Ch. 6 - Wizards and Such

They passed into Nan Curunír, the valley of the Wizard, paused at the great wall that encompassed the Tower of Orthanc, and marveled at the skill and workmanship of the men of Númenor, the builders of this fortress, then headed south. Upon reaching the gate, they pulled up and held council.

“The White Wizard has been friend to the Elves for many ages, Elrohir, yet I am concerned.” Aragorn kept his voice low as two surly men watched their every move.  “Mithrandir values his council. Even your father holds him in esteem. Why does my heart shrink at the thought of meeting him?” 

“And who are these men who are its doorwardens?” Elladan asked. “They are not men of Gondor nor of Rohan.”

“They seem to be Dunlendings, but I cannot believe that! The men of Gondor had been its chief lodgers before Beren gave the key to the wizard. I do not like the feel of this at all,” Elrohir agreed.

“They are waiting for us to approach,” Aragorn said quietly. “If we delay, it will be considered an affront to the wizard. We will trust father’s judgment and enter.”

He clicked and turned his horse towards the gate. Elladan and Elrohir followed.

“What business do you have here?” the guard asked curtly. “We have no dealings with any but what the master sends. He did not send for you. Be off with you, before I do something unpleasant.”

“We come in the name of Elrond Half-elven, Lord of the Last Homely House East of the Sea. We come for council and for rest.” Aragorn stood in his saddle and glared at the man before him.

The cowardly look of the doorwarden told Aragorn that he would indeed be admitted, if the pathetic creature before him had the pluck to go before the wizard.

At last, bending to Aragorn’s will, the man scowled and turned towards his companion. “You watch this lot. Don’t be letting them get in until I see the master and find out what he wants. I’ll not be taking orders from some grubby Elf-friend.”

Aragorn sat back in his saddle and waited. Neither Elf spoke. Aragorn kept the smile from his lips until the man had gone. Then he turned towards the sons of Elrond.

Elrohir laughed. “Grubby Elf-friend! Did you see the man? He has not bathed in a year at least.”

“I will have you both know that I bathed at least a fortnight ago when we rested near Hollin.”

Now Elladan laughed. “We know, brother. You are not the least bit scruffy. In fact, you look almost clean.”

Aragorn’s wide smile caused them all to laugh whilst the left-behind doorwarden looked on in alarm.

After only a short time, the miserable creature returned, a deep scowl upon his face. “The master bids you enter. I’ll show you where you are allowed to go and where you can put your horses. It’s well past suppertime. You’ll get no food here.”

Aragorn nodded and urged his horse forward. Elladan raised his eyebrow and his brother shrugged. Their hands strayed to the hilts of their swords and stayed there.

~*~

Soft breezes rustled the leaves in the trees; after another moment, quiet settled upon the forest. He walked along, holding his brother’s hand. Neither spoke as birds entertained them with their song and squirrels scampered through uncovered roots. He sighed in happiness. Their father was somewhere ahead, preparing a meal with the fish they had caught. Suddenly, his brother began to whistle; he answered his call. The elder boy put his hand on his little brother’s shoulder.

“You did that well. You have been practicing?” he asked.

The younger blushed at the compliment. “I have, but I still cannot make the alarm sound correctly.”

“That is the most important one, little brother. Listen and watch my lips. Though I must keep the sound quiet lest we affright Adar.” The elder closed his eyes, cupped his hands in front of his mouth, puckered his lips, and gently whistled. 

Watching intently, he failed to notice the sudden silence of the forest. His father’s screams rent the air. His brother turned towards him, a look of pain and horror on his face as his hands fell from his mouth. Blood gushed from his lips and opened forth from a deep cut across his throat.

A man stood before him, sword covered in blood.

“Boromir!” he screamed again and again.

She held him tightly to her. They had learned, over these past few weeks, that binding the lad in cloth helped make the thrashing less violent, prevented further injury, and shortened the length of his terrors. As soon as Théodred saw the telltale signs, he called her and she moved forward, swaddled him, and held him close. She was most grateful that she was in the room just now. It was time for the daymeal and she had been going to spell Théodred so he could rest for a few hours.

Théodred sat on the other side of the bed. She had finally persuaded him not to stand the entire time he guarded his friend’s brother. The boy whispered Faramir’s name and wiped his forehead with a cool, damp cloth. The guard had come in, at their shout, and run for the healer.

Both tenders wept bitterly as they sought to comfort the hysterical boy. But, as always, they only prevented him from harming himself; they could do naught to ease his horror.

“He must be awakening soon?” Théodred asked in consternation. “He cannot continue to endure these terrors, can he?” The look Indis gave him broke his heart. “He cannot endure this!”

“I believe the trance is lifting,” Siriondil replied as he entered the room. “The last time I examined him, his eyes opened for a brief moment, though there was no sign of recognition. I have seen the same look from men wounded in battle.”

Indis looked at her friend’s face and understood that his words were only to reassure Théodred. Faramir was fading.