A/N: Another shorty chapter . . . sorry. Please keep reviewing though! :)
Chapter 14
"Lord Denethor?" The words slowly permeated the slumber that the steward had inadvertently fallen into. He raised his head from where he had rested it upon his arms at his desk in his personal study. He blinked his eyes as the male servant softly said his name again.
"What is it?" he growled at last.
"My lord, it is your son Faramir. The healers say that it is time."
Denethor's heart sank, and he stood quickly. "Yes, of course," he murmured, drawing a hand over his face. "What time is it?" he asked absently.
"It is about two hours before dawn, Lord Steward."
The steward nodded, politely dismissing the servant as he drew on his discarded robe over his wrinkled clothing. He left his rooms and his residence without bothering to call his guards to his side. There was no need for them to accompany him, and besides, he wished to be alone. Denethor strode purposefully through the darkened streets of Minas Tirith, his city lying silent beneath the black velvet sky flooded with stars. There was little comfort to be found in their steady, eternal light on this, the darkest of all nights. One son would be dead by dawn, and the other would be crushed by grief.
Ah, Finduilas, I never thought it should be this difficult! What am I to do when the sun rises? His steps faltered as he reached the edge of the gardens. It is too difficult, my wife. How can I continue when I know what awaits me in that room? It shall be like reliving that night nineteen years ago, the night when you finally decided to leave us.
"Why did you leave me alone here?" he murmured, tears threatening.
"My lord?" Denethor was startled out of his musing by a passing guard who had stopped and awaited his steward's command.
"Nothing," he muttered. "Carry on with your patrol."
The soldier bowed and departed, and Denethor used the interruption to regain control of himself before he continued to the Houses of Healing, pushing his feelings aside for later.
Faramir was captivated by the flood of emotions that crossed Ioreth's face as she entered his room. She looked so grim as she opened the door, softly closing it behind her before she looked to him. When she realized that his eyes were open, he quickly saw confusion, disbelief, anger for a moment when she looked over to Boromir for an explanation. She took two steps closer to Faramir's bed as skepticism tinged with hope returned to her expression.
"Faramir?"
"Yes, Ioreth," he murmured softly. It was impossible to keep the smile from his face as she exhaled sharply and rushed to his side.
"What has happened?" she asked, unable to accept this unexpected development as truth, for she had known that he was going to die. When last he had closed his eyes, she had known that it was for the last time. What had changed? She gently began to remove the bandages that had already been loosened for some odd reason.
"Ioreth," said Boromir, but she seemed not to hear him, as she looked upon Faramir with nothing short of wonder and amazement as she tentatively touched his torso, finding his ribs whole and undamaged. Faramir smiled more broadly and reached his good hand to her, and she grasped it as if it were a lifeline.
"My boy, you are a marvel," she murmured, tears welling within her tired blue eyes. Boromir was still trying to get her attention, and finally Faramir had to tell the healer that he was not the reason that she had been summoned. "What is it, Boromir?" she asked, never moving her eyes from Faramir's face.
"There is another here who requires your aid, Lady." Only then did her attention waver as she looked to where Boromir was pointing upon the floor and saw an unmoving form there, the hooded figure who had entered the room just before she had left it earlier.
Quickly Ioreth was on the other side of the bed, knelt over Lachdúliel. "Who is this?" she spoke as she checked the Elf's pulse. When the healer gasped in shock at Lachdúliel's face, Boromir knelt as well.
"This is Lady Lachdúliel, and she is the reason that Fara is doing so well, but I am afraid that she has overtaxed herself."
"Indeed, she seems to be fine other than those horrible scars upon her face, and there is naught that I can do for that." Ioreth stood. "Perhaps when your father arrives. . . . Oh my, I had forgotten that I sent a message to your father! He must be beside himself with worry!"
"Bo, you must get her out of here before Father arrives," said Faramir. Boromir had already lifted the Elf into his arms, intending to find a vacant room along the same corridor for her to rest in.
Lord Denethor's angry voice suddenly boomed within the confines of the small room. "Faramir, you look amazingly well for someone who is supposedly on death's doorstep, and why in Eru's name must you hide her from me?!"
Chapter 14
"Lord Denethor?" The words slowly permeated the slumber that the steward had inadvertently fallen into. He raised his head from where he had rested it upon his arms at his desk in his personal study. He blinked his eyes as the male servant softly said his name again.
"What is it?" he growled at last.
"My lord, it is your son Faramir. The healers say that it is time."
Denethor's heart sank, and he stood quickly. "Yes, of course," he murmured, drawing a hand over his face. "What time is it?" he asked absently.
"It is about two hours before dawn, Lord Steward."
The steward nodded, politely dismissing the servant as he drew on his discarded robe over his wrinkled clothing. He left his rooms and his residence without bothering to call his guards to his side. There was no need for them to accompany him, and besides, he wished to be alone. Denethor strode purposefully through the darkened streets of Minas Tirith, his city lying silent beneath the black velvet sky flooded with stars. There was little comfort to be found in their steady, eternal light on this, the darkest of all nights. One son would be dead by dawn, and the other would be crushed by grief.
Ah, Finduilas, I never thought it should be this difficult! What am I to do when the sun rises? His steps faltered as he reached the edge of the gardens. It is too difficult, my wife. How can I continue when I know what awaits me in that room? It shall be like reliving that night nineteen years ago, the night when you finally decided to leave us.
"Why did you leave me alone here?" he murmured, tears threatening.
"My lord?" Denethor was startled out of his musing by a passing guard who had stopped and awaited his steward's command.
"Nothing," he muttered. "Carry on with your patrol."
The soldier bowed and departed, and Denethor used the interruption to regain control of himself before he continued to the Houses of Healing, pushing his feelings aside for later.
Faramir was captivated by the flood of emotions that crossed Ioreth's face as she entered his room. She looked so grim as she opened the door, softly closing it behind her before she looked to him. When she realized that his eyes were open, he quickly saw confusion, disbelief, anger for a moment when she looked over to Boromir for an explanation. She took two steps closer to Faramir's bed as skepticism tinged with hope returned to her expression.
"Faramir?"
"Yes, Ioreth," he murmured softly. It was impossible to keep the smile from his face as she exhaled sharply and rushed to his side.
"What has happened?" she asked, unable to accept this unexpected development as truth, for she had known that he was going to die. When last he had closed his eyes, she had known that it was for the last time. What had changed? She gently began to remove the bandages that had already been loosened for some odd reason.
"Ioreth," said Boromir, but she seemed not to hear him, as she looked upon Faramir with nothing short of wonder and amazement as she tentatively touched his torso, finding his ribs whole and undamaged. Faramir smiled more broadly and reached his good hand to her, and she grasped it as if it were a lifeline.
"My boy, you are a marvel," she murmured, tears welling within her tired blue eyes. Boromir was still trying to get her attention, and finally Faramir had to tell the healer that he was not the reason that she had been summoned. "What is it, Boromir?" she asked, never moving her eyes from Faramir's face.
"There is another here who requires your aid, Lady." Only then did her attention waver as she looked to where Boromir was pointing upon the floor and saw an unmoving form there, the hooded figure who had entered the room just before she had left it earlier.
Quickly Ioreth was on the other side of the bed, knelt over Lachdúliel. "Who is this?" she spoke as she checked the Elf's pulse. When the healer gasped in shock at Lachdúliel's face, Boromir knelt as well.
"This is Lady Lachdúliel, and she is the reason that Fara is doing so well, but I am afraid that she has overtaxed herself."
"Indeed, she seems to be fine other than those horrible scars upon her face, and there is naught that I can do for that." Ioreth stood. "Perhaps when your father arrives. . . . Oh my, I had forgotten that I sent a message to your father! He must be beside himself with worry!"
"Bo, you must get her out of here before Father arrives," said Faramir. Boromir had already lifted the Elf into his arms, intending to find a vacant room along the same corridor for her to rest in.
Lord Denethor's angry voice suddenly boomed within the confines of the small room. "Faramir, you look amazingly well for someone who is supposedly on death's doorstep, and why in Eru's name must you hide her from me?!"