Road to recovery

The majority of Chris' second day in Ithilien was spent recovering in the healing tent; having being confined to bed rest by Faramir. Without anything to do and being completely exhausted from everything had had happened to her, Chris spent most of that time sleeping. And with sleep came dreams, then her dreams twisted into nightmares and her rest became restless.

She was being chased, cold steel cages lined the outstretched hallway, the horizon was shrouded in black mist making it seem never ending, the danger and adrenaline pulsed through her. She knew that whatever was behind her wanted her blood, it wanted to cleave the flesh from her bones, but she could never bring herself to turn, to look behind at her tormenter. Her arm stretched out. Osgiliath, she was atop the stone walkway reaching out to Frodo who held the Ring aloft for her. The gold band glimmered, making all else seem dull, and whispered dark things that gripped her mind and blackened her heart. She was a god among insects. Deathly mist shrouded her as the Ring pledged its powers to her, its one true master, a throne of steel and bone faded into existence beckoning her to sit. The fell beast swooped down and tore at her flesh. Its teeth gnashed at her bones and sharp poison shot through her blood. Then she was sat upon the throne. Surrounded by sycophants in chains, those she had once loved bound in pain and misery and death. The hallway stretched ever on. No matter how fast she ran there was never escape. Just the cold cages and the pursuer that never stopped. It was so close, she could almost feel it's hot breath on her neck, the-

Chris startled awake unable to move. She was covered in a sheen of cold sweat. Warm hands held her pinned to the cot and she looked up into the concerned eyes of Faramir. When he realised she was awake he released her before sitting down on the stool.

"You were thrashing in your sleep, had I let it continue you would have ripped your stiches." He explained as he poured out a cup of water for her from a pitcher. Gently he helped her sit up before handing her the drink and then set about looking over injuries. After a moment he sat back on the stool and looked over at her strangely. "Never before have I seen such… you have healed in one night what should have taken a full two days at least."

"Well… it's obviously down to your impressive healing skills." She said unsure why in fact this had manifested when Varda was so strongly displeased with her. An echoing voice in her mind seemed to whisper 'Nienna' but Chris was uncertain what it meant if it meant anything at all. Faramir didn't seem that convinced but realised she wasn't going to tell him even if he pressed the matter, so he dropped it. With a small sigh he pulled himself up from the stool and made to leave the tent. Seeing this, she reached out and grasped his sleeve, making him stop to look at her.

"Wait, stay. Talk with me a while?" she asked hating how pathetic she felt but Chris hated to be alone after having a nightmare; as childish as it seemed. He nodded a little stiffly before returning to his perch on the stool. Several beats past without a word spoken. "Sooooooo… got any pretty golden girls waiting for you in Gondor?" she asked thinking back to their conversion from the previous day, Faramir was clearly surprised by the blunt question and took a moment before he answered.

"No, Boromir was always…" his words seemed to fade as his thoughts turned to his late brother.

"…a good man." She finished for him causing him to remember that she had known his brother too. "He spoke of you."

"I'm sure he told you wondrous tales of defeating whole orc armies single handled. He loved to embellish his tales." He said fondly thinking of the gleam in Boromir's eye when he spoke of Mina Tirith and the like.

"He told me you were a scholar and student to Gandalf." She remembered Boromir telling her, about the long hours he spent with Gandalf, pouring over scrolls and books while the other boys played war games.

"And you would still speak to me, knowing I would not choose the path of a warrior had it been mine to make?" He asked unsurely, usually whenever a woman learned he had not wanted to be a warrior they would lose interest and go trailing after the next brute in armour that walked past.

"I wouldn't be warrior either given the choice; I would have been a healer." She replied thinking about her dreams of becoming a doctor before the reality of poverty swooped down whisking thoughts of university away. Chris noticed that Faramir was looking at her in a peculiar way, as if trying to figure something out that was dancing at the edge of his thoughts.

"We cannot always get what we want." He said quietly, as if more to himself than to her. "It was my father's wish I become a warrior and I had to respect that."

"And what of your mother?" She asked curiously as Boromir had rarely touched the subject.

"She died when I was but a child; so had little say in the matter." He said quietly once again thinking of those precious people who were now lost to him. "Though I doubt this would have been the path she would choose for me."

"I'm sure she would have been proud no matter what." She said kindly, trying to take his mind from morbid thoughts.

"It is kind of you to say so." He said softly with a small smile.

"You're a good man Faramir; thank you for letting the hobbits go."

"The hobbit… he said that trying to take the Ring killed Boromir. How did it lead to his fall?"

"The Ring can bring the strongest of will to their knees." She said in attempt to dissuade herself of the guilt she still harboured. "Boromir was stronger than most, the Ring did not consume him completely, when he came back to his senses he gave his life for the others in our fellowship."

"Thank you." He said simply before standing. "I must return to my duties." With that he turned and left with a single glance her way before exciting the tent.

With her only source of distraction gone Chris stiffly laid herself back down and tried to think of thing to do instead of sleep. She did not wish to return to her nightmares anytime soon. In the end she attempted to count how many threads were woven to make the tent fabric. She cost count several times before sighing in defeat. Luckily she was not alone for long as the scent of stew preceded the entry of the now familiar Mablung. Seeing the bowl in his hands Chris realised she needed to sit up again. Slowly she struggled in pulling herself up but managed even in the face of Mablung smirking in humour at her persistence, and refusal to ask for help.

"Here." He said simply handing her the bowl of warm food which she took.

"Thank you." Chris murmured before beginning to eat her food. Pleased that she was eating properly on her own, Mablung nodded and made to leave before Chris paused in her eating and spoke. "Just so you know, yesterday, I was not eyeing the Captain… or another day for that matter. You were eying the Captain." She ended up rambling before delving straight back into her food.

"No offence to the Captain but I prefer blondes. Female blondes." Mablung said emphasising the female aspect to his words.

"Are you coming onto me?" she said raising a playful brow.

"No, I am stood here." He said completely misunderstanding her. Feeling more than a little awkward he told her he would collect her bowl later and quickly disappeared through the tent flap.