The Hunting Trip
Chapter 33: By the Grace of the Gods

Time had passed and it was not any easy thing to grip. For Faramir, it had been a struggle to keep his thoughts together and he was not content knowing he was still off-balance in his thinking. He had strayed from time to time in the course of their flight, and though hours had gone by since their escape, he realized that even now a small remnant of the drug remained with him. At least, this was the explanation he contrived, for he could not recall ever having had as much difficulty staying focused as he had in the last few hours. He had been boggled, his thoughts wandering. Fortunately, he could also see that Kattica had been attempting to help him through it.

For the moment he watched as Kattica tended Gimli, and he knew as he did this that he was nearly himself again. Everything seemed clear and focused. That was a relief and he knew he had her to thank for it. Much of his present awareness was Kattica's doing.

Of course, some of it might have been the rush of adrenaline her false labor had driven. His heart certainly had raced through their situation when it had landed. But he was also fairly certain the small affronts she had started were responsible for his recovery.

Her solution was brilliant. She engaged him with words, and though he was unaware at the time that it had been intentionally done, he had rallied to the challenge nonetheless, sparring verbally in retaliation to her jibes. It kept Faramir much on his toes, forcing him to think rather than dream. That had done it, pulling him through. It was now, as he watched her that he saw just how clever she had been. She had cured him of his wayward thinking, and he hadn't even noticed she had done it.

How she had read him so well, he was uncertain. Perhaps it was the delving into his mind that had pulled him past his vagueness. Or perhaps it was that she was a keen study of human frailties. Or perhaps it was a sense of self-preservation that made her speak out. He did not care. Whatever it was, she seemed to know all his trigger points. Now he could see that he had been goaded into the route she chose. It had been easy to oblige her, following her into a round of banter; it was far easier in fact than facing the fright into which their situation had nearly fallen. After all, when Kattica had appeared to be showing early signs of labor, Faramir had begun to fall apart.

All Faramir knew was, at the time, he felt certain he might collapse into a ball of withering male ineptitude if they did not find a solution to her problem other than giving birth, that is. Like a cold slap in the face, her jabs roused him. For that he was grateful. A vague, dreamy-eyed man could not have done much for anyone, let alone a woman on the verge of giving birth.

"Help me!" she had cried.

"I know not what I might do," he had lamented, seriously coming close to wringing his hands as he fretted.

"Ease me back that I might rest a moment. Perhaps the pains will stop!" she said with a grimace.

Faramir was immediately there at her side. "Yes! Yes! Perhaps the pains will stop," he had repeated in a mumble like a gibbering idiot. He began to lift her legs once she was in an inclined position.

"Ah! What are you doing? Why do you prop my feet up like that?"

Faramir looked at the legs he cradled. Somehow he had remembered that one was supposed to elevate the feet above the head in situations like these. Or was that for dizziness? Suddenly, he blushed, realizing he had touched her inappropriately, and for no apparent reason. He stammered, "I I "

"Please put my legs down now, Faramir. Ah, but are you always like this when in the presence of a woman baring child? Gods, I have been graced this day," she replied more to herself than him as she shook her head, negating the silliness of his actions.

"I am no fool!" Faramir mildly protested, though he was uncertain why he even attempted to save his ego. In his own estimation he had been acting the role of a bumbler, so he could not blame her the disparaging remarks. "In fact, I have fathered three children," he bragged, as if that somehow made a difference.

"Chance accidents, I presume," she said rolling her eyes as her hand rounded her belly in a gentle massage. A smile half-crossed her lips when she had remarked this, and Faramir had noted it.

Still, he blustered as a run of thoughts came pouring out, none of them complete, "Why I How You "

"Ah, I see. It was mercy then that did it. Your wife must have bedded you out of pity," she said, laughing, and he almost choked on the insult. It was such an intimate thing to say, something normally begot from years of friendship, and more often with a friend of the same sex. Their relationship had neither of these features. The acquaintance between them was new, barely formed. How dare she fall into such insulting banter when they were nearly strangers to one another? Yet something within Faramir made him turn, immediately forgiving the comment as he grappled with it. It was well met, in his opinion, a clever jab for his prior improper behavior, and he had to appreciate her quick tongue for countering him so well. He realized then that instead of lauding her with insults (how could he lob insults at a woman in labor?) he would do better to simply laughed. And so he did. Loud and uproarious it sounded and it brought his mind back to attention. He knew then that they would truly be good friends.

In the end, the gods had indeed graced her. Kattica had not gone into full labor and the pains had been stopped. Faramir breathed a sigh of relief that that part of this nightmare was over. Furthermore, the riddance of the labor pains had been of his doing. He was glad for that. Had Kattica's labor continued, he was not so sure he truly could have done anything to help her beyond giving her reason to mock him. Faramir sighed at the recollection of his weak handling of Kattica's situation. His vanity was stung in his own self-appraisal, but he decided he might as well face it. He would have been useless if Kattica had gone into full labor.

He scowled. He knew he should not feel guilty for being befuddled in this arena. When it came to delivering babies, he had witnessed very little. At the same time though, he was living with a reputation as a man who actually had children. He had even bragged as much. As such, one would think he had a vague idea of what should happen in birthing situations. And true to that, he could boast that he had actually been in the room when Éowyn had delivered their children. . . Or at least he had been there with the third one . . . though he counted the second child as well . . . even though he had only seen the last moments of it. But with the third, now there he could say he had some definite experience. Still . . . that birth had not gone well, and he was not sure it even counted in preparing him to direct an actual normal delivery. Faramir sighed deeply. If anything, he had a good perspective of what to do should a birthing go wrong, and that he would wish upon no one. Unfortunately, it was about all he did know, and it was the reason all memories of his experience with Éowyn and the birth of their third son's raked his composure.

The recollection deepened and his thoughts grew somber. If only he had been present for his first child's birth. Faramir slowly smiled a slight grin. He did not realized then that he could alter rules that were considered sacrosanct. Back then he had humbly gone along with the birthing ritual prescribed by all his male companions. It was pretty much understood that Faramir, like all men of his era, would be content to bide his time through the long hours of delivery by waiting calmly and patiently. This was something he found very difficult to do, for he did not like the idea of leaving his wifes well-being to that of virtual strangers. Still, if he could not be at Éowyn's side, he at least had determined he would remain nearby. Even that was difficult though. In fact, it was excruciating, for he heard every moan, cry, and scream that she uttered. And through it all, he had nearly lurched through the walls with each one. He was not sure in the end who endured the worst of it: he or she (though his sense of duty told him he had better give her full credit and not even consider looking for sympathy for his own plight lest he wish to sleep in a guest bed for the rest of their conjugal lives).

He tried to follow the same ritual when the second child and labor came. Only he did not. He could take the screams without knowing their outcome for only so long. In the end, he broke down. Tradition might stand for others, but he loved his wife too much to allow her to suffer without availing himself to her. So it was done. He was the Prince of Ithilien after all, and if he decided he would be present at his child's birth, then there would be a mighty confrontation for any midwife who said he would not. Fortunately none had discouraged him, and actually, when he had barged in on that stressful moment, the chief lady merely blinked at him. Then she proceeded to cut the cord attaching the child to his wife as if he were not there, only muttering, "Do not bother to raise him should he fall. He will be out of harm's way regardless." This of course gave Faramir the strength to hold back the sway of dizziness that was threatening him. But that was all he had really seen of a normal birth.

Yet it was enough to make him realize what he had missed with the first. Had he known . . . Alas! he sighed. Had he known what she endured, he would have been there holding her hand, soothing her cries, doing his part to ease her pain. Had he known what it was to touch a baby fresh from the womb, skin warm and wet, writhing in his arms, as it went from a bluish tint to the full blush of scarlet in mere seconds, he would have demanded he be there. Had he known exactly how miraculous the actual birth process could be, the suffering and pain endured only to shed such extreme tears of joy, he would have questioned without end why he should not be present for the first, as well as the second and the third. If he could do it again, he would, for the intimacy of the time shared and memories gained were those about which they might speak to their dying days. If he had only known. He had missed so much.

And he had seen so much. The third child did not come into the world for him with the fierce reckoning of pride that the other two had. He had been there for his last son's birth, and while the baby had come through well, his wife had not. It was a horrible ordeal, the turning of the child within her womb, and nothing but prayers and herbal remedies stayed her cries. He feared Éowyn's death that day, and for the first time, he pondered whether he would want to live if his life should be without her. In the shuttered silence that followed, he had remained. All had departed the midwife, her aides, the head housekeeper cleaning up all evidence of their presence as they took the baby to the nursery. They left only her. Éowyn lay so pale against the sheets. The blood loss had been great, and it seemed hardly possible she could have strength to even breathe. He had stayed by her side, holding her limp hand in his own, daring not to shed tears for fear that they might some how perpetuate his fears. The sun had shone through the slits in the drawn curtains, brightly casting a glow that showcased a palette of late afternoon color. Dust particles flitted in the rays, and all was silent save the quiet rustle of the nurse who sat patiently in the corner, waiting should she be needed. The air was stifling and still, and normally Faramir would have wanted to open the window to let some freshness enter. But not on that day. He could not. He would not! Superstitiously he felt that the essence of her soul might drift away should he allow anything more enter the room. And so he had remained, quietly, patiently, painfully waiting for a sign, any sign, that she might live. It was long in coming.

Days later, she stirred. It was only a change in the course of her breath, a small turn of her hand, but he knew that was the moment he had been awaiting. In all that time, he had barely moved from his spot, praying for her return, willing all of his strength into her. When he saw it, the quiet indications that she might be waking, he cried out. Some might think he had gone mad then but he knew what he should do. He was on his feet in seconds and moving fast. With fleetest of foot he ran, his heart pounding, his mind racing ahead of where his body carried him. In an instant he was there in the nursery, and his arms swooped in to take that of his youngest son from the protesting nurse. He cared not that she felt he might wake the babe. Let the baby cry. Perhaps it might help. With more careful steps he hurried back to the room where he had left Éowyn only moments before. He met with disappointment. She had not awakened. She had lapsed again into dreams, her sunken features looking ever the more ghostly.

Tears spilled from his eyes but he willed them to stop. He would not be daunted! It might happen again, he reasoned, and then he would be there with reason enough that she might fight. In his arms the baby squirmed, crying out in that squelching call that was unique only to newborns. He rocked the child, seeing the shadow of the nursemaid in the hall, peering in, ready to take his son should Faramir pose a threat. Yet his son's cries served the goal Faramir had set forth. Éowyn shifted in her sleep. Renewed excitement stirred in him as her eyes squeezed lightly within the waking of dreams. He looked down on his youngest, wishing the wails to continue that he might wake her, and when he next looked to her face her eyes were open.

With a gasp of joy he was there, placing soft kisses upon her fingers and caressing her cheek. She was horribly weak, barely able to even lift her hand, but he lowered his son to her, helping to cradle the screaming child in her arms so that she might hold for the first time her new child. And what happened next gave him hope that their future might remain together. She smiled. His heart nearly burst for he feared he might never see the light of her smile again. He realized then her remedy was her family, and come what may, he held onto that, for he knew so long as they remained, she would yearn to live.

It was not easy to hold onto such hope, for Éowyn's recovery was arduous and she was laid to near ruin by the fever that followed days later, but he promised his heart he would not concede to death. He stayed with her, bringing the children near whenever he thought she might have strength enough for it. So long as they were near, she tried. He could see that her heart was tied to them, and that she did not want to be parted from them so long as she might struggle. And so she did, and in the end they won.

Still, this was not the kind of memory one shared over afternoon tea. This was one laid to the back of one's mind as the darkest of moments. It was a recollection left best uncalled, and Faramir would much rather it stayed where it had been than chased to the present. Éowyn lived. They had survived the ordeal, and the Valar had gifted them with another child still to come. He was steadfast in his belief then that he would relish his wife's presence whenever he may. He knew she was pivotal in all that he did, felt, and saw. So the fear of the machinations of a body ripe with child sent him to terror. He needed not Kattica to remind him of the terror those days wrought upon him.

He blinked his fears away, knowing it did not rule him and that the situation had not come to this. They had managed Kattica's pains, getting through the falseness of her labor by a very simple means. And Kattica's merry teasing had been of aid. In the present it was easy to see where they had gone. He was here, at Kattica's side, watching as she slid her fingers to Gimli's neck, checking for a pulse, looking into the Dawarf's eyes. How orderly she was in her task. Yet at the time of her labor, she had not been so cool. Neither had he been, for that matter, but his sense had prevailed. Somehow.

Like a hare being chased by a fox his mind had bounded over the hurdle of their dilemma. Vainly he had searched for an answer to overcoming her pains, panicked by the onset of them. He was not prepared to see to her delivery of a child born before its time, words of mockery and mirth not withstanding. His eyes searched, running absently over her form, across rock and soil, combing plant and tree. And then he had it. Old words, but those he recalled well for the debate they had once stimulated. Water. Most likely it was the fact that they sat in a shelter along the sandy shore of the river that reminded him. It was simple to believe that the case. But had he not experienced something similar in the events with his own wife, he might not have known. Frantically he took a stab at nothing, but somehow he remembered the midwife's words. And they applied to this scenario. It was an order for more fluids.

At the time he had laughed as he thought on it, and he did again now. Éowyn's reaction had been startling. It was late in her third pregnancy when she had been ordered to bed because of early contractions, much like Kattica was experiencing. Beyond the forced rest, the midwife had demanded the increase in water. Éowyn had balked, just as Kattica ended up doing. He understood. Being rather intimate with Éowyn on the details of such a request, he recalled her anger in following the demand. "I am burdened enough with the discomforts of my lower regions. Anyone who questions that deserves my ire. Yet you act as if this request is nothing! Already the need for relief to my bladder comes too frequently. 'More fluids!' Thank the Valar I no longer have a corset with which to fuss. These forsaken pantaloons are vexing enough, and in times like these I have half a mind to discard them completely." Faramir remembered he had blushed then at her directness. But Éowyn was hardly one to refrain from giving her opinion when she was riled.

It did not surprise him then when the Romany woman looked at him with an expression that could be compared to one she might have offered had he befriended an Orc. "Water?" she had responded with disdain. Yet, like Éowyn, he could see that deep down Kattica knew him to be right.

As he pondered it more, he recalled all the high points that followed for he and Kattica. At first Faramir thought they might have had difficulty finding a vessel from which to drink. They had left the camp in such a rush and he thought they had taken nothing with them. However, going through Kattica's belongings, he realized he was wrong. She emptied her pouch and the very deep pockets of her dress, and she revealed to him all she currently owned. Aside from a small satchel of various herbs and wrappings, she had with her eating utensils that were tied into a towel, a small wooden mortar and pestle for mixing healing agents, three apples, a tinderbox and flax, her sharply curved knife, grooming tools, and an odd assortment of string and shiny stones. An abundant shawl she untied from about her wide waist. The only things missing were an axe, a bedroll and some cookware, and he considered asking if she had those stowed away on her person as well. Without gawking, Faramir had to admit he was quite amazed, and he wondered, had the woman actually packed, what might she have hauled?

Immediately he had risen and dipped the bowl in the river, demanding she drink. The river had a rock bottom, and he knew the water to be pure and so he felt it safe enough to imbibe. She willingly complied, and one cup after another, she met with his demand. However, by the fourth or fifth refill she began to protest.

"Your pacing is wearying. I grow exhausted watching you. Sit down, my lord. Let the fluids have their effect," she said. It was a distraction he realized, but he also could see he must be growing tedious for her, for he noticed in that moment just how frantic he might have seemed. He allowed what he thought to be another quarter hour to pass while he slowly ate every morsel of one of the apples (he had not realized he had been so hungry). And then he pressed her again to drink more.

"Aye," she sighed, "in a moment." She rose for the privacy of what he believed might be a retreat to relieve herself.

Time wore on, and darkness followed. By the fourth time she got up to do the same duty, an hour had passed. She was rising. Again. Faramir came to see why she was frustrated, though he hardly understood the medical reasoning behind it. The volumes of liquid her body was expelling in comparison to how small the quantity she drank was incongruous. He could not fathom from where all the fluids came.

She shot him a harried look in answer to the querulous expression he posed with a raised brow. Sniping in answer she said, "It is not the amount, only the added pressure that does it! Truth told there is very little to show for my troubles!"

To that Faramir thought, Why even bother if you know there will be nothing? Why not wait until you are sure? but thought it better not to ask. Based on the tone of Kattica's voice, he felt sure he might be throttled if he spoke such a thought.

Of note though was the fact that she had drunk only a small amount in comparison to where he thought she should. The bowl that he filled and refilled with water was not large, nearly only the size of a small teacup and he thought that hardly a healthy amount. He felt it not truly uncalled for then, to ask that she drink at least twenty of these small bowls to make up what he thought might be an appropriate quantity, like the volume of what a good sized tankard might hold. Yet between trips to her private relief place and the sips she had taken thus far, no more than eight bowls had been drunk. Faramir was frustrated. This was taking some time, and Kattica no longer seemed willing to go along with his requests.

The good news was that the compressions upon her abdomen had seemed to abate, and he suspected the effects of the water were indeed taking hold. Still, he would be hard pressed to move forward given his fears of what could come and he had been prepared to be adamant in his refusal to do otherwise. Not until she had drunk the full twenty did he determine he was going to continue. Appointed meeting place or not, Mattias would have to wait. And if he was so impatient, he could just come find them.

Faramir frowned as he thought of it now. It was while he was musing these thoughts and trying to coerce Kattica to drink more that he they had heard sounds. It was not so great a noise, and truthfully, he had known not at the time what it could be. Recalling it all, he immediately felt guilt for the moment when he suggested it might be a voice. It had been, and now with hindsight, he wished he had acted sooner. At the same time, what he had said had caused fright for Kattica, and that was the last thing he had wanted. To make up for it he had felt it important to try to soothe her. He did not know if fear could prompt the induction of further birthing labor, but he did not want to find out either. He mouthed to her that it might be Mattias, and she brightened immediately. Still, to rule out anything dire, he took her knife and had begun to explore the area surrounding their holding place.

By this time night had thoroughly fallen. As a precaution, Faramir had refused to build a fire in case they were being pursued. If it was Mattias, he surely would not have seen them, hence the call. As one who had captained the Ranger squadrons, for safetys sake Faramir knew it to be a prudent strategy. Thus, his eyes were well adjusted to the darkness. Even still, he could make nothing of the noise for he saw no motion in the wilds.

He recalled his surprise then when Kattica had come up behind him. He had angered quickly because of it, for had he not realized her identity, he might have attacked her. She was a stubborn girl, it seemed, undaunted when her mind was made. He found her difficult to control, a spirit all her own.

She turned him to the opposite path from whence he had thought the noise had come. Even in this direction there was nothing, and he felt smug for that. Had it been just an animal? He suggested it and began to believe so. Of course, she would think it a mountain cat. A fearful observation, he thought, putting it together with everything else he knew of her. However, the notion that the sound came from an animal did not last and this was the part that pained Faramir's conscious most. With the call of his name and then the rumbling sound of earth, he realized how terribly wrong he had been. Quickly he came about and the location of the voice was detected. The noise came from a small gap where the base of a tree had been eroded away at the river's edge.

His decision to go without light had immediately changed as he looked into the pitch of the space. He had recognized the voice. It was unmistakably Gimli's. They lit torches then, using them to bring light into the tunnel, and Faramir began the task of finding a way down. Those had been trying moments. The earth's quaking tumble had dispelled an onslaught of rock that could have easily crushed even a stout and hardy character such as the Dwarf. Mercifully, the light showed them that that had not happened. Instead, a shower had fallen all about the form of the Dwarf and Faramir could make him out in light made dimmer by dust.

However, it had taken several heart-pounding minutes to ascertain this fact. Gimli was unmoving, and Faramir was certain he could age years in the time it might take to reach his friend. How guilty his soul felt now for the delay spent in aimlessly roaming the circumference of their hiding place when it was the Dwarf's voice he had heard. How dare he and Kattica toss about silly banter when Gimli was so near and yet in such terrible danger?

When all the dust had cleared and Faramir had come to his senses enough to beg Kattica's shawl and one of her many petticoats, he fashioned a crude rope and was able to snake his way into the hole. From there, with help from the torch, he was able to ascertain the condition of Gimli. There was a tablet of rock pressing down on the dwarf's lower body, nearly half the size of a door, though only a few inches thick. Even still, it was heavy enough to crush. Yet there had been a miracle. It appeared smaller rocks had gathered about the form of the dwarf in the cascade before this one had fallen. They had made a threshold, a wall of sorts, around the Dwarf's supine form, and the stone had not harmed. Had Gimli been conscious, he might have even been able to wiggle his way out, but as it was, Faramir was left with the task of releasing the Dwarf.

Fortune was most definitely shining upon Faramir then, for as he pondered this worry, the sheen of a knife's edge reached his eye, and he realized that beneath the Dwarf lay the mischievous weapon of which his diminutive friend had boasted. The halberd was still to be had, and Faramir gasped with joy as he pulled it free. It appeared duller than it had when he had seen it in their camp, chinked in a few places and quite dirty, but it was not the knife end that Faramir wished to utilize. It was the shaft.

In short work, Faramir had managed to lever the long rod beneath the stone and lift. He only needed an inch or two with which to pull the Dwarf free, and it was given. Still, it was a panicky few moments, for if the slab slipped past the rock ledge, it could slide free, unrestrained to crush the Dwarf. In addition, Gimli showed no signs of cognizance, and this worried Faramir. What if the Dwarf were damaged in ways they could not help? Their lives were already in serious danger. To have one amongst them who was seriously hurt . . .

Faramir had realized his fears were taking over then, and he had admonished himself. He needed to act on the immediate events, not fictional ones. And from there his faculties prevailed. Gimli would be free of this hole and Faramir would make it so. After a brief exam to make sure all limbs were intact and basically unharmed, the Lord of Emyn Arnen, with all simplicity, tied a harness from the rope and knotted it about the torso of the Dwarf. Then scampering back up the rope, which Kattica had tied to a tree as an anchor, from the top he literally dragged the Dwarf out of the hole. It was a clumsy set up, Gimli limply dangling from a rope, while he and Kattica pulled. The going was not so easy, and there was a point when Faramir looped the slack of the rope under a boulder, showed Kattica how to use her legs to maintain this grip, and then dipped into the hole with the length of the halberd he had carried back with him. Amusingly, he snatched the Dwarf like a fish on a hook while Kattica took up the slack on the rope.

In an awkward display of jutting arms, lopsided stances, and uncoordinated actions, somehow they managed to clear the Dwarf from the hole, and once free, Faramir quickly carried him back to the security of their hiding place and placed him on the ledge that Kattica had used before as her resting spot.

Kattica was immediately at Gimli's side examining the Dwarf while Faramir hovered with worry. His thoughts no longer strayed to the past. He was completely focused upon the moment.

But how had the Dwarf come to be there? And where was Aragorn? His thoughts strayed, and he attempted to reigned them back. He struggled for control as dreadful fear rode over him. In all honesty, the fate of Aragorn and Gimli had never passed far from Faramir's thoughts. Self-preservation had had to come first, but now that he and Kattica and Legolas appeared to be free, the old worry for his friends was given its ample chance for return. The elder woman had confessed that she had them hidden away and cared nothing for their fate. "They can rot where they land for all I care," she had said, and at the time he had not known what that meant, only that they were not under the witch's current guard. Yet he had had faith. He could imagine Gimli and Aragorn to be clever enough to evade the old woman, wherever she had imprisoned them. He and Legolas had escaped after all, and they had indeed been under the witch's scrutinizing watch. Surely the King and the Dwarf would do the same.

It appeared Gimli had.

Still, he feared for them. In his mind, they all needed to flee this place. So long as Bregus roamed, the woods would not be safe. There was no telling how the old woman might retaliate. He was thankful then that Gimli was now with him. He was also grateful that the witch had not discovered their identities. Had Bregus realized 'Strider' was actually a great king, the havoc she could have wrought would have been undeniably fearsome. His friend was safe from that at least, for at the moment she considered him an average man. Aragorn's identity was likely secret and the same held true for himself. Had the old woman made the discovery, they would have been valuable hostages.

But where is Aragorn?

He had to be found! Mayhap he is already free, Faramir hopefully thought, trying not to consider the alternatives. Like he and Legolas, it could have been that, through the circumstances of his predicament, Aragorn had somehow been separated from Gimli. And if that were the case, likely it was that Aragorn would do as Faramir considered. Make way to the soldier's camp.

His first thoughts for their survival had been these. He hoped Aragorn would follow the same course. With stealth, they could reconnoiter with any loved ones who had made their way back or were still present at Henneth-Annün, and then make the march to the safety of the soldier's camp. That was his plan. With a clarity not previously found, he could now envision it. If only they could achieve it in their motley state.

Yet, with all this pondering and recalling, he realized he still was not quite right. There was something he had forgotten. Something apparent, obvious. He shook his head, angered with himself that he could not think of it. He sighed. At least he realized that foremost on his mind should be Gimli, and for that he offered a small prayer. Dear Valar, please make Gimli well, he whispered. He then turned the full of his attention to Kattica as she continued to survey the unconscious Dwarf.

"He is hurt," Faramir heard himself say, surprised at the calm of his voice but finding it silly he should state the obvious. Dear gods, he thought, am I back to this?

Kattica glanced up and raised a brow to the remark. Her mouth tugged to a wry smile as she commented with sarcasm biting her words. "I had not noticed. Now, help me to raise his head that I might remove this bandage," she said, pulling free the now-filthy rag.

Faramir blushed in embarrassment, but that lasted but a moment. He grimaced as he looked upon what was unveiled. "Dear Valar! Look at that lump." A huge knot appeared raised on the Dwarf's forehead.

"I see it. Gather a wet cloth for me that we might rcool it and reduce its size," she said, giving it little heed beyond a touch and a glance before continuing her exam.

"You will do nothing else? But there is a bump the size of a goose egg on his brow!" How could she act as if something so ugly and obvious was of such little worry? He could not fathom it.

"In the morning it will be barely a bruise if we chill it now with cool cloths. I daresay it smarts, but my concern is more for this." She pursed her lips as she looked at the bloody gash to Gimli's temple.

"How does he fare?" Faramir asked solemnly, looking also at the wound, and fully engaged in her examination.

"He suffers a concussion, but it might be minor. If he was walking about and calling to us, I cannot think it to be too bad."

Faramir felt a sigh escape him at that report.

Still, his worries were hampered by the absence of Aragorn, and he wished the Dwarf to recover that he might question it.

Beside him, Kattica sighed deeply, and he wondered about her reason as she had just assured him that the Dwarf would be well enough.

"What is it?" he asked fearfully.

"His foot," she said softly, nodding toward the limbs. "This one is broken," she said, nodding to the damaged appendage. And while there was makeshift splint work to show for the injury Faramir wondered how she knew with such certainty it was broken. Outwardly, there was nothing he could see that marked the damage she claimed. But then she pointed out, "See the swelling." Faramir noted the tight fit of trousers at the boot cuff of one foot and that it did not exist in the other. The boot had much give in it though, even if the trousers did not.

"Should we remove this?" Faramir asked, his hand grasping the heel of the boot on the injured foot.

"Nay! Have you no knowledge of treating field wounds?" Kattica scowled, her brow creasing though a smile pressed her lips.

Faramir watched her with a critical eye, feeling she might be egging him on again. He could see now this might be a pattern they would follow, rancorous words spoken only as a means to calm and amuse. He had needed them, and again he realized how great her abilities as a healer. The unspoken message was passed. He came to realize her meaning. Nothing was meant by the barb. It simply told him she would not joke so if the Dwarf were more critically ill. And so he gave her an equally snide remark. "I treated you, did I not?" he replied in a mockery of defensive speaking.

"Only because I was too frightened at the moment to treat myself. Besides, that was labor, not a wound," she said as she continued examining the Dwarf, her voice dismissing him.

"And more frightening than a wound it was," he retorted in an attempt to one-up her.

She smiled, and then looked up at him impishly. "Bravery is not your strength, is it?"

Faramir took the role of one offended. "Lady! I will have you know I am reckoned by many to be a very valiant warrior. There are even songs sung of my part in the battle of Osgiliath!"

She clucked her tongue as she rolled her eyes mockingly. "Apparently I know not of what I speak. It seems your bravery fails you then only when it comes to treating females."

"I came through well enough," Faramir said while puffing out his chest, forgetting all about his worries for Gimli.

"Bah! You were as frightened as a hen when a tom draws near! I thought, after all your talk of your wife, you might have some knowledge of the female body. With your ineptitude though, I wonder, mercy bedding or not, how you ever managed to father children," Kattica said, nearly laughing as the words spilled out.

Faramir's eyes grew wide. "You challenge my manhood? Lady "

"By Aüle, do you two ever stop bickering?" a gruff voice interrupted.

"Gimli!" Faramir exclaimed, suddenly surprised and overjoyed by the Dwarf's recovery.

"Aye, I am present," the Dwarf said plainly, eyes still closed.

"Can you look upon me?" Faramir asked, his voice suddenly tentative.

"Would it not be better if I just allowed my eyes to stay sealed. I could drift back to sleep this way." One eye squinted open at Faramir. "That is if you will stop bickering."

Then the Dwarf closed his eyes again.

"Nay, Gimli! You must open your eyes," Kattica insisted.

"Who speaks to me?" Gimli asked, his eyes opening as an apprehensive expression took his face.

Kattica softly smiled at him. "Do you remember me?"

The stern expression of the Dwarf immediately melted away as Gimli's smile matched Kattica's and his voice softened several decibels. "Aye, you are the girl. Er . . . "

"Kattica," Faramir finished.

Gimli barely seemed to notice Faramir then. "Yes, yes, Kattica. I fetched water for you."

"So you did."

The smile faded a bit as Gimli remembered something, though his voice remained kind. "May I have some?"

"Water?" Kattica asked, blinking.

"Yes, please." Then leaping back to the former topic, he said, "You are feeling better then?" while she helped raise his head a few inches that he might drink from the freshly filled cup Faramir presented.

Kattica blushed. "You inquire of me? I would inquire of you, friend Gimli. Aye, I am well." Faramir snorted. He was met by Kattica's sharp glare of reproach.

She quickly turned away from him as Gimli's charm kicked in. "I am glad. A delicate thing like you must guard your health, especially now." Then he held the cup up, scrutinizing it for the first time. "But this is hardly a sip. More please, Faramir. I shall raise a new thirst before I quench the one I have at this rate."

Faramir snorted. "Is there something caught in your throat, Faramir? You seem to be making an unearthly noise," Gimli noted.

Faramir was. His glee that the girl was being admonished for her refusal to drink by the Dwarf in such an unknowing fashion was clearly visible.

"Ignore him. It has been a long day," Kattica said, scowling at Faramir before gentle eyes smiled again at the Dwarf.

"And a long journey as well. My water skin ran dry some time ago," Gimli said in converse.

Eagerly, Faramir interjected. "You remember it then?"

Gimli frowned, turning his eyes then upon the Prince. "What? Water? Of course I remember water. I just asked for it, did I not?"

Faramir growled. "Not water. Your journey. How did you come to be within that hollow?"

Apparently Gimli's thoughts were the same as his head jerked with the sudden reminder. "Aragorn!" Gimli's head shot up quickly though apparently that was not a good thing to do. He immediately winced then sank back down, eyes shutting. Speaking from this position, Gimli softly answered. "Aragorn . . . do you know of him, Faramir?"

"I? I was hoping you did," Faramir answered, anxiety now clearly showing on his face.

"Nay. I wished he may have sent you out in quest for me." Opening his eyes, Gimli queried, fear showing on his stout face. "And if not, how do you come to be here? And with Kattica no less? Where is Legolas?" His questions picked up velocity as he went on.

Faramir grimaced, squeezing eyes shut before he raised a hand to gently stop the Dwarf. His face showed concern and confusion. "Halt in your questions please, my friend. My head reels, for I have many of my own. Something has happened, Gimli, and I will explain my part of it to you if you will explain your part to me. Aragorn is not with you. Then where did he go?"

"I know not, nor will I be contented to tell you the little I know until you tell me Legolas is safe." Gimli's voice said that he meant these words. Stubborn Dwarf! Faramir accused in his mind, mildly amused that his thoughts echoed words he had often heard Legolas use.

Faramir nodded, trying to reassure. "As much as I know, he is safe."

"That is hardly the assurance I ask!" Gimli said tersely, raising his head a few inches to assert himself to the man of Gondor.

Faramir quickly explained, "I fear it is all I can give you at the moment. We escaped separately. I assume he took to the trees and slipped past seeking eyes "

"Escaped?! What are you saying!" The Dwarf appeared livid.

"Please, Gimli, all in due time! I will relay all to you, but tell me first what you know of Aragorn!" Faramir tried to calm, but truthfully he was growing riled himself.

The Dwarf lay back, taking a heavy breath before saying, "I know nothing. I apparently fell, but I found no sign of him. I thought perhaps he sought help, and so I waited for him, but he never came." Making eye contact with the man, he said, "If things are as dire as you lead me to believe, I fear for what might have occurred, Faramir."

From Gimli's other side, Kattica, who had been strangely silent, spoke. "The vision," she whispered.

"What?" Faramir asked, confused by her small interjection into the conversation.

"I saw him." She gazed at Faramir, eyes wide and sad.

"When? Where?"

She looked as if she might cry. "In the spell Bregus and I cast. We made the earth open by setting traps. And we made Aragorn see the buck. He was distracted and did not see Gimli fall. Then later, he was running. I did not see him any more after that, as the serpentine spell wore off, but the traps were set all about in that area. He too must have fallen."

Faramir gritted his teeth, realizing his earlier fears were indeed a reality. He bowed his head, thinking about the course of their actions. "We must find him," he said, though he knew nothing really had changed. They would still have to reach the soldier's camp first.

"What of Legolas? Mayhap he returned to Henneth-Annün and is doing just that," Gimli offered and Faramir noted it was said without knowing any of what Faramir might know.

"More likely he would have gone to the soldiers' camp," Faramir replied, laying a hand upon the Dwarf's shoulder. "There is much I would tell you."

Gimli muttered, "The women are well at least. So long as they sat by, though I venture they must be frantic by now."

The world suddenly lurched.

Faramir gasped. A wrenching thought rang through his head and he choked on the air in his lungs for how startled he was. "Oh no!" he whispered. So violent was the idea that he stepped backward, away from the Dwarf. His heart raced as he considered the dark thoughts, his breath hitching in his throat. Why had he not thought it before? How could he forget? "The women!" he exclaimed. "Dear Valar! Gimli, you do not suppose . . ." He turned then back to the Dwarf but he needed not look there for answer. His mind already confirmed what he thought to be true. "I must go!"

Gimli, startled, propped himself up on his elbows and not without pain. Clearly he struggled to sit and Faramir's fright seemed to propel him, despite the pain. "Nay, Faramir! Where would you go?"

"Éowyn will not be content to sit quietly! Ah, what a fool I am that I did not see! She will set out for the soldier's camp! She may have already done so!" His legs were shaking, and he felt he must move as his heart thundered wildly in his ears.

The Dwarf's words rang out. "She would not be alone in doing this! Arwen would go with her! They would have each other," Gimli said, this time seemingly attempting the reassurances as he sat himself more fully upright.

Faramir swung around, eyes fearful and fierce with determination. "That is worse, Gimli! An Elf and an unborn child! These are what the witch wants! Bregus will find them. I know she will!" Turning, he cast eyes on Kattica, gripping her by the shoulders he exclaimed, "I must get to them before she does!"

Kattica's face turned angry then, and stern. "And then Bregus will have everything she needs to succeed! Forget not what she had planned for you, Faramir!"

The man turned away, his gaze fixed on nothing, gesturing with his hands as if he were physically pushing her away. "It cannot be helped! The women know not that which she may do to them. They must be warned away!"

"And you are the last who should do it!" Kattica countered in a loud voice.

"And who would go in my steed? You? Your situation is no better than mine," he said in answer, anger making his tone chiding.

"Then let us go together!" she offered brightening the moment with some small hope.

"Aye! A fine idea, and I am ready!" the Dwarf announced, sliding off the stone bench only to immediately crumble in a dead faint.

"Gimli!" Both Kattica and Faramir ran to his fallen form, Kattica's hand finding a pulse.

Seeing Gimli still breathed and surmising he would survive, Faramir rose. "Stay with him, Kattica," he ordered. His fears would not be allayed in this delay. He could not wait.

"You cannot leave me like this!" she cried from her perch at the Dwarf's side.

Faramir tried to take a breath before speaking though a fire ran through his veins. He felt panic and staying in one place was an agony to him. His voice shook as he spoke and the tempo of his speech increased as he did. "I am going to go down river to where our hold is. If I am lucky I will meet up with Mattias. If I do I will send him back to you. But I must reach Henneth-Annün before the women part! With all good graces I will return here with them in short order. Wish luck to me, Kattica!"

She shook her head. "I cannot! I feel this is wrong. Let us wait until Gimli has his strength and then we all might " she offered, pleading.

"Too much time has already passed! Do you not see!" he interrupted. "I fear . . . I fear . . ." His sorrow then rose to the surface and he could no longer bury it. "How did I miss it? How could I not know what she would do?" His expression was one of heartbreak and suffering for his own failing, and he raised a shaking hand to bow his head.

"You have not been yourself . . ." Kattica began by excusing him, stepping forward as if to console him, but then she stopped. He knew his glare must be fierce for he attempted to smite her good intentions with the rage enflaming him. To Faramir, no excuse for his failure would ever suffice. To think he had forgotten to count his wife in their numbers. Unforgivable. Especially after devoting so much contemplation to her. It was inconceivable that any reasoning was a viable excuse.

Faramir could see that Kattica saw whet he felt. She pulled his hand away, and squeezed his strong fingers within her own. Her eyes locked with his as she silently passed him her assurances. She spoke, fear stripped from her voice. "Then go! Go with luck! And hurry your return!"

He nodded gratefully and then he ran. He ran faster than he could remember running. He ran with the speed he had when used when he knew his son's cries could save his wife's life. Faramir ran as if Éowyn's life depended upon him.