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 10
Oyster's revenge!
ooOoo
Faramir found himself once again deputizing for his father, and his brother, when the Court of the White Tree gathered to eat in the Merethrond the following evening. Boromir's fever had subsided, but still the Healers had him sedated, anticipating a restless patient who would undo the little good they had set in place. Denethor was spending much of his day asleep, a natural healing sleep, as opposed to an herbal cosh concocted by the Apothecary. With so few Hurins available with whom to dress the table, Faramir drafted his uncle into sitting by his right hand side, at his left, putting protocol ahead of prejudice, Faramir suffered the insufferable Halbeer. Faramir was given the signal from the Major-domo that the food was about to be served, and so Faramir now stood.
"My lords, and ladies, please to be upstanding for to observe the 'Standing Grace'," said Faramir, and as one the Court now rose to its feet. Faramir had to show impeccable respect at this moment, or be utterly disgraced, and so when Dee, standing behind his chair on duty as 'guard dog' began to purr in low ranger tones so faint only Faramir could hear him "One oliphant, two oliphants, three oliphants, until the required amount of time had been reached, around thirty-three oliphants, which equated to approximately one minute, Faramir was about to kill his ranger by clasping his windpipe, and counting how many Oliphants it took to throttle him!
"How is our lord?" Halbeer enquired of Faramir after they all re-took their seats.
Before Faramir could formulate a reply, Caranthir laconically leaned over and enquired: "Which one?"
"Why, Lord Denethor, naturally," retorted Halbeer.
"Ah," Caranthir said, "…the Lord, then. We have more than one lord indisposed, but still we have one who is fully functioning, eh, Faramir? Not quite so put out, that Henneth Annun is too far removed from the city to share in the annual tribute of oysters now, eh?"
"As you say, Master Caranthir," said Faramir, and why not, for Faramir had no notion where this annual tribute had sprung from! Well, he suspected from Caranthir's too-fertile mind, if he were being honest. The Healer had a way of inventing festivals, rituals, folk lore, whatever happened to fit the bill at the time.
"Beware the tides of March," Caranthir dead-panned.
"No oysters on the serving lists tonight, one assumes?" Halbeer asked, squinting with his porcine blue eyes as the salvers began to be fetched around.
"Master…?" Faramir might as well address the fount of all knowledge directly.
"Condemned by mine own fair hand," said Caranthir. "Ne'er a one survived!"
Much more of this and Faramir's composure would shatter. Denethor could sit and swap 'tall ones' with Caranthir hour upon hour, but for Faramir, the need to giggle always won out!
"Steak, slow-braised in ale gravy, with puffed pastry," Caranthir said with relish. "Do feel free to indulge, Lord Chamberlain!"
As Halbeer reached for the salt cellar, Caranthir's right hand passed over his platter, and a ring sprang open, and a thin veil of powder fell into the thick gravy. By the time Halbeer had added the salt, the powder had sank into the gravy, and the hand which so often defeated the eye had been snatched back, and was reaching for the pepper grinder.
Faramir froze. This benign healer, one must remember, was the agent of the Thangail Dinen alleged to be code-named: 'The Sandman' because of his skill at putting foes to 'sleep'. Alleged, for no agent, save Boromir, their Ostohir, 'Fortress Master', knew the identity of others within the order, but Boromir had never had a problem over trust with Faramir, and he had dropped a heavy hint or two, one night at Henneth Annun.
Had Caranthir finally had enough of Halbeer's dirty tricks, or was he simply reinforcing the 'bad oyster' rumour going about the Citadel? Faramir had no love for Halbeer, but Faramir was, for the moment, ruler of this land, and though justice was said to be blind, she would have to be deaf, and dumb also, to ignore the action Faramir had just witnessed! A tiny 'snick' and the recess in the elaborate insignia ring, with the pole and serpent emblem of the healers, snapped closed, reinforcing the fact that Faramir had not simply imagined the deed. Damrod, knowing from Faramir's flustered actions that his lord was in two minds as to whether to intervene or no, muttered a bored: "Meh…!"
"Argh…!" Halbeer gasped, and clasped his throat, and Faramir actually spilled wine upon the table linen, fearing the Chamberlain was about to expire at the Steward's own table!
"Drink some wine, man," said Caranthir, "And do allow the steam to escape, 'ere you scald your mouth. Severe burns over nine-tenths of the body mass can prove fatal!"
"Nine…Eru…!" Faramir gasped as his laughter built, forming up like a volcano under his ribs! Halbeer had a big mouth, but not quite nine-tenths of his body mass!
"One has to be excused, this pie is delicious!" Halbeer mumbled through a mouthful of half chewed food.
"Gluttony ought never to be excused," Caranthir opined.
Each tiny burp, every unscheduled shift in his chair, brought Faramir's head about to check the man beside him had not keeled over onto the floor. His entire night was reduced to a refined form of mental torture, and all the while Caranthir daintily passed the frothy lemon syllabub beyond his lips, without once anointing that neatly manicured goatee beard.
An explosive belch ripped from Halbeer, and Caranthir, supposedly making light of this breach of protocol, begged pardon for the mortified man hiding behind a kerchief.
"Pardon one for being so rude; it was not one, it was one's food!" Caranthir stated.
"I…one does beg your pardon, Lord Faramir, one has no…!" Halbeer was sensing the belch had a neighbour, and so he pressed the kerchief to his closed mouth!
"Pardon the pig with the sore twig!" Caranthir mused.
Sweat was now running freely down Faramir's spine. The heat in the Huge Chamber, the need to suppress his laughter, the actual terror of the man beside him going face down in the gravy boat, all had ruined his appetite, which had been considerable at the outset, and so he now decided to bring the entire ordeal to a close. If standing in for Denethor only bought him one privilege, then this was to be the one!
The Usher of the Court had noted Faramir rising from his chair, and he now called for all to rise for the Lord's departure.
Caranthir now fell in behind his nephew, and his nephew's body guard, and they swept from the Merethrond as all present dipped their heads or curtsied.
Beyond closed doors, Faramir came to a halt, folded over, and laughed until he wept!
"Never, ever, sit by me at dinner again, sir! I have ruptured some internal…innards…!" Faramir gasped.
"He shall not expire," said Caranthir, "Unless, of course, my chastisement coincides with the will of Eru Iluvatar!"
"What was that you shook into his pie?" Faramir demanded.
"If I told you, would it even mean anything to you? Suffice it to say that it shifts colic in a strangulated horse!" Caranthir said, and then he used a manicured little finger to winkle a stray piece of beef from his front teeth. "I think perhaps I shall visit with your papa for a while. One rarely gets to discourse uninterrupted with Thor. Good night, my lord, Damrod, sleep soundly!"
"So says the Sand Man!" Faramir said uneasily.
"Halbeer had an oyster in his pie. The kitchens were instructed to use them to pad out the meat; in ale gravy they taste not unlike a meaty bite of steak," Damrod said innocently.
"Where did they source oy…smell a rat; a tall, raven-haired, blue-eyed…rat!" Faramir giggled.
"Where is there a rat…?" Mossop demanded of a sentry, as the Civic Rat Catcher and his pied-terrier 'Piper' went by.
TBC
How many 'oliphants' are there to a minute, then?
Evendim