First level, Minas Tirith, Imrahil POV
Walking through the first level, Imrahil looks around watching the men work. For the last few hours, he has been busy overseeing this level. He needed to ensure the orders Denethor gave, would be followed. And he needed to know the exact state of this level. If only to know what work lies ahead of him. Because of this, he has not yet found the time to consider everything which has happened. Thinking about it, he remembers how depressed Denethor seemed before the siege actually began.
With the meeting over, Imrahil looks at Denethor wondering if he can be of any aid. Denethor is not looking at him. No, he is placing papers on the table moments before falling down on a chair. He stands up and is about to walk away when he turns around. Denethor has his hands below his chin and is frowning. His eyes move all over the place. Eyes which have a glazed look over them. It is as if Denethor is so lost in his thoughts that he does not notice what happens around him.
Imrahil looks at Denethor with concern but knowing it is not noticed, he leaves the room. He walks calmly towards the door while considering everything he needs to do. No matter what was discussed, he will have the cavalry ready. It means he has to ensure all the horses are prepared for battle as well as the men. Just as he reaches the door, a voice stops him in his tracks.
"Prince Imrahil, stay for a moment. I have a need to discuss a matter with you. Please close the door once everyone else has left. I do not want us to be overheard."
He stops walking and turns around confused. He stares at Denethor; a stare which is returned in kind. He keeps the stare up for some time hoping Denethor will elaborate. With nothing coming, he nods and turns around.
Looking at the doorway, he sees a few captains still leaving the room. Standing near the door, he waits for them to leave. Denethor's request made it clear he wanted to speak with him alone. Once the last captain has finally left, he closes the door. There is only one thing left to do before Denethor gains his full attention.
Mentioning with his hand, he waits for one of the squires to reach him. As he waits, he looks closely at who approaches him. A strange face walks towards him. It must be a new squire as he has never seen this young man before.
"Yes, your highness. What can I do for you?"
"Send word to my sons to prepare the cavalry. I want them to gather on the first level."
There is more he wants to say but he knows his sons will do as they should. They have spent so much time with him that they will know what he wants to see done without being told. Besides, this squire, whose name he still does not know, does not need to know those things. It does not concern him.
"Which one of your sons should I inform first?"
"Inform Elphir first, he can make further arrangements and inform his brothers. But discuss with him if he will inform his brothers or if you will do so."
"Yes, your highness, I will see to it. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
He tilts his head not expecting this question. It is a pleasant surprise to him which shows this squire has been around for long enough to pick up on subtle hints. Or those more experienced have given him instructions. But whatever it is, he will make good use of it.
"It would be appreciated if you could ensure my body-servant is ready to assist me once Lord Denethor dismisses me."
"I will do so, my lord. If you would excuse me, I will go make the arrangements."
He nods once. The squire walks away with a jump in his steps. Imrahil laughs quietly at his retreating back and shakes his head. With this conversation done, he turns around back to Denethor. As he does so, he comes face to face with Denethor. Denethor looks at him with a frown while interest is barely hidden in his eyes.
"What were you discussing with the squire?"
"I asked him to seek out Elphir to make the necessary preparations. As you wanted to talk to me I cannot do so myself."
"Why would you do that?"
"Because I have a need for my sons to be informed of the plans as soon as possible. Preparations need to be made. My men need to be gathered. All this, I know Elphir can look after."
While speaking, he frowns not understanding why Denethor asked this question. It is something he should have known already so why did he ask? It makes no sense. Unless Denethor is trying to mess with him. This thought has a frown appearing on his face while staring at Denethor.
"Oh, I do not doubt Elphir can look after every preparation. I am confident Elphir can handle the pressure."
"Thank you for your confidence, Denethor. But why did you want me to stay?"
He smiles calmly intending to calm Denethor down. He has not said everything which he knows Denethor will also know. These are just matters which he will not discuss for he deems talk about them futile at this point in time. Denethor expressed confidence in Elphir, just like he has, so discussing it is not necessary.
Denethor frowns at him. As he wants to get back on track, he looks Denethor straight in his eyes. He will not back down. Those matters will not be discussed at this time. Denethor sighs and slumps his shoulders a bit. Imrahil keeps a smile on his face while knowing he will hopefully soon get the answers he seeks.
"I wanted to talk about Rohan with you. I want to know what your thoughts are. Especially if you believe they will come to our aid?"
He frowns and looks away. This is not a topic he expected but then it should not be much of a surprise. He shrugs. It will not matter if he expected it or not; it gives him an opportunity to calm any worry Denethor has down. But just like he did Denethor did not share everything with him. Imrahil decides to try and find out. With this in mind, he turns around.
"What do you want to know? If Rohan will come to our aid?"
"Among others, yes. When you were traveling, did you notice anything about movements on the borders of Rohan?"
"Now that you ask, no I did not notice anything. But then I was not really paying much attention to it, to be honest. I was more focused on reaching Minas Tirith. Have you not received a response yet?"
Denethor does not respond immediately. Imrahil frowns for he does not understand it. He did not ask a difficult question. Keeping an eye on Denethor, he wonders what is going on in his mind. Just as he does this, Denethor shakes his head and speaks up.
"No, not yet. It makes me worry that the messenger was either attacked or our request denied. But then, it will be too dangerous for the messenger to return alone. You know the state of the roads. What is more, my informants do not have any information on movements."
"How recent is the information?"
"Not really recent. You have heard about the situation with the roads, just like I said earlier."
That would mean the information is at least a few weeks old if not older. It is not good. As for the situation on the road, he has heard about it. Even better, he has seen it himself if at a distance. He frowns for there is one thing which confuses him; at what time did Denethor no longer receive information. He will have to ask.
"Yes, I have. Do you want to say that when the roads got too dangerous you received no more information from your informants?"
"Yes, I mean to say that. But everything combined it does not give me much confidence that Rohan will come to our aid."
"I urge you to keep the hope up. If not for yourself then for the men. They need us to show hope even if we do not feel any ourselves. And as you said, you have not heard anything yet and the roads are too dangerous. Maybe Rohan is preparing to come to our aid. We do not know. So I ask you to keep hope. No matter how small the hope will be."
"I wish I had your confidence for I do not feel any hope. Everything considering the siege looks bleak to me. How I wish my sons would be here. Boromir would know what to do."
Imrahil can hear the longing in Denethor's voice. Denethor turns away from him towards a window. He bites his lips. This is not good. Denethor needs to stay positive for the men will rely on him. Raising his hand, he places it on Denethor's shoulder and squeezes in an effort to give comfort. Denethor's hand comes over his for a moment.
"Is there anything you need from me, Denethor?"
Denethor stays silent longer than he likes. He suspects Denethor is not worrying himself too much. It will not do him anything good but he feels it is not something he can do anything about. When Denethor shakes his head, his worry reaches a whole new height.
"No, Imrahil, there is nothing you can do for me. You are dismissed. You should check on your men to see if Elphir has everything prepared."
His eyes widen at the dismissal. It is not what he expected but then what did he expect? Nothing really when he thinks about it. All he knows is that he wants to encourage Denethor to not give up hope. Even though he suspects his attempt will be futile.
Knowing this, there is only one thing he can do. He turns around and walks away with lead in his shoes. Reaching the door, he opens it. Before entering the hallway, he turns his head once more towards Denethor. Denethor has not moved at all. Denethor is where he was when he walked away. Sighing, he enters the hallway and closed the door behind him.
Denethor's depression was clear to him at that time. It worries him for it did not lighten with time. No, it only got worse. Denethor withdrew from others refusing to talk. It all came to a head when Faramir was brought back injured.
Entering the city, he pushes his horse faster. He wants to take Faramir to the houses but knows Denethor expects Faramir to be brought to him. Denethor will want to see his son. Thus, he races through the city towards the citadel while not paying any attention to where he is. Time passes quickly while it quietly washes over him like a calm wave.
His mind is drawn back to when he arrived at the field after having finally gotten permission to ride out. The permission which he got hours to like in his opinion. What greeted him was absolute carnage. The cavalry Faramir took with him was being slaughtered right in front of him. Orcs attacked from behind and Nazgul from above.
He knew he needed to rescue as many men as possible. As such, he pushed his horse faster. Dread filled his mind. It was like he was riding through a swamp during the depths of the night. He could not really see where he was going. He knew he needed to reach Faramir as soon as possible.
But just as he was near Faramir, an arrow whistled through the air. Faramir fell forward against his horse before sliding off and hitting the ground hard. He winced at the side and sound. Regardless, he rode forward towards his nephew.
"Form a perimeter around captain Faramir."
Horses gathered around him while he jumped of his horse. Kneeling down next to Faramir, he quickly inspected the wound before snapping the arrow off. He has no time for anything else; they need to get off this field as soon as possible. If not they will be caught in the carnage. Grabbing Faramir, he lifted him up on his own horse and rode towards the city as if a fire was closing in on him.
The hoofbeats changing brings his mind back to the present. He sees he is moving through the tunnel. Soon he will have reached the Citadel and Denethor. Hopefully, soon he can take his nephew to those he needs to be with. It feels not right to him to not take Faramir to the healers but he has no other choice.
Moments later, he rides into the citadel seeing Denethor making his way towards them. Denethor is frowning at him with a furious look in his eyes. When Denethor sees them, the anger disappears. It is replaced by confusion. Something which lasts only moments before Denethor's eyes move towards Faramir.
"Faramir!"
Denethor runs forward ignoring everyone else around him. His eyes are locked on Faramir. Eyes which are overcome with dread and despair. Imrahil frowns when Denethor instantly reaches for Faramir once he is next to him. He does not release Faramir wondering what Denethor is planning to do. He expected to be ordered to the houses. Not this.
Denethor looks around. Imrahil follows him with his eyes. In the distance, guards approach with a stretcher held between them. He smiles calmly. This is something he likes to see. Reaching them, the guards immediately reach up. He moves Faramir around and carefully hands his nephew over to the guards. The guards quickly place Faramir on the stretcher. Almost immediately, Denethor drops down next to the stretcher and starts to inspect Faramir. Denethor's shoulders sag not long afterward. Imrahil holds his breath not liking what he expects to happen soon.
Denethor staggers upwards. He takes a step and stumbles. Imrahil reaches forward but stops immediately. He knows Denethor will not appreciate his aid; it will be dismissed harshly. As such, Denethor stumbles some further before he turns his head around. His eyes move towards Faramir. Imrahil looks at Denethor trying to convene a message; what are the orders? Denethor looks them over before his eyes move back to Faramir again.
"Bring captain Faramir to his room."
It takes a few moments before the guards step into action and lift the stretcher up. They silently walk towards the house of Stewards. Denethor stumbles along for some time before falling down. Imrahil winces not liking what he sees. Denethor stays down longer than Imrahil likes only to stumble upright once he speaks up.
"Lord Denethor, is everything alright? My Lord. My lord!"
"What!"
"What do we do now? You are in command. The men are awaiting orders."
Denethor looks at him with dead eyes. Imrahil holds his breath. He does not have to wonder what will happen now. Denethor's mood is clear to him as day. Denethor shakes his head a few times before speaking up.
"Why would we be fighting? Our fight is over! Do whatever you want. I will be with my last remaining family."
Denethor walks away. Imrahil reaches forward and before he is aware of it; his hand lands on Denethor's shoulders. Denethor stops dead in his tracks and growls before turning towards him. He holds his breath while hiding his regret. It will not aid him nor Denethor. Denethor narrows his eyes as anger grows in his eyes. Imrahil's heart misses a beat and quickly speaks up. All in an attempt to stop Denethor from attacking him in anger.
"My lord, you do not mean that. Calm down, my lord. Your son needs healers. Send for them."
Denethor shakes his head. He knows what it means; his words fall on deaf ears once more. Imrahil sighs while Denethor looks at him. This time he does not hide how he feels. He looks Denethor in the eyes pleading without using any words. Denethor shakes his head once more.
"No, I will not! I mean what I said. Do whatever you like but do not bother me."
"My lord!"
Denethor shakes his hand off and hurries towards the house. No one is able to stop him. A few brave souls call after him with no effect. It is an action which he knows is futile. Most are not even brave enough to try and stop him by force.
But that situation was not the worst. Not by far. All it did was show him how depressed Denethor felt. Everything which has happened came to a height. And the worst situation came when the battle started.
Imrahil stands on the parapet looking over the field. He grips the stone-hard with his hands not liking what he sees. In front of him, the army of Mordor can be seen. The fields look like they are flooded with orcs and other creatures. No space is left free. Everything is trampled or claimed.
"Your Highness, what do we do now?"
He turns his head to the side. Captain Mendear stands beside him with worried eyes. Eyes which constantly shift between him and the fields. Imrahil smiles sadly for he sees the results of an inexperienced captain in command during situations like this. His task now will be to reassure captain Mendear and take some measure of command.
"Everything we can do. We will hold out. We have nothing left to do."
"But how will we do that? The fields are overrun. We cannot defeat so many orcs. It is madness!"
"Calm down, captain Mendear, we should not discourage the men. They look up to us. Keep it together!"
Mendear nods but doubts can be seen in his eyes. They have not cleared any. No, in fact, they have darkened. It is not the effect he was aiming for. He knows what is left for him to do right now.
"How will we survive?"
"We will do that like we have done all the time; by fighting. Prepare the men for a long siege. Do you have any plans in mind?"
"Nor really, Your Highness. All I can think of is to place the archers on the wall. The infantry, I do not know what to do with them."
"Your plan with the archers is great. I suggest you put a part of the infantry near the gate and another part behind the archers. They can support the archers so long as they have little to do."
Mendear's eyes widen while wheels turn in his head. Imrahil sees the distant look which grows in Mendear's eyes. He waits for Mendear to respond while he considers what else he needs to arrange. As he does that, he does not lose sight of Mendear. He sees a smile appearing on the captain's face moments before he speaks up.
"I will do that, Your Highness. Do you know where Lord Denethor is?"
"I think in the citadel. He was not doing too well when I last saw him."
"Oh, why do you say so?"
"I say so because he has things on his mind which do not do him anything good."
The fact that Denethor did not show up while the city prepared for the battle was no surprise to him. He saw it as a clear sign that the depression has worsened. It was, therefore, a real surprise when Denethor joined him in the field later. It makes no sense to him. Not then and not now. Right now, he wants to understand Denethor; he wants to know what caused Denethor's change in behavior.
When Denethor returned, the darkness in his eyes was still there but not overpowering. It gave him a tiny glimmer of hope. Just enough that he would not fear for Denethor's life. Not as he had done earlier. But what caused it is difficult to uncover. There are so many things which could have happened. He was not in the citadel to learn it so he cannot be sure about anything. He just knows too little.
Another memory comes to life in his mind. A memory of a time when the darkness returned to Denethor's eyes. It is a memory which has goosebumps crawling over his skin. He tries to push it from the front of his mind but fails; it returns no matter what he tries.
Standing near the wall, he followed Denethor's gaze. He saw the flags and knew where it came from. It meant nothing good. They could barely deal with the army of Mordor. The men on those ships would just be too much for them to deal with. This would be the end. An end he promised would not occur without a fight; he would take as many of them with him as he could.
As Denethor rode to meet the Rohirrim, he was close behind. This would be how he aimed to end it all. A thought, he believed many to share with him. Behind him, the ground resounded with the beating of hooves. The charge lasted forever in his mind. Everything happened in slow motion.
As he rode, he kept a close eye on the ships. Gondorians left the ships together with Dúnedain, a dwarf, and an elf. Where they came from, he did not know. Nor did he knew how they came in possession of the ships. But he did not mind. His fear did not come true. Winning this battle suddenly became possible without too many losses.
A standard was raised in the distance. He looked at it and hears shouting. The shouting reflected what went through his mind for he recognized it. It was as if a relic from history had appeared again. A smile broke out but also confusion. Who could use this standard? He knew who had a right to use this standard. But all those people are dead. There was no one around who had a right to use it, right?
"Fight! Hope has reached Gondor. Fight for hope!"
He followed Denethor as he charged into the ranks of Mordor. He slashed and stabbed any orc he comes across. As he did so, he wondered what hope Denethor was speaking off. There was more to his words than appeared at first glance. He was certain of it but he could not determine what it could be.
He looked up towards the harbor. His eyes widened when he saw the standard fall. An eerie silence fell around him. He could barely breathe because he knew what it meant. Moments later, the standard was raided again. He frowned for he did not know who just fell. He would understand if it stayed down but to be picked up again? It was almost as if the standard-bearer fell but that could not be. Still, he knew it was the only reasonable explanation. He pushed further into the ranks of Mordor while those coming from the ships attacked from behind. Together they cornered the army of Mordor.
Looking towards the citadel, he smiles. It is good to see the king returned. It means a lot to him. And most other citizens. They have waited long for the king to return. But who is the king? Time will tell. During the battle, he never saw anyone who could qualify for being king. The Dúnedain all looked ragged. No one wore better clothing.
He tilts his head. There was one man whose clothes looked to be in a slightly worse state than those of others. This person, he does not believe to be the king. But any other Dúnedain could be the king except for the standard-bearers. So, he will have to wait for the king to show himself. Something he will do with a sense of great excitement.
At the same time, he is also worried about Denethor's reaction. He knows how attached Denethor is to his position as ruling Steward. If he is honest then he expects a fight between the rightful king and Denethor. He hopes Denethor will not be too difficult. Gondor cannot use any conflict right now. Someway Denethor and the king need to find a middle ground.
As he realizes this, he wonders if he can force Denethor into an acceptance. It is an idea which he quickly discards; it will not work. He does not even know why he got the idea. He knows all he can do now is wait; Denethor will have to handle it. He cannot interfere even though he fears what a refusal would mean. He knows which whom he would side; the king. But what the others will do, he does not know.
Houses of healing, Minas Tirith, Denethor POV
Looking around, Denethor watches as people move around. He wants to know how Faramir is doing but does not mind waiting. Well, not minding? It is more like it will not serve him in any way if he demands master Neston's attention. All it will get him is an irritated warden who tells him only as he absolutely needs to. Besides, the time he has to wait will allow him to consider the damages he saw. And the state of the people.
He clearly remembers how some men walked around as if dead. They shuffled around as if their boots were filled with stones. Their faces spoke of great sadness if not despair. Others were pressing hands in their sides or against their arms. Most of them were leaning against a wall while walking or against other men.
But all that was not the worst he had seen. That was the trauma he saw people being affected by. Their eyes were clouded by darkness. Their movements slow and sluggish. This he saw in most. Others were almost like statutes. Their harsh breathing being the only thing which separates them. All the while sitting on the ground-hugging their knees to their chest. Of those most were silent while a few were whispering. Whispers, he could not understand. Nor made any sense to him.
It were sights which caused pity to crawl up within him. And almost sadness. But that is an emotion he does not experience. One thing he does know, he wants to aid them. But how will he do that? The most effective method would be to get them help. Something which is simply not doable. There are too few healers qualified to do this kind of work. It takes time for new healers to be trained which would mean many of those traumatized men would need to wait long for help. It is unacceptable for them to wait a long time; they need help soon. All this leaves only one thing behind which he can do; keep them occupied to the best of his abilities. With their bodies occupied their minds will not have time to dwell on their trauma.
At the same time, he knows he also needs to do something about the destroyed buildings. They need to be rebuild. What he needs to figure out is how and when to do it. Not an easy thing to do. But for now, he has an idea. The downside of it is that it will only work once the threat of Mordor is neutralized. And that means rebuilding will not be done as fast as it could be done. It is simply too much for a too short amount of time.
Knowing this, he is aware he needs to sort out the priorities. Thinking about it, he realizes it is of no use to rebuild the first level if the defenses of the city are still damaged. They have the top priority. Once they are done, other matters can be done such as rebuilding in the lower levels. Those levels received the most damage during the siege. But the lower defenses have a high need. All the other defenses require less time to repair. As such, his priority will lie with repairing the defenses of the lower levels.
Knowing this, there is another matter which comes to his mind; the current defenses. Something needs to be done about it. He needs to be sure the city can be defended until the defenses have been repaired. It is a complex matter considering he refuses to take men away from the repairing. So there is little he can do except create a barricade where the great gate was and place rudimentary defenses on the walls. Those parts of the wall which have been destroyed will also need to be barricaded. All barricades will be permanent except for the one near the great gate. This one will have to be able to open up. All this will not take too much time from the men to prepare; he expects a few days at most.
The last thing, which attracts his attention is the rebuilding of the buildings. A matter, he easily solves but also deems less important. The destroyed buildings will be rebuild after the damaged buildings are repaired. From the destroyed buildings comes less of a threat than those damaged due to risks of collapses.
Looking at the sky, Denethor wonders how much longer he has to wait. He immediately shakes his head knowing there will be many wounded. They need the warden's care more than he does his attention. Well, only for so long as it takes for his order to be achieved again. Once everything is under control then master Neston should meet with him immediately.
Footsteps coming towards him draws his attention away from the sky. He turns his head to the side the sounds come from. In the distance, a form appears as if from the shadow. A form he quickly identifies as a person. He keeps an eye on the person approaching him for he wants to know who it is. He hopes it is master Neston. The closer the person gets, the better he sees who it could be. In the end, it is like a gift has arrived; his hope has proven true. The warden has finally come to talk to him. His time of waiting is finally over.
He smiles at master Neston while feeling relieved his plans are as finalized as he could manage. Now, he only needs to know how Faramir is doing. He hopes Faramir has been doing better. Doubts come to him unbidden. He knows what causes them. Seeing master Neston get real close, he stores the information away in the back of his mind.
"My lord Denethor, it is good to see you. How are you feeling? Is there anything which requires my attention?"
"I am fine, master Neston. I am far more interested in Faramir's condition than in mine."
"I do not think so, my lord. You were in a battle. Have you been wounded?"
"Only a few scrapes and bruises. Nothing severe. I ask you to take me to my son. I am anxious to know how he has been doing."
"Of course, my lord. I ask you to have patience and follow me. I will explain everything once we are with your son. While there, I will also take a look at your wounds to ensure they will not cause you any trouble."
He nods and follows closely behind master Neston. Protesting will be of no use, he knows that. So, he will have to bite through it no matter how much he might dislike it. As they walk, he watches closely as they enter the noble wing. The floors are covered in sand. Sometimes he finds a drop of blood on the floor or an abandoned bandage. The walls are only covered in paintings. No wounded warriors lie here. It makes him wonder where the blood and bandages come from. It makes no sense to him for these hallways would create more room to treat the wounded. Together, they walk past a few rooms whose doors are closed. There are no hints they have been opened recently.
Master Neston stops in front of a door and turns to looks at him. He raises an eyebrow not understanding this action. Master Neston merely turns back and knocks once before opening the door. Stepping inside, he is greeted by a quiet room. Only the sound of Faramir's labored breathing can be heard together with the breathing of three others and the sound of knitting. Two he can place, but not the third. Looking around the room, he wonders who is knitting in this room. Next to Faramir's bed, mistress Ioreth sits knitting. She looks up at the same time as they enter.
"Master Neston, my lord Denethor, what can I do for you? Is there anything you need from me?"
"No, mistress Ioreth, you can leave I am sure Lord Denethor will remain at the captain's side for some time. You should return to your regular duties now."
"Of course, master Neston. Seeing the captain like this is just so sad. I had to distract myself because of that. I can still vividly remember how he was when he was born; a quiet one with energy. Now I can barely see a sign of life within him."
Denethor balls his fists annoyed at the mistress. She can never stop talking in his experience. He gets annoyed quickly whenever he is in her presence. Turning his head toward Faramir, he attempts to separate himself from her rambling. All to keep his sanity as intact as he can. Looking at the bed, Faramir lies there just as he was expecting. His face is ashen but sweaty. Faramir lies quietly with no movements visible. Nothing to show his distress. Something which surprises him for he had expected to see at least a few traces of distress on Faramir.
A moment later, mistress Ioreth is gone. He did not notice her leave. He sighs and turns his attention back to Master Neston. As he does so, he sees Master Neston placing a hand on Faramir's forehead. A frown appears on master Neston's face. It gives him the best chance he has to inquire about Faramir's condition and hopefully get master Neston to forget about his own wounds.
"Master Neston, now that we are alone could you explain Faramir's condition to me?"
"I can do that, my lord. As you can see, captain Faramir is not doing good. He is clammy and still. Too still for my liking if I take his temperature into account. He should be showing more movement. I would have expected restlessness."
"Has he woken up?"
"Not that I am aware of, my lord. Mistress Ioreth said he was asleep the entire time she was with him."
"When did she tell you that?"
He frowns and looks at Faramir. Was he so distracted that he did not notice their conversation? He must have been. It makes no sense to him for he did not look at Faramir for a long time. Looking up, he is met with empathy air. He looks around but cannot find master Neston. A tugging on his sleeve has him turning to his side. Master Neston kneels on the floor next to him tugging on his sleeve to roll it up. As of noticing his look, master Neston looks up.
"She told me a short time after we came here. At that time, your attention was occupied by captain Faramir. Does this hurt?"
He hisses. It hurt alright but not too much. It annoys to no end that master Neston now checks on his wounds. At the same time, he knows why master Neston does it now; he will not get the opportunity for it otherwise. Still, he refuses to allow this to stray from their conversation.
"Do you know what ails Faramir?"
"I do not know for certain, my lord. We have checked everything possible and could not find anything conclusive. I fear he suffers from the Black Breath."
The color drains from his face and his breath is taken away. This is the absolute worst thing he could be told. He shakes his head not wanting to believe it. It cannot be true; it simply cannot be. But no matter how much he tries, he knows it to be true. He knew it from the beginning. And all this time, he was deceiving himself by denying it. Still, he wants to avoid all other possible causes.
"Are you sure? Is there not anything else he could have?"
"Well, he has a shoulder wound from an arrow. We have been caring for it and know it does not explain the captain's current condition. I am sorry, my lord, you must know what it means. It is undeniable the Black Breath."
"I do. I will soon have lost both my sons to the hands of Mordor."
"Do not despair, my lord. Some men manage to escape death at the hands of the Black Breath."
"I know what you mean but those are stories from legend. I do not believe them. What do you think Faramir's chances are?"
As he asks this, he already knows the answer he will receive. And it will not be one he will like. Master Neston does not react for he probes the wounds on his side. Probing which is accompanied by his hissing. Nearly every probe sends waves of pain through his body. To distract himself, he looks at his arms. They have already been smeared with paste and bandaged. Coldness waves into his skin at the same time as master Neston speaks up.
"I do not have much hope, my lord. But any hope there is I will use to comfort myself, my patients, and their families. With that being said, your wounds are not as severe as some I have seen. Nonetheless, you need to apply this balm onto them each morning to ensure they heal well."
"I will, master Neston. I thank you for your honest opinion."
"Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?"
"No, there is nothing you can do for me at this time. I wish to be alone with my son."
Master Neston nods and walks away. Denethor does not look at him leaving. He only looks at Faramir. A door opens and closes in the distance. He walks to the chair mistress Ioreth occupied recently. He sighs knowing he is back where he started; sitting vigil at his son's sickbed.
Moving the chair a bit, he sets it closer to Faramir's bed before sitting down. Looking at Faramir, he places a hand on his brow. It is clammy; maybe even more so than last time, he felt it. It means nothing good for him. It could be the result of an infection. Master Neston claimed this could not be but he doubts it. Master Neston did not have any good news about Faramir's recovery. He could have been told false things for his own comfort.
Biting his lips, he wonders if he should accept it. He shakes his head moments later; he refuses. He will check Faramir's wound and only then will he decide what the decision will be. Standing up, he moves to the other side and kneels. He grinds his teeth feeling cracking in his bones where his knee connects with the ground.
Turning Faramir onto his side, he moves the shirt down. A bandage comes into view. It is wrapped tightly around Faramir's shoulder and breast. Despite how tight it is wrapped, it does not appear to constrict blood flow. From what he can see, the bandage appears to be clean. Something which does not tell everything based on his experience. Lifting it a bit, the cleanness on the other side becomes clear. The wound has not festered. This causes the wound to come to light. Cloth is in it; he knows why. Still, no infection can be seen. It corresponds with master Neston's words; the wound does not cause Faramir's condition.
He stands up slowly. At least now, he knows the wound has been treated well. In fact, it shows signs of healing. Something which he did not expect if he is honest. The only matter which remains a concern now is Faramir's unconsciousness. Having ruled the arrow wound out as a possible cause, he recognizes master Neston has spoken the truth. The only thing which could have caused Faramir's current condition is the Black Breath.
Walking back to the chair, he sits down and picks up Faramir's hands. He strokes it calmly while his worry increases. He knows the healers can do nothing for Faramir. No matter master Neston's words; nothing can be done. All master Neston spoke off were legends. Legends which cannot become true for there is no one around who has the abilities spoken about in the legends. Where Gil to have those abilities, he is certain he would have heard about it. He knows what it means just like he did when master Neston voiced his opinion.
Faramir's hand suddenly stiffens in his hand. He looks up surprised. Faramir's body is as tight as a string. His eyes widen and his heart misses a beat. He reaches forward and calmly strokes Faramir's head while his heart hammers in his chest. What is happening? What caused this? He does not know but he does not like it. There is one he does know, mistress Ioreth did not notice this. Maybe because of her knitting but who knows. There are also other possibilities.
Stroking Faramir's hair does not ease the stiffness. It remains as it has been. So in another attempt to release the stiffness, he strokes Faramir's hand with his thumb. At the same time, he speaks up with a comforting voice.
"Shhh, Faramir, everything is alright. I am here. You will be alright."
He continues this for some time even though he deems it futile. Faramir is worsening right now. Not getting better. Anything he does is to comfort himself more than anything. He knows it is the wrong thing for him to do but he cannot stop.