Disclaimer: Two small things here (unless I'm forgetting something else, in which case you can all be kind and tell me;-) Duliet is mine and mine alone. I made up the name, the character etc. I decided he needed a wife (they talk about his son, but never his wife.) Most likely in the book it's because she was sent away with the other women and children, but I interpreted it differently (she needs to be there;-) Also, I am well aware that it is the warden of the Houses of Healing who says the doggerel, but I fudged that a tiny bit to include Duliet a bit;-) Alright, I think that's everything!
Standing, I laid a hand on my heart and walked slowly backwards, sighing.
"You need not feel dishonored," came the voice, soft and gentle. I closed my eyes.
"Not dishonored, Duliet. Merely mournful," I said slowly. She laid a hand on my shoulder, turning me gently until I faced her.
"They told me everything, Beregond, when they brought Lord Faramir in. He owes you his life." My wife's soft brown eyes looked up into mine, searchingly, looking for a way to help, to heal as she did at the Houses of Healing every day.
I turned back towards the grave. "Aye, but my own life is now forfeit. Do you regret my choice, Dulie?"
My wife smiled. "Of course not. But you shall not be killed. Lord Faramir will soon know that it was you that saved him from the fire, and he will pardon you. Have no fear my husband."
"Then you believe he will live?" I asked.
Duliet frowned slowly. "Truly, I do not know, Beregond. He lies wandering in a desperate fever, and naught that we can do will quench the fire in his veins." She sighed. "It seems only a miracle will save him now."
"Father! Mother!" A small voice caused both of us to turn and my wife smiled at our son.
"What is it, Bergil?" She asked.
My son frowned. "The healers call for your skill, mother. They say that time is running out for the perian, as well as for the Lady of Rohan. And...and...for Captain Faramir too." Bergil's voice died to whisper and he flung himself into his mother's arms, sobbing. Duliet nodded.
"We must go, my son. And..." she turned to me, "You will come as well, Beregond?"
I nodded silently. I would be there for the final moments of my Captain, whom I had risked so much to save.
As we entered the fair dwellings of the sick and wounded, I noticed a group of men about the doorway. One was Mithrandir, I realized. I slipped away from my wife and son and walked slowly over to them.
"...Until Faramir awakes," one was saying, a tall man with a noble look. He was clad in a simple gray cloak over mail, but on his breast was a shimmering green stone. I caught my breath. "But it is my council that Gandalf should rule us all in the days that follow and in our dealings with the enemy."
The other men---whom I recognized to be Prince Imrahil and the Lord Eomer of Rohan---nodded their heads in agreement. It was Mithrandir who spoke next. "Let us not stay at the door, for the time is urgent. Let us enter! For it is only in the coming of Aragorn that any hope remains for the sick that lie in the house. Thus spake Ioreth, wise-woman of Gondor: The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known."
The men nodded and moved toward the doorway. [The hands of...the king?] I thought in confusion. [This, then, is the King?] I hurried after them, mind in turmoil.
At the door there were two guards...one tall, but the other, I saw with a smile, was Pippin. As he laid eyes on the tall man with the green stone, his face broke out in smiles and he shouted, "Strider! How splendid! Do you know, I guessed it was you in the black ships. But they were all shouting corsairs and wouldn't listen to me. How did you do it?"
The man laughed and knelt, taking Pippin's hand in his. "Well met indeed!" He smiled, "But there is not time yet for traveler's' tales."
Peregrin laughed, but I heard Prince Imrahil mutter ahead of me, "Is it thus that we speak to our kings? Yet maybe he will wear his crown in some other name!"
The man turned, standing up again. Tall indeed, I saw he was, and noble. [Truly, he must be the king!] I realized with a start.
"Verily, for in the high tongue of old I am Elessar, the Elfstone, and Envinyatar, the Renewer." He smiled, lifting the green gem. "But Strider shall be the name of my house, if that be ever established. In the high tongue it will not sound so ill, and Telcontar I will be and all the heirs of my body."
Then turning, he passed through the door, with Mithrandir by his side. Pippin fell into step with me, in the back, and as we walked, Mithrandir told Aragorn the Lady of Rohan and the other perian's tale. Soon we arrived at Faramir's room, and all entered in. Worry stirred in my heart again at the pale face of the Steward. Duliet smiled at me as I entered and walked over, squeezing my hand. I slipped my arm around her waist, whispering, "It is the King, Dilie. Mithrandir has brought the King into the City to heal the sick. There is hope."
She gazed up at me in wonder, then on the face of Aragorn, who was intently watching the face of Faramir. "Alas," he said softly, "Here I must put forth all such power and skill as is given to me. Would that Elrond were here, for he is the eldest of all our race and has the greatest power." He sighed and great weariness and sorrow was etched onto his face.
Eomer spoke, "First you must rest, surely, and at the least eat a little?"
Aragorn shook his head. "Nay, for these three, and most soon for Faramir, time is running out. All speed is needed." He unclasped his cloak slowly, tossing it over a chair. Then he turned to Ioreth, who hovered near the bedside. "You have store in this House of the herbs of healing?" He asked.
Ioreth nodded, glancing at my wife. "Yes lord, but not enough, I reckon, for all that will need them. But I am sure I do not know where we shall find more; for all things are amiss in these dreadful days, what with the fires burning..."
I nudged Duliet and raised an eyebrow. She sighed and shook her head. "Once you get her started there's no stopping her." She whispered. I glanced at Faramir.
"...But we do our best in this house with what we have, as I am sure your lordship will know."
"I will judge that when I see it." Aragorn said, and dare I say I thought I saw the tiniest bit of mirth behind the worry in his eyes? "One thing also is short, time for speech. Have you athelas?"
Ioreth frowned. "I do not know, I am sure lord. At least not by that name." She smiled. "I will go and ask of the herb-master; he knows all the old names."
Aragorn caught her arm as she hastened towards the door. "It is also called kingsfoil, and maybe you know it by that name, for so the country-folk call it in these latter days."
"Oh that!" Ioreth smiled. "Well if your lorship had named it at once I could have told you!..."
Eomer by my side groaned softly. I smiled. "She is incorrigible, is she not?" I whispered, and he turned towards me, smiling.
"Aye, that she is." He nodded, "And a right gossip."
"...Still it smells sweet when bruised, does it not?" She was finishing, "If sweet is the right word: wholesome, maybe, is nearer."
My Captain groaned softly and Aragorn turned towards him. When he spoke his voice was urgent. "Wholesome verily." He turned back to Ioreth and us. "And now dame, if you love the Lord Faramir, run as quick as your tongue and get me kingsfoil, if there is a leaf in the City."
Mithrandir nodded as Ioreth hastened off. "And if not," he said, "I will ride to Lossarnach with Ioreth behind me, and she shall take me to the woods, but not to her sisters. And Shadowfax shall show her the meaning of haste."
Aragorn nodded and then turned to Duliet. "Prepare hot water," he said, and then went to Faramir's bedside. He took one of his hands gently in his, and placed the other on the sick man's brow. It was drenched in sweat, and as Duliet boiled the water I could see the fear in her eyes. Faramir's lips were parted, but no breath seemed to be drawn nor coming from them. He did not flinch as Aragorn touched him.
"He is nearly spent," Aragorn murmured, then turned to face us. "But this comes not from the wound. See! That is healing. Had he been smitten by some dart of the Nazgul, as you thought, he would have died that night. This hurt was given by some Southron arrow, I would guess. Who drew it forth? Was it kept?" He searched our faces.
Imrahil spoke up. "I drew it forth," he said, "And staunched the wound. But I did not keep the arrow, for we had much to do. It was, as I remember, just a dart as the Southrons use. Yet I believed that it came from the shadows above, for else his fever and sickness were not to be understood; since the wound was not deep or vital. How then do you read the matter?" He asked, puzzled.
Aragorn sighed. "Weariness, grief for his father's mood, a wound, and over all the Black Breath. He is a man of staunch will, for already he had come close under the Shadow before ever he rode to battle on the out-walls. Slowly the dark must have crept on him, even as he fought and strove to hold his outpost. Would that I could have been here sooner!"
I shuddered, remembering the face of Denethor as he lit the fire and broke his staff. [Would that you had been here sooner as well, my lord.] I thought sadly, [Much hurt could have been bypassed.] The face of Delthain flickered across my weary mind too, and I looked down. "You need not feel dishonored." The words of my wife came back to me. Would that I could save her and my son from the oncoming darkness as well!
And death's shadow grows,
And all lights pass,
Come athelas! Come athelas!
Life to the dying,
In the king's hand lying."
I looked up, amazed, to find my wife just uttering the verse. She looked up from the fire at all of our expressions and smiled. "Is that our hope, Lord?" She asked shyly, looking at Aragorn. He nodded.
"It is. You remember well the old verse." He said.
Duliet nodded. "It is but an old doggerel...a saying that women such as Ioreth and I still remember in these houses. I never thought it had much truth until now."
Aragorn nodded. "Many things that you may think old wives tales are in reality strong truths, Duliet, daughter of Kerianna." Then he turned to Faramir again, and knelt. He placed his hand on his brow once again, and immediately the air in the room felt thicker. Faramir's face changed not, but Aragorn's face grew weary and gray. We all felt the tension...the struggle of wills going on.
"Faramir!" Aragorn called loudly. "Faramir!" Again and again...but every time it was fainter. I felt that Aragorn was no longer here, not in this room or in our company, but was in a distant place, maybe with Faramir. Calling, ever calling. Calling for one who was lost.
Finally he stopped, eyes still closed, though the air grew less stifling. His face regained a little color, and he breathed deeply.
"Sir!" I recognized the voice of my son as he ran in, "It is kingsfoil Sir, but not fresh, I fear. It must have been culled two weeks ago at the least. I hope it will serve, Sir?" He stared at Aragorn and then his gaze fell on the still pale and fevered Steward. Bergil burst into tears, and Duliet bent to embrace him quickly. Aragorn smiled kindly at him.
"It will serve," he said, "The worst is now over. Stay and be comforted!" He took two of the leaves in his hands and breathed on them gently. Then, closing his eyes, he crushed them between his hands and cast them into the steaming water Duliet held out to him. Immediately a living freshness filled the room. All stirred and looked about, and my heart was suddenly filled with joy. I was reminded at once of the cool refreshing feel of the creek water I and my brother used to play in as lads, once upon a day.
Aragorn smiled and stood up, and then taking the bowl of water and athelas, he held it in front of the sick face of Faramir.
"Well now!" Ioreth said to Duliet, "Who would have believed it? The weed is better than I thought. It reminds me of the roses of Imroth Melui when I was a lass, and no king could ask for better."
In the lightness of her heart, Duliet made a face at me from behind Ioreth's back and I smiled back at her. Hard it was to believe anything could be wrong in this moment!
Suddenly, Faramir stirred in his wanderings, and he opened his eyes. Ioreth, Eomer, Imrahil, Pippin, Duliet, Bergil, and I all gasped as one, but neither Aragorn nor Faramir seemed to realize we were in the room. A light of love and knowledge was kindled in Faramir's eyes, and he spoke gently. "My lord, you called me. What does the king command?"
"Walk no more in the shadows, but awake!" Aragorn said, smiling, "You are weary. Rest a while, and take food, and be ready when I return." He straightened slowly.
Faramir nodded. "I will lord," he spoke, "For who would lie idle when the king has returned?"
With the gentle dignity which only a true king can display, Aragorn nodded and smiled. "Farewell then for a while!" He said, "I must go to others who need me." And with that, he picked up his cloak and left the room, Mithrandir, Eomer, Imrahil, and Pippin following. The eyes of Faramir followed him out the door, and then they shut wearily. Duliet hastened forward, placing a hand on his forehead. A smile broke out on her face.
"The fever is gone." She said, looking at me, "He sleeps peacefully. It is a miracle!"
"King! Did you hear that? What did I say? The hands of a healer, I said," Ioreth said proudly.
"The king is come." I said to Duliet and Bergil, and to no one and everyone in particular. "The king has returned!" I turned toward the window and dark of night from which the light of the moon shone bright, "And all we had was a fool's hope."