When our small company arrived back in camp that late that evening, I
was immediately accosted by General Solasgil, who had returned with his
troops earlier in the evening. I had assumed that he wished to give me an
official report of all that his men had seen and done as they fought the
Southrons, and I started to wave him off, wishing only to smoke a little
and then attempt to get some rest. But instead, he informed me that an
unknown boy had been found wandering nearby the camp and had been taken
into custody by the guards. When he had been searched, it was found that
he carried Faramir's sword belt and dagger, and, moreover, he had three
rings in his pocket that belonged to the Steward of Gondor. Solasgil had
attempted to question him, but the boy refused to speak with him. I
commanded the colonel to take me to the boy, and I was led to an empty
tent, where the obviously frightened boy sat upon the ground against the
main support pole, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around
them. He could not have been older than twelve, I deemed.
His appearance was disheveled to say the least, his dark, curly hair matted with mud and twigs, his pale face very thin and worn, his shabby clothing stained with blood. He glanced up at me with uncertain eyes before he looked again to the ground.
I thought he might be injured, for the bloodstains covered most of his visible clothing, but when I asked him, he simply shook his head. "Young man, what is your name?" I inquired, but when his eyes met mine again, they were filled with fear and anger. I turned and whispered to Solasgil, and he sent a man for some food for the gaunt boy. I sat down in front of the young man and waited for him to speak, but he remained silent.
I opened my hand to reveal the steward's rings to his view. "Whence did you obtain these?"
He shrugged. "I took them," he muttered. Then he grew a bit bolder. "Who are you?"
I was surprised by his nerve. "I am King Elessar. Who might you be?" He looked at my ranger's garb, and I could tell from his expression that he did not believe me wholly. The food arrived, and the boy eyed it as a starving person would, and indeed, I knew that he probably was. "Tell me exactly where you found these rings, and I will give you this food."
He rolled his eyes. "I took them from Faramir."
Obviously, this boy was not a mere thief if he knew the steward's name. I had immense trouble maintaining my calm facade. "Where is Faramir?"
He shrugged again and said, "He is in the middle of a field. He told me to leave him behind. I was supposed to go north and give his rings to his wife in a place called Emyn Arnen."
My heart was pounding, but I had to retain my patience with this young man. I gave him the plate of food, and he began to devour the meal as if he had not eaten in a week. "How was Faramir when you left him?"
"Not good," he said between bites. "He said that he was going to die like my Da did."
My heart sank. Surely Faramir would not have burdened the boy with knowledge like that if it was not truth. "What is your name, son?"
He stopped eating for a moment, eying me suspiciously. "I am Madach. Are you really the king?"
I nodded solemnly. "Yes, I am. Can you show me where you left Faramir?"
He finished the last of the food before he answered. "I think so. Can I have my dagger back?"
I stood. "Solasgil, you, Vëantor, Anborn and Odrastor, and ten men to Faramir. Make certain we have someone along who can carry young Madach here with him. We leave immediately." The general was gone before the sound of the last word had died.
"Madach, this is very important. We must reach Faramir as soon as possible. But if he is found, I shall reward you, and yes, you shall have your dagger back if Lord Faramir deems it wise. Come." I reached my hand out to him, and he took it, standing and following me into the dimly lit night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I had spent two days in my large empty bed at the queen's behest, which was not so bad since she was at my bedside nearly the entire time, departing only at night and reappearing early in the morning. I slept fitfully for much of the time, and she occupied herself with reading some of Faramir's more obscure titles.
When I was awake, she would amuse me with stories of her life before she came to Minas Tirith. Many of her stories revolved around the exploits of her brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, who, I told her, sounded as mischievous as my brother Éomer had been as a boy. And then she told me the story of how Aragorn, whom she called Estel, had come to live with her family in Rivendell. She had hundreds of stories about him from when he was a boy, some very embarrassing for the king and some quite distressing.
After she had told one of the latter, we sat silently, contemplating our own thoughts. I told her that I wished that there was someone that could tell me stories of my husband when he had been a boy, but as his entire immediate family was dead, this was unlikely.
"Have you ever asked the Prince of Dol Amroth? He spent a great deal of time with Faramir when he was younger. Some people say he was more of a father to the boy than Denethor was."
I told her of how I had sent a letter to Prince Imrahil a few days earlier bidding him to visit me at his earliest convenience.
"Oh, I thought you knew! He is most likely to arrive here in a day or two with his daughter, Lothíriel. He was due for a visit to report the state of his princedom to Estel. So your letter was for naught, it seems."
I smiled. "This is good news. I greatly enjoy Lothíriel's company, and I am glad to hear that I do not have to wait two weeks for her arrival."
"I know she will be a great comfort to you with her youthful exuberance. Perhaps when you are feeling better, we shall all go shopping together."
I smiled again, though I cared little for shopping. But Arwen was correct. Lothíriel would provide me with some comfort, I knew, and the prince and his men would be a welcome addition to the search for my husband.
And indeed, I was very happy when Imrahil and Lothíriel arrived in Minas Tirith the very next afternoon. I was yet lounging in bed, Arwen unwilling to let me rise. But she did allow the prince and his daughter into my bedchamber, and they both came to me with smiles and hugged me tightly.
"My lady, you are abed at this time of day? Are you ill?" Imrahil questioned me as he sat upon the edge of the bed, his grey eyes reminding me so much of Faramir's.
"Nay, Uncle. It is just that I have been working overly hard of late."
He immediately took that for the lie that it was and eyed me accordingly. "A strong girl like you? Posh! Where is my nephew?" he asked, realizing that something was amiss, and Lothíriel drew nearer to the bed, her expression one of solemn expectation.
"I sent a letter to you, but I did not realize that you were already on the way from Dol Amroth. The main reason that I am in bed is that I am with child."
Imrahil smiled broadly at the news and congratulated me, as Lothíriel clapped her hands together and bounced a bit, her face lighting up at the prospect of a new little cousin to spoil. I could not help but smile, too, at their happiness, but the prince realized I had not yet spoken all and grew sober again.
"Go on," he urged. "You said 'the main reason'. Is there aught wrong, Éowyn?"
"Aye," I said, looking him directly in the eye. "Faramir is missing." I told the entire tale while they listened intently, Lothíriel sinking down on a settee near the fireplace, her expression growing more sad at each word. Imrahil had gone white with the news, but he patted my hand and urged me on when it grew difficult to speak of Faramir.
"You poor girl," he finally said. "It is well that we came when we did, for it seems you are in dire need of friends during this trying time." Lothíriel nodded in agreement but said naught, as the tears fell from her eyes. I flung the covers aside and went to her, consoling her with a hug.
"Oh, Éowyn, how can you comfort me at a time like this? After all, he is your husband! I should be comforting you." Imrahil came over and placed his hands on each of our shoulders.
"We shall seek solace in one another until he is returned, ladies. Faramir has successfully withstood much worse than this. I know that we shall see him yet again."
With those words, my composure broke as well, and I stood and hugged the prince, mumbling, "Oh, Uncle," again and again, and he hugged me, stroking my back, and said naught more than, "Dear girl." It is wonderful to have a supportive family around you in such a discouraging situation! Ever shall I love Prince Imrahil and his beautiful daughter, Lothíriel!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It took us little time to depart the camp, but once we had crossed the river, Madach had trouble guiding us in the dimness of the moonlight. He knew that the steward lay somewhere downstream from the Fords of Poros, but that he was not near the river. Instead he lay somewhere in a grassy field. We split into two groups, Solasgil and Vëantor staying with me, and Anborn and Odrastor searching in a different direction with half of the guards and Madach.
My company and I searched throughout the night in a loosely arranged group, combing the fields carefully, not wanting to miss any sign of the steward. But it was dawn before we found the trail that he and Madach had made through the grass. I called to the other group several times using the sound of a mourning dove before we continued, following the tracks at a brisk pace. I could tell from the marks in the tall grass, that the steward had indeed been injured or ill, for his footsteps were more faltering and halting, the closer that we drew to his position. The other group arrived then and joined us, a thrum of nervous expectation reverberating through them. And then a short distance away, we finally spotted him lying in the dewy grass, curled awkwardly upon his side.
"Sweet Eru," moaned the general.
We all thought that Faramir was dead. I was certain of it when first I spied his body. The skin of his beard-stubbled face was grey and crusted with blood, and his hair was plastered to his skull with dew as he lay without any discernable movement. My heart fell as I looked upon him, memories of his brother's death returning to the fore of my thoughts.
"Ah, Faramir," I breathed as I dismounted and sank into the grass next to him, my voice breaking with grief. I reached out my hand to tenderly stroke the hair from his cheek, and felt an unnatural warmth there yet. A glimmer of hope again flickered within me, and I slipped my fingers to his neck, desperately hoping for a pulse. After a moment, I felt it, though it was just a faint flutter beneath my fingertips.
His hands suddenly fumbled at his belt, groping for a weapon. I said his name quietly again, and he slowly opened his eyes. When he realized that it was his king who had spoken to him, he unwisely attempted to rise. I stilled him with a word, and he sighed in obvious relief.
"King Elessar," he croaked. "I hope that is truly you."
Despite his poor condition, I chuckled at that, and I assured him that indeed, I was real. "What ails you, Faramir?" I asked, stroking his hair out of his pain-glazed eyes, though I could see immediately that his bound arm pained him greatly.
He tried to speak again, but the words were choked from him by a coughing spasm that plunged him back into unconsciousness. I commanded Anborn to ride back to our camp with all haste and have a place prepared for our Lord Steward. He complied quickly, as I removed my cape and draped it over Faramir's still form.
I stood, quickly mounting my horse, and Lieutenant Odrastor and Colonel Vëantor gently lifted him from the ground and passed him carefully to me, where I held him securely before me in the saddle, his head resting against my shoulder. It worried me greatly that the man smelled of death, and I realized that we might yet lose him. I urged my horse forward at a gentle pace, unwilling to jar the injured man more than was necessary.
"Vëantor, ride ahead as well. Send our fastest rider forth to his lady wife in Minas Tirith. Tell her that her husband has been found alive, and he needs her to attend him at once."
The colonel bowed quickly from upon his horse's back and rode forth as if there was a pack of rabid wolves at his heels.
My heart was breaking to see Faramir in such a poor state. His harsh breaths sounded loudly in my ear, his fevered face nearly burning my own skin as his head lolled upon my shoulder, his brow occasionally brushing my cheek. I glanced over to Madach, who rode before one of my guards. His face was clouded with doubt as he watched Faramir. I knew not this boy's entire story yet, but as soon as the Steward was made as comfortable as possible, I would definitely question him further.
We arrived at the camp a couple of hours later. The men of the army took one look at Faramir's still, thin form resting against me, and any thought of speech was quelled. Temporarily, he was taken from my grasp by Anborn and Odrastor, and they carried him into a tent that had been set aside for him. Dismounting, I followed them in, and as they settled him onto a pile of furs, Anborn and I began to take a quick inventory of his wounds.
Faramir was near death, that much was plain, and as we carefully removed his clothing, we found what seemed to be the main source of his trouble, a badly infected arrow wound upon his left side, sickly, greenish- yellow pus oozing from it. Without pause, I drew my dagger and pierced the wound slightly, allowing the foul liquid to drain onto a clean cloth that Anborn had passed to me.
"It appears to be poisoned," I murmured, but Anborn told me that Éowyn herself had tended the wound and that it had not been. I shrugged. "Perhaps it is just from want of care then. At any rate, this wound needs to be cleaned well, and then I think we should cauterize it," I told the ranger. He nodded and went to fetch an iron to put in the brazier. I turned, noting that Madach was hunched down in the furthest corner of the tent. "What befell him, Madach?" I asked.
He told me of the day that Faramir had appeared upon his family's doorstep, begging for food. I knew that it would have had to be a dire emergency for the Steward of Gondor to beg from anyone, for he was a proud man, and any weakness ever shown on his part had always unnerved him.
"His arm was broken, and he said that he had fallen into the river."
That answered many questions, most especially explaining why we had not found his trail, though we had searched in that area. I grimaced, realizing we might have found him sooner if I had allowed us to search only a bit longer. "And your mother tended him?"
He looked away, and only nodded as an answer. Anborn returned then and settled the iron into the brazier, then he helped me clean the wound as well as we could. I was glad to see that the arrow had not penetrated any deeper than it had, else he might have bled into his lung, which would have certainly killed him. When we were finished, Anborn held Faramir against him, and I laid the red-hot iron against the wound. I had thought the steward to be too far gone to feel the pain, but he bucked against the ranger's body, and emitted a pained sigh that twisted my insides.
I made certain that his arm had been set properly, and rebound it before settling it into a makeshift sling across his body. Anborn bathed the dried blood from Faramir's face, and I examined the bruises upon his cheek.
"Who hit him, Madach?"
"It was the Southron warrior that my mother sold him to," he muttered very softly.
I reeled to face the boy. "What?"
Madach's face colored, and he laid his head upon his knees. "But I tried to help him," he wailed. "The Southron was going to kill him!" He lifted his head, and I saw the tears streamed down his face. "I did not mean to kill him though! I just thought to distract the warrior long enough for Faramir to get away. I did not mean to kill him!"
Anborn surprised me and went to the boy, taking him gently in his arms and quieting him with soft words before Madach fell against him and sobbed uncontrollably. I sighed, exhausted by these past few hours, and turned back toward Faramir. I laid my palm upon his brow and worried about the fever that was raging there.
Anborn and I tended the steward throughout the day, barely pausing to eat or drink, as his fever climbed yet higher, his body fighting infection and most probably sickness from being exposed for so long to the cold and the dampness. Around dusk, I checked his arrow wound again, and I was bewildered by it. Despite the cauterization, it again wept the same unclean liquid, though in a greater quantity now. Anborn was baffled as well. Again we cleaned it thoroughly, but this time we merely bandaged it and hoped that it would not turn foul again.
But the next morning it was the same, and I was at a loss. We checked the man for other wounds, but found naught else. And still his fever rose.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Faramir again opened his eyes at last on the evening of the fourth day since we had found him. His fever finally had broken, but he seemed not to remember aught of what had befallen him. He smiled wanly at Anborn and me, but said little, even after we had fed him as much water and broth as he would take. I took his good hand in mine, and noticed that it shook violently, obviously a new development since he had been injured.
There was only one word that he repeated many times, and that was, "Éowyn." I told him again and again that she was well, though she missed him terribly. I also explained that a message had been dispatched upon his discovery and that she should be by his side in only a matter of days. But instead of cheering him, this news seemed only to distress him more, and I wondered briefly at his reaction.
But then he was struck by a coughing fit that cruelly stole his breath from him, and left him writhing weakly amongst the furs, obviously in a great deal of pain. He said it hurt just to breathe. I deemed that pneumonia had likely settled in his lungs, and offered him a draught made of willow bark, peppermint and a few other tiny amounts of herbs to help ease his breathing somewhat. But though he drank it down well enough, it would not stay down, and so we had a new, more frightening problem to deal with. Within minutes we found that he could not even take water, and my heart sank, for no one who is ill lives long without water and nourishment. Though we spoke to the steward and still encouraged him to drink what he could, he fell back into insensibility late into the night and could not be roused again.
As a last resort, I sat behind him, cradling his head against my shoulder, dribbling a spoonful of water between his slack lips while stroking his beard-stubbled throat, encouraging him to swallow. I had only managed to get half a cup into him before he began to gag and choke, and I had to quickly lay him upon his side as he retched it all back up.
"It seems that Lady Éowyn may not arrive in time," said Anborn, matter-of-factly. "Would that she could have been here when he had last awakened, but it seems that we did not find him in time, King Elessar."
Knowing the Rohirric woman's riding habits, I was certain that she would arrive some time late two days hence, but it was uncertain that Faramir should yet be here. "Nay, Anborn, it seems not," I admitted.
"Perhaps if the water was warmer. . . ."
"Perhaps." But it was no use. We tried all manner of things to see if he could retain anything in his stomach, but naught was successful. I even pled with Faramir himself, though he could not hear me, and I angrily accused him of giving up.
Anborn finally placed his hand on my arm. "My king, perhaps we should just make him comfortable and await his lady wife. Perhaps she will be able to coax some broth into him."
These were not the words that I wished to hear, but though I was loath to admit it, it seemed to be the only option left to us.
"Watch over him," I told the ranger. "I need some air."
He nodded as I stepped from the tent. I found myself praying that Éowyn might arrive in time to see her husband one final time before he passed beyond the veil.
To make matters worse, I was approached by a messenger who told me that some of the guards that had been posted just on the other side of the River Poros, had reported seeing Haradrim scouts throughout the day. I had set General Solasgil the task of dealing with any trouble that the Haradrim felt compelled to give us, but suddenly found myself more than willing to lead my army in any skirmishes that might arise. There would be a great many debts to pay upon the death of the steward, and I intended to see that they were all paid in full.
His appearance was disheveled to say the least, his dark, curly hair matted with mud and twigs, his pale face very thin and worn, his shabby clothing stained with blood. He glanced up at me with uncertain eyes before he looked again to the ground.
I thought he might be injured, for the bloodstains covered most of his visible clothing, but when I asked him, he simply shook his head. "Young man, what is your name?" I inquired, but when his eyes met mine again, they were filled with fear and anger. I turned and whispered to Solasgil, and he sent a man for some food for the gaunt boy. I sat down in front of the young man and waited for him to speak, but he remained silent.
I opened my hand to reveal the steward's rings to his view. "Whence did you obtain these?"
He shrugged. "I took them," he muttered. Then he grew a bit bolder. "Who are you?"
I was surprised by his nerve. "I am King Elessar. Who might you be?" He looked at my ranger's garb, and I could tell from his expression that he did not believe me wholly. The food arrived, and the boy eyed it as a starving person would, and indeed, I knew that he probably was. "Tell me exactly where you found these rings, and I will give you this food."
He rolled his eyes. "I took them from Faramir."
Obviously, this boy was not a mere thief if he knew the steward's name. I had immense trouble maintaining my calm facade. "Where is Faramir?"
He shrugged again and said, "He is in the middle of a field. He told me to leave him behind. I was supposed to go north and give his rings to his wife in a place called Emyn Arnen."
My heart was pounding, but I had to retain my patience with this young man. I gave him the plate of food, and he began to devour the meal as if he had not eaten in a week. "How was Faramir when you left him?"
"Not good," he said between bites. "He said that he was going to die like my Da did."
My heart sank. Surely Faramir would not have burdened the boy with knowledge like that if it was not truth. "What is your name, son?"
He stopped eating for a moment, eying me suspiciously. "I am Madach. Are you really the king?"
I nodded solemnly. "Yes, I am. Can you show me where you left Faramir?"
He finished the last of the food before he answered. "I think so. Can I have my dagger back?"
I stood. "Solasgil, you, Vëantor, Anborn and Odrastor, and ten men to Faramir. Make certain we have someone along who can carry young Madach here with him. We leave immediately." The general was gone before the sound of the last word had died.
"Madach, this is very important. We must reach Faramir as soon as possible. But if he is found, I shall reward you, and yes, you shall have your dagger back if Lord Faramir deems it wise. Come." I reached my hand out to him, and he took it, standing and following me into the dimly lit night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I had spent two days in my large empty bed at the queen's behest, which was not so bad since she was at my bedside nearly the entire time, departing only at night and reappearing early in the morning. I slept fitfully for much of the time, and she occupied herself with reading some of Faramir's more obscure titles.
When I was awake, she would amuse me with stories of her life before she came to Minas Tirith. Many of her stories revolved around the exploits of her brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, who, I told her, sounded as mischievous as my brother Éomer had been as a boy. And then she told me the story of how Aragorn, whom she called Estel, had come to live with her family in Rivendell. She had hundreds of stories about him from when he was a boy, some very embarrassing for the king and some quite distressing.
After she had told one of the latter, we sat silently, contemplating our own thoughts. I told her that I wished that there was someone that could tell me stories of my husband when he had been a boy, but as his entire immediate family was dead, this was unlikely.
"Have you ever asked the Prince of Dol Amroth? He spent a great deal of time with Faramir when he was younger. Some people say he was more of a father to the boy than Denethor was."
I told her of how I had sent a letter to Prince Imrahil a few days earlier bidding him to visit me at his earliest convenience.
"Oh, I thought you knew! He is most likely to arrive here in a day or two with his daughter, Lothíriel. He was due for a visit to report the state of his princedom to Estel. So your letter was for naught, it seems."
I smiled. "This is good news. I greatly enjoy Lothíriel's company, and I am glad to hear that I do not have to wait two weeks for her arrival."
"I know she will be a great comfort to you with her youthful exuberance. Perhaps when you are feeling better, we shall all go shopping together."
I smiled again, though I cared little for shopping. But Arwen was correct. Lothíriel would provide me with some comfort, I knew, and the prince and his men would be a welcome addition to the search for my husband.
And indeed, I was very happy when Imrahil and Lothíriel arrived in Minas Tirith the very next afternoon. I was yet lounging in bed, Arwen unwilling to let me rise. But she did allow the prince and his daughter into my bedchamber, and they both came to me with smiles and hugged me tightly.
"My lady, you are abed at this time of day? Are you ill?" Imrahil questioned me as he sat upon the edge of the bed, his grey eyes reminding me so much of Faramir's.
"Nay, Uncle. It is just that I have been working overly hard of late."
He immediately took that for the lie that it was and eyed me accordingly. "A strong girl like you? Posh! Where is my nephew?" he asked, realizing that something was amiss, and Lothíriel drew nearer to the bed, her expression one of solemn expectation.
"I sent a letter to you, but I did not realize that you were already on the way from Dol Amroth. The main reason that I am in bed is that I am with child."
Imrahil smiled broadly at the news and congratulated me, as Lothíriel clapped her hands together and bounced a bit, her face lighting up at the prospect of a new little cousin to spoil. I could not help but smile, too, at their happiness, but the prince realized I had not yet spoken all and grew sober again.
"Go on," he urged. "You said 'the main reason'. Is there aught wrong, Éowyn?"
"Aye," I said, looking him directly in the eye. "Faramir is missing." I told the entire tale while they listened intently, Lothíriel sinking down on a settee near the fireplace, her expression growing more sad at each word. Imrahil had gone white with the news, but he patted my hand and urged me on when it grew difficult to speak of Faramir.
"You poor girl," he finally said. "It is well that we came when we did, for it seems you are in dire need of friends during this trying time." Lothíriel nodded in agreement but said naught, as the tears fell from her eyes. I flung the covers aside and went to her, consoling her with a hug.
"Oh, Éowyn, how can you comfort me at a time like this? After all, he is your husband! I should be comforting you." Imrahil came over and placed his hands on each of our shoulders.
"We shall seek solace in one another until he is returned, ladies. Faramir has successfully withstood much worse than this. I know that we shall see him yet again."
With those words, my composure broke as well, and I stood and hugged the prince, mumbling, "Oh, Uncle," again and again, and he hugged me, stroking my back, and said naught more than, "Dear girl." It is wonderful to have a supportive family around you in such a discouraging situation! Ever shall I love Prince Imrahil and his beautiful daughter, Lothíriel!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It took us little time to depart the camp, but once we had crossed the river, Madach had trouble guiding us in the dimness of the moonlight. He knew that the steward lay somewhere downstream from the Fords of Poros, but that he was not near the river. Instead he lay somewhere in a grassy field. We split into two groups, Solasgil and Vëantor staying with me, and Anborn and Odrastor searching in a different direction with half of the guards and Madach.
My company and I searched throughout the night in a loosely arranged group, combing the fields carefully, not wanting to miss any sign of the steward. But it was dawn before we found the trail that he and Madach had made through the grass. I called to the other group several times using the sound of a mourning dove before we continued, following the tracks at a brisk pace. I could tell from the marks in the tall grass, that the steward had indeed been injured or ill, for his footsteps were more faltering and halting, the closer that we drew to his position. The other group arrived then and joined us, a thrum of nervous expectation reverberating through them. And then a short distance away, we finally spotted him lying in the dewy grass, curled awkwardly upon his side.
"Sweet Eru," moaned the general.
We all thought that Faramir was dead. I was certain of it when first I spied his body. The skin of his beard-stubbled face was grey and crusted with blood, and his hair was plastered to his skull with dew as he lay without any discernable movement. My heart fell as I looked upon him, memories of his brother's death returning to the fore of my thoughts.
"Ah, Faramir," I breathed as I dismounted and sank into the grass next to him, my voice breaking with grief. I reached out my hand to tenderly stroke the hair from his cheek, and felt an unnatural warmth there yet. A glimmer of hope again flickered within me, and I slipped my fingers to his neck, desperately hoping for a pulse. After a moment, I felt it, though it was just a faint flutter beneath my fingertips.
His hands suddenly fumbled at his belt, groping for a weapon. I said his name quietly again, and he slowly opened his eyes. When he realized that it was his king who had spoken to him, he unwisely attempted to rise. I stilled him with a word, and he sighed in obvious relief.
"King Elessar," he croaked. "I hope that is truly you."
Despite his poor condition, I chuckled at that, and I assured him that indeed, I was real. "What ails you, Faramir?" I asked, stroking his hair out of his pain-glazed eyes, though I could see immediately that his bound arm pained him greatly.
He tried to speak again, but the words were choked from him by a coughing spasm that plunged him back into unconsciousness. I commanded Anborn to ride back to our camp with all haste and have a place prepared for our Lord Steward. He complied quickly, as I removed my cape and draped it over Faramir's still form.
I stood, quickly mounting my horse, and Lieutenant Odrastor and Colonel Vëantor gently lifted him from the ground and passed him carefully to me, where I held him securely before me in the saddle, his head resting against my shoulder. It worried me greatly that the man smelled of death, and I realized that we might yet lose him. I urged my horse forward at a gentle pace, unwilling to jar the injured man more than was necessary.
"Vëantor, ride ahead as well. Send our fastest rider forth to his lady wife in Minas Tirith. Tell her that her husband has been found alive, and he needs her to attend him at once."
The colonel bowed quickly from upon his horse's back and rode forth as if there was a pack of rabid wolves at his heels.
My heart was breaking to see Faramir in such a poor state. His harsh breaths sounded loudly in my ear, his fevered face nearly burning my own skin as his head lolled upon my shoulder, his brow occasionally brushing my cheek. I glanced over to Madach, who rode before one of my guards. His face was clouded with doubt as he watched Faramir. I knew not this boy's entire story yet, but as soon as the Steward was made as comfortable as possible, I would definitely question him further.
We arrived at the camp a couple of hours later. The men of the army took one look at Faramir's still, thin form resting against me, and any thought of speech was quelled. Temporarily, he was taken from my grasp by Anborn and Odrastor, and they carried him into a tent that had been set aside for him. Dismounting, I followed them in, and as they settled him onto a pile of furs, Anborn and I began to take a quick inventory of his wounds.
Faramir was near death, that much was plain, and as we carefully removed his clothing, we found what seemed to be the main source of his trouble, a badly infected arrow wound upon his left side, sickly, greenish- yellow pus oozing from it. Without pause, I drew my dagger and pierced the wound slightly, allowing the foul liquid to drain onto a clean cloth that Anborn had passed to me.
"It appears to be poisoned," I murmured, but Anborn told me that Éowyn herself had tended the wound and that it had not been. I shrugged. "Perhaps it is just from want of care then. At any rate, this wound needs to be cleaned well, and then I think we should cauterize it," I told the ranger. He nodded and went to fetch an iron to put in the brazier. I turned, noting that Madach was hunched down in the furthest corner of the tent. "What befell him, Madach?" I asked.
He told me of the day that Faramir had appeared upon his family's doorstep, begging for food. I knew that it would have had to be a dire emergency for the Steward of Gondor to beg from anyone, for he was a proud man, and any weakness ever shown on his part had always unnerved him.
"His arm was broken, and he said that he had fallen into the river."
That answered many questions, most especially explaining why we had not found his trail, though we had searched in that area. I grimaced, realizing we might have found him sooner if I had allowed us to search only a bit longer. "And your mother tended him?"
He looked away, and only nodded as an answer. Anborn returned then and settled the iron into the brazier, then he helped me clean the wound as well as we could. I was glad to see that the arrow had not penetrated any deeper than it had, else he might have bled into his lung, which would have certainly killed him. When we were finished, Anborn held Faramir against him, and I laid the red-hot iron against the wound. I had thought the steward to be too far gone to feel the pain, but he bucked against the ranger's body, and emitted a pained sigh that twisted my insides.
I made certain that his arm had been set properly, and rebound it before settling it into a makeshift sling across his body. Anborn bathed the dried blood from Faramir's face, and I examined the bruises upon his cheek.
"Who hit him, Madach?"
"It was the Southron warrior that my mother sold him to," he muttered very softly.
I reeled to face the boy. "What?"
Madach's face colored, and he laid his head upon his knees. "But I tried to help him," he wailed. "The Southron was going to kill him!" He lifted his head, and I saw the tears streamed down his face. "I did not mean to kill him though! I just thought to distract the warrior long enough for Faramir to get away. I did not mean to kill him!"
Anborn surprised me and went to the boy, taking him gently in his arms and quieting him with soft words before Madach fell against him and sobbed uncontrollably. I sighed, exhausted by these past few hours, and turned back toward Faramir. I laid my palm upon his brow and worried about the fever that was raging there.
Anborn and I tended the steward throughout the day, barely pausing to eat or drink, as his fever climbed yet higher, his body fighting infection and most probably sickness from being exposed for so long to the cold and the dampness. Around dusk, I checked his arrow wound again, and I was bewildered by it. Despite the cauterization, it again wept the same unclean liquid, though in a greater quantity now. Anborn was baffled as well. Again we cleaned it thoroughly, but this time we merely bandaged it and hoped that it would not turn foul again.
But the next morning it was the same, and I was at a loss. We checked the man for other wounds, but found naught else. And still his fever rose.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Faramir again opened his eyes at last on the evening of the fourth day since we had found him. His fever finally had broken, but he seemed not to remember aught of what had befallen him. He smiled wanly at Anborn and me, but said little, even after we had fed him as much water and broth as he would take. I took his good hand in mine, and noticed that it shook violently, obviously a new development since he had been injured.
There was only one word that he repeated many times, and that was, "Éowyn." I told him again and again that she was well, though she missed him terribly. I also explained that a message had been dispatched upon his discovery and that she should be by his side in only a matter of days. But instead of cheering him, this news seemed only to distress him more, and I wondered briefly at his reaction.
But then he was struck by a coughing fit that cruelly stole his breath from him, and left him writhing weakly amongst the furs, obviously in a great deal of pain. He said it hurt just to breathe. I deemed that pneumonia had likely settled in his lungs, and offered him a draught made of willow bark, peppermint and a few other tiny amounts of herbs to help ease his breathing somewhat. But though he drank it down well enough, it would not stay down, and so we had a new, more frightening problem to deal with. Within minutes we found that he could not even take water, and my heart sank, for no one who is ill lives long without water and nourishment. Though we spoke to the steward and still encouraged him to drink what he could, he fell back into insensibility late into the night and could not be roused again.
As a last resort, I sat behind him, cradling his head against my shoulder, dribbling a spoonful of water between his slack lips while stroking his beard-stubbled throat, encouraging him to swallow. I had only managed to get half a cup into him before he began to gag and choke, and I had to quickly lay him upon his side as he retched it all back up.
"It seems that Lady Éowyn may not arrive in time," said Anborn, matter-of-factly. "Would that she could have been here when he had last awakened, but it seems that we did not find him in time, King Elessar."
Knowing the Rohirric woman's riding habits, I was certain that she would arrive some time late two days hence, but it was uncertain that Faramir should yet be here. "Nay, Anborn, it seems not," I admitted.
"Perhaps if the water was warmer. . . ."
"Perhaps." But it was no use. We tried all manner of things to see if he could retain anything in his stomach, but naught was successful. I even pled with Faramir himself, though he could not hear me, and I angrily accused him of giving up.
Anborn finally placed his hand on my arm. "My king, perhaps we should just make him comfortable and await his lady wife. Perhaps she will be able to coax some broth into him."
These were not the words that I wished to hear, but though I was loath to admit it, it seemed to be the only option left to us.
"Watch over him," I told the ranger. "I need some air."
He nodded as I stepped from the tent. I found myself praying that Éowyn might arrive in time to see her husband one final time before he passed beyond the veil.
To make matters worse, I was approached by a messenger who told me that some of the guards that had been posted just on the other side of the River Poros, had reported seeing Haradrim scouts throughout the day. I had set General Solasgil the task of dealing with any trouble that the Haradrim felt compelled to give us, but suddenly found myself more than willing to lead my army in any skirmishes that might arise. There would be a great many debts to pay upon the death of the steward, and I intended to see that they were all paid in full.