See the disclaimers in the previous chapters. Huge thanks everyone who read, and the hugest – to those who reviewed. Sorry that I made you wait. Comment, if you are inclined. :o)
Chapter four.
Too close, too far.
A hand flitted in the air and fell down on a forearm of a dark-haired soldier.
Pallid skin grew even more discoloured, as soon as that was possible. Now its hue was equal to that of the insipid blue eyes in a thin, hollow face.
The arrival shivered and made a slight movement, which betrayed the desire to turn away and ran headlong, not bothering about the way ahead. For some instants Boromir thought she would do it. However, she just jerked her lips in some strange way and blinked – confusedly and wistfully. Then her head went down, delivering him from the blank terror in her glance.
The better for him.
He saw no reason why the lass should recoil from him the way she did, but he had his suspicions.
She was not the only one to behave like this. He was sick and tired of all those who stared at him as if he had a spare couple of hands or three heads. And of those who shrank and paled whenever he passed by. Up to this moment he cherished a weak hope that the news hadn't travelled out of the town yet. At his unambiguous request Faramir forbade anyone to talk about his return. Luckily, he woke up quite in time to stop his brother from trumpeting the tidings and sending messengers to the Shire, Minas Tirith, Mirkwood, or wherever he had been going to send them. He wasn't ready… For what he wasn't ready he couldn't tell even himself. Everything was still too vague. Too inexplicable. Too raw.
And surely there was no cause for him to be glad.
He had foggy recollections of his awakening. There was only cold in his heart and sea-salt on his face, so coarse that he scratched it away together with his skin. Lost and giddy, he crawled along wet grey sand till his legs sank under him… He closed his eyes, and when they opened the next time, there were walls around him. And Faramir was sitting on the edge of his bed.
The wounds closed up surprisingly soon – it took him no more than two days to be on his feet again. Some more time was spent in getting to know the world he had waken up in. And a sheer instant in realizing that he had nothing to do in this world.
The castle stifled him and he began to leave it each morning, roaming at random, getting farther and farther with each time. Running like a beaten dog. And each time he returned, for whatever he told himself, deep inside there lived the knowing that he had nowhere to go except Ithilien.
His brother was sending guards after him. At first they were hiding or keeping a considerable distance behind – perhaps to spare his pride. And soon he himself stopped dead and was waiting till they approached him to become his suite for all the future strolls.
Though they could be helpful, too. If it were not for them, he wouldn't have thought of coming down into the cave of Henneth Annun, and this trembling youth in front of him would have rested in peace forever.
"Will you sit down?" the voice of Faramir snatched him out of the gloomy reveries. Following the direction of a pointing hand, Boromir understood that their young guest was to be seated in a vacant chair next to his own. The lass manifestly realized it, too, and reacted sooner than he managed to get angry at her renewed horror.
"No!" she started back, her hands flying up as if she wanted to put a barrier between them. The men at table, who had already begun returning to their talks, fell silent again – so abrupt and desperate her outcry was. Half of them stared at her anew, but now surprise in their eyes changed into misgiving, with which people are usually watching a possibly dangerous animal. The other half was venturing quick glances at Boromir's face, waiting for the storm to break.
"Don't be afraid," said Eowyn soothingly, and once again Boromir against his will marveled at how soft the steely Rohan lady could sound, "No one here means harm to you."
"I'm not afraid. But I'd take some other place," the protest was barely heard, yet firm, "If you allow me, of course," added the girl in complete whisper.
Eowyn turned an inquiring face to Faramir, who was obviously hesitating, unwilling both to be too inhospitable and too pliable.
"Why not…" said he at last, and made a slight sign to one of those on the left side of the table. The noble stood up, throwing a spiteful glance at the girl, but not venturing to object. Together with his profaned dignity he strolled to the seats, occupied by lower-ranking soldiers and settled there, his face morose enough to sour a jar of milk. His neighbours also seemed not too satisfied with their new companion. Boromir gave a dark chuckle. He almost pitied the little silly thing. It looked like she'd make enough of enemies here, if she stayed a little more.
Smiling a ghost of a smile, the newcomer took the offered chair, and her attendant went there to where a moment ago the nobleman was exiled.
Boromir twisted his mouth in a mirthless smirk and leaned deeper into his seat. Blow them all. As far as he knew his brother, a long conversation was at hand, and he had no slightest inclination to participate in it.
He let his lids fall down low enough to detach him from one and all. In about a minute every phrase be it said even into his ear, will turn into a senseless hum. A habit, indispensable for any warrior – to be able to throw aside anything and concentrate on one single thing – appeared to be unexpectedly opportune in his present position. However, now he most often concentrated on thoughts than on actions. Most often… He sniffed at himself. "Always" was a much more suitable word. For he did nothing except think, drink and moon wherever his feet led him, frightening people.
The windy stare of that scraggy girl floated before his mind's eye once again.
Turned into a scarecrow for little children…
"Go and sleep or Lord Boromir will come and take you"
Nowhere lower.
He needed wine.
The cup-bearer hastened to him through the hall, obeying a silent nod. He slowly raised a goblet to his lips and once more made certain that the beverage chafed the throat and had a bitter after-taste. Subduing a sour grimace, he nodded again, and again the purple liquid dimpled in a silvery bowl. For the Captains of Gondor. Former Captains.
Darn it.
Putting the goblet back, he was suddenly convulsed with cutting pain in his chest. Boromir clenched his teeth, hoping that it was the first and the last pang, but the heaviness wouldn't go. He drew in the air and inwardly cursed not to groan in full voice. The burning spot was expanding.
He tried to repress the pain one last time, and it almost obeyed, yet the respite he was given ended practically at once. The hall quivered and swam away together with all the light and sound.
He had to do something. Immediately.
I was sick.
By Ulmo, I never thought that it was so hard for Mortals to deal with their feelings. I was shaking from head to foot, like in fever, afraid to open my mouth as well as to raise my eyes. Why did I ever come down at all? It didn't come to my mind to rejoice at seeing him. I had never doubted that the Valar had kept their promise.
Someone put a plate right in front of my nose. I couldn't remember how came that my fingers were clutched around a high bowl, filled with strange, dark and foxy water. I quickly brought it to my lips and made a desperate gulp. The sensation following it ripped me through like a lightning – I had to cover my mouth with both hands not to let the liquid spill out, because I had no strength to swallow something so bitter and sour at the same time. Why on earth did they spoil so much water?
I cast a quick glance at those, who were drinking at the moment. They were not showing any signs of discontent. Moreover, they even … liked it?
Will I have to choke with this poison for the rest of my life?
Now I could understand why mortals had loved me so much. If that disgusting blend won their affection, my waters must have seemed to them the drink of the Valar.
I pushed the bowl aside and guardedly wiped my chin.
A light motion on the opposite side of the table made me flinch, as I instantly remembered with whom I was sharing this meal.
May be I had no will-power – may be. May be I had to restrain myself and go on staring at my own hands on the blackened wood of the table. But before I knew my eyes were already chained to him…
He looked out-of-body now, and probably didn't listen to us, some deep and gloomy reflections thickening the shadow on his face. He was heavily troubled and angry. But he was alive. And to my relief, my presence appeared not to bring him any harm. For now.
It was odd to see him through my new vision. Most of what I thought I knew in him, I couldn't recognize. I lost my ability to read him and was reduced to primitive guessing by outward view. And though now we were creatures of the same kind, for me he had never been more distant.
If only I could reach out for him. Just one touch. Just…
He stirred to call up some mortal from the far end of the hall, and I promptly turned away in fear that he'd notice me examining him…
And met a thoughtful glance of lord Faramir, following my every movement.
"So, how should we call you, milady?" he wanted to know as if nothing had happened.
"What?" my thoughts were too far from my royal host yet.
"Your name?" repeated he patiently.
"He-" I trailed off. Here it is. I completely forgot that I would have to introduce myself. I simply didn't occur to me! Think, think… The pause was growing strained. "Lan…thir," I forced out pitifully.
"Helanthir," repeated he half-questioningly. Feeling utterly lost, I just nodded. What's the difference? The man slightly narrowed his gray eyes…
"What happened to you, lady Helanthir?"
"I got lost," my mouth was crisp like a river in drought.
"Lost?" it took him a simple rise of a voice to show me that it was not the best explanation I could give, "Who brought you to Henneth Annun?"
"I came there myself."
At least that was the truth. Part of the truth.
"The way you were?" wondered he, obviously mistrusting.
"Yes."
"Were you hiding?"
"Yes," instinctively I felt that the less I said the better it was for me. I couldn't invent an explicable lie – none of my former kin had a need in falsehood. My last outlet was to catch at his questions, weaving the story which could have never been mine, but was acceptable for people. But as soon as he offered the next enquiry, I had to admit that even this artless trick betrayed me.
"From whom?"
And indeed, from whom…Orcs? And remained unscathed? Men? With no signs of such around?
"I cannot tell you," muttered I, evading to look him in the face. How would he know that it was the greatest verity I told him?
"Do try to understand me, lady Helanthir. It's our land. If there's something of danger, we must be aware of it."
I had nothing to say, and I said nothing.
"Lady Helanthir!" steely notes stole into his friendly intonation.
"Please," I was getting lost, "Please, don't ask me!"
However, he didn't seem eager to refuse the interrogation earlier than I would break.
Thankfully, Ulmo was still guarding me, though I wasn't his trouble anymore.
Delicate fingers brushed against Faramir's wrist and rested there, giving it a careful squeeze. Flinching, he turned to a lucid lady at his side and the kindling harshness vanished out of his face, as their eyes met.
"Let the child eat," said she quietly, a slight reproach in her voice.
He lowered his gaze to fix it on her fine hand, still lying above his. A strange thought ran through my head. If we were on a battle-field, he would be defeated.
Frowning, he looked back at me – not half as implacably as before.
"Do you have a family?" asked he suddenly. I gave a start. A family… For a moment the grayness of the stone-walls dissolved in the glimmering strings, streaming from the crying heaven. I saw the smiles of my sisters, clear and subtle. And crystal, melodic, light voices rang in my ears, calling me to join in the carefree dance under the rain… My heart shrank and sighed.
It hurt. Hurt more than I could imagine.
"No," whispered I, feeling that too many words will not come without tears now, "Not anymore."
Varda knows in what way my torturer interpreted the answer, but his expression, formerly suspicious, became somewhat softer.
"Is there someone who can come after you?"
I tried to smile at the mild inquiry and silently shook my head. He nodded – a little too reluctantly – but didn't say anything else.
Blessing all my guardians at once, I hastened to look away.
What I saw dried out every drop of my relief. I instantly felt I was sinking into icy darkness.
Oh, no…
Boromir…
He was awkwardly stooping in his chair, as if wanting to hide as much of his unprotected chest as he could from the thing that was gnawing into his flesh.
Lurid paleness was spilling over his skin, and the strands on his forehead were soaking in chilly feverish sweat. The elbow-rests were ready to splinter under the pressure of his clenched fingers.
Blood throbbed in my head, and his heavy breath all of a sudden became mine, pouring life and strength into my veins at each inhale of his.
And he – he was growing weaker…
I had to be out. Anywhere, just far away from him.
They sprang up from their places almost together, with Boromir just for a twinkling outstripping the girl opposite to him.
"I pray that you might excuse me -," he cut off, noticing the frozen posture of the now standing lass.
Something flared up between them, tense and dark like the overcast skies before the storm. The force, to which Faramir found no name, sent asunder the waves of pure heat. Stunned by them, he could only watch the two figures, strikingly clear-lined against the background of the hall, which suddenly grayed and flattened. Faramir's glance was anxiously shifting from his brother to the stranger girl, trying to grasp the whole picture and catching at small, irrelevant details instead. Her dry lips… His drawn mouth… Still lashes… White knuckles…
Two shadows stood in a tense silence and peered at each other, equally ashen-faced…
Then she swallowed and slowly, very slowly sank back into her chair, not taking her eyes off the one who remained standing.
Boromir snorted, whirled around and strode towards the huge oaken doors, leading outside. Some of the soldiers quickly stood up, ready to follow their Captain, but the latter merely turned his head to table, nailing them to the ground with a burning stare.
"To your places!" bawled he abruptly, "I have no need in you!"
Intuition told Faramir that it would be better not to stop him now. He wouldn't listen as he had never once listened to anyone since the day had come to himself in this castle.
Besides, there was another person claiming Faramir's close attention. The one who was sitting with her forehead against a white palm and her lids tightly shut, as though she was racked by heavy sickness.
He might not understand what he had witnessed, but no one could call the younger son of Denethor blind. He used to trust his eyes and his feelings.
There was something that connected their guest with Boromir, something that influenced his brother not in a favorable way.
And he was determined to keep her as close as possible till he found out what it was.
Lanthir - the Sindarin for "waterfall".