If I Could

By Evendim

This is a not for profit work of fan fiction based upon the works of J.R.R. Tolkien

Chapter Nine

Damage Limitation

ooOoo

Faramir shed his official robes, post Audience, and headed to enquire after his father. Caranthir re-took the ring of Office from his nephew, and restored it to Lord Denethor's finger.

"How is he?" asked Faramir, as he ran one hand tenderly over Denethor's hair, now spread upon the snow-white linen pillow.

"As you see, he is asleep, quite naturally, and without the aid of opiates, and that is a good outcome. The more he rests at this stage the better. So, have you succeeded with your damage limitation?" Caranthir enquired with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I might have committed one tiny fox's paw," Faramir admitted.

"You, commit a faux-pas? How is it even possible?" Asked the senior healer as he crossed to the table by the window and poured them both some wine. "Do tell."

"Halbeer knows about Boromir, I had to cover the folly of our sire in having us attend in such a foolhardy fashion, and so I said there had been an outbreak of food poisoning amongst the Hurins, due to bad oysters? Father is 'indisposed'; Boromir fell over in the latrine!" Hearing himself repeat this lie, Faramir gave a tiny squeak of discomfiture, and shook his head.

"Actually," said Caranthir, "that was not too shabby a save. One imagines the bugger blindsided you; he is a slithering reptile, from the pits of Doom!"

"He did rather sneak it into the conversation, yes," said Faramir.

"No matter," said Caranthir with a toothy grin, "one can quite successfully replicate the expected symptoms, and a dose of the trots ought to underpin this food poisoning theory. It is entirely likely the glutton has been about the 'pearly-providers' himself."

"You wouldn't…! You would…! Aren't you the horrid old healer?" Faramir chuckled.

"I am doing him a favour, for he ought to shed some of that bulk, and less of the 'old'," said Caranthir, and now he drained his wine, smacked his lips, and said: "Thor always did have a superb palate! He is possessed of excellent taste in wine, in women, and in the begetting of his offspring."

"Uncle…? Thank you for that!" Faramir said sincerely.

"You know me, child, outspoken to a fault, I never flatter, nor practice to deceive!" The Healer now bowed graciously towards his recumbent brother, and exited the bedchamber, calling to the sentries to see to it that no one, save the healers, or immediate family, were to be permitted to cross the threshold.

"How he adores you, papa, in that one sibling, at least, you are blessed!" Faramir stated as he smoothed the sable throw over his father, and turned to leave. He really had to speak with Boromir, had to set him straight on the tale he must uphold if questioned. "Dee, sit with father, would you? I need to speak to my brother, 'ere he wrecks my carefully laid plan!"

"Oh, you have one, then?" Damrod asked with a grin.

"Cheeky sod," Faramir snorted. "Mind the shop, and refuse to eat any oysters!"

ooOoo

The Houses of Healing

Faramir had expected Boromir to be in much better shape by the time he was free to visit him. He was taken aback to find his brother moaning in pain, and sweating, and shaking freely from a fever. Calgir was his usual inscrutable self, but it was still evident to Faramir that he was concerned about his patient's condition. Wringing out a cloth steeped in ice water, Calgir bathed Boromir's face and then held his wrist to count his pulse. Understanding the process, Faramir remained silent until the Healer relinquished his hold on Boromir and shook his head.

"He is having some reaction to the opiates. I did have to give him quite substantial doses to quieten him for transfer; even so, it took most of the journey here before he finally quietened."

"Where, exactly…?" Faramir asked as much for something to say, as an actual need to know where Boromir had been when he fell silent.

"Mid-way through: 'She was only the landlord's daughter, but she knew more than she surely ought-er!'. The One be thanked, it was growing more risqué by the verse!" Calgir muttered.

"It is his common touch that makes him such a wonderful commander. He may sup with a soldier of a morning, and sit to dinner with the Lord of us all by even, and never miss a heartbeat. I never shall be so attuned to the discipline of soldiering as he is. What of his leg? Shall it mend?" Faramir enquired, now holding his breath as he awaited Calgir's opinion.

"It is hoped so. But the delay in getting him here was prolonged, as you know, and every hour takes its toll. This fever is disquieting. I might seek the opinion of Master Caranthir, to err on the safe side," said Calgir.

"You must pull him through this, I had my first taste of father's duties today, and I want no second helpings, I swear!" Faramir said honestly.

"If I did not know you better, I would wonder that you are less concerned with your brother's health, than your own work load. But that is not the case, and you are merely trying not to absorb the seriousness of the situation. I do not blame you. For what would your father do without him, for if you could not order Ithilien, in order to become Captain General, how would Gondor hold the line?" Calgir knew full well how these brothers felt about one another. They had supported one another for their entire lives. They would only ever stop supporting one another when one of them no longer drew breath, and that was what had Faramir so afraid at this moment in time.

"He is strong," said Calgir, "and he will fight for the right to roast the lives out of both Master Caranthir and I, have no fear!"

"Oh, he is strong, as strong as an ox, but still he is only human, with a mortal's frailties, and though I am suited to Ithilien, and the type of soldiering there, I am no cavalry man!" Faramir stated as he sat beside his brother, and took over mopping his brow.

"No, one supposes not, and there is a difference. I once rode with Imrahil, in the Swan Knights, and the cavalry road is hard, and long," said Calgir.

"I should miss my own command, Damrod, Mablung, Anborn, I am a Ranger by choice as much as by necessity," said Faramir. "So get well, you great lummox, do you hear?"

If Boromir had heard, then he showed no sign of it, merely murmured in his sleep as he moved restlessly upon the bed, his hair darkened with sweat, his hand balled into a fist about the now crumpled bed sheet.

"Hush, I am here, all shall be well," said Faramir, praying this was not a lie, unlike the 'bad oyster'!

ooOoo

In the early hours following on from Boromir's repatriation, Ancir came to take Faramir's place, and Damrod came to drag Faramir away by force, if necessary, to take some rest. Ancir settled with his reports, determined to get ahead with the paperwork so that he could free up Faramir to cover for Denethor later in the day if need be. Boromir was still dangerously ill, but according to the healers he was beginning to hold his own. Ancir was deep in thought, deciding how many sacks of potatoes were needed at Osgiliath, and how many they could deliver to Henneth Annun without breaking the logistics corps, when a kiss was dropped atop his copper hair, and there stood his sister.

"Gilly, go to bed, it is…it never is that time, surely?" Ancir groaned.

"You are the one who must go to bed, for you shall have to take the Barracks inspection in the wake of dawn!" Said Gilmith of Lossarnach; the daughter of Forlong.

"You have forgotten more about soldiering than I suspect I shall ever learn, sister!"

"There you are then, you sit there with your books and quill, and I will take the inspection!" she said with a smile behind her eyes.

"With all those naked troops to-ing and fro-ing the ablutions? I think not, madam!" Ancir blushed at the thought.

"I promise not to touch, I shall confine myself to merely looking!" she teased.

"Eru, the woman is shameless! Alright, I shall snatch a couple of hours sleep, and you will call me if he needs me, yes?" Ancir insisted.

"What may you do for him that I may not, brother?" Gilmith asked mischievously.

"He is much shyer than you would imagine," said Ancir.

"Get away with you, we grew up together, him, you, me, Faramir, Edwen, Edgar…!" she was ticking the names off on her fingers, "Gareth, even Cerris for a time, but he was older of course and so…what?"

"It was a pity the stork that dropped you down father's chimney was colour-blind. He should have brought one in a pink blanket, not yet another blue one! Ow! Oh, you still can land a slap, sister, whoever turned you down for active service miss judged the decision!" Ancir groaned.

"Men, it is not so much a gender, as an exclusive club!" Gilmith pouted as Ancir left to take some rest, she then turned her attention to Boromir. "Sleep, lovely one, sleep, for it is nature's healer, and does not steal about wrapped in crow black!"

As she sat there watching over Boromir, the raven-haired, grey-eyed beauty, dressed shockingly in riding leathers, her waist-long hair braided into a thick plait, used a whet stone to sharpen her sword. Ever the tom-boy of their group, Gilmith, Gilly, stood guard over the one man with whom she believed she could make a life. The one who accepted that she, too, loved their land, and believed she could make a difference with a sword clasped in her hands, as opposed to knitting socks for the Garrison!

Why did he have to attach himself to Amaryllis Morthond? The woman was not even free to wed, even if she was not so much older than Ori to begin with. He needed an heir, and Amy was pushing her luck in that department. Then again, he was a serving soldier, perhaps he did not wish to leave a widow behind him, but for Gilly, even to have loved and lost, if the man was Boromir, was something she could bear to live with. If only he saw her, and not Ancir's big sister!

TBC