Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, its characters and places are the property of the Tolkien estate. The authors of this piece are merely borrowing them and derive no financial benefit from the exercise.

Echoes of the White Horn Chapter 8: Fireside Conversations

In such a tiny enclosed space, any sort of sound would seem to resonate. Even that soft mumble from Boromir seemed to Faramir as loud as each crack of thunder that had assailed his ears all day long, but definitely more pleasing.

"Boromir!" he turned to his brother's side once again, relieved to atleast hear something of his voice.

There was no response at first, making him wonder whether he had imagined the sound. Then another illegible murmur reached his ears. He leant forward wondering whether he ought to force his brother to wake up.

"Boromir? Can you hear me?" he asked softly.

"Yes. Go back to sleep," the words were slurred but he could make them out, and that gave him enough cause for relief. But the eyes still remained shut.

"Boromir, wake up!"

"Why?" came the slightly clearer reply, and this time they eyes did open, a little dazed but focussed upon Faramir.

"Are you alright, Boromir? Do you hurt anywhere? Can you hear me?" he asked rapidly.

"Faramir, anyone could hear you if you were to speak as loudly as this," Boromir tried to raise himself but ended up falling back with a groan.

"Do you hurt anywhere?" Faramir repeated worriedly.

His brother, however, was more interested in other matters.

"Where are we?" he asked looking up at the stone roof above him.

"We needed shelter for the night. It is raining outside."

"Why did we need shelter?" came the confused response, "Oh wait, I remember... we were on our way home!"

"How do you feel?"

"Did you awaken me to ask me how I felt?" his brother said groggily, and then with a hint of alertness, "Surely, the storm did not scare you?"

"Of course not!" Faramir responded indignantly, "Do you not remember? You fell – into the river."

That induced another half-groan, "Yes, I do, now. How did you get here? You did not jump in too, did you, Faramir?"

"No, I came down the path."

"Are you alright then?"

"Yes, I am. But you were hurt and I am worried. How do you feel?" he asked, the words coming out in a rush, because Boromir hardly seemed to be listening.

"Good," Boromir said calmly, "I have a headache. Why do you not rest for the night now, and we can set off for home in the morning."

It occurred to Faramir that his brother probably had a very vague memory of might have happened. Before he could say another word, however, Boromir had shut his eyes and seemingly fallen asleep.

"Is he awake?"

He had almost forgotten about his new acquaintance.

"Nay, he is asleep again. But I think he shall be alright now."

"I am glad to hear that. He is certain to fare better after a night's rest," the man said quietly.

"Yes."

"I have some food to eat. If you would like some before you retire for the night-?"

"I shall keep the first watch," he blurted out. It appeared safe here, but from even a short span of life as a soldier, he knew that appearances could be defective.

"That shall not be necessary," came the firm reply, "I am well used to keeping long watches in the night."

"As am I," he retorted stubbornly.

"Very well," came the resigned statement, "I shall take the next one then."

It was after a while that they sat around the flickering flames of the tiny fire, munching some of the food from the provisions they carried. The stranger had made Faramir apply the sticky residue from the liquid he had brewed to the lump on his brother's head, assuring him that it was a very old cure for just that sort of injury, and that it would lessen his headache. Boromir had slept all through, and now the two of them sat near the entrance to the little enclosure, watching glumly as little droplets of water continued to drip slowly and annoyingly over the sodden ground outside.

He chewed morosely at a damp, soggy piece of bread that seemed to have lost all its taste, and stared glumly outside at the dark shadowy shapes of the trees. His new acquaintance was examining his bow with great interest.

"It is very well-crafted," he said appreciatively, "Do you get the like in Gondor?"

"They make it in the mountains," he replied evasively, wishing he could grab his weapon out of the other man's hands. It was after all, he reasoned, his bow, and more so a bow that Boromir had specially bought for him, going so far as to deviate from their journey home. If they had not taken the diversion, none of this would have happened. The thought made him feel even more miserable, so that he finally reverted to sitting with his elbows on his knees and chin cupped in his hands.

He supposed he ought to be glad Boromir was safe and well. Somewhere in the back of his mind, all through the ordeal, he had wondered what his father might have to say about it. It had not been a pleasant matter to ponder upon, so he had avoided thinking of Denethor altogether. Or of how he might explain to him that his eldest son and heir had been lost or injured badly in an accident so ludicrous in nature that to explain it would merely make it seem even more stupid. He was atleast spared of that ordeal now. Boromir looked to recover well enough. And the rain had stopped. They could leave at first light. If Boromir still felt a little unwell, the pony could carry him. And this time, he resolved, he would make sure he kept an eye on it. If need be, he would take the reins in his hand and walk the animal all the way to Minas Tirith.

The hiss of a piece of damp kindling in the fire roused him from his thoughts. He looked up to see the rider fingering the brooch he had seen him wear, a stern expression on his grave face, even as he hummed a somewhat familiar lay, tunelessly, under his breath. A star, he mused to himself, to hold the cloak in place. He had heard of that somewhere else, but he could not remember where. But it was not uncommon to use finely carved pin to hold mantles and cloaks in place so he assumed he might have seen someone else wear it. He suddenly remembered he still knew nothing about this man.

"Your brother must be a very hardy soldier. He is recovering swiftly," the stranger spoke up, before he could.

"How did you know he was a soldier?" Faramir asked, and then bit his lip as he realised how abrupt he might have sounded.

He got an amused look in return, "His clothing... and his weaponry. As are you, I believe."

Faramir gave him a short nod in return, "Yes he is. And a very good one, too." That might have sounded as his pride speaking, he realised for he did admire his brother in his abilities, but he knew it was also the truth. There were few of his brother's age or perhaps even older, who could match him.

It brought a smile to the other man's face, "I am sure he is," he said in a tone so solemn that for a second Faramir wondered whether he was jesting. But he continued in a level voice, "Then Gondor is fortunate she has such men to defend her."

"Yes, she is."

"That is good to hear," it was spoken very softly, "She needs them, does she not?"

"More than she needs anything else, I think," he found himself replying, "But then, do they not need such everywhere?"

He wondered if he sounded like his father right then. It was something he had heard often in his childhood, of how his land needed soldiers and not dreamers, swordsmen and not poets and most of all, she needed rulers who could be intelligent and brave, thinkers and warriors.

"Aye, they do," the other man acknowledged, "Hardy soldiers and strong rulers."

"Gondor has both," he answered calmly.

The man nodded in response, and then his eyes strayed back to the brooch in his hands. Faramir watched him for a while, and then looked dully at the miserable fire, before he realised that in all the conversation so far, the man had learnt something of him, but he had learnt nothing of the man yet. Intuition had told him he could probably have faith in him, but he had repeatedly been requested to take a more practical view of things. And besides, it gave him something to turn his mind to.

"Where are you from? Not from these parts, I can see," he broached the question.

 "No, I come from north of here," came the vague response, much as he had expected. He had had a feeling that he was unlikely to get to know anything of significance from this man even if he tried. He wanted to make an attempt nevertheless.

"From Rohan?" that might, he thought, explain the competent horsemanship.

"I have lived there once," came another reply, as evasive in its tone as the earlier one.

"But you do no more?" Faramir found he was getting more and more curious. He could not help but wonder why the man should bother to be secretive about his doings, unless his intent was ill. But everything he had done so far indicated otherwise. He was sure this was just an ordinary traveller. Perhaps, he thought, the man just did not like strangers. After all, Faramir himself had been wary of him when they had first come across each other. And just because he was older it did not imply that he too might not be like mind when coming across a complete stranger in such a remote area. It would be nothing out of the ordinary to behave so, and these were after all, no ordinary times. There were enough dangers and enough fell folk roving the land to warrant caution.

"No, I live there no more," the response came after a very long pause during which the man had thoughtfully attempted to stoke the nearly dying fire a little, with marginal success.

"Then where do you live now? You look to be a soldier too, a ranger perhaps? What brings you here, to the high mountains?" he persisted, though he had deduced by now that he could not expect a clear response.

The stranger took a deep breath before replying, "I spend my time travelling in the north," he said calmly, "I came to visit an old friend in these parts."

"We do not get many visitors from the north," Faramir mused. There were traders who came over the west road and a few other visitors, but even they were from Rohan, and never beyond that, "What is the land like?" he asked interestedly.

"Much as it is here," came the firm reply.

He wanted to know more, but then the man arose, and swung his cloak around his soldiers, "I am afraid you must excuse me now, lad, but I fear I must leave early on the morrow, and I understand you would do so too. You wished to take the first watch, did you not? I shall relieve you after that."

And with that Faramir was left to face the dying fire, and to think of other matters. He did not fail to notice however that the other man was not completely asleep, and that his hand rested lightly upon his scabbard.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning dawned bright and clear. The skies were cloudless barring a few stray wisps of white. The only sign of the previous day's storm was the wet grass and the sight of trees weighed down by the water in their leaves and the raging sound of the stream that seemed to have doubled in quantity.

Faramir awoke to find his brother stirring a little. The only sign of their other companion was his saddlebag, lying near the embers of the fire.

He knelt next to Boromir, wondering whether to wake him. He did want to leave soon. Delaying their return to Minas Tirith any longer would mean they would have to start explaining many things to their father. In the clear light of day, Faramir suddenly began to wonder how he could have so trusted a complete stranger. It was true there were no laws, as yet, in Gondor, dictating who could wander through her mountains and fields, but he had a feeling that might be seen as beside the point.

"He seems much better now."

Faramir turned towards the stranger, who was picking up his bag, and rose, "Yes, he does."

"You will leave for Minas Tirith soon?"

He nodded.

"Are you certain he can ride?"

"The pony can carry him," he said emphatically. Boromir looked well, but he still wanted to get him back to the city as soon as he could. They were not far now; he had seen that. If they left now, they would be there well before noon.

They were standing outside now.

"This road goes on to meet the highway to Minas Tirith," Faramir said, "We have not far to go."

The man adjusted his cloak; "Then, I shall part with you here, for I must follow the trail towards Lossarnach."

Faramir accompanied him to his horse and watched him fix the saddle, humming the same tuneless notes he had heard last night. He recognised it now as one of the lays on Nimrodel that the minstrels in Dol Amroth had sung often, "You go to Lossarnach to meet a friend?"

"Yes, indeed, I do."

It reminded him that he too had a friend who was visiting Lossarnach. Mithrandir was probably there from what the soldiers they had met while riding out had told them. The flowery vale seemed suddenly to have become a place of interest to many folk, and he almost wondered at the coincidence, but then shook his head at the thought.

"Farewell," the man said to him solemnly and bowed slightly before turning to his horse.

"I thank you for your help," Faramir said formally, and then after a small pause, added, "I do not know your name."

"And I do not know yours."

"Faramir," he said simply.

"They call me Strider in the north," the stranger replied, as he jerked his reins, and raised a hand in farewell.

"Farewell then, till we meet again," Faramir said reflexively and then wondered why he had said that. It was not something he said often, except to his brother.

He got a thoughtful look in return and then a short nod, before the horse cantered away.

Faramir stared after the retreating figure of the horse and the rider, before murmuring, "That is a strange name."

He returned to his brother to find him wide-awake, and attempting to pull on his boots.

To be continued...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It is unfortunately the usual excuse... not to mention ff.net acting up...

Susan – Strider it is then. And Faramir has a thing about falsehoods after all. Sorry to make you wait so long! :-(

Rose – Interesting enough?;-) Well, Gandalf it is. He'll make his cameo in the next chapter, which, with luck, will happen in far less time;-)

Elaine- not a bother at all. Thanks for the mail.