Chapter three

Faramir had dozed off in a chair when Aragorn came into the room. Boromir had wakened, and was resting one hand on his brother's head, a small smile on his face. He brightened when he laid eyes on his king, and Aragorn, seeing Boromir watching over his sleeping brother, remembered a poem he had learned as a child:

'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark

Bay, deep mouth'd welcome as we draw near home;

'Tis sweet to know there's an eye will mark

Our coming, and look brighter when we come…

"How fare you this evening, old dog?" Aragorn asked.

"Old? The 'dog' I don't object to, but 'old'? I am not old!"

Faramir woke, raising his head and causing Boromir's fingers to skate down his face. He shook his head. The scene made the king laugh aloud.

He gave Boromir a swift but thorough examination, reading through notes given him by Ioreth. It was true the woman was now ancient, but she was as sharp as a dagger and missed nothing. He was pleased with what he read, and announced that Boromir was doing much better than he had hoped.

"But," said the king, "You are far from sound just yet. I understand you are well attended."

"I blame you for that!" laughed Boromir, "Faramir managed to scrape him off of me long enough to get a decent night's sleep. And it's just unnatural for a hobbit to skip meals as he has done."

"Scrape him off of you? Scrape him off of you! You complain!" Faramir barked with laughter, "Yet you would not part with them for a chest full of gold."

"Too true, I fear. I blame our king for this, too; he did not warn me about hobbits."

"Would it have done any good?" asked Aragorn, taking a chair beside Faramir.

"None, I fear. In those days I would not have heeded your warning."

"He never heeded anyone's warnings!" Faramir added.

Aragorn called for supper for the three of them, and the three men ate heartily. Afterwards they spent their time exchanging stories and planning the future of Adrahil. Boromir had insisted on showing him mercy, and after much persuasion, Faramir and Aragorn relented.

The discussion went from there to Firiel and her fate, and the three spoke long into the night on the subject. Afterwards, Aragorn didn't like the strain it had put on his charge, and ordered Boromir to rest. He called for a sleeping potion for Boromir and bid the two brothers goodnight.

The hobbits returned early the next morning, bringing a huge breakfast with them. Merry seemed to be happy that Pippin had finally gotten a decent night's rest. Pippin was quite restored and in a good humor after having a little respite from his cares. He needed to be with Merry; had always done so. The two seemed to wither without each other. This was one of the many things that had endeared them to Boromir, and he could never truly think of them individually, try as he might. What affected one affected the other.

The night off had put both hobbits in higher spirits, and they eagerly served breakfast to the two Men themselves. Once the dishes were cleared away to be washed up, and they had had a pipe, Pippin bounded onto the bed along with Merry, who, while not exactly bounding onto the bed, certainly took his place there, bringing the little blue book with him.

"Whose turn is it?" Merry asked, looking from Boromir to Faramir.

"Mine, I think," said Boromir, settling back with a few pillows under his head. He waited until Faramir had sat himself on the bed, then he began to speak.

"Where was I? Let's see…Firiel…as I said, she didn't behave much like a little girl, though it was impossible to miss the fact that she was a little girl, even resembling Pippin as much as she did. As she grew older, she became more and more headstrong. Perhaps this too, was my doing. I can't know that, but it may be.

She was headstrong, but her size and health matched her personality not at all, for she was still far smaller and sicklier than other girls her age. She began to wander about more and more on her own. Within the walls of the city, this could be bad enough, but she took to wandering in the woodlands and down to our favorite fishing and swimming spots on her own.

Her father, Thalion, worried about her constantly. She was good at slipping away, and good at hiding, and when she would go missing, she would only come out of hiding for Faramir and I. Many times we had to scour the city and the entire area to find her when she had been missing all day. Her nurse couldn't keep up with her at all.

One winter, she decided she would go rabbit hunting. Faramir and I had taught her to use a little bow, and she was quite good with it. We were with Thalion at sword practice when her nurse came in, frantic with worry. Firiel had disappeared that morning. Her bow and quiver was gone as well, so we knew she was in the woodlands. It was near dark, and her long absence sent us all in a mad search for her. We combed the city first, and when she couldn't be found, we set out to look through the woods where we thought she might be.

It was Faramir who found her. She had fallen into a nearby pond earlier that day, and had built a small fire to warm herself and dry her clothing. She knew if she showed up after such truancy and with her clothes sodden, she would be in trouble with both her father and her nurse. By the time she was found, she was coughing terribly, and already a fever had set in. Her frail little body simply would not stand up to the punishment she put it through.

I know, Merry, that this puts you in mind of a certain Master Took; you've told me about his childhood illnesses. I know quite well the fear that this can put into one. No one ever tells you about this side of love. It is something, sadly, we learn on our own. I had lost my mother, and knew this all too well, but with one so young, it catches one by surprise.

We carried her back to the city and straight to the healer. Thalion and her nurse were beside themselves with fear. She was shivering from the fever, her clothes were still quite wet, and she could barely breathe. She was taken to a bed and warmed, but by then it was too late, and she became quite ill.

She was bedridden the rest of the winter. She was an impossible patient. Ioreth could do nothing with her. She wanted Faramir or me to take care of her, but this was deemed a bit improper. Thalion finally came to us for help, in spite of the fact that, as her father, he knew that it was not seemly for his little girl to be cared for by a pair of young soldiers.

When we came to her, she was in the middle of a temper tantrum, throwing her dishes and medicines at the nurse. She refused to behave, even for Faramir. It wasn't until I took her in my arms and sat her on my lap that she would be persuaded to eat and take her medicines. I rocked her to sleep, just as I had when she was a baby. I bathed her forehead with a cool cloth. I fed her, changed her bedding, I did everything I could for her. Slowly, she began to heal.

One evening, as she sat in my lap, she suddenly kissed my cheek and said she was sorry she had caused so much trouble. Then she kissed my cheek again, and asked me to marry her. I, of course, told her I would. Her nurse was outraged, but Thalion thought it was both sweet and humorous. I made her promise, as my bride-to-be, not to run off like that again.

After that, she started wearing dresses without a bit of trouble. She even wore shoes. She always made a point of parading about, flouncing her skirts in an outrageously flirtatious manner for me until I would comment on how pretty she was. Wonder of wonders, she even started playing with dolls. She always insisted that she was to marry me, and she never broke her promise to not run off again.

She was trying to grow up. She would primp in front of a mirror for hours, and much to her nurses' alarm, Thalion said she should have proposed to me years ago. One could see that some day she would make a beautiful young woman, though small and frail. She was becoming a little vain, and took care to match her frocks with her eyes whenever she could. Almost all her dresses were green, and they really did set off her eyes remarkably, seeming to make emeralds of them. They lit up when I walked into a room where she was.

Needless to say, I began to spoil her more than ever. I spent a great deal of money on her as well as a great deal of my spare time. Had I not been the son of Denethor, and a rather large and at this time well trained soldier, I might have been the butt of quite a lot of jokes. This happened only once, a cousin of mine making a jest about my having a living doll to play dress-up with. He sported a black eye for some time after that.

Of course this only encouraged her infatuation with me, and I loved her so I did nothing to discourage it. I could deny her nothing, and she adored me.

When I had to go out on patrols, she missed me terribly, and worried constantly about me. She would follow Faramir about, nattering about how she hoped I would return to her safely, and when I would come home, she would be waiting patiently at the gate, where I would lift her to my shoulder and carry her home. I can still feel her innocent little kisses on my cheek, sometimes.

Then came that awful time when I returned one day and she was not there. I thought that at last her little infatuation had run its course, and was quite saddened by this. I wish it had been that simple. She had slipped out of the city to gather violets to make a bouquet for her returning warrior, and had disappeared.

Her tracks had been found, and all about and over them was the tracks of a small band of orcs in their iron shoes. As soon as I heard this, I rode out to join the hunting party. I'm afraid I ruined a good horse catching up with them, but I could find no peace until I was on the trail of the orcs that had taken her.

A day and a half we tracked them, even eating on the trail. The thought of that bright little spirit taken by those monstrosities chilled our blood and raised such a fury in me I can never forget it. It burns in me still.

We came upon them at last and cornered them against a sheer rock face, where we slaughtered as many as we could. The remainder dropped her and ran like the beasts they were.

She had been bound like an animal and beaten bloody, and that was not the worst of it. She screamed when anyone tried to touch her. Her clothes had been ripped off, and it was plain to see…"

Boromir stopped and took a few slow breaths. When he looked at Pippin, who had taken in a breath with a sharp hiss, his hands were plastered across his mouth, and in his eyes was a look of horror. Merry and Faramir had caste their eyes on the floor, having knowledge of what had happened.

"It was plain to see she had been raped. And brutally so. Her little legs were bloody with the violence of it. Her perfect little mouth was a mass of blood and filth, and some of her teeth had been knocked out. She was wild-eyed, and could not speak a word, but only scream wordlessly, over and over. We finally had to wrap her in a horse-blanket to hold her, for she would not bear being touched. I could not grasp such cruelty and malice. I could not comprehend such evil. I sent her back to the city and rode after the few escaped orcs, riding them down and hacking them to bits. I was not interested in a clean kill. I have never felt such rage since then, nor do I hope to. Yes, it is true; I butchered them. This is something I never did before or will again, but I was in such a rage I was quite mad. She was only just a little girl! Just a little girl…"

Boromir stopped, and buried his face in his hands as though he wished he could take back the words and take back the memory.

Faramir clasped his shoulder and they looked long into each other's eyes. This was one shared memory they did not love.

"Enough for now…" Faramir said, choking on his own words.

Since time began, there has never been a place of healing where tears were not shed. These are places of healing, but no one ever came to one by a happy chance. Too often grief stalks their halls, and grief now held sway.

Merry had been told Boromir had never grieved for his little friend, but he had not realized how deep this grief ran. He had seen Boromir weep a little, but never willingly in front of people, and he had always dried his tears up swiftly. Merry supposed this was just a Mannish behavior.

All the greater shock to him when Boromir wept now, for his body was wracked with deep sobs. Faramir held him and stroked his hair, with a soft "Sshh… Sshh..."

Merry heard a soft sound, and saw Pippin, too was weeping, almost silently, his hands still clasped over his mouth. He still had that look of horror in his eyes, and Merry guessed he was still trying to get his mind around the brutality of the tale. All his life Merry had looked after Pippin, nearly raising him himself. Countless times had he held Pippin as a little hobbit lad and soothed away his tears and comforted him, so it is no surprise that he did so now.

After a bit, the weeping subsided to sniffles and the odd errant tear. Throats were cleared, and some semblance of normalcy eased over them, but this didn't stop Pippin or Merry from embracing Boromir and Faramir after things had calmed a bit. Pippin settled himself beside Boromir and leaned against him as he had when he was but a youngster. Faramir, Boromir and Merry knew he was trying to comfort Boromir by giving him someone to care for once again. Though the gesture was transparent, it was also sincere, and Boromir didn't fail to appreciate it.

"Oh, my," he said, "I did not know so much pain lived in my heart yet."

"It was not your fault." Pippin said firmly.

"It feels like my fault."

"It felt like my fault when Gandalf fell, yet you convinced me it was not. I would convince you, now, of the same." Pippin took the big, scarred hand in his own, stroking the back of it softly and with a soft, low voice, repeated, "It was not your fault, Boromir. It was not your fault."

"Pippin is right," Merry asserted. "If anyone is to blame, it's the orcs. They chose to do that evil, Boromir. No one forced them to. They were more than willing, and they got no more than they deserved."

"Merry, do you not remember what Gandalf said? About not passing on death in judgment?" Boromir asked.

"Well, he didn't say not to, Boromir!" Pippin said vehemently, and a little impatiently. "He just said not to be too eager to."

Suddenly Boromir laughed. "Trust you, Pippin Took, to say such a thing! Nay! Do not look so put out! There is wisdom in your words, now I think on it."

"We're sorry about Firiel, Boromir," Merry added, squeezing Boromir between himself and Pippin now.

"What happened to her?" asked Pippin, "Did she ever get better?"

Boromir opened his mouth to speak, but Faramir cut him off. "Nay, I fear not. That, I think was the worst of it. Not only did she suffer that horror, but also those filthy creatures debased her yet further. She was made sick from their diseases that are passed on when one lies with another. It was as though her rape continued for some years. In the end, she died, her mind eaten away by the disease they gave her."

"Her death came long and slowly," Boromir added, "but in the end, it was a mercy she died. She was never herself again. For all purposes, she died that day. One more thing, though..those orcs carried little in the way of provisions."

"I think I understand," said Pippin, his voice so low almost he couldn't be heard. "They carried no provisions because they planned to eat her."

"Yes," said Boromir. "And worse I was to learn, orcs do not confine these appetites for females only. Men and boys, too, they debase in this manner."

Pippin again looked horrorstruck. "You feared, then, that orcs would do…that…to Merry and me?"

After a pause which Boromir intended to allow the reality of Pippin's observation sink in, he answered, "Aye."

"Oh," Pippin said in a rush of breath. "Oh, my heavens!" Pippin had gone pale, then flushed a bright red.

"Do you understand, now, why I worried so about the two of you?" asked Boromir.

"I'm afraid so." Pippin answered. "But that did not happen, Boromir. Nor will it happen. They are defeated, and I hope now that your grief, too is defeated."

"My heart tells me so…" said Boromir with a small smile that was an odd mixture of sadness and hope.

"Then the telling of her story was worth the strain on you, brother!" Faramir said, "But enough, as I said. Let us now move on, and turn the page."

"Yes, let's do." added Merry, handing Faramir the little blue journal.

Boromir grinned broadly now. "Yes, let us do that. My heart is lighter already. It was a good thing to speak of this, but let us now turn the page."

Faramir suddenly lifted Pippin, sat beside Boromir in his place, then pulled Pippin onto his lap. Pippin squeaked with the indignity of it, but didn't move. Faramir had the journal open, after all, and he began to read.

"Now where we?" Faramir said, flipping through the pages. "Ah, here we are…"

They have taken to their sword practice with a will I had not anticipated. Both are far better than I hoped, for a pair that has only just begun to learn the skill. I must say that I take great comfort in this, and now can afford to worry about them a little less….

FINIS