Ch. 14 - A Trap

The next morning, while all of Gondor searched, Faramir woke hungry and slightly cold. He shivered and Aragorn was instantly kneeling at his side, touching his forehead, putting his ear to the boy’s chest and listening to his heart, checking his fingers and toes. Faramir began to giggle. “It tickles!”

“I am sorry, my Lord, but you have had a rather trying experience. I believe you were in the water for a very long time. It is good it is not winter, else I would not have been able to save you. Now, please stay still and let me finish.”

Faramir stilled at the words. “I am sorry. I truly have been watched over, have I not?”

Aragorn smiled. “That you have.”

“Would it be Ada? Or perhaps Boromir?”

“What do you mean?”

“Watching over me. Who do you think it is?”

Kneeling back on his calves, Aragorn studied the young boy. “I believe your ada and Boromir are both in a place where they do not have to watch over you. You need not concern yourself, Faramir, with being good or doing the right thing. Not for them. You do these things for yourself and your people. For your honor.”

“Then who watches over me?”

“Some believe the Valar do. Some the eagles,” he smiled. “Whatever fate is does not matter, Faramir. We do the best we can.” How did he explain Eru to a little boy? “Some believe in a creator who goes by many names. Even the Haradrim believe. We stand and give the silent homage to the West. Why do you do that, Faramir?”

“Because Ada told me to.”

Aragorn laughed. “And that is as it should be. Did your ada never speak of the Valar?”

“I learned about them from my tutor. They are not real.”

Stifling a groan, Aragorn stood. “They are real, Faramir. Never doubt that. Someday, you may come face to face with one. And then you will know. Until that time, let us look for signs of watching as we return to Minas Tirith. The sun moves swiftly; we must be on our way. Eat the meal I have prepared and then we will be off.”

Faramir nodded, laved his hands and face in the pot Aragorn provided, stood up and gave his silent homage. His brow furrowed as he did it, but his ada had always done this. Perhaps someday he would discover why.

“Come, my Lord. We move north and a little west. There are foul creatures in Ithilien, for all the care of your father. We must be slow and quiet.”

Faramir’s perplexed look tickled Aragorn. He stopped and asked, “What is the matter now?”

“I have no sword. I should have a sword in case you need help. In case we are attacked.”

“Of course you must. But I have no extra. Come.” He made to move off again.

However, Faramir still stood in place. “Might you have a nice dagger or a dirk or some such? You must have one of those; Ada always did. And so has Borogond and Boromir even had one.”

Aragorn rubbed his stubble. “Have you ever handled a knife?”

“I have.” It was not quite a lie, but not quite the truth.

“And how?”

The boy bit his lip. “Thengel King let me hold his. And Boromir once let his sit on my lap when I promised to be very still.”

“Ah. So you have some experience. Well then, I have a dagger that you can wear. The holder has a latch. You may only open it if I command you to. Do you understand that, Faramir? Daggers and such are very dangerous. I cannot have you fingering it whilst we walk on uneven ground. I respect your need, but the terrain is very bad here. If you or I fell whilst our daggers were in our hands, we could do terrible damage. How would you carry me back to Osgiliath? I could carry you, but if Orcs attacked whilst I did so, we would probably both end up dead.”

Faramir’s eyes widened. “I promise I will keep it in its sheath until you order me to take it out.” He paused and Aragorn stifled a smile as the boy thought further. “If you die, then I will have to take it out. Is that all right?”

“Yes. If I die, you best take it out and defend yourself and then re-sheath it.” He took the belt and stabbed at it with the dirk, finally making a hole well down its length. ‘This should fit now.’ He knelt and put the belt around the boy’s waist, let him hold the dagger for a moment, and then sheathed it. “Here is how the clasp works. Try it once and see if you can open and then close it.”

Faramir did so with ease. A huge smile split his face, but Aragorn’s was filled with worry. “Now we must be off, my Lord. I want to travel as far as possible today.”

“Will we reach Osgiliath today?”

“I think not. One more night in hiding and then tomorrow, mayhap by midday, we should reach the city.”

Faramir nodded and they began walking. Aragorn found it difficult to keep a pace that did not tax the boy too strongly. They had walked for only an hour when Faramir stopped. “I must relieve myself.”

“Of course,” he pointed, “beyond that tree. I will wait for you.”

“Thank you,” Faramir said and ran to the tree. Only gone a moment, he returned with his hands full. “There were mushrooms by the tree. I think they are the good ones.”

Aragorn looked closely. “They are. You have a good eye. Who taught you how to find mushrooms?”

“Ada.” Simply said, but the tears in the boy’s eyes tugged at Aragorn’s heart.

“He was a great man, Faramir, and a good friend of mine.”

“Tonight, would you tell me of him? Perhaps some tale of how he fought… Nay, I do not want tales of Orcs tonight. We very well might encounter some.” He shivered.

“If we are quiet, we should be fine. I know these woods well, Faramir. Your father and I used to hunt here. I know caves and such where we can hide if we hear them. And they make a fearful noise, so they are easy to hide from.”

“I am good at hiding.”

Aragorn had to stifle another laugh. He could count on his fingers the last times he had laughed. The lad was definitely good company. “Now, if we go further west, we will come to the river. The Orcs stay away from it during the day. It frightens them. In fact, most things frighten them during the day. Orc spit!” A yelp of pain and he fell.

“What is wrong?” Faramir stared in terror at the sight of an ugly fox trap clamped on his friend’s ankle. “Oh, what can I do? How can I help?”

“Stay still,” Aragorn spoke through gritted teeth. “Remember the Orcs.”

Faramir quieted, but his eyes were wide with fear. He watched in horror as the Ranger tried to pry the trap open. It would not budge.

“Faramir. I need a stick. A good strong stick. Can you find me one? But do not go far, please.”

Faramir nodded, tears streaming down his face. Aragorn took him by the hand. “Do not be afraid, Faramir. We will be all right. Just find a good strong stick.” Blood slowly seeped from the wound and down onto his boots. Faramir seemed mesmerized by the sight. “Faramir. Faramir.” He grabbed hold of the boy’s arms. “Faramir. Listen to me. I need you to find a stick now. Faramir.” The boy did not respond. His eyes were still wide with fright. “Oh by the Valar, you must listen to me, Faramir.”

The boy collapsed on the ground, sobs racking his thin frame. “Boromir,” he whispered.

“Help me, Faramir,” Aragorn quietly cried. “Help me, please.”

The lad sat up, shocked at the plea falling from the strong man’s lips. He stood up. “I… I will find something, I promise.” He turned and ran off.

The haze of pain lifted for a moment, and Aragorn, realizing that the boy was running headlong into danger, screamed after him. “Be ware! There may be more traps. Walk lightly, Faramir. Watch your step.”