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My Sword Trembles - Book Three - 'My Sword' Series  by Agape4Gondor

Chapter 18 – Rescued

When Faramir returned, he found his companion sound asleep. He looked about him, wondering what he should do. No fire, Strider had told him that, but he should do something. ‘I could fish. We need the food. I saw Strider’s supply and there is not much food.  I wonder if he has a needle in his pack.’ He opened the pack and found a soldier’s sewing kit. He took the needle, closed the pack and stowed it against a nearby tree. He looked at Strider’s wound one more time. There was no blood around the edges, nor on the ground near his foot. ‘I should tell him I am going, but he looks so peaceful. I will only be gone a short time.’ He ran off towards the stream.

Aragorn woke only moments later. He looked about him wildly. “Faramir,” he called as softly as he could. “Faramir.” There was no answer. He hung his head in grief. “I hope you are not lost, little one. I do not think I can stand yet. I cannot find you.” He ran his fingers through his hair, then looked about, seeking clues as to where Faramir might be. Close to his body, he found the water flask; it was full. Perplexed, he called out again, but there was no reply. “He had to have come back. Where can he be?” He reached for his pack to get more athelas, and found it had been moved. He pulled himself towards the tree and opened the pack. Immediately, he saw that his sewing kit had been opened. Looking inside, he noted a needle missing. “What can he need with a needle?” His eyes flew open; the lad went back to the stream to catch them food for the daymeal. He hung his head in sorrow. “You will be Orc fodder, little one, if you are not careful. How can I teach you one never goes alone in the forest?” He smiled at the incongruity of it all. He was alone in the forest; what else could Faramir learn from that fact alone!

He pondered whether to follow the boy or not. The stream could not be far away; Faramir had not been gone long in his search for the sticks. He would wait and hope. Tentatively, he stood and immediately the ankle gave out and he fell with a thud. “Orc spit!”

As soon as he caught his breath, he pulled himself up and leaned against the tree. “We must find shelter for the night. I will not be able to go very far with this foot. Faramir will have to find me a walking stick for tomorrow. I best build a lean-to for the night.” He pulled himself along the ground, gathering a few leaf-covered branches, and dragging them after him, back towards where they would camp. “No fire tonight. Too close to last night’s camp.” A sudden chill assailed him. “Fever? I cannot afford a fever.” He smiled. “And what will stop one from coming? Surely not the great care I have given my foot. Surely not the warm fire to ease the chill. Surely not the sumptuous meal to hearten and sustain me during the healing.” He laughed out loud, then quickly hushed as he realized he had been talking out loud. ‘I cannot be delirious. I cannot. Faramir,’ he thought sadly, ‘please come back soon.’ He leaned against the tree and fell into a fitful sleep.

~*~

Three fish later, Faramir pulled his line out of the water. A huge grin covered his face as he pulled a limb through the fishes’ gills and carried them over his shoulder back to Strider. ‘He will be happy. They are big fish.’ It suddenly occurred to him that they were not to light a fire. “Orc spit,” he murmured under his breath, then looked around guiltily. He giggled at the thought. “There is no one here to hear me.”

“I believe Regent Indis would not be very pleased to hear such a curse come from the mouth of her beloved nephew.”

Faramir screamed in horror. A hand touched his shoulder and the boy collapsed on the ground.

“Orc spit,” the stranger whispered and picked the unconscious boy up. “Now where do you suppose your camp is?”

~*~

“Aragorn? Can you hear me?”

“Ankle,” the Ranger whispered to the wind. ‘It must be the wind for that is not Faramir’s voice.’

“Lie still. I would look at it.”

He felt his leg being gently lifted and the makeshift bandage unbound. “Nothing at all. Hardly a scratch,” he mumbled.

“A scratch from a poisoned trap. The poor fox would never have had a chance.”

“Poison?” Somewhere in Aragorn’s mind he knew he should be concerned, but the haze in his head kept all such thoughts at bay. “Faramir?” he whispered. But the fever took him back into oblivion.

The stranger took the hot water from the small fire he had made and poured it into the waiting cup. He took the athelas leaves, breathed on them and spoke words over them, then crushed them and put them into the cup. He noted that both his patients sighed and began to breath easier. He took the cup to the boy first and helped him to a sitting position. “Faramir,” he gently called, recognizing the name and the face from their trip to the Mering some few months before. The boy did not wake. “Well, nothing for it but to at least try to get a few drops down him.” Faramir swallowed, unconsciously, as the brew was touched to his lips. “Not deeply asleep enough to choke. Good. Very good. Now, to Estel. Let us see how he takes his medicine.” A deep chuckle followed. The Ranger’s eyes were glazed but he was awake. “Drink this, muindor nîn. It will help.” Aragorn nodded, drank, and immediately fell back asleep.

“So much for idle conversation.”

“Time to make us a little tent, or perhaps a lean-to might be better. Easier to hide from hostile eyes.” He worked slowly and quietly, humming a song of his mother’s. He found the branches Aragorn had gathered and pulled them over the top of the little shelter, hiding it effectively.

“I found some nice rabbits nearby. Here,” his traveling companion said with no small pride. “They are quite large. Ithilien seems to grow everything larger, had you not noticed?”

“Put the rabbits down and help me get Estel into the lean-to. He is heavier than ever.”

His twin laughed. “Arwen fed him too well these past months. I think we should have a word with her.”

“She will not listen. She has never listened to a thing we say.”

Aragorn was finally in the lean-to. Elrohir turned to Faramir. He picked the lad up gently and placed him next to the Ranger.

When he was finished making sure they were settled, he came and sat next to his brother. “I have some miruvor. Should we use that?”

“Not yet. Hopefully the athelas will suffice. We only have the one flask.”

“All right.” He made a small noise. “Elladan, there is something wrong with the boy. He should not have fainted at just a touch.”

“Mayhap it is still the shock and grief of his brother’s death. I do not know how I would react to your death.”

“Thank you. I hope neither one of us has to face that dilemma.”

“You are most welcome. Be that as it may, I am not sure about human children and their emotions. It does seem strange that he would be thus affected after so many months.”

“When Estel wakes, we can ask him. For the nonce, I would seek some rest myself. I wonder what would have happened if we had not been sent to find Estel? Do you think father foresaw this?”

“Nay. I think Estel would have found a way out. He is resourceful and has been taught by the best.”

Elladan began to laugh. “You are most modest.”

“I speak the truth. Glorfindel and Erestor raised him well.”

“Ah! So we had no hand in the man he has become?”

“I will not take credit,” Elrohir smiled, “for anything Estel does. I have been in too much trouble because of him too many times. Do you remember the time he tried to raft down the Bruienen after that storm? I was sure father was going to resurrect Angmar and send us there as punishment for letting him get away from us.”

“I remember it too well.” Aragorn’s voice was rough but sound. “I have a scar from the branch that tried to eviscerate me. I am glad to see you both.”

Warm smiles greeted his. “Mae govannen, muindor dithen.”

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Father has asked that you return to Imladris.”

Aragorn looked at them in surprise. “Why?”

“Mithrandir awaits you.”

“Have him come here then, I think he can travel faster than I can. At least for the nonce.” His smile belied his flippant words. “It takes two of you to fetch me?”

“We stopped to visit Arwen. She says you only left her at Mettarë?”

“Yes. I stayed longer than I had planned.”

Both Elves began to laugh.

“Who found Faramir?”

“I did,” Elrohir stated. “He was wandering around with a good lot of fish. We will eat well tonight.”

“Why is he insensible?”

“I am not sure, Estel. I was hoping you could tell us. He screamed when I spoke and fainted when I touched him. Is this normal behavior for a human child?”

Aragorn shook his head in dismay. “Nay. When first I met him yesterday, I discovered a trace still of some spell upon him. I had hoped my ministrations would have broken it; after what you have just told me, I find I must admit to failure in my endeavors.”

“May I look at him?” Elladan asked.

“Please. I would see the boy healed. He has suffered greatly.”

“As have many children in this age,” Elrohir stated matter-of-factly. “You cannot save them all, Estel.”

The burning look of anger that came from Aragorn’s eyes stayed Elrohir’s next words.

“If father’s words are to be believed, if I… Elrohir, he will be my Steward some day.”

Elladan walked back to them and sat next to Aragorn. “I believe it is akin to a locking spell. When great fear or adversity comes, his mind locks itself away so that he is incapable of action. A nasty little spell. At least, that is what I read as I delve.”

“Can you break it?”

“I know father could.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“If the three of us concentrated, I think it is possible. Elrohir, do you remember the Song of Power that daernaneth taught us long ago?”

“I remember. Estel, do you know it?”

“Finrod’s?” he shivered as he spoke the name. “I do.”

“We sing a part of Finrod’s then and make it our own, suitable for our needs here and now. All three together. Prepare the athelas. We need every tool we have.” Elladan stood, somehow taller, Aragorn thought.

Elrohir brought the athelas while Aragorn stoked the fire. The water was already warmed and only took moments to reach its boiling point. Elrohir poured the water into a cup. Aragorn whispered words, then crushed the leaves into the boiling water.

“A song of staying.” The song began and the trees in Ithilien seemed to come alive, swaying with no breeze to move them. Prickles ran up and down Aragorn’s spine. Never had he been part of such a ceremony. “Resisting, battling, strength like a tower, trust unbroken, freedom, escape.” The trees moved more rapidly, their branches almost touching the ground. “Snares eluded, broken traps, prison opening, chains that snap.”

A bolt of lightning shot through the air and all three fell.

~*~

A/N - Muindor nîn: My brother. Mae govannen, muindor dithen – Well met, little brother.http://www.warofthering.net/forum/vbulletin225/upload/showthread.php?t=7539; http://home.netcom.com/~heensle/lang/elvish/sindarin/engsind.html

On Songs of Power: http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/142.html

A small part of the 'Lay of Leithian' by Tolkien. My deepest thanks to Fiondil. It was in reading his tale of Glorfindel that I first thought of using the Song. We spoke and he agreed; it would be an appropriate tool that the three together might be able to wield safely. For Fiondil’s tale: which is part two - http://www.storiesofarda.com/chapterlistview.asp?SID=5828

 





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