[thoughts in //]
=PART ONE: The Steward & The White Lady=
=The Houses of Healing=
It was night in Minas Tirith. Everywhere darkness draped its shadows and the moon hung, shining sallowly, high above, amidst scattered stars. Most of the windows in the city were dark, but from a lone window in the Houses of Healing, a candle flickered humbly on the sill. A pair of grieved eyes watched the flame dance and bend in the gentle winds blowing softly through the open window.
Mesmerized and staring, Faramir sat. An open volume lay idly at his right. He had tried reading, but his thoughts had readily consumed him, tearing his mind from the book's words. Painfully but surely the lesson had come to him that not all ailments could be cured in the pages of a book. He closed his eyes involuntarily, tired and weary, but, soon they were open and staring again, and he exhaled swiftly, attempting to rid himself of the images that had taken life from his drooping lids.
It was late, later than his father would have liked. A pained smile tinged one corner of his mouth and he sighed softly, for it did not matter much now. It was quiet and still--a heavy silence-and the air sweeping in through the window was chill. Nonetheless he wore no cloak and did not shut the window. He felt more trapped and claustrophobic without sight of sky, or feel of wind than he used to. Although he'd always preferred open skies, now the lack thereof made him anxious.
The Warden of the Houses had advised him to stay indoors while he healed, for his lungs were still both tender and sore, made so by the smoke he'd inhaled, and his body was still weak. And he wasn't such a fool that he'd disregard a Master Healer's advice completely nor tarry too late in the gardens at night and needlessly damage himself. So, as the sun set each evening, he made sure he came indoors.
Indoors, where the nurses would light a fire in his room, and shut both window and door, thereby, unknowingly, eroding his calm, piece by fiery piece.
He took his eyes off the candle and turned to his right where the embers of said fire were slowing burning out. /Good/, he thought. He turned back to staring out the window and as he sighed, he watched how the candle's flame flickered and bent to his breath. It was an interesting exercise, but it was numbing and at the moment all he wanted was to stop feeling so much.
He was overly tired but could not sleep for his nightmares were many and he had a mind to take no sleeping potions, a will he supposed was the need to sleep without aid and prove to himself that all was well, though he knew that all was far from it. Before, he'd have taken the draught and been done with it. Now though, he felt that if he couldn't sleep on his own, then he shouldn't sleep at all. Lack were his resting hours and mind, body, and spirit were in want of them.
But when he slept, it was a short and fitful sleep and he dreamt only of fire and would awake shaking, sweat dripping from his brow, more weary than when he'd first shut his eyes.
=+=+=+=
The sun rose over the black mountains as it had all the days of his life, but this morning like the previous one, Faramir only winced in its bright gaze, still seated by the window, candle flickering before him. The weather was fair, the sky free of clouds, but it only seemed to remind him that storms of the heart were all too often much worse than the thunder and rain of the skies.
Knowing dawn's presence heralded first a visit from the Warden and then an examination from a group of healers, (and knowing, too that he would be worried over if they found him sitting as they'd left him the evening before) he licked his forefinger and thumb and snuffed out the candle quickly, wincing slightly as the flame brushed against his skin before it died. But as he began to move from his seat-
He started forward a bit as a knock on the door came, and turned his head to the sound. "Lord Faramir?" a voice called from the other side. He cursed once under his breath, recognizing the Warden's voice and said to him only, "Enter" knowing any attempts now to hide the evidence would be futile. Faramir glanced a bit nervously at the candle, knowing all to well the Master Healer would notice.
The Warden entered the room, took in Faramir in the chair by the window- still open and welcoming the cool breeze-the dead ashes in the fireplace, the tidy bed clothes, still drawn up and unused, and the thin line of smoke rising from the candle at his Lord's side, as well as the open book. In silence he stood for a moment, favoring Faramir with a quirked eyebrow and a discerning expression.
"My Lord Faramir-" he began.
"Wait," Faramir interrupted, "I can explain." The Warden merely smiled knowingly.
"With all due respect, milord, you need explain nothing," the Warden said kindly if not a bit sternly. Faramir gave a nervous half-smile, half-wince. "I understand your behavior," the Warden continued, "At least in part. And while I do comprehend your actions, I do not similarly encourage them."
Faramir turned his eyes to floor, then back to the warden's face, then to the right, the ceiling, to the left, darting, the Warden noticed with a tinge of surprise, almost guiltily.
Finally his eyes again settled on the Healer's face. "I realize this fully, Master Warden, and do deeply apologize for my conduct. I am . . . not myself of late," Faramir said by way of apology.
"You need not apologize overmuch, milord, for you have been through a great ordeal," the Warden of the Houses intoned. "I ask only that you strive to get some sleep each night. Even if a sleeping draught is involved in the process," he added firmly. "And it would also be most beneficial for your healing if you close the window and keep the fire going now and again so the room is not as chill at night inside as on the outside."
Faramir smiled compliantly and nodded in agreement.
"On the positive side, Lord Faramir," he added, "It does me good to see you able to move about. Despite your habits, you are faring much better than ere first you entered these doors. And that is a cheering thing, indeed, milord."
Faramir nodded his head slightly, his smile softening.
"Ioreth and the others will be in to see you soon." The Master Warden made his way to leave.
Faramir gulped a bit-he'd never been one for visiting a healer, let alone one as sheltering and protective as Ioreth.
The Warden hid his smile at Faramir's uneasiness and added with an inward chuckle as he shut the door. "And if you wish to stay her maternal worries, I'd shut that window and climb into bed if I were you."
Faramir waited until the door was closed on principle. But the moment the latch clicked shut, he reached over the table in front of the window and all but slammed the shutters closed.
=+=+=+=
"I trust you slept well my lord?" Ioreth inquired, the other two women with her moving about the room.
Faramir smiled a bit uneasily. "As much as could be expected in such a situation, I suppose," he said. Ioreth frowned a bit and placed her hand on his forehead.
"Hmm," she grunted approvingly, "Your fever is still down and by the feel of it, all but gone. That kingsfoil has done you well, Lord Faramir."
Faramir nodded politely-he didn't exactly want to be drawn into a conversation with this particular Healer. His mind seemed to be another's of late and in his preoccupation he was afraid to let something slip. It wasn't that he wished to be dishonest, but in honesty, there were some things he'd rather no one else find out. Quite a few things in fact.
Ioreth noted his distant mood and decided not to comment. Motioning for one of the women to leave the Lord's breakfast on the stand by his bed, without another word, and only a pitying smile, Ioreth stepped out of the room and her companions soon followed.
Alone. Again. Trapped inside, and fire roaring before him. Faramir didn't particularly enjoy admitting it-even but to himself-but his anxiety was effortlessly multiplied in the face of those leaping flames.
=+=+=+=
It hardly took until midmorn for Faramir to be out of doors and in the gardens. He noticed that for the first time since before, he walked mostly without pain-a dull throbbing in his arm was evident, but it seemed to him that at last, the ache was subsiding. In the light of the forenoon sun, he felt new life stirring within his bones as he looked away to the east and to all hope the world and its peoples had left.
He walked about the garden for a time, stretching limb and eye to take in tree and flower. Before long, though, he came to stand in silence before the wall, his eyes drawn here and there to some extent, but ever did his gaze rest upon the eastward lands.
It was like this that the Warden of the Houses came upon him with the Lady Èowyn, and called out to the Lord Faramir, Steward of the City, so that he might hear the Lady's words.
And in hearing them and speaking with her for a time, Faramir found that in her absence, his eyes looked not to the east, but now strayed instead unto the house.
=+=+=+=
Faramir had decided after meeting with Èowyn that morning and then listening to all the Warden and halfing could tell of her in the afternoon and evening, that his first impression of the White Lady had been correct. She was an interesting and distinctive woman. Never before had he ever met such a lady and even after imbibing all the words those near had to tell of her, and forming his own deductions from their tales, still he was in want of more.
In fact, he had gone so far as to trade the promise of striving for sleep that night for all the Warden could tell. And although he still had aversions to the idea, he was nothing if not a man of his word.
So, Faramir swallowed both his pride and a sleeping draught (the latter in a most singular fashion) promising himself that if it didn't work he'd never have to try such things again.
His actions were much to the surprise of Ioreth, who had heard in person (and numerous times at that) of Faramir's resistance and dislike of such 'potions' as he called them. But the Warden condoned the use of a sleeping draught for the Lord's bought with insomnia, as did Ioreth's vast experience in the world of healing-no one could heal without rest, after all-and so it was with nonexistent reservation, and with quite a bit of wonderment, that she had given him the drink and now quietly left the room in joy.
For at last he had fallen asleep.
TBC...
=PART ONE: The Steward & The White Lady=
=The Houses of Healing=
It was night in Minas Tirith. Everywhere darkness draped its shadows and the moon hung, shining sallowly, high above, amidst scattered stars. Most of the windows in the city were dark, but from a lone window in the Houses of Healing, a candle flickered humbly on the sill. A pair of grieved eyes watched the flame dance and bend in the gentle winds blowing softly through the open window.
Mesmerized and staring, Faramir sat. An open volume lay idly at his right. He had tried reading, but his thoughts had readily consumed him, tearing his mind from the book's words. Painfully but surely the lesson had come to him that not all ailments could be cured in the pages of a book. He closed his eyes involuntarily, tired and weary, but, soon they were open and staring again, and he exhaled swiftly, attempting to rid himself of the images that had taken life from his drooping lids.
It was late, later than his father would have liked. A pained smile tinged one corner of his mouth and he sighed softly, for it did not matter much now. It was quiet and still--a heavy silence-and the air sweeping in through the window was chill. Nonetheless he wore no cloak and did not shut the window. He felt more trapped and claustrophobic without sight of sky, or feel of wind than he used to. Although he'd always preferred open skies, now the lack thereof made him anxious.
The Warden of the Houses had advised him to stay indoors while he healed, for his lungs were still both tender and sore, made so by the smoke he'd inhaled, and his body was still weak. And he wasn't such a fool that he'd disregard a Master Healer's advice completely nor tarry too late in the gardens at night and needlessly damage himself. So, as the sun set each evening, he made sure he came indoors.
Indoors, where the nurses would light a fire in his room, and shut both window and door, thereby, unknowingly, eroding his calm, piece by fiery piece.
He took his eyes off the candle and turned to his right where the embers of said fire were slowing burning out. /Good/, he thought. He turned back to staring out the window and as he sighed, he watched how the candle's flame flickered and bent to his breath. It was an interesting exercise, but it was numbing and at the moment all he wanted was to stop feeling so much.
He was overly tired but could not sleep for his nightmares were many and he had a mind to take no sleeping potions, a will he supposed was the need to sleep without aid and prove to himself that all was well, though he knew that all was far from it. Before, he'd have taken the draught and been done with it. Now though, he felt that if he couldn't sleep on his own, then he shouldn't sleep at all. Lack were his resting hours and mind, body, and spirit were in want of them.
But when he slept, it was a short and fitful sleep and he dreamt only of fire and would awake shaking, sweat dripping from his brow, more weary than when he'd first shut his eyes.
=+=+=+=
The sun rose over the black mountains as it had all the days of his life, but this morning like the previous one, Faramir only winced in its bright gaze, still seated by the window, candle flickering before him. The weather was fair, the sky free of clouds, but it only seemed to remind him that storms of the heart were all too often much worse than the thunder and rain of the skies.
Knowing dawn's presence heralded first a visit from the Warden and then an examination from a group of healers, (and knowing, too that he would be worried over if they found him sitting as they'd left him the evening before) he licked his forefinger and thumb and snuffed out the candle quickly, wincing slightly as the flame brushed against his skin before it died. But as he began to move from his seat-
He started forward a bit as a knock on the door came, and turned his head to the sound. "Lord Faramir?" a voice called from the other side. He cursed once under his breath, recognizing the Warden's voice and said to him only, "Enter" knowing any attempts now to hide the evidence would be futile. Faramir glanced a bit nervously at the candle, knowing all to well the Master Healer would notice.
The Warden entered the room, took in Faramir in the chair by the window- still open and welcoming the cool breeze-the dead ashes in the fireplace, the tidy bed clothes, still drawn up and unused, and the thin line of smoke rising from the candle at his Lord's side, as well as the open book. In silence he stood for a moment, favoring Faramir with a quirked eyebrow and a discerning expression.
"My Lord Faramir-" he began.
"Wait," Faramir interrupted, "I can explain." The Warden merely smiled knowingly.
"With all due respect, milord, you need explain nothing," the Warden said kindly if not a bit sternly. Faramir gave a nervous half-smile, half-wince. "I understand your behavior," the Warden continued, "At least in part. And while I do comprehend your actions, I do not similarly encourage them."
Faramir turned his eyes to floor, then back to the warden's face, then to the right, the ceiling, to the left, darting, the Warden noticed with a tinge of surprise, almost guiltily.
Finally his eyes again settled on the Healer's face. "I realize this fully, Master Warden, and do deeply apologize for my conduct. I am . . . not myself of late," Faramir said by way of apology.
"You need not apologize overmuch, milord, for you have been through a great ordeal," the Warden of the Houses intoned. "I ask only that you strive to get some sleep each night. Even if a sleeping draught is involved in the process," he added firmly. "And it would also be most beneficial for your healing if you close the window and keep the fire going now and again so the room is not as chill at night inside as on the outside."
Faramir smiled compliantly and nodded in agreement.
"On the positive side, Lord Faramir," he added, "It does me good to see you able to move about. Despite your habits, you are faring much better than ere first you entered these doors. And that is a cheering thing, indeed, milord."
Faramir nodded his head slightly, his smile softening.
"Ioreth and the others will be in to see you soon." The Master Warden made his way to leave.
Faramir gulped a bit-he'd never been one for visiting a healer, let alone one as sheltering and protective as Ioreth.
The Warden hid his smile at Faramir's uneasiness and added with an inward chuckle as he shut the door. "And if you wish to stay her maternal worries, I'd shut that window and climb into bed if I were you."
Faramir waited until the door was closed on principle. But the moment the latch clicked shut, he reached over the table in front of the window and all but slammed the shutters closed.
=+=+=+=
"I trust you slept well my lord?" Ioreth inquired, the other two women with her moving about the room.
Faramir smiled a bit uneasily. "As much as could be expected in such a situation, I suppose," he said. Ioreth frowned a bit and placed her hand on his forehead.
"Hmm," she grunted approvingly, "Your fever is still down and by the feel of it, all but gone. That kingsfoil has done you well, Lord Faramir."
Faramir nodded politely-he didn't exactly want to be drawn into a conversation with this particular Healer. His mind seemed to be another's of late and in his preoccupation he was afraid to let something slip. It wasn't that he wished to be dishonest, but in honesty, there were some things he'd rather no one else find out. Quite a few things in fact.
Ioreth noted his distant mood and decided not to comment. Motioning for one of the women to leave the Lord's breakfast on the stand by his bed, without another word, and only a pitying smile, Ioreth stepped out of the room and her companions soon followed.
Alone. Again. Trapped inside, and fire roaring before him. Faramir didn't particularly enjoy admitting it-even but to himself-but his anxiety was effortlessly multiplied in the face of those leaping flames.
=+=+=+=
It hardly took until midmorn for Faramir to be out of doors and in the gardens. He noticed that for the first time since before, he walked mostly without pain-a dull throbbing in his arm was evident, but it seemed to him that at last, the ache was subsiding. In the light of the forenoon sun, he felt new life stirring within his bones as he looked away to the east and to all hope the world and its peoples had left.
He walked about the garden for a time, stretching limb and eye to take in tree and flower. Before long, though, he came to stand in silence before the wall, his eyes drawn here and there to some extent, but ever did his gaze rest upon the eastward lands.
It was like this that the Warden of the Houses came upon him with the Lady Èowyn, and called out to the Lord Faramir, Steward of the City, so that he might hear the Lady's words.
And in hearing them and speaking with her for a time, Faramir found that in her absence, his eyes looked not to the east, but now strayed instead unto the house.
=+=+=+=
Faramir had decided after meeting with Èowyn that morning and then listening to all the Warden and halfing could tell of her in the afternoon and evening, that his first impression of the White Lady had been correct. She was an interesting and distinctive woman. Never before had he ever met such a lady and even after imbibing all the words those near had to tell of her, and forming his own deductions from their tales, still he was in want of more.
In fact, he had gone so far as to trade the promise of striving for sleep that night for all the Warden could tell. And although he still had aversions to the idea, he was nothing if not a man of his word.
So, Faramir swallowed both his pride and a sleeping draught (the latter in a most singular fashion) promising himself that if it didn't work he'd never have to try such things again.
His actions were much to the surprise of Ioreth, who had heard in person (and numerous times at that) of Faramir's resistance and dislike of such 'potions' as he called them. But the Warden condoned the use of a sleeping draught for the Lord's bought with insomnia, as did Ioreth's vast experience in the world of healing-no one could heal without rest, after all-and so it was with nonexistent reservation, and with quite a bit of wonderment, that she had given him the drink and now quietly left the room in joy.
For at last he had fallen asleep.
TBC...