It was hot. So hot. Yet he shivered uncontrollably. He trembled and tried to curl into himself but the pain at his side suddenly flared white-hot and he cried out.
"Shh, be still, Faramir," a voice whispered.
He felt something cold on his burning forehead and he moaned gladly.
Someone lifted him up and he felt the comforting feel of someone's chest supporting him. He felt the cold rim of a mug on his lips. He drank cautiously and realised that it was water. He choked in his haste to drink and the voice told him to drink slowly. He obeyed reluctantly and soon the mug was empty.
His carer gently placed him back on his back and wiped his face with something cool.
He opened his eyes and Boromir's face, grave with concern, swam before him.
"I'm so cold." The words were out from his mouth before he realised what he had said. He regretted causing the flicker of anxiety that appeared on Boromir's face. He looked so tired and weary … didn't he have enough concerns already? He needn't be burdened by a sick brother.
"And where did you get such an idea, little brother?" Boromir frowned heavily as he added another blanket to the several layers of bedclothes on him. It did not lessen the chill.
Faramir hadn't realised that he had spoken aloud. The fever had addled his brains that much. "How long?" he asked faintly.
"How long have you been ill?" Boromir asked, trying to quell the urge to tell Faramir to be quiet. Faramir was speaking breathlessly, his voice a weak whisper, as if the act of talking was robbing him of breath. It pained Boromir to see him so frail and weak.
Faramir nodded feebly. Even that simple act exhausted him. His body felt heavy, his head pounded and his vision wavered as he was looking through water. And ever is he plagued by the cold; cold that seeped into his bones and caused him to ache all over.
"You needn't concern yourself with that, little brother. You need to concern yourself only with rest," Boromir said gently. Ten longs days, little brother. Boromir thought secretly. A long time to watch you grow weaker while I wait by your side, helpless to do anything about it.
"Has father come to see me?" Faramir asked uncertainly, for in his disjointed memories he did not remember his father by his side.
Boromir nodded. "Yesterday. But you were asleep, and he did not want to disturb you."
Faramir became quiet after that, and for a while the only sounds in the small room were the sounds of dripping water as Boromir dipped the rag into the bowl of water and used it to mop Faramir's face and neck. Faramir, meanwhile, had drifted into a feverish daze where he stared at Boromir with dimmed, half-opened eyes. His chest rose laboriously as he breathed.
"You'll be well again, brother. And when you're stronger, we will race across the Pelennor on our steeds … remember, Faramir? We used to do that when we were children."
When the cares of Gondor were not on our shoulders. Boromir paused in his ministrations and buried his face in his hands. Ten days, and he had witnessed his brother growing worse. Faramir's moments of lucidity now were rare and he spent most of his time now in a feverish stupor, for his strength had dwindled so much that he lacked the strength to even trash in delirium. The healers had inspected the wounds, and declared that they were not worse – unfortunately, nor were they significantly better either. It seemed as if Faramir was getting nowhere in his fight against the infection that raged in his body. It seemed as if he was giving up.
He shook his head. He shall not think of such thoughts. Resolutely, he returned to his task, looking into his brother's glassy eyes grimly as he dipped the rag in the washbasin once more. I would see you smile again, brother. I would see you laugh …even the sight of you reading one of your dusty volumes in the family gardens would lighten my heart.
And he was brought back to their childhood, where they had raced, carefree on the Pelennor, the Anduin their destination. It was times like those that Faramir had truly smiled and laughed.
"It's hot," Faramir whispered suddenly, interrupting Boromir's musings.
Boromir sighed and folded the top blankets back. But it was not enough for Faramir who twisted in the bed restlessly, his hands pushing weakly at the rest of the bedclothes. "Take it off," Faramir said, his eyes bright with anxiety.
"No, little brother. You'll be chilled." Boromir gently clasped one of Faramir's hands to prevent him from struggling so. Boromir frowned, alarmed at how hot his hands felt – it seemed as if Faramir was hotter than before. Worriedly, he placed a hand on his brother's forehead.
Faramir twisted away from his touch – as if his hand burnt him.
"I'm burning," Faramir whimpered, staring at Boromir with unfocused eyes. And then his eyes widened as his gaze shifted to one side.
ooOoo
"Faramir?" he heard Boromir ask worriedly. But Faramir could only stare at the tongues of flame behind Boromir.
"Fire. The room is on fire!" he pushed himself up on his elbows only to fall back immediately. He was too weak and Boromir easily pushed him down.
"There's no fire, Faramir," Boromir said firmly. But there was a growing alarm in his eyes – Faramir could see it. The fire grew until it engulfed the table behind Boromir. Faramir cried out in alarm when he saw that the buildings outside were on fire too.
Why is he pretending not to see it?! Minas Tirith is on fire! The city burns!
"Minas Tirith is not on fire. It's your fever, Faramir," Boromir whispered urgently.
He struggled weakly in his brother's grasp. "Let me go! I must defend the city! The orcs are coming in!" He breathed heavily, trying vainly to push his brother away. But he had no strength at all and Boromir held his hands in a vise-like grip. Boromir then leaned close to him, as if his nearness could drive some sense into him.
"Faramir! Listen to me, it is safe. Do not struggle – you're ill!"
Again Faramir was pushed back into the bed. He grew desperate – he was hot; he was burning alive! Flames licked at his sides and he heard someone laughing, the voice high with madness.
"The flames! They're coming closer!" he cried out in terror. He struggled against the invisible bonds that held him but they were too strong for him to break. He heard someone speaking to him, but he couldn't understand the words. All he knew was the terrible heat and terror. Then suddenly, he fled – back into the safe darkness of unconsciousness.
"Hamir!" Boromir screamed when Faramir's eyes rolled back into his head and his body went limp in his arms.
The warden and a healer he faintly remembered as Aldrahnir ran in moments later. Hamir's eyes widened when he saw Faramir but the calm healer's mask descended on his features almost immediately. He studied the hectic colour on Faramir's cheeks and the flushed face and immediately understood what needed to be done.
"Aldrahnir. Prepare a tub of cold water. Now."
The healer bowed shortly and ran out quickly.
"Hamir? My brother … He fainted. He was delirious – I tried to calm him but he wouldn't listen," Boromir was close to babbling, and his eyes were filling up with tears. The Captain-General of Gondor, who charged into hordes of orcs without fear, was now trembling with fear after having witnessed his brother's fit. He shook his brother gently, trying to wake him but Faramir's head lolled limply on Boromir's shoulder.
"Boromir," Hamir said gently, his anxiety causing him to forget to address Boromir by his title, "Lay him on the bed."
Boromir nodded, and did so.
He had only to touch Faramir's forehead to confirm his prognosis. "His fever has risen. We must lower it."
The Captain-General's eyes widened. Years as a healer had taught Hamir to recognise that look; the look of panic that assailed a person when they discovered that a sick man was dying. But Faramir was not dying. Not in his House, Hamir thought.
"Perhaps you should leave, my Lord," he murmured, watching Boromir carefully.
"Leave?" Boromir's eyes widened in panic then anger clouded his eyes. "Are you mad? My brother needs me!" he hissed.
"Yes, he does. But he does not need your fear or your anger. If you are to stay, I want you to be calm, do you understand?"
Boromir may be the Steward's heir, but Hamir was lord in the Houses of Healing. He nodded then whispered shakily, "We must send word to my father."
"Aldrahnir would have done so already. Do not worry, my Lord. Now, our only concern is to lower Faramir's fever."
Boromir did not miss the grave look on Hamir's face. "Tell me everything, Hamir."
He paused, considering, then said softly, "It is too early to tell; but if we do not lower his fever, he could suffer from fits and it would be dangerous."
Some determination returned to Boromir and he said sternly, "Then we will make certain that his fever is lowered."
