Same disclaimer as last chapter and the chapter before that and the chapter before that.
A:N/ I am feeling nice tonight. As such, I will honor you with another chapter. Be happy!
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2 years later, Faramir is 18
Faramir smiled and waved at his brother. Both were on leave, Boromir from Osgiliath and Faramir from Ithilien. They had decided to meet at the stables in Minas Tirith to go camping together for a night in the countryside. Boromir strode up and hugged his little brother. "All ready? Then let's head out!"
They rode far beyond the walls of the city. Though the sun still shone, they set up camp amidst a grove of trees. Sitting on fallen logs, the horses tethered nearby, the two brothers exchanged stories. "And then Captain Gilliar's horse shied from it and he fell off, bruising his tail bone. He was so mad, he vowed to hunt all skunks to extinction! I think he was lucky the skunk didn't spray. . . " Faramir's story was cut off by the terrified whinny of his horse. Senses on alert, the two Lords of Gondor drew their weapons. Faramir narrowed his eyes as the first howls were heard. "Orcs." Boromir only had time to glance grimly at his brother before the monsters attacked.
Faramir didn't know how long they would be able to hold off so many orcs without help. An endless stream came at them. The brothers fought close together to help each other. Sweat poured down Faramir's forehead in torrents. Suddenly, a blast sounded from the Horn of Gondor, calling for help. As Boromir did this, he left himself open for attack. Faramir saw an orc archer aiming for Boromir's unprotected side. In a split moment, the younger lord pushed Boromir to the side. Fire ran through Faramir's left arm and he looked down to see an orc arrow sticking out of his shoulder, blood spilling from the wound. Another orc attacked, and Faramir had to forget his injury and concentrate on fighting. Boromir, only momentarily stunned, quickly came to help his brother. Faramir found himself facing a particularly vicious orc. The monster grinned evilly at him, then shot a foul hand out and pushed up on the arrow imbedded in Faramir's shoulder. White lightning flashed across his eyes from the pain as the shaft broke, leaving the arrowhead buried in his flesh. The orc used this distraction to swing his sword at Faramir, but Boromir blocked it as his brother collected himself again. On and on they fought. Both were desperately tired and they knew that soon a fatal mistake would be made.
To their great relief, another horn sounded through the woods. A small division of infantry charged through the trees, led by a young lieutenant, hardly older than Faramir. Surprised, the orcs fled before the soldiers. One lone sergeant stayed behind, quickly dismounting his horse. "My lords, we came as quickly as possible when we heard your call. Lord Faramir, you are wounded!"
Faramir studied the extent of his injury. The arrow had hit just below his left shoulder and blood spurted out with each beat of his heart. His head swam, both from loss of blood and from the adrenaline of the fight, and he spoke haltingly. "The arrow head is still in there. Do you have a healer?"
The sergeant shook his head. "Our healer was killed recently and any veteran men who might know how to remove it are fighting the orcs now. You must ride back to Minas Tirith."
Boromir looked helplessly at his brother. Minas Tirith was too far away, Faramir needed help now. As Boromir quickly wrapped his shoulder with a strip of cloth, Faramir's muddled thoughts managed to figure out a solution. "Boromir, nearby... an old friend of mine and his wife live. The wife is a healer and he is a former soldier. They might be able to help." Boromir's eyes lit up with newfound hope.
"Sergeant, our horses fled during the attacks, we need to use yours." The sergeant hastily agreed and helped them onto the horse. With Faramir in front of him, Boromir headed quickly to where Faramir had told him Rendil and Iorwyn lived. Faramir's wound continued to bleed, his green tunic stained brown. After what seemed like eternity to both brothers, a house appeared.
Iorwyn was splitting logs in the yard when she saw the Steward's sons ride up, battered and bloody. Forgetting her ax, she ran to the horse. "My lords, what has happened?" Boromir dismounted and gently helped Faramir down. Iorwyn quickly led Faramir into the house and onto the bed. She turned expectantly to Boromir who hadn't answered her question yet.
"Orcs attacked and Faramir was hit by and arrow. The shaft broke, leaving the head inside his shoulder. It won't stop bleeding! Please, help him!" Boromir, tired from battle and worried about his brother, didn't even try to hide his distress. Iorwyn checked the wound and frowned.
"I do not do battle wounds often, Rendil is the one with experience. But he will not be home until tomorrow."
"You must do something, he won't last till tomorrow!" Iorwyn held up her hand to calm Boromir.
"Of course I can remove the arrowhead. I just hope it isn't poisoned, for I know nothing about that." She professionally gathered her healing herbs and a pair of small metal pliers. Without turning her head, she told Boromir, "You must hold him down. He must not move or I may cause more harm than good. Faramir, this is going to feel like torture, but I cannot give you anything to dull the pain. With the amount of blood you have lost, it could kill you. Bite down on this." She placed a leather glove in Faramir's mouth as Boromir held down his arms. Taking a deep breath, Iorwyn opened the wound with one hand and began searching for the arrowhead with the small pliers.
Faramir nearly fainted as the agony started. His body struggled against Iorwyn. Boromir held him down tighter, grimacing at the obvious torment his brother was in. Faramir tried desperately not to scream, clenching his teeth against the glove. Iorwyn finally sighted the arrowhead and pulled it out as quickly as possible. Pain laced through Faramir so suddenly that he couldn't hold back a muffled cry. His breathing was labored, sweat streaming off his face. As Iorwyn held the arrowhead up, Faramir's heart sank as he saw the telltale shine of poison on it. Seeing his brother's face, Boromir realized the same. "It is poisoned." Iorwyn looked sadly at them.
"I do not know orc poisons. Even if I knew what kind it was, I would not know how to treat it." Boromir felt nauseated. He too, didn't know much about orc poisons, he had always left that to the army healers. Having heard their conversation, Faramir spoke up.
"Put. . . put it in water." Puzzled, Iorwyn dropped the arrowhead into a glass of water by the bed. It began sizzling and smoking and she quickly drew back her hand. Faramir, though his mind was muddled, clearly heard Lord Elrond's voice in his mind, reciting the rhyme about poisons.
If colored clear, do not fear.
If it is green, use herbal cream.
If gold is heeded, then potion is needed.
If water is blue, run fire through.
If it's black or red, it's too late, you're dead.
The smoke cleared and Iorwyn held the glass up so Faramir could see it. The water shimmered bright blue. Faramir sighed. "If water is blue, run fire through." Boromir raised an eyebrow in question. "Iorwyn, You... need to clean the wound with wine. Set an iron... iron poker in the fire. You will need... need to clean the wound with the heated poker for at least ten. . .ten seconds."
"But Faramir, you could die from the shock!" objected Boromir. He looked to Iorwyn for support, but she seemed to agree with Faramir.
"He may die from the shock, he will die from the poison. It is his only option." Boromir reluctantly allowed it and held Faramir down for even more pain. The wine stung, but nothing compared to the searing agony of the heated iron. Boromir watched helplessly as Faramir 's face contorted with pain, eyes glazed over, barely conscious. He began praying that Faramir would faint, just to end the torment. Iorwyn cringed as another muffled scream tore from the young man's throat. Just four more seconds. Two. One. Finally, she pulled the iron away from the wound and Faramir fell back against the pillow. As Boromir squeezed his brother's hand, Iorwyn wrapped the cauterized wound with clean linen cloths. When she looked up, she was relieved to see that Faramir had finally given into sleep. She covered him with the blankets, and went about cleaning up the blood.
Boromir numbly helped Iorwyn clean, always keeping an eye on his brother. By the time they finished, the sun had set. Since Faramir occupied the bed, Boromir sat in Rendil's chair, while Iorwyn slept in her own. Yet Boromir had a hard time falling asleep, Faramir's pale face suspended in front of his eyes like a specter. All he could remember was feeling Faramir shove him and turning to see the arrow pierce his brother's chest. He remembered the horror and fear he felt in that moment, not knowing if the wound had been instantly fatal. The relief he felt when Faramir continued fighting. The pain knowing that Minas Tirith was too far away and the relief that there was a healer nearby. And always, Faramir's face as the arrowhead was removed and the wound cleaned by the hot iron. Boromir held back a frustrated cry. It was all his fault! Faramir was injured trying to protect him. He was the older brother; he should have been protecting Faramir. As he continued to berate himself, Boromir drifted off to sleep, exhausted from everything that had happened that day.
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*sigh* I cannot last two chapters without hurting Faramir. Oh well, angst is good. At least, that is what Evil Skittle keeps telling me. =D
