A/N Thanks so much to tardiscookies for following and favouriting! Of course things have to get a little worse before they can improve :)
There was only one emotion in these latter days that could make the redoubtable duchess cry and that was sheer, utter, helpless, frustration. She had not often been acquainted with it, far more used to knowing what she at least should do even in those times she could not do it. But this evening, as her shaking fingers spread salve across Faramir's chest (again) the tears mixed one by one with the smooth green paste.
The cup of willowbark tea lay abandoned on the bedside table beside a pot of healing salve. Its comfrey and mint smelled strong, stronger than the acrid woodiness of the willowbark. Surely it would ease his shallow breathing, as would the steam from the bowl of minted water placed by his side. What else could she do? Nothing for the moment seemed to help.
She stroked gently, endlessly along his chest and back, determined to hold Faramir upright until the healers came. Elbereth, please let it be soon, her lips murmured to his wet raven hair, until that became a litany. Faramir's face was now a sickly grey, lips tinged with the barest blue. Was this some fever of the wound? The red streaks across his flank, almost like a spider's web, suggested so, but what fever made the body cool not hot? She did not understand…and now the salve ran with yet more salty drops.
What cruel irony was at work that she should be holding him so very close yet he did not even know that she was there? The very thing her secret heart of hearts had desired, never spoken of, never even whispered to the dark of her own room, and now she should hold him when he might be snatched away? Away… oh Gods…
Her heart clenched again to remember the sight of him, sprawled on his stomach on the bathing room floor, chair tipped over, a golden slick of sandalwood oil running across the tile to pool under his bruised and blue tinged hip. Her first thought had been quite ludicrously: how could he suffocate in a bath? But kneeling beside, skirts damp, her heart in her mouth, she had felt his back rise all too shallowly and knew.
Her panicked cry had brought every denizen of the house flying on the double.
As the seconds and the minutes stretched by, some traitorous, wildly careening part of her mind wondered what Faramir would make of this. His modest and reserved public self likely would be quite embarrassed at the thought of being lifted naked off the bathroom floor by her guard and youngest footman. But his private self she hoped would be a little comforted and strengthened to be held by her.
What else was there now for her to do?
With Varda's name on her lips and in her aching heart, she held him tighter, pressed the salve more firmly into his skin and willed every ounce of her hard-earned resilience to pour into him.
Elbereth, bring them soon.
.
~~~000~~~
.
Varan, normally the mildest mannered of men, uttered a heartfelt curse as he ran down the Citadel's endless white stone steps.
He had wasted precious time. The Captain had not been there and no one he had met had seemed to know exactly where he was. The guards were clearly more than loathe to disturb the Steward at whatever his important 'work' was this late time of night. They seemed frankly terrified. Only when he had pleaded, throwing privacy to the desperate winds, and admitted that his son's life was in real danger had he gotten anywhere. Nera, the housekeeper, white-faced and clearly stricken at the thought, had pushed forward through the throng of anxious guards and found the courage to speak aloud, explaining which townhouse he should try.
Now as the man raced along the empty thoroughfare in the 6th circle he prayed he would be in time. How long had it been since Captain Faramir had been wounded? Seven hours, or likely even eight? Surely the poison had taken hold by now? Fear clutched at his heart. He remembered well his gran's high but sure and steady voice, telling her curious grandson about the Woodwoses and their habits. A time or two they had treated animals for them and even once one of the little men himself. She always said their famous poison was crude yet cruelly efficient on its foes. And thank Este blessedly easy to treat if the antidote were administered soon enough. But therein lay the problem. Its victims did not always realize they had been prey. The stuff had no great odor and only made a strong man feel a little ill and chilled at first. It was slow and all too insidious. Over time the body's systems slowed, temperature first, then breathing, and finally the heart.
Clutching the antidote harder in his hand, Varan picked up his pace, ran as fast as the cobbled slope would let him go. The drizzle dragged at his sodden cape but he did not notice, intent only on the numbered doors, searching for the specific one amidst the row of elegant but identical white stone fronts. He had just reached the middle 6th when another figure appeared out of the wet and swirling mist.
"Master!" A guard in the blue and grey livery of Lebennin pulled up, panting from his run. Obviously, he recognized the healer's grey robes. "Please come. Quickly. The Captain, he is sore ill."
"Lead the way…"
They ran.
~~~000~~~
.
If the head of Duchess's household felt any ire at the usurpation of his authority, he was of course too well trained to show it. Willen leapt at Master Varam's detailed instructions as quickly as the rest, a little amused to find in minutes of his arrival the healer had no less than five of the household servants running to and fro. Two guards had been dispatched back to the Houses for a litter and reinforcements, the under butler sent to the cook for heated water, and the seneschal himself was tearing linen into fresh bandages that could be soaked. Only Amerith was left where she was, holding the Captain's pale, shivering figure up, cradling his head against her shoulder while Varan pulled back the coverlet to examine the ugly, scarlet wound.
"My lady have you seen these streaks change any?" Gentle fingers probed carefully at the naked skin. The gash was small, no more than an inch or two, but quite inflamed and red. To Amerith it looked really such a small and unsinister thing to cause great hurt.
"No Master, not in the past half-candlemark. Thank the Valar you are here. We found him collapsed on the bathing room floor. " Her arms shook now as much as Faramir's though not from chill. Fear had seeped into her bones. The worry on Varan's face was unmistakable. It did not seem possible that from such a simple wound all their efforts could come to naught. Had Faramir really endured uncomplaining years of battle and bitter words for a simple arrow graze to take him down?
Varan paused in his probing to check his patient's pulse. It was slow but not yet unsteady for a mercy. Next the healer listened to his chest, holding him gently up and tapping several times. It was clear, the slow breathing was not infection that he could see. The last thing to gauge was the extent of temperature control. "What were his symptoms when he arrived, my lady? Was he noticeably chilled?"
Amerith shifted slightly on the bed and nodded, watched anxiously the older man's grim but thoughtful face. "When he arrived he was already shivering, I thought it from the ride. And he had little appetite. But the shivering now is less, though he does not wake and his breathing seems difficult. Is it a fever? But his skin is not hot to the touch? Surely that is good if at least he is less chilled?"
Varan sighed unhappily. All the telltale signs of the plant poison had shown. "Nay, lady, less is not good in this instance. This is no fever, though it might have seemed so to anyone. The shivering is less because his body is too weak but still also very chilled. The wound has been poisoned."
"Poisoned!"
At her stricken exclamation, the older man hastened to explain. "I am afraid so, but I have brought an antidote. Do not fear, milady I believe I am just in time. Bide awhile and you shall see."
With that, Varan unscrewed the cap on the jar and scooped out a small handful of dark green paste. He spread some first across the wound itself and then, with a murmured word of thanks to the footman, cast the rest into the steaming bowl of water laid near to hand.
A bitter, intense, sharp smell quickly filled the room. Working hurriedly but carefully Varan soaked the strips of linen in the brew and wrapped them around Faramir's wound and up across his chest. Next he soaked the tip of a smaller cloth and pushed it past the young man's unresponsive lips, wringing a few drops onto his tongue.
Faramir groaned quietly and his eyelids fluttered. He was not completely unconscious yet, but neither did he swallow. If the tea tasted anything like the smell, surely it was unpleasant and would not easily go down.
"More. My lord, you must try." Varan, long used to coaxing patients, persevered. He coated the young man's tongue once more. This time Faramir jerked his head away and frowned, his hand raising just a little, as if trying to bat the cloth away.
"Lord Faramir. Wake up. You must drink this down." The healer tried harder to rouse his patient, shaking his shoulder and finally slapping him lightly on both cheeks. This time the eyelids fluttered twice and even opened for a moment. Swiftly, Varan dipped a cup and held it to his lips. Almost before he knew what he had done, Faramir had sipped and made a face. But Varan was ready, he quickly pulled the cup out of reach and laid it down before the certain protest could upend it. With the barest of gentle touches, he stroked the young man's throat to make sure the liquid went farther down.
Through sheer dint of repetition most of the cup got into the man. All the while, Amerith supported his lolling head against her shoulder. With her own none too steady hand she softly brushed his still wet hair from off his cheek, trying to keep it out of the mess. Each time Faramir reluctantly took a sip some of the mixture dribbled out the corner of his mouth. It soaked her bodice and trailed down his pale throat, across the finely muscled chest.
At long last, as Varan laid the cup down and rubbed vigorously across Faramir's back, the yonger man gave the tiniest little cough. Encouraged, the healer massaged his chest and back still harder, willing the circulation to increase.
"How quickly will it work?" Amerith barely dared to breathe, watching each shallow rise and fall of the dark curly hairs above the bandage on his chest.
"Not long" was the reply. "It was not too late and I made the dose very strong." Varan added a little more hot water to the basin and swirled the mixture round. The cooled strips of linen were soaked and wound again.
Never had a single half candle-mark seemed to burn so slowly. Amerith busied herself with piling the blankets around his hips and replacing the cooled warming pan with hot bricks that Willen offered up.
Slowly, after what seemed an age, the warmth and herb stilled the chills that wracked Faramir's body and a little colour came back to his pale and clammy skin.
Amerith settled down and laced her fingers through his now warmer hand. Hope slowly seeped back in as she held him tight and whispered words of comfort.
"Este…"
Varan allowed himself a little smile at her exclamation. Faramir had taken several deeper breaths. Now his pulse seemed stronger and his breathing a little easier. "We must watch carefully for a while, but I am hopeful the worst is past. Then we will move him to the Houses."
"I will come.."
"Of course." The healer was a naturally observant man. The duchess's hand had not unclasped Faramir's nearly the entire time. "I had not thought that you would do otherwise"
.
2 more chapters after this :) next: what Wheelrider and Annafan delightedly termed Faramir with the brakes of duty off.
