Chapter 15 – The Search

Indis stood on the escarpment, the place that she used to share with her brother, and watched as Anor set. Another night alone for Faramir. Tears fell but no one was about. She was safe in her grief, for a time. The War Council had not been convened. The errand-rider who carried the tenth-hour missive brought dire news. The Anduin had crested its banks. Any sign, on either the west or the east side, of any child’s footprints was obliterated by the rising waters. The search parties had ridden eleven leagues or more on either side with no indication that Faramir had been able to reach land.

The five boats sent downstream had traversed about the same distance. No body had been located and no sign of the boy was found. One of the boats had been lost in the storm and debris-strewn river. Those aboard the capsized boat had been fished out of the water by their companions.

Another two larger boats, manned by a full half-company each, launched from the Harlond. The current was wild and swift; the boats’ progress upstream against the current was slow, but the situation was become desperate. If they did not find the boy soon, there was little hope.

Indis sent Listöwel to head the search in Ithilien. A regiment accompanied her, most volunteers from the Tower Guard and the First through Third Companies. Durahil, the Captain-General discovered when Listowel arrived in Osgiliath that night, had taken a company east towards the Harad Road. The terrain was easier, the road better kept, and they would be able to travel further in less time. He hoped to be below Emyn Arnen in a few hours. Then, he would strike west and search the riverbank from there.

Ciramir and Húrin approached her. Ciramir spoke. “Men should be sent further down the river. The body must be found.”

She choked, turned, and stared harshly at the man. “How dare you? He is not dead. This is not a search for a body; this is a search for Faramir.” She took three deep breaths. “I have endured your caustic speech because my brother chose you as his counselor. I will no longer countenance this vile tongue of yours. Guard it or you will be replaced.”

Ciramir sputtered for a few moments, then bowed and left them. The Warden began quietly, “Captain Ciramir suffered greatly during the time Amandil held the Throne. In spite of the grievous torture he endured whilst remaining loyal to our family, he joined in the attack against the usurper…”

She looked at him with grief-stricken eyes. “He spoke as if Faramir is dead.” She choked. “I could not hear that. I will not hear that. Húrin,” she leaned against him, “I cannot hold another dead nephew in my arms. I cannot.”

“I know, Indis, but as Regent…”

She smiled sadly. “Give me time. I will meet with him at the twelfth hour. Send Ciramir to my study at that time.”

Húrin held her close for a moment, then saluted. “As you wish, my Regent.” He turned and left her.

Ragnhild stepped out of the shadows. She held butter biscuits, still warm from the oven. “When those in my care in Meduseld lost hope, I would bring these. Sometimes, words are not enough. Sit here and feel the warmth and smell the sweetness. Close your eyes and take a bite.”

Indis made as if to protest. Ragnhild took her arm and gently pushed her to the bench. She put a biscuit in each of Indis’ hands. “Close your eyes,” she commanded, “and take a bite.” She smiled when Indis obeyed.

“Now, do you not feel better?”

Indis smiled. “I do.”

“Open your eyes then.” Indis obeyed.

“I have more in your study and some tea. Walk with me?”

As tears fell, Indis nodded. “Some have given up hope, Ragnhild.”

“Of course they have. But we know better.”

“Do we, Ragnhild?”

“When Arciryas was killed, tell me again when you knew.”

“The very moment,” and Indis rubbed her arms as they tingled in remembrance. “I was with Morwen. We were finishing the handkerchiefs for Théodwyn. I felt a shudder run through me. I ran to the children, but both Boromir and Faramir were fine. It was not till the next day that word came of the attack. That Denethor and my beloved Arciryas were both dead.”

“Have you felt such a shudder these past two days?”

“I have not.”

“You are of the House of Húrin and, if memory serves me, your family has the gift of foresight. Would you not know if Faramir were dead?”

“My brother had the gift.”

“So have you, though perhaps not as strongly. I think you would know if Faramir was dead.”

Indis stopped at the door to her quarters. “I think you are right. He is not dead.” The guard opened the door for her. “I want the War Council convened tomorrow morning. We can no longer delay this.”

“I will send a courier to those on your list. Will you hold Court tomorrow?”

“Nay. Not until Faramir is found. Have the War Council meet in my public study at the third bell. And thank you.”

“I will check on the status of the biscuits. I hope to find a few missing when I return.” She smiled, embraced her, and left.

Indis looked about her quarters. Never the mind Ragnhild’s confidence, she was still ill at ease. She left her own quarters and walked to Boromir’s. She stepped inside and caught her breath. If she had not held his dying body in her arms, she would not believe he was dead. The casements were open, the drapes pulled back. The last of Anor’s light spilled into the room. The bed held the bedraggled stuffed rabbit that Boromir refused to give up, the last vestige of his childhood. His toy sword lay on the settle at the foot of the bed. The sword and shield he was to use when he became an esquire hung, waiting, over the fireplace. Her eyes took in every detail of the room.

Suddenly, she remembered how Targon had rescued him. She stepped to the drapes at the very end of the casements and moved them aside. The wall seemed solid. She moved her hand over it until, about a foot from the casements, she felt a slight depression. She pushed upon it and the wall moved. She gave it another gentle push and it opened into a short corridor. Steps led up and down. She knew the way down, from Targon’s tale, led eventually to the buttery.

But where did the other stairs lead? She looked back into Boromir’s room and found a lantern by the fireplace. Upon the mantle was flint and steel, she struck it and lit the wick. Returning to the secret door, she stepped inside and began to climb the stairs. Another secret panel opened a floor above and into Denethor’s chambers. She gasped. She had not been here since he died. She quickly shut the door and climbed the stairs again. After two more flights, she found another panel. She opened it and discovered she was in one of the meeting chambers. Closing the door, she again climbed. Two more flights and another panel. She pushed this one open and found herself in what she had believed was the topmost chamber of the Tower. However, the stairs still went further up. It was growing dark outside and she knew she would be missed. Yet, she needed to see what was at the top of the stairs. Climbing another two flights, she found the stairs finally ended with a rather small, railinged landing. However, the panel in front of her would not budge. She raised the lamp and discovered there was a keyhole. She tried to push it again, but it would not open. She finally gave up and walked back down to Boromir’s room. She closed the casements, pulled the drapes, put out the lantern, and left. All the while, she pondered where the key could be for the locked room and what the room was used for.

~*~

A/N - Seven Ways to Start A Fire Without A  Match: http://www.fieldandstream.com/fieldstream/outdoorskills/photogallery/article/0,13355,1546757_6,00.html