Ch. 7 - Dreams Abound

She looked about her in amaze. She had not been to the Houses of Healing since… She shook her head. The hedge was trimmed, the banners of the House flew gently in the breeze, and escorts accompanied the few wounded who walked the garden. Why was she surprised? Had not Siriondil been apprentice to Arciryas?  She sat on the stoop by the door. Memories threatened to o’erwhelm her. She had met and fallen in love with Arciryas on this very stoop. She had held Boromir here the day he discovered his mother was dead. So many memories. Now, she came hoping for peace.

Slowly falling to her knees, she leaned her forehead upon her arms and felt the cold of the marble stoop course through her. Tears fell, and again she was amazed. She had cried so often these past weeks that she had thought all her tears were gone, but still they fell at any moment of weakness.

Siriondil stood before her, but she knew he was at a loss as to what to do for her. She scorned all his medicaments. She realized she was being terrible and uncooperative, but her heart ached so… No, Faramir ached so that she could accept no respite for herself. Mayhap if she continued to suffer it would ameliorate some of his suffering. Sobbing again, she let herself be pulled into the comforting arms of the Master Healer as he sat beside her.

“He will not die, Indis, if I have anything to do with it. I will continue to search the archives. There must be an answer there. Please believe me. I will do everything to save him.”

She lifted her face to his and managed a wobbly smile. “I know, dear Siriondil. I watched his mother fade. I see the same pale skin, the fluttering eyelids, the shallow breath and my heart quails. Tell me again that he will live. Please.”

He shook his head and she knew, knew that the Master Healer was at a loss. “There are some tomes my assistant found in one of the lower chambers of the Great Library. I have three healers reading it right now. They will find something, I am sure.”

‘He was sure.’ He said it emphatically to convince himself, of that she was sure. Faramir was dying. She pulled herself up straight, wiped her eyes and smiled. “Of course, Siriondil. I have every confidence in you. I am going to his room now. Please call me if… when you find the cure.” She stood and turned away, then turned back to him. Rising, he blinked as she hugged him. “Thank you.” She moved away, her back straight.

‘I did not fool her at all,’ he thought bitterly. ‘She knows. Was she not Arciryas’ right hand? Did not she help daily in the Houses?’ He shook his head and walked back to his study.

~*~

She had been riding, as was her wont, in the high spring fields of Lossarnach. Her heart had clenched at the pain, but it was not so deep this time. She turned and looked east. The mountain still spewed flame and ash; black clouds covered the sky above it and she wondered if any had patrolled the area recently. She rode slowly back towards the City. She stopped for the night in the beacon hut near Mindolluin. She looked for signs of activity in the hut, but there were none. She wondered, ‘Do none man the beacons any longer?’ She found herself angry. ‘These beacons should be manned and ready at all times.’

Waking before the dawn, she rode hard towards the City. The man who followed her was caught unawares and almost missed her leaving. Hurrying his mount along, he finally caught sight of her. Hanging back as he had been instructed, he paced his horse to hers. She looked back and stopped her horse, waiting for him to catch up to her. He stared at her in surprise when she motioned him forward.

“Who are you and why do you follow me?” she asked testily, anger still coursing through her.

“Baranor, my Lady. I am your escort by Prince Imrahil’s order.”

“Imrahil! Why does he order a Knight of Gondor?”

“He is Regent, under the Steward, Faramir.”

She cringed, tears glistening in her eyes. “Faramir is Steward?”

“Aye, my Lady. These past ten years.”

‘Ten years!’ she thought. ‘Ten years. Where have I been? What have I been doing?’

He sat his horse, quietly waiting for instruction. When none came, he spoke. “Might I suggest that we ride to Minas Tirith? There are those in the City who would be most happy to see you.”

Her heart lightened. Faramir lived. It was she who had been sick: she who had left the City to heal. Faramir lived!

“Indis,” she heard a beloved voice cry, “Indis! Wake up, sister.”

~*~

The sea frothed and churned itself into a light green; swelling, it crashed against the rocks of Dol Amroth.

He stood as still as he could with the wind whipping his hair about. Sometimes it lashed at him and cut his eyes, but he only blinked and watched the horizon. Now and again, he settled his feet harder into the stone below him else he would fall into the storm itself. When he looked to his right or left, he found he was alone. The palace stood behind him; somewhere his grandfather watched. He had disobeyed, coming down here to the quay in the midst of the storm, but he had been drawn and could not leave. The waves were white-capped, crashing down on the rocks below him, but he did not see them. Ever his eyes searched for some sign of the ship that bore his brother towards him.

Tentacles lashed out, twisting and thrashing, coming up from the sea before him. They reached out. No matter how far he ran, they followed him, grasping and stretching and making hideous noises, sucking sounds that terrified him.

The ship appeared. He saw Boromir standing on the gunwale of the ship; then he saw him jump into the ocean. Swimming as hard as he could against the swells, he made no headway. Faramir lost sight of him every now and again, but, always, when Faramir was sure he was lost, his head would bob into sight again.

Faramir still ran, trying to outdistance the horror that was after him, all the while watching for Boromir, wondering if his brother would survive and save him.

At the last, Faramir was caught. He felt the strong tentacles grasp him, pulling him towards the sea. At the same time, he saw Boromir make land and rush towards him. Boromir’s sword shone when lightning rent the skies. He would be safe. Boromir would save him.

He screamed as he saw the man behind his brother. Boromir turned towards the man, shuddered, and turned back to Faramir, his throat cut. Faramir’s scream was cut off as water filled his mouth and then his lungs. The creature had pulled him into the sea.

“Hold him tighter!” Théodred cried. “He hurt himself the last time.” He tried to get another spoonful of tea into Faramir, but the boy would not take it.

The guard held the boy as tightly as he could, but the strength of the thrashing had surprised him. “Run and bring the healer. I cannot hold him long like this.”

Théodred ran.

~*~

The sky was as blue as he had ever seen it. Their little band moved slowly, savoring the smells of the forest, the cries of the birds and beasts, and the gentle speech of the trees. Never had he felt so at peace. His brother rode at his side. Scouts had been sent ahead. Soon they returned with good news. Nothing approached from any side. All was safe.

They stopped and supped, pitched their tents, and made ready for bed. Each kissed her goodnight. She smiled her warm smile and laughed.

“I feel as if I were the child. Now, to bed the both of you. Sleep well, my beloved sons.” She kissed them lightly and shooed them out of her tent.

One slept at one end of the camp; the other slept at the far end. The guards were set. Peace settled on the little hillock.

When the sun arose, he went to her, bringing her sweet tea and biscuits. Smiling, his brother opened the flap. Puzzled, they looked in. She was not there. Perhaps she had taken an early morning walk with her handmaid. They walked back to the fire to begin inquiries. None had seen her. Spotting her maiden walking from the forest, they called out to her. She came towards them smiling.

“My lady seems to be sleeping in this morning. She has not called me.” She winced as one of them pushed her aside and ran towards her mistress’ tent.

“Nana!” he screamed, running from the tent. “Nana! Where are you?”

His brother shouted orders; warriors scattered in earnest search.

He ran and ran. Nothing could stop him. Trees and bushes tried. Rivers swept before him, still he ran, screaming her name. His throat hurt; his chest ached. Still he screamed.

“Elladan! Elladan!”

He opened his eyes. Elrohir and Estel looked down upon him. Sorrow enveloped him and he wept.