"I do not think the boy is dead, Captain."

Durahil kicked the body of the Orc he had slain out of his way and moved to the two bodies laying in the snow. Siriondil knelt next to Théodred; the Master Healer touched the boy’s hands and felt his chest. Durahil knelt next to the boy. Leaning over, he put his cheek towards the boy's lips, not trusting any but his own judgment. A faint breath. He looked up in amaze. "He lives. We must get him to shelter, and quickly. There is a cave, very near here. Let us take him there. Listöwel," he shouted, "the boy lives." Siriondil smiled at the captain’s taking charge of everything, even the healer’s duties.

Durahil quickly stood and ran towards the other body. "Indis!" His fear drove all manner of formality from him. "Indis. It is Durahil. You remember me, sweet lady. You gave my father his first sword. Please, Indis, wake up." He touched her and found, though her body was bitter cold, there was also breath. "Indis, please wake up."

Listöwel had quickly climbed towards him. Falling forward upon her friend's body, she cried aloud, "Indis! Oh, Indis, please be alive. Please, don't leave me. Please." Tears covered her face as she pulled the body towards her own. "She is so cold!" She looked up in fear to the captain.

Siriondil, leaving Théodred in the care of own of the soldiers, had reached Indis by this time and done his own cursory examination. “She is not dead, Listöwel. She is injured. See the back of her dead, the dried blood, but it is not life-threatening. She must be warmed though.”

“We will take them to a cave that I know of,” Durahil interjected. “We will build a fire there; there are supplies in the cave. Blankets and dried foods. Healing supplies, too. They will live; both of them will live, Listöwel. Now, come help me wrap her more warmly."

Again, now that he felt assured of Indis and Théodred’s safety, Siriondil tried to smother the laughter that would flow from his lips. He chided himself; it must be the shock of finally finding them, finding them alive. He would let the captain have sway over the party until they reached the cave, then, he would have to take over for the Valar only knew what the young man would do to try to heal his charges.

A soldier had brought the horses that Listöwel had abandoned in her mad rush to reach her friend. Durahil mounted and the soldier passed the unconscious Indis up to him. Slowly, more slowly than ever the captain wanted, he rode down the mountain’s side and towards the Great West Road, motioning for his men to follow.

Listöwel was seated in front of another soldier only after she had seen to Théodred’s being cared for. “They will be well, my Lady,” the soldier riding with her said as he felt her body shake with sobs. “Captain Durahil is well versed in the healing arts.”

She smiled wanly. “Thank you. Siriondil is with us too. I think he knows a thing or two about battle wounds.”

The soldier shook his head in surprise. “I am sorry, I forgot. We rely so much upon our captain, out here in the wilds; we look to him for all our needs.”

“Siriondil learned his craft as Denethor’s healer whilst he was Captain of Osgiliath.”

“That long?”

She smiled again. “Aye. He was healer for Thengel before that whilst Thengel was Captain of the Horse Guards.”

The man pulled up his horse. “He will be able to treat the wounded well then.”

“Aye.”

~*~

“Estel. You jump too quickly to conclusions. Look, the man might be dead, but I believe he put himself over the other body for heat. Help me move him and see if by this man’s sacrifice the other lives.”

Aragorn quickly helped move the body, but as they did so, a moan escaped the man. “He lives!” Aragorn cried and leaned over the man. “I think this is young Éomund, new husband to Théoden’s sister! And he is alive, Elladan. He is!”

Elladan, however, was paying no attention to the Rohirrim, instead he was busily examining the body that had been laid open before him. “Estel. Look! It is a boy, a very young boy. He lives, but seems to be in some sleep. His eyes,” and he lifted one lid to show Aragorn, “they do not have life in them. He seems to be under some spell.”

“Faramir!” Aragorn moved closer to the boy. “Unless my eyes deceive me, it is Faramir. He has the look of Denethor about him. He truly lives. Oh! Elladan. You speak rightly. A spell covers the lad. So young.” Tears fell as he took the boy in his arms. “What can we do against such as this?”

“We start a fire. You and father spoke for many a long hour before we left Imladris. You know what you must do. What potions and herbs you must use to try to lift this spell. I will care for the man. You heal the boy.”

The surety in Elladan’s voice heartened Aragorn. Elladan strode towards the dwindling fire and threw great logs upon it. There was a pot nearby. He picked it up and went towards the entrance. In a few moments, he was back with the pot laden with snow. He placed it upon a rock that lay next to the fire. The snow would melt quickly for the wood was dry and caught flame easily.

Aragorn took the boy’s hands in his and breathed upon them. They were bitterly cold. ‘First thing to do,’ he thought, ‘is bring the boy’s body heat back. Then, I will attempt to lift this spell.’ He slowly undressed the boy, then took off his own tunic and undershirt. He pulled the boy to him and wrapped them both in his overcoat. The leather was cold, but Elladan would soon have warm cloths ready. He looked over and smiled as he saw his brother cutting up his own shirt and dunking it in the melted snow.

Elladan brought the cloth to him. It was hot and Aragorn had to toss it into the air for a moment before he placed it on the child’s chest. He held his breath. The boy did not stir. He cursed. There should have been some reaction. Elladan brought another cloth to replace the cooling one and Aragorn again laid it upon the child’s chest, gently laving the boy’s skin with it, hoping to take the chill away. The lad still stirred not. "I do not know if it is some spell or... it cannot be!"

"What is it, Estel?"

"Can a boy fade? Nay! 'Tis impossible."

"He comes from the line of Adrahil, does he not. Mayhap some Elven blood courses through his veins?"

“I thought it not possible, but, perhaps you are correct, Elladan. Before you help Éomund, I must have athelas. Will you get more water and make a tea? There are leaves in my…”

“I know where you keep your herbs, Estel. Fear not. I will boil the water and make the tea. The man will need some too.”