Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places
thereof. (I have got one of those nifty action figures though!)
*****
Rain trickled in the small amount of space between skin and clothing, causing the two to chafe as they came into contact. Droplets plinked to the ground, rolling fat from leaves and splashing into puddles. Pellets fell fast from the sky to barrage the leafy canopy overhead.
Thorongil was beginning to worry. Why had the border guards not stopped him yet? He was coming far too close to Imladris without being stopped for his comfort. Was his childhood home no longer safe? Not only did Thorongil worry for those he knew who dwelt with valley, but also for the safety of Faramir. Where else could he take the boy? He might try Mirkwood, but Thranduil's distrust would not be good for Faramir and, while he remained close friends with Legolas Greenleaf, Thorongil did not trust the elf to raise a boy. Lothlorien, also, was an option, but the Lady could be quite frightening. Perhaps if Arwen had returned to Lothlorien forest (to Thorongil's knowledge she had not) he might beg this of her as a favor.
Mithrandir no longer traveled with them. He had taken his leave at the valley's crest. "You are safe now. Look after the boy, and yourself. I have urgent business which needs tending." What business? Thorongil had not asked, but he wondered if this concerned the necromancer (he remembered those whispered conversations when he was small and wished he did not now understand them) or perhaps that old friend, Bilbo, of whom Mithrandir was so fond.
As for the boy, he had fallen to sleep and now to a deeper place. He remained alive and breathed evenly, but showed no signs of dreaming.
Sighing, Thorongil shifted Faramir, for he had taken to carrying the boy. The path was wet from the rain and the horse's hooves, while certain, gave Thorongil less comfort than his own feet. The animal followed close behind. He had wrapped his cloak around Faramir to keep the boy drier and warmer, and now gritted his teeth to keep from shivering. He did not know that his lips had turned blue and the skin beneath his eyes, and probably would not have cared, had he known.
"Halt!" Ah, there were the border guards. Thorongil sighed with deep relief. So the valley remained safe: at last some good news. In spite of the deadly arrows aimed at his head, the Ranger did not panic. "Hold your hands up," ordered a familiar voice in the common tongue.
"I cannot," Thorongil answered, his voice strange for the cold shivers.
The guards, two of them, exchanged glances. Thorongil looked for some glimmer in their eyes and found it in those of the guard on the left, who, as that on the right began to insist upon his earlier command, interrupted in Elvish, "Estel? Elladan, no, it is Estel!"
Now Elladan, less trusted, squinted, and though his arrow remained aimed and nocked the string was less taut than before. "Is it really?"
"There is no proof but my word," Thorongil answered, "but yes." Elrohir slung his bow over his shoulder and returned the arrow to the quiver he wore across his back. With sure movements, Elrohir held Thorongil's arm and pushed back his sleeve. A semi-circle of faded brown marks showed on his hand and, farther up, Elrohir noted that the lower bone of the Ranger's arm was stronger about two thirds of the way to his elbow.
"Sweet Eru, Estel," Elrohir said, looking again at his little brother. Though no tears manifested themselves, the sight of Thorongil's face made Elrohir cry inside. He looked so. . .well, the elf had grown accustom to the tanned skin, the older and hardened eyes, but this shivering, this discoloration. . ."Oh, Estel."
"Come, we will take you to Ada," Elladan said. "You will be all right. Let me carry that for you."
Thorongil tightened his grip on Faramir. "No; you may not take him."
"Him?" The elven twins looked and, for the first time, saw that this indeed was a boy, not some inanimate mass but a person. Curiosity bit at them but they ignored it, instead taking the reins of Thorongil's horse. "Well, your horse at the least will be seen to."
Elrohir with Thorongil went into Imladris while Elladan remained on the guard. "Has everything been well here?" Thorongil asked.
"Do not speak," Elrohir beseeched him. "In moments we will have you dry and warm, I promise. Here, take my cloak." But Thorongil would not, and so Elrohir struck a quick pace for the Hall of Healing by way of the stables. He handed off the horse to a stablehand he could not name and continued with the two Men.
Inside the great building a fire burned in the hearth. No one was to be seen in the room. At first Thorongil stood with his teeth chattering in the sudden warmth, then he moves over to the fire and knelt. Laying Faramir gingerly on the floor, Thorongil pulled the soaking wet cloak off the boy. "He suffered grave hurts ere our journey began, and they are not healed much though many days we have ridden. I fear all this jostling about has hurt him more. There is a scratch on his cheek, new; it wants for cleaning. We have ridden many hours in the rain, from early yestereve. . .before even first watch had been settled the orcs found us and we fought them off but went hence from that place. . .it may have been twenty hours, it may have been more or less. I cannot be certain. The boy is weak, he. . .needs much aid. Lord Elrond I know can help him."
"Indeed?" Elrohir turned to see his father in the doorway. Thorongil stood and bowed to him. "Who is it that seeks my aid?" asked the healer, striding meaningfully across the room to see the pathetic form of a boy at his hearth.
Elrohir opened his mouth to answer but Thorongil spoke, "He is only a child. I know you have the mercy to help a child."
It was then that Elrond, earlier distracted by matters of upon reflection small significance, looked into the eyes of this new arrival and saw to whom he spoke. "Estel!"
"Please, he is not well," was all Thorongil said, motioning the child by the fire. "Will you help him?"
"Of course." Elrond lifted the boy and Thorongil visibly moved to take him but stayed himself, surprised. When had he come so fond of Faramir, so protective of him? Certainly Elrond could be trusted. "For yourself, though you have not been here in many years, your old room is unchanged, surely you will find something there to wear, something dry, and--"
"No."
Elrond might have been annoyed at this but he paused and looked rather softly at Thorongil. "So stubborn as always, child?"
"I want to be here when he wakes."
Elrond nearly dropped the child in shock, then asked the question Elladan and Elrohir had bitten back: "Estel. . .he is not--yours?"
"Nay, not of my blood! Yet untrusting; he knows you not and I would have him wake in the presence of one familiar to him. He knows me; let me stay by him."
As a healer and a father Elrond knew that Thorongil needed rest and dry clothes as much as the boy did. He also knew that this stubborn one would not leave the side of the boy, if he did not wish to. "Very well. Elrohir, would you find something for Estel to wear?" Elrohir nodded, equally interested in his brother's health, and in moments the door slammed shut behind him. "You may stay, so long as you will wear dry clothing and have something to eat. You are unwell."
"All right." Thorongil knew a deal when he heard one.
"Drink this," Elrond added, handing him a cup of tea.
Thorongil nodded. "Cheers." He tipped his head back and drained the contents in one gulp, then with Elrond he went to find a bed to place Faramir upon.
"Where is he hurt? The cut on his cheek, is this all save illness?" Elrond asked.
Thorongil closed his eyes. He did not wish to answer that question again. "Cut off his tunic," he made his reply. Curiously, Elrond did so. Being a healer he was accustom to the sight of injuries, and without reaction unwound the makeshift bandages. "These bandages, Estel, how old are they?"
"A week, perhaps a little more," Thorongil answered. Off Elrond's surprised expression he said, "We only had so much to get by on."
"These wounds hardly look so old as an hour," Elrond stated, and indeed this was true. The sight of the pale boy's frail chest was the same now as it had been all those many days ago, two weeks and some, when Mithrandir and Thorongil had run from Minas Tirith.
"The riding may have irritated them," Thorongil suggested.
Elrond nodded; he had his own ideas. "Bring me a cloth and a bowl of water. The first thing this child needs is a wash."
"Do you say this of all your patients?" Thorongil asked, chuckling in spite of himself and sobering circumstance as he carried out the healer's orders.
For a moment Elrond looked hard at Thorongil, then he said, "You seem to be feeling much better, but you are still shivering. Go and wait for Elrohir. You can come back when you are dry." Thorongil nodded, but his eyes strayed to Faramir. "I assure you, he will sleep. Can you answer all of my questions, when he is seen to?"
"Yes."
"Good. Then I suggest you take your rest, also. You do need it."
Shooed and shoved out of the room, Thorongil made his way back to the entry chamber, where the fire continued to burn and Elrohir had pulled a chair up to the hearth. "I did wonder," the elf said, offering a stack of dry clothing. "There is a blanket there, also, if you wish to--" he winked "-- rest your eyes."
Thorongil answered him with a wry snort of laughter, "Not likely." But the fire was warm and, in the dry clothing, he was awfully comfortable. A few seconds could not hurt. After all, the tea had been drugged.
*****
To be continued
Author's note: the drugged tea, that's nothing ominous. It was just to get Thorongil to sleep for a bit.
Rain: From your perspective this is so. However, from my perspective the "Our Father" is nothing more than a poem. I'm sorry if it offends you, that was not my intention at all.
Emerald Phoenix: It is, however, a matter of politics, as will be explored next chapter.
Galorin: I'm glad you think so about the prayer; truly, it seemed some great taboo I had not caught on to! People are so uptight about that, which seems to me nothing but closed-mindedness. That's actually quite dangerous, a large group of closed-minded people. Anyway, that's just my paranoia acting up again. Thanks for reviewing, always a pleasure hearing from you.
*****
Rain trickled in the small amount of space between skin and clothing, causing the two to chafe as they came into contact. Droplets plinked to the ground, rolling fat from leaves and splashing into puddles. Pellets fell fast from the sky to barrage the leafy canopy overhead.
Thorongil was beginning to worry. Why had the border guards not stopped him yet? He was coming far too close to Imladris without being stopped for his comfort. Was his childhood home no longer safe? Not only did Thorongil worry for those he knew who dwelt with valley, but also for the safety of Faramir. Where else could he take the boy? He might try Mirkwood, but Thranduil's distrust would not be good for Faramir and, while he remained close friends with Legolas Greenleaf, Thorongil did not trust the elf to raise a boy. Lothlorien, also, was an option, but the Lady could be quite frightening. Perhaps if Arwen had returned to Lothlorien forest (to Thorongil's knowledge she had not) he might beg this of her as a favor.
Mithrandir no longer traveled with them. He had taken his leave at the valley's crest. "You are safe now. Look after the boy, and yourself. I have urgent business which needs tending." What business? Thorongil had not asked, but he wondered if this concerned the necromancer (he remembered those whispered conversations when he was small and wished he did not now understand them) or perhaps that old friend, Bilbo, of whom Mithrandir was so fond.
As for the boy, he had fallen to sleep and now to a deeper place. He remained alive and breathed evenly, but showed no signs of dreaming.
Sighing, Thorongil shifted Faramir, for he had taken to carrying the boy. The path was wet from the rain and the horse's hooves, while certain, gave Thorongil less comfort than his own feet. The animal followed close behind. He had wrapped his cloak around Faramir to keep the boy drier and warmer, and now gritted his teeth to keep from shivering. He did not know that his lips had turned blue and the skin beneath his eyes, and probably would not have cared, had he known.
"Halt!" Ah, there were the border guards. Thorongil sighed with deep relief. So the valley remained safe: at last some good news. In spite of the deadly arrows aimed at his head, the Ranger did not panic. "Hold your hands up," ordered a familiar voice in the common tongue.
"I cannot," Thorongil answered, his voice strange for the cold shivers.
The guards, two of them, exchanged glances. Thorongil looked for some glimmer in their eyes and found it in those of the guard on the left, who, as that on the right began to insist upon his earlier command, interrupted in Elvish, "Estel? Elladan, no, it is Estel!"
Now Elladan, less trusted, squinted, and though his arrow remained aimed and nocked the string was less taut than before. "Is it really?"
"There is no proof but my word," Thorongil answered, "but yes." Elrohir slung his bow over his shoulder and returned the arrow to the quiver he wore across his back. With sure movements, Elrohir held Thorongil's arm and pushed back his sleeve. A semi-circle of faded brown marks showed on his hand and, farther up, Elrohir noted that the lower bone of the Ranger's arm was stronger about two thirds of the way to his elbow.
"Sweet Eru, Estel," Elrohir said, looking again at his little brother. Though no tears manifested themselves, the sight of Thorongil's face made Elrohir cry inside. He looked so. . .well, the elf had grown accustom to the tanned skin, the older and hardened eyes, but this shivering, this discoloration. . ."Oh, Estel."
"Come, we will take you to Ada," Elladan said. "You will be all right. Let me carry that for you."
Thorongil tightened his grip on Faramir. "No; you may not take him."
"Him?" The elven twins looked and, for the first time, saw that this indeed was a boy, not some inanimate mass but a person. Curiosity bit at them but they ignored it, instead taking the reins of Thorongil's horse. "Well, your horse at the least will be seen to."
Elrohir with Thorongil went into Imladris while Elladan remained on the guard. "Has everything been well here?" Thorongil asked.
"Do not speak," Elrohir beseeched him. "In moments we will have you dry and warm, I promise. Here, take my cloak." But Thorongil would not, and so Elrohir struck a quick pace for the Hall of Healing by way of the stables. He handed off the horse to a stablehand he could not name and continued with the two Men.
Inside the great building a fire burned in the hearth. No one was to be seen in the room. At first Thorongil stood with his teeth chattering in the sudden warmth, then he moves over to the fire and knelt. Laying Faramir gingerly on the floor, Thorongil pulled the soaking wet cloak off the boy. "He suffered grave hurts ere our journey began, and they are not healed much though many days we have ridden. I fear all this jostling about has hurt him more. There is a scratch on his cheek, new; it wants for cleaning. We have ridden many hours in the rain, from early yestereve. . .before even first watch had been settled the orcs found us and we fought them off but went hence from that place. . .it may have been twenty hours, it may have been more or less. I cannot be certain. The boy is weak, he. . .needs much aid. Lord Elrond I know can help him."
"Indeed?" Elrohir turned to see his father in the doorway. Thorongil stood and bowed to him. "Who is it that seeks my aid?" asked the healer, striding meaningfully across the room to see the pathetic form of a boy at his hearth.
Elrohir opened his mouth to answer but Thorongil spoke, "He is only a child. I know you have the mercy to help a child."
It was then that Elrond, earlier distracted by matters of upon reflection small significance, looked into the eyes of this new arrival and saw to whom he spoke. "Estel!"
"Please, he is not well," was all Thorongil said, motioning the child by the fire. "Will you help him?"
"Of course." Elrond lifted the boy and Thorongil visibly moved to take him but stayed himself, surprised. When had he come so fond of Faramir, so protective of him? Certainly Elrond could be trusted. "For yourself, though you have not been here in many years, your old room is unchanged, surely you will find something there to wear, something dry, and--"
"No."
Elrond might have been annoyed at this but he paused and looked rather softly at Thorongil. "So stubborn as always, child?"
"I want to be here when he wakes."
Elrond nearly dropped the child in shock, then asked the question Elladan and Elrohir had bitten back: "Estel. . .he is not--yours?"
"Nay, not of my blood! Yet untrusting; he knows you not and I would have him wake in the presence of one familiar to him. He knows me; let me stay by him."
As a healer and a father Elrond knew that Thorongil needed rest and dry clothes as much as the boy did. He also knew that this stubborn one would not leave the side of the boy, if he did not wish to. "Very well. Elrohir, would you find something for Estel to wear?" Elrohir nodded, equally interested in his brother's health, and in moments the door slammed shut behind him. "You may stay, so long as you will wear dry clothing and have something to eat. You are unwell."
"All right." Thorongil knew a deal when he heard one.
"Drink this," Elrond added, handing him a cup of tea.
Thorongil nodded. "Cheers." He tipped his head back and drained the contents in one gulp, then with Elrond he went to find a bed to place Faramir upon.
"Where is he hurt? The cut on his cheek, is this all save illness?" Elrond asked.
Thorongil closed his eyes. He did not wish to answer that question again. "Cut off his tunic," he made his reply. Curiously, Elrond did so. Being a healer he was accustom to the sight of injuries, and without reaction unwound the makeshift bandages. "These bandages, Estel, how old are they?"
"A week, perhaps a little more," Thorongil answered. Off Elrond's surprised expression he said, "We only had so much to get by on."
"These wounds hardly look so old as an hour," Elrond stated, and indeed this was true. The sight of the pale boy's frail chest was the same now as it had been all those many days ago, two weeks and some, when Mithrandir and Thorongil had run from Minas Tirith.
"The riding may have irritated them," Thorongil suggested.
Elrond nodded; he had his own ideas. "Bring me a cloth and a bowl of water. The first thing this child needs is a wash."
"Do you say this of all your patients?" Thorongil asked, chuckling in spite of himself and sobering circumstance as he carried out the healer's orders.
For a moment Elrond looked hard at Thorongil, then he said, "You seem to be feeling much better, but you are still shivering. Go and wait for Elrohir. You can come back when you are dry." Thorongil nodded, but his eyes strayed to Faramir. "I assure you, he will sleep. Can you answer all of my questions, when he is seen to?"
"Yes."
"Good. Then I suggest you take your rest, also. You do need it."
Shooed and shoved out of the room, Thorongil made his way back to the entry chamber, where the fire continued to burn and Elrohir had pulled a chair up to the hearth. "I did wonder," the elf said, offering a stack of dry clothing. "There is a blanket there, also, if you wish to--" he winked "-- rest your eyes."
Thorongil answered him with a wry snort of laughter, "Not likely." But the fire was warm and, in the dry clothing, he was awfully comfortable. A few seconds could not hurt. After all, the tea had been drugged.
*****
To be continued
Author's note: the drugged tea, that's nothing ominous. It was just to get Thorongil to sleep for a bit.
Rain: From your perspective this is so. However, from my perspective the "Our Father" is nothing more than a poem. I'm sorry if it offends you, that was not my intention at all.
Emerald Phoenix: It is, however, a matter of politics, as will be explored next chapter.
Galorin: I'm glad you think so about the prayer; truly, it seemed some great taboo I had not caught on to! People are so uptight about that, which seems to me nothing but closed-mindedness. That's actually quite dangerous, a large group of closed-minded people. Anyway, that's just my paranoia acting up again. Thanks for reviewing, always a pleasure hearing from you.