A/N Without intending to I have ended up with a series of stories which now numbers three and, who knows, may someday number a few more. Chronologically, it starts with “First Night”, then moves to “Pippin’s Crucible”. Now it also has this story. Those who haven’t read the other two stories, or haven’t read them in a while, may wish to read them - though they all can stand alone as well.
Also, I wish to thank SurgicalSteel for help with medical matters in this story. And my appologies to her as I'm late in adding this to my A/N.
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Thoughts in the Night

I had been keeping an eye on him when I could, this perian who wears the livery of the Tower. Despite my numerous duties he continually attracted my notice.

Captain Faramir had been brought to the Houses of Healing at last. Rumors had been flying for the bulk of the preceding day that the Steward’s remaining son had looked to be dead when returned to the City in the arms of his cousin, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. In truth he lived. Only the Lord Denethor’s personal healer had been allowed into the chamber where he had been laid. He had been able to give only the minimum of care to the young man, cleaning him a bit and tending the wound from a Southron arrow, before being ordered by the Lord Denethor to leave. In the end the Captain, who now all were calling “The Steward”, was brought to the Houses in the dark of Minas Tirith’s darkest night, deep in a fever and drenched in oil.

I am an apprentice healer in these Houses. I was initially given the task of doing whatever my training allowed me to do for the master healer who was given charge over the young Steward. This entailed removing Lord Faramir’s clothes, cleaning the oil from him, settling him as comfortably as possible in bed, while noting his various injuries and general condition. I reported my observations to the master healer. After this, I was kept running with a great deal of going to fetch things and bringing them back to the healer in charge in the Steward’s chamber. Perhaps it was because of this I noticed the perian more than many of the other apprentices and aids running about the corridors that day. Perhaps, it is only because I am greatly curious by nature.

It had been soon after this that the White Lady of Rohan, the Lady Eowyn, was brought into that portion of the Houses where those of noble blood were housed. I was in the corridor when she was carried in, and at that time a soldier of the City was the only guard at the post by the door. The perian who wore my city’s colors entered somewhat later, running alongside Mithrandir. The wizard bore in his arms a second perian who was clad in the armor of the Riders of Rohan. Only after the Healer in charge of the nobles had entered the injured perian’s chamber did the other come out and take his place beside the doorway connecting to the main part of the Houses.

The regular Citadel Guard . . . no, the normal . . . no, better to say the Man, who was a Citadel Guard, stood on the right of the door. The Perian spoke a few words to the man before taking up his position as guard upon the left. They looked like mismatched door posts. It made me feel as though I needed to lean a bit to the left to walk properly through the door. Every time I was sent to get something, my eyes were drawn to this strange small person. There he stood throughout the long day of grief, as straight as the man, both with their faces set, as guards are wont to wear their expressions. But I am an apprentice healer and I noticed the exhaustion painting its traces upon them.

Bit by bit the story filtered through the ranks of the apprentice healers, gleaned from listening to our superiors as they consulted with the lords regarding the patients in the Royal Wing.

“Have you heard, Parsow?” a first year apprentice said to me as we hurried on an errand together. “There were grim deeds done in the hallows. Horrors witnessed by those two who stand their posts by the doors.”

He went on with the details. Despite what was said of the Man, my heart ached for these two who now stood guard so determinedly, who would not suffer being relieved of their duty. It was said they had each done much to save the Lord Faramir; that he was loved by them both. It was also said that the ailing perian was kin to the one standing guard at the door. They said he that wore the White Tree was known in the City as “The Ernil i Periannath”, though it seemed strange to me that a prince would be doing duty as a guard. I noticed that tears occasionally left shiny tracks down the two guards’ otherwise expressionless faces.

The long day dragged by. The weight of gloom that had so paralyzed the city in the days before had lifted. The sun ofttimes showed her face to the citizens and soldiers in the White City, but grief clouded the Royal Wing of the Houses of Healing. There seemed no hope for the three we housed. The Lady and the perian grew increasingly chill, their murmurs ceased, they seemed irrevocably near to leaving this life. The darkness of the Lord of Mordor lay on them, or so the master healers said, breathed upon them by the Nazgul. The young Steward’s fever yet raged as though the flames of the pyre had indeed caught hold in him.

We apprentices kept busy as well as we could, seeing as the master healers had done all their knowledge enabled them to do. They kept busy checking and rechecking their charges, hoping for any sign of change, whether for better or for worse. We hurried about at their bidding, running after old manuscripts and archaic medicaments, although we all knew it was for naught. Mithrandir came and went most frequently. Great sorrow etched itself upon his ancient features. He loved these three. And I had watched as he would pass by the stalwart liveried door posts, he loved these two as well. When he looked upon the perian in his sickbed, or at his kinsman at his post, his sorrow deepened.

I was there when Ioreth uttered the words, *“The hands of the king are the hands of a healer. And so the rightful king could ever be known.”* I saw hope spring into the old wizard’s eyes, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he told her men would long remember her words.

The man came stealthily to the Houses. Cloaked and hooded he came into the Royal Wing. I saw him as he approached the door and I heard a glad cry of greeting from the liveried perian. It was clear these two were dear friends.

I heard Prince Imrahil say to a man clad in the armor of the Rohirrim, *“Is it thus that we speak to our kings?”*

Kings? Mithrandir had said something to old Ioreth that mayhap a king had come to Gondor. The lords made their way to the sick rooms. Mithrandir paused.

“Come along, Peregrin,” he said to the perian beside the door. “And you as well, Beregond. You both have earned the right to be present for this.”

The two Guards of the Citadel looked at each other, the light of hope in their eyes for the first time since they had taken their places at the door. They hurried off, the perian pattering along side the wizard on his strange, hair covered, bare feet, and I followed quietly after them. In spite of my worries for my patients I smiled. I now knew the small Guard’s name.