ear. “I thought
you had moved on.”
“There is something, I know not what, brewing. Something in which
I have yet a part to play,” Boromir replied with a far away look
in his eye. “And besides which, I have had far too much enjoyment
watching my little brother run rings around the lot of you,” he
added, breaking out into a huge grin as his gaze shifted from the distance
and back to Aragorn.
“He is a handful, my friend,” Aragorn replied a little
sheepishly. “His fever has broken and he needs to return to us,”
the King added gently.
“The poor little mite has had a rough trot over the last year,”
Boromir sighed sadly, the love for his brother showing in his eyes,
as he looked down upon his sleeping form. “Rouse, miel-neth,”
he said quietly. Faramir mumbled something that neither Boromir nor
Aragorn could catch but each knew was probably something that should
not be repeated in mixed company, or within Maglor's very acute hearing
range, and promptly went back to sleep. “He does not wake well,”
he added with a rueful smile.
Aragorn snorted.
“Aye, we have noted, my friend,” Aragorn replied, chuckling
at Boromir's gift for understatement.
“Quick, quick, the library is burning,” Boromir said in
a very quiet voice as he leaned over his sibling.
Faramir sat bolt upright, clipping his brother under the chin as he
did so, causing both of them to howl in pain and Aragorn to wince in
empathy.
“Owwww!!!” Faramir exclaimed as he rubbed the top of his
head vigorously. “Are you trying to give me heart failure, you
hard-headed oaf?”
“You are not exactly soft-of-head, if soft-headed, yourself,
little brother!” Boromir responded as he rubbed his chin.
Aragorn laughed as he watched the interplay between the brothers, gaining
a glimpse into what life must have been like when they were together,
in life.
Faramir swung around at the sound of the laughter and was surprised
to see Aragorn standing there.
“It is time to go back, my Steward,” Aragorn said.
“Aye, little brother. If you do not go back now I fear your elven
nanny will do something drastic to your ada. Your ada has been by your
side constantly and is most grieved about you,” Boromir added
as he stood, assisting his brother to do so as well. Faramir blushed
spectacularly at the mention of his elven nanny. Chuckling Boromir embraced
his brother. “I love you, little brother,” Boromir said
as he held his brother tightly.
“And I you, brother,” Faramir replied, tears welling in
his eyes.
Boromir let go of Faramir finally and then pulled Aragorn into a mighty
hug.
“I will still be here, little brother,” Boromir assured
as Aragorn took Faramir by the elbow and guided him back to those waiting
anxiously for him back in the Houses of Healing.
Aragorn came back to himself and could feel the tears streaming down
his face and his ada asking him repeatedly what was wrong.
“Boromir was there, still watching over Faramir, sheltering him
until the fever broke,” Aragorn said when he had regained some
composure.
“What? He has not moved on to the halls of our ancestors?”
Imrahil asked, eyebrows aloft.
“Nay, he said there is something brewing and he has yet a part
to play…” Aragorn began but his attention was diverted by
moans coming from Faramir.
“Open your eyes, ion-nin,” Thranduil coaxed, his relief
evident in his eyes.
Faramir moaned again but after a few moments opened his eyes, to be
greeted by the relieved expressions of his ada, uncle and Elessar looking
down at him. Imrahil raised his nephew to a sitting position as Thranduil
held a cup of water that Elrond had given him, to Faramir's lips.
“Are you in much pain?” Elrond asked.
“Oh, aye!” Faramir exclaimed in a whoosh of breath and
a hacking cough in response.
“What hurts, tithen pen?”
“In order of… magnitude?” Faramir asked in return
when he finally stopped coughing.
“Yes.”
“Every-damned-thing!” Faramir complained, having difficulty
isolating all the sources of pain.
Smiling at the resilience of the human spirit, which never ceased to
amaze him, Elrond reached for a vial containing essence of poppy and
laced a cup of water with but a few drops, knowing that Faramir was
susceptible to even small amounts. He coaxed the Steward in to drinking
the potion. It was not long before Faramir was drifting off into a more
natural sleep.
“Ada?” Faramir asked as he felt the pain ease and himself
start to drift.
“Yes, ion-nin?” Thranduil asked softly.
“Go rest. You do not want Maglor on… your… tail…”
Faramir began but drifted off into sleep before he could finish the
sentence.
Maglor snorted, Legolas sniggered from his bed and Thranduil blushed
furiously.
Faramir slept solidly for twelve hours. When awareness returned, it
did so very slowly. He was aware vaguely that someone was singing. He
even recognised the tune as one that came from Dol Amroth; a round in
which one by one, drunken sailors fall overboard, until there is not
one left on board. Each stanza ended with a very high note. The singer
kept searching for the note, up and down the register but obviously
found it elusive. Faramir also thought to himself that the ship must
have contained a whole host of sailors as the singer was down to eight
hundred and twenty three, having disposed of one hundred and seventy
seven, if the ship had originally had one thousand sailors on board.
The voice was familiar to the Steward but, as is the perverse nature
of the universe at times, all Faramir's logic faculties had yet to don
gear, let alone muster.
"I suggest you try an octave lower," Faramir mumbled, eyes
still closed.
The singing stopped abruptly. It was at that precise moment that several
more of Faramir's faculties had mustered finally and he knew, without
doubt, to whom the voice belonged. Faramir's eyes flew open, wide.
"What was that, ion-nin?" Thranduil asked above him.
"You hear me?" the voice said.
"What is wrong, ion-nin?" the elven King asked, concerned
by his son's stricken pallor and rapid breathing.
"And you can see me?" the voice said as Faramir's eyes, widened
in panic, tracked the movements of the owner of the voice.
"Faramir! Speak to me," Thranduil urged.
"I am fine, ada," Faramir squeaked unsteadily, although his
eyes were fixed upon another in the room.
"Oh, he is going to believe that, Fara," the apparition chided
sarcastically. "I had more colour to my cheeks after I had died
than you have at the moment, little brother."
Faramir whimpered.
Part 19
“What is it? What do you see, foxling?” Imrahil asked as
he leaned towards Faramir, still seated in the chair located beside
the bed in which his nephew lay. “You look as if you are seeing
a ghost…" Faramir began coughing. "You can see Boromir!”
Imrahil exclaimed, knowing it to be the truth.
His suspicion was confirmed immediately when Faramir, not trusting
his voice even though his coughing fit had ceased, simply nodded in
that distracted way one does when given a severe shock and the cause
of that shock is still standing there, bold as brass, smirking.
“What is he doing?” Imrahil asked.
“Smirking,” Faramir replied but then groaned in pain, paling
even further as he attempted to curl into a tight ball on the bed.
“What hurts, tithen-pen?” Elrond asked from where he stood
with Aragorn near the side of the bed, having approached Faramir as
soon as the Steward had awoken.
“Cramps… legs… back,” Faramir replied in gasped
breaths as looked up at his ada who was sitting on the bed beside him
and groped for his hand.
Thranduil saw the gesture and took hold of his son's hand, offering
what comfort he could. Faramir squeezed the elven King's hand fiercely
as the muscle spasms continued, unrelenting.
“I think something to help your muscles to relax and then a warm
bath is in order, pen-neth,” Elrond said as he pulled back the
blankets covering Faramir to examine the extent of the spasms. “Elladan,
can you please attend to the bath, ion-nin?” Elladan nodded and
exited the room quickly. “Elrohir, please prepare a muscle relaxant.”
Elrohir also nodded and went about the task. “Estel, help me relieve
the muscle spasms.”
Aragorn assisted his father in massaging Faramir's legs until Elladan
returned to advise that the bath was ready. Elrond gently raised Faramir
to a sitting position and fed him the muscle relaxant Elrohir had placed
in his hand.
“Mellon-nin,” the Rivendell lord said gently gaining Thranduil's
attention, which was riveted on the son he was trying to comfort, “allow
him to soak in the bath until the spasms cease completely. I need to
prepare a few potions. And Maglor, look after your elfling,” Elrond
added with a smile.
Maglor stood at the end of Faramir’s bed bemused for a moment
until he realised to which 'elfling' Elrond referred.
“Come, elfling,” Maglor said to Thranduil, eliciting sniggers
from both Legolas and Aragorn that were involuntary and therefore could
not be contained.
Thranduil gathered Faramir into his arms and exited the room following
Maglor, but not before he graced Elrond with a look that promised pain
filled retribution for reminding his Seneschal of the unfinished business
that lay between them. Elrond simply smiled in reply at the dark look
from his friend.
Not long after Thranduil and Maglor entered the corridor that led to
the bathing chambers, Misto came scurrying out into the corridor muttering
and hissing 'not ssstttaaayyy', 'mama hurt' and 'baaaddd elf'. The elder
elves had heard Legolas try to reason with the hatchling, requesting
he not to follow, as he would only be in the way. Needless to say, the
suggestion did not go down well with the baby spider.
“I foresee they are going to have a troubled relationship, those
two,” Thranduil said with small chuckle.
“I believe our little hatchling is jealous of Legolas,”
Maglor replied, looking down upon the spider, which was still muttering.
At the mention of the 'baaaddd' elf, Misto muttered a word that he had
heard said in anger, of which he liked the sound. “Misto! Bad
word! Bad!” Maglor admonished. Misto looked up at the elf somewhat
shamefacedly and a little sheepishly, which was quite remarkable for
a spider and made Maglor smile inwardly, although he kept his expression
stern. “Where did you hear that word?”
“Not me,” Faramir was quick to point out between gritted
teeth as the spasms continued, although not as intense as they had been
for the muscle relaxant he had been given seemed to be working.
“Baaaddd elf,” Misto replied.
“Now is that jealously, or did he really hear that from our elfling?”
the Seneschal mused with a smirk, as he stared down at the little creature
sceptically.
They reached the bathing chambers finally and entered. Thranduil lay
Faramir down upon the padded wooden bench that stood, about waist high,
beside the large copper bath. Faramir did not have enough strength at
present or for some time to come, Thranduil suspected, to sit unassisted.
The copper bath also stood waist high, on solid metal, legs. Both the
padded wooden bench and copper bath were designed to allow patients
under the care of healers, to be bathed easily by those healers. The
scents of healing herbs and oils that had been added to the bath water
wafted towards them.
Faramir's concentration began to drift as the muscle relaxant he had
been given worked its magic. Misto scurried up the vertical wall and
onto the rafter that spaned the breadth of the room above Faramir's
head, hissing 'not in waaayyy'. Although his mind was well and truly
clouded by the effects of the relaxant, Faramir recognised Misto's annoyance
and smiled up at his familiar. Thranduil and Maglor removed the bandages
that covered Faramir's back and also removed his leggings. Thranduil's
anger and temper flared again on seeing the angry looking weals and
welts that covered his precious son's back and the weight that Faramir
had lost during his ordeal.
“You are in enough trouble, elfling,” Maglor warned, recognising
the flash of temper in addition to the anger.
Thranduil winced and then sighed, nodding once in acknowledgement.
The two elves lifted Faramir with great care and placed him gently
into the warm water. Although almost asleep, he groaned as the water
stung the open wounds on his back. Thranduil crooned softly in elvish
and Faramir settled, lulled by words and by the warmth and soft buoyancy
of the water. Thranduil supported Faramir's neck with one hand, keeping
his son's head above water and washed his hair with the other, whilst
Maglor gently washed Faramir’s body and then massaged his legs.
The young Steward drifted off to sleep.
After allowing Faramir to soak until the muscle spasms had ceased,
the elves removed him from the water and placed him on the padded bench
upon which towels had been laid out and began towelling dry the slumbering
human. Whilst the two elves went about drying their young charge, Elrond
entered the chamber bearing healing salve, clean bandages and fresh,
loose fitting leggings.
“I have seen scarecrows with more meat to their bones than this
child. He is dangerously thin yet again,” Elrond clucked as he
rolled Faramir gently onto his side and applied salve to his back.
“I am open to any suggestions you may have on how we put meat
on his bones,” Maglor huffed indignantly, holding Faramir in a
sitting position so that Elrond could rebind the wounds. “All
the food that I have foisted on the poor child did not see him gain
the weight he had lost during the War of the Ring. If he were not so
tall I would swear he was a hobbit. He certainly has their capacity
for consuming food with no apparent effect on his weight.”
“Part of the problem is his proclivity towards running headlong
into trouble without thought to his own safety and then losing his temper
when forced to use his wizarding powers; with the result that he expends
too much energy, thus depleting his reserves,” Elrond said.
“You are not telling us what we do not already know, mellon-nin,”
Thranduil replied testily. “So, we continue to work on his sense,
or lack thereof, of self preservation, his temper and his wizarding
skills, whilst stuffing him full of food. I can see how my son will
be enamoured by the constant, unrelenting attention to his behaviour
and his eating habits,” he added, exasperation evident and temper
very close to the surface.
“There are some potions that I can try which will reduce the
need to feed him quite so often,” Elrond replied, ignoring, for
the moment his friend's sarcasm as he slipped the fresh leggings onto
Faramir and wrapped him in a large dry towel. “As to the rest,
we will simply have to take it one step at a time.” Much to Thranduil's
surprise, Elrond gathered Faramir, who was still deep in sleep, into
his arms. “I am taking this one back to his bed and see if I cannot
relieve his breathing which is still too laboured for my liking. I would
suggest, Maglor, that this would be an opportune time to conclude the
unfinished business you have with his ada.”
Elrond exited the room with his patient in his arms, a spider scuttling
in his wake and unbeknownst to Thranduil, a wicked smile on his face.
“Traitor!” Thranduil muttered as he glared at the retreating
back of the Lord of Rivendell.
“He is right, elfling,” Maglor said. “Your mood and
temper will ever sour until the business between us is concluded. Come,
elfling,” he added as he turned and exited the chamber, into the
corridor.
Thranduil, looking very much like his elven son in similar circumstances,
followed his Seneschal as Maglor led him outside and into a secluded
private garden attached to the Houses of Healing. The elf sat down upon
a stone bench and produced Faramir's bane.
“Where do you hide that thing?” Thranduil asked
as he eyed the red paddle, warily. Maglor did not reply but patted his
knee in a silent command. “You are jesting.... You cannot mean
to…. I have not been over your knee in centuries!” Thranduil
exclaimed indignantly.
“You have not lost your temper so spectacularly in centuries,”
Maglor retorted.
“I had just cause, think you not?” Thranduil asked.
“We will deal with that in a moment, elfling. Leggings down.
Now!” Maglor barked, causing Thranduil to start. He could see
that his Seneschal was still very angry.
“You can keep a grudge longer than any elf I know,” Thranduil
muttered as he approached Maglor, loosened the ties on his leggings
and pulled them down to his knees before lowering himself over the other
elf's lap.
“Alright, elfling. It has indeed been a long time since we have
been in this position. What is this chastisement for?” Maglor
asked, paddle at the ready.
“For losing my temper," Thranduil grumbled. "I saw
one son felled by an arrow and I thought the other dead. I think I had
a right to be angry!” he exclaimed, temper taking control of his
mouth as it often did when faced with a child's chastisement, well,
if truth be known, any chastisement.
“To be angry? Yes, you had every right. To launch into a rage
so intense that you lost sight of your fallen sons and put your life
at risk, no, you had no right to do that,” Maglor said
adamantly, as he landed the first of a flurry of powerful stinging whacks
to the King of Mirkwood's posterior. “What say you, elfling?”
Thranduil began to squirm but still remained stubbornly silent. “You
are as stubborn as your son!”
“Which one?” Thranduil barked, the pain in his hindquarters
quickly becoming unbearable.
“The fox-furred, spit-fire of a human one, pen-neth. Now answer
me!” Maglor growled as he continued the unrelenting pace as he
landed whack after stinging whack to his King's buttocks. “Did
you have the right to launch into a rage so intense that you lost sight
of your sons and which could so easily have claimed your life?”
“No... I did not,” the elven King, snarled.
"Explaining your death to Legolas would have been devastating
enough, pen-neth, but how could I have explained to that poor orphaned
man-child that he had lost his precious ada to a fit of temper! As is
his wont to do, he would have blamed himself and it would have destroyed
him! Something that living a life as the unwanted second son of the
Steward of Gondor and losing the foundation stone he called Boromir
to that accursed ring, was unable to do," Maglor continued to admonish,
as he beat out an unrelenting tatoo on the elven King's buttocks and
thighs.
“I thought… he… was… dead! I felt… no…
heartbeat ” Thranduil howled in anguish and pain at the memory
of thinking his son dead.
“But he survived, mellon-nin,” Maglor soothed as he ceased
the chastisement, pulled up the distressed elf's leggings and allowed
him to sob silently, as was his wont, as he rubbed his back in soothing
circles. “And for us to keep him that way, you need to control
your temper and stay alive.”
Still sobbing silently, Thranduil slipped from Maglor’s lap and
rested his head upon the elder elf’s thigh. Maglor continued to
croon softly to his King, stroking his long golden hair.
“I am sorry, mellon-nin, but I love them both so much,”
Thranduil sighed as he gained control over his emotions.
“As they do you, mellon-nin,” Maglor replied, smiling down
upon his repentant elfling. “As they do you.”
Part 20
After carrying Faramir back to the healing room, Elrond had put the
slumbering Steward abed, propped up by pillows, and had rubbed aromatic
oils onto his chest to ease his breathing. Misto had scurried back into
his web suspended in the corner above Faramir’s bed, took one
look to check that his mama was breathing and went promptly to sleep.
Knowing that Thranduil would still be somewhat distressed when he returned,
the Rivendell Lord had also shooed Aragorn, the twins and Imrahil back
to the palace with the instructions to eat, rest and not to return before
morning. Legolas, who was almost completely healed, was deep in reverie
with his bare feet hanging off the end of the bed, having been given
a sleeping potion by Elrohir to ensure that the elf, contrary to normal
behaviour when at this advanced point in his healing, rested.
Elrond smiled down upon the peaceful wood-elf, suspecting that Legolas
would be annoyed in the morning when he discovered Elrohir’s deception.
The Rivendell elf made a mental note to ask his son how he managed to
fool Legolas into ingesting the sleeping potion, for future reference
of course. He checked Faramir’s breathing, relieved to find that
it had eased somewhat, although dismayed to find that the fever had
returned. Elrond sat down on the chair beside Faramir’s bed and
awaited Thranduil and Maglor’s return.
And return they did eventually. Thranduil entered the room looking
unusually dishevelled and flushed, followed closely by Maglor and was
relieved to find that, apart from his slumbering sons, Elrond was the
only one present. Elrond rose gracefully and approached Thranduil opening
his arms and pulling his long-time friend into an embrace, which the
elven King returned.
“I will exact retribution. You do realise that do you not, mellon-nin,”
Thranduil grumbled into his friend’s shoulder.
“I look forward to the attempt,” Elrond retorted mildly
as he released his friend, smiling at Maglor who stood behind Thranduil.
Thranduil looked at his elfling deep in reverie and quirked an eyebrow.
“Elrohir,” Elrond replied to the unspoken question.
“I would like to know how he managed that considering how suspicious
my elfling is normally of the twins bearing gifts, especially food and
drink,” Thranduil mused.
“So would I… “ Elrond began but was interrupted by
a snuffling noise and murmur from Faramir. He walked over to the young
Steward, placing a hand on the man’s brow and the other around
his wrist.
“His fever has returned?” Maglor asked, seeing the tell
tale signs.
“Aye, it has,” the Rivendell elf sighed. “Although
not unexpected, it is still disappointing.”
Thranduil sat on the bed beside his son, hissing and wincing as he
did so. He glared at Elrond, daring the elf to so much as smirk before
taking Faramir’s limp hand into his own. He remembered what Imrahil
had said about Faramir being very tactile by nature. The three elder
elves sat vigil over Faramir the entire night; Thranduil bathing Faramir’s
face and arms with cool compresses and Elrond applying oils to the human’s
chest to ease his breathing. All were relieved when Faramir’s
latest fever broke just before dawn and he had relaxed into a more natural
sleep.
“Faarrrraaa, wakey, wakey,” Faramir heard the familiar
voice above him chant. His eyes flew open and he started violently on
seeing his brother’s ghostly face, inches above him, smirking.
“You are going to give me a complex if you keep jumping like
that every time you lay eyes on me, little brother,” the ghost
said, grinning from ear to ear.
“Faramir! What is wrong?” Thranduil asked. Faramir’s
face had paled even further, if that was possible.
“You are seeing Boromir again?” Maglor surmised.
Faramir winced and nodded.
“I just wanted to know if you could still see and hear me, little
brother. I will leave you alone for a while so that you can gather your
obviously sleep addled wits,” Boromir advised, smirking again.
“There are places I want to haunt for a while,” he added,
grinning widely at his little brother’s whimper before turning
on his heels and exiting the room through the closed door.
“Ada? Why can I see him? Why can I hear him?” Faramir asked,
sounding so young and so bewildered.
“You are asking an elf, ion-nin. I have no experience of such
human things,” Thranduil replied gently. “Why do you not
ask him?”
“He is no longer here. Said he was going haunting,” Faramir
replied, matter-of-factly, as if detached somewhat from the bizarreness
of the situation.
Thranduil bit the inside of his cheek to stop from chuckling, thinking
that he would really liked to have met Boromir.
“Are you in pain, tithen pen?” Elrond asked, looking at
Faramir intently and recognising the signs of intense pain.
“My back… and my head,” Faramir replied as he catalogued
what pained him.
“Drink this, pen-neth. It will help,” Elrond instructed
as he held a cup to the Steward’s lips. It was not long before
the pain eased and Faramir drifted off into slumber again. “I
added but three drops of elixir to the water,” he said in amazement.
“I think next time I will just wave the vial over the cup.”
Thranduil and Maglor chuckled at their friend’s discomfiture.
It was later that morning that Faramir awoke again. He opened his eyes
slowly and started violently for the second time in a matter of hours,
but this time not due to his ghostly brother but to his familiar. Misto
was hanging down on a thread a few inches from his face and was staring
at him intently with all his eyes.
“Mama,” the hatchling greeted.
Thranduil laughed at the spider’s antics and his son’s
startled reaction.
“Good morning Misto,” Faramir sighed. “Between you
and Boromir I may just find myself frightened into my brother’s
‘betwixt and between’!” he exclaimed quietly.
Misto dropped from the thread onto the bed and then jumped off and
scuttled over to the bed in which Legolas was still deep in reverie.
“Is Legolas alright, ada? I have never seen him so long in reverie,”
Faramir asked, concerned, looking over at his slumbering brother.
“I fear Elrohir was a bit overzealous in ensuring that Legolas
rested to regain his full strength,” Thranduil replied, smiling
gently at his elven son.
“What? Elrohir drugged him?” Faramir asked incredulously.
“Aye, ion-nin. My elfling is well known for overexerting himself
when almost healed. Elrohir just wanted to ensure that Legolas rested
and did not re-injure his healing back,” Thranduil responded with
a shake of his head, remembering instances when Legolas had done just
that. “How is the pain, ion-nin?” he asked, turning his
attention back to Faramir.
“Manageable. I do not wish to sleep anymore at the moment,”
Faramir answered slightly disgruntled. “I feel so weak, ada. I
cannot seem to move.”
“And you will not be able to for a few days yet, pen-neth,”
Elrond said as he approached Faramir. “You almost killed yourself
when fighting the orcs and I came close to completing the task when
trying to cure you of the Morgul poisoning.”
“Morgul poisoning!” Faramir exclaimed, whistling softly
in a whoosh of breath that ended in a coughing fit.
“Aye, you are indeed fortunate to be alive, tithen-pen”
Elrond said as he pulled Faramir into a sitting position, allowing him
to breath easier.
The coughing fit subsided finally and the Rivendell Lord eased Faramir
back onto the mounds of pillows behind him.
“Mama, hungry,” Misto said from Legolas’ bed.
“I will take him to the dungeons,” Maglor said as he re-entered
the healing room having departed earlier to instruct the kitchen staff
to bring food enough to feed several elves and one oversized hobbit,
to Faramir’s room. The elf beckoned Misto to follow, turned and
exited the room. Misto followed Maglor out of the room, making a very
strange noise, for a spider that is, as he left.
“Is it my deranged mind, or did I just hear him cackle?”
Faramir asked in astonishment as he looked at the doorway through which
the hatchling had departed.
“It did indeed sound very much like a cackle…” Thranduil
began but was stopped suddenly by a thump and a startled sounding curse
coming from the direction of Legolas’ bed.
Elves and human turned as one to look at the source of the thump and
curse only to see an angry elf on the floor, struggling to unbind his
ankles. Apparently, unbeknownst to Legolas and everyone else present,
Misto had managed to spin webbing around the elf’s ankles effectively
binding them together. Legolas had awoken and tried to get out of bed
only to find himself falling onto the floor.
Thranduil laughed heartily, Faramir sniggered and Elrond smiled broadly
at the struggling elf.
“This is not funny!” Legolas ground out between gritted
teeth as he tried to remove the very strong webbing without the benefit
of a sharp implement. Elrond handed the annoyed elf a knife, which he
used to cut the webbing all the while muttering about what he was going
to do with the nasty little creature. Jumping to his bare feet, Legolas
bounded out of the door in hot pursuit of the arachnid.
Aragorn, Imrahil and Gandalf passed the angry elf just before entering
Faramir’s room. All three entered the room with identical looks
of astonishment that the sight of the bare-footed angry elf flying down
the corridor had caused.
“Should we ask?” Imrahil questioned, smiling at the sight
of his conscious, sniggering nephew.
Thranduil explained what Misto had been about and the consequences
for Legolas, causing the humans and wizard to laugh.
“I am sorry to have missed the fun,” Aragorn laughed as
he looked down upon his smiling Steward. “I do believe that that
little hatchling is going to prove very entertaining in the future.”
“How fare you, my wizardling?” Gandalf asked, as he sat
down upon the chair beside Faramir’s bed.
“I am fine,” came Faramir’s standard response, given
even on occasions when one foot was firmly planted in the next realm
and the other threatening to follow quickly.
Gandalf stared at his wizardling intently. Elves and humans rolled
their eyes. Faramir ducked his head in acute embarrassment, blushing
furiously.
“I understand from Aragorn that you have seen Boromir?”
the White Wizard asked, taking pity on Faramir by changing the subject.
Faramir nodded.
“Is he here now?” Gandalf asked, looking about.
“Nay. He left earlier saying that he had places to haunt,”
Faramir replied, blushing even more at the thought of the places Boromir
was likely to haunt. His brother had been well known as an admirer of
the female form.
Aragorn snorted, his thoughts going in the same general direction as
his Steward’s.
“Shame on you both,” Imrahil admonished but with his eyes
a-twinkle. “He is probably out gathering intelligence, now that
he knows that Faramir can see and hear him.”
Both King and Steward ducked their heads in embarrassment, causing
Imrahil’s eyes to twinkle even more.
“We know that Saruman has made an alliance with the Haradrim
and that he is also training wizards,” Gandalf began so as to
focus the minds of present on the issues at hand. “We also know
that they wanted Faramir because they saw my wizardling as a threat.
But they wanted him alive… relatively,” Gandalf corrected
on hearing Aragorn and Thranduil’s snorts. “I assume that
Saruman had the antidote to the poison in his possession. They needed
to keep Faramir from accessing his wizarding powers during his journey
to Harad.”
“We need to determine what the Haradrim are planning. How they
plan to use the wizards and orcs. I can only assume that they plan to
invade Gondor,” Imrahil mused.
“With your approval Thranduil, Aragorn,” Gandalf said as
he looked from one to the other. “I want to send Finrod and that
Gondorian Lieutenant, whose company he seems to frequent, to meet with
Radagast and then venture to Harad to see if they can discover Saruman’s
plans.”
Both Thranduil and Aragorn nodded their approval.
“I will stay here to further this one’s training,”
Gandalf said looking intently at his wizardling. “I fear we will
need to prepare for a war of the wizards.”
On to
Part 21
