Chapter 9

Three days later, I got thoroughly fed up with both my cousin and Éowyn.

My lunches were now eaten in solitude, for Éowyn clearly seemed to prefer Faramir's company to mine. They ended up by asking for their midday meal to be brought to the gardens, claiming it was good for the appetite. As far as I could see, they had very lengthy and very animated conversations, but when I once tried to join them, they instantly became very stiff and, had I not excused myself, I was sure they would ask me to leave them alone! Merry seemed baffled too, and had a full right to be so, for had he not saved Éowyn's life, after all?

And when I came to see how Faramir was faring in the evening, I would find him sitting on the windowsill, gazing unseeingly into the gardens. The books I had personally fetched for him were dumped in the corner on the floor (!), and all my attempts at making conversation were much similar to trying to talk to a broomstick.

But, grumblings aside, I could not help but feel relieved. So much time they had spent in their rooms, confined, almost suffocating from doing nothing and turning over in their minds the dreadful events that brought them to the House of Healing, that it did them a world of good to have the company of each other. None of the nursemaids or healers could afford keeping them company for an entire day, with so many sorely wounded soldiers and citizens around; my brief visits helped to dispel the darkness that threatened to overwhelm them, but I felt they were not enough.

Once, when I was at the Warden's office taking my orders for the day, he suddenly stopped talking and gazed into the garden that his window faced. I saw a smile lit up his face, and was quite surprised by a sight so rare.

"Master Warden?" I called to him hesitantly.

He looked my way, and I was momentarily afraid he would bark at me again. Instead, he beckoned to me, drawing my attention to something in the gardens below.

"Look, Lothíriel," he said.

There was a green lawn right before our eyes, with a young cherry tree in the middle, just about to burst into flowers. Someone had recently built a small wooden bench under the tree, and it all looked foolishly moving: the tree not even seven feet high, the shabby bench, pathetically crude, made by someone who wanted to give at least this little pleasure to the poor temporary dwellers of the Houses.

Faramir and Éowyn were seated on the grass; she rested her back on the bench, wrapping her arm leisurely around the wood, a picture of blissful carelessness; I had never seen her like this, for she ever seemed to try and cradle her broken arm to her breast, looking terribly guarded and watchful. Now even the sling was undone, as if she tried to give her body as much freedom as it could endure.

Faramir was talking to her with great eagerness, helping himself with his hands where words were not enough; it was plain to me he was recounting some very funny event, for it was accompanied by vigorous mimicking and Éowyn's peals of hearty laughter.

He got to his feet, obviously trying to perform something else, but his foot slipped on the grass and he fell down, right onto his injured shoulder. I saw a grimace of pain crease his face and was on my way to the door in an instant.

The Warden caught me by the arm.

"No, Lothíriel," he said softly.

"But he is hurting!"

"No. He is not, really," with a smile, he put his hands on my shoulders and turned me round to the window again. "Look."

Faramir was now sitting on the grass, his back to Éowyn, but facing us, and she was rubbing his shoulder very gently, talking to him quite angrily. He craned his neck to looks at her and said something with a smile; she glared at him and punched him in the back. Faramir made a 'lost puppy' face, and she immediately burst out laughing again.

"He is not," I echoed the Warden's words. "Oh, I am so glad they are better."

He smiled with immeasurable warmth and, quite unexpectedly, wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

"So am I, Thíri."

"Ladies, I need one of you to come with me, now."

That was Maelnor speaking. He looked terribly worn out, very pale, with dark circles around his hollow eyes, hair dishevelled, breath heavy and uneven. He was one of the best healers that we had, and certainly the most dedicated to his work. Sometimes I caught myself wondering if the man slept at all; he seemed to be around at any time of day or night.

His eyes focused on me.

"Oh, Lothíriel, I guess you will do for the job. Get your apron and come," he urged.

"What is it?" Miri asked, while I was putting on my apron.

Maelnor sat on a stool heavily, lowering his head into his hands.

"A boy of eight. He was somewhere in the lower circles when a building collapsed, hit by a missile, and a huge piece of wall fell down onto him, squashing his calf. I have done all I could to save the leg, but it looks like the infection has started, and it will spread higher if we do not do something quick."

I gaped at him. "Master Maelnor, are you going…"

"Yes, Lothíriel, I am. I shall amputate that leg. Do not look at me with such horror, girl! I do not take any pleasure in doing such things, but sometimes they need to be done."

"Why me?" I whispered, swallowing hard. I had seen the lancing of wounds or putting the fractured bones into place when they stuck out of the flesh, and weathered it fine, but cutting off a leg…

"You seem to have a way with children, girl. The calmer and more reassured he feels, the better. Come, I do not have all day! Does it take you that long to put the damn apron on?"

I ignored the tone, for I quite understood that his wrath was not really directed at me; he was angry at himself, for not having been able to save the poor boy's leg, for being forced to cripple the child for life…

He grabbed my arm hard just before entering the boy's room.

"No tears or swoons or sickness, young lady, or the next thing I shall amputate will be your head. Understood?"

I nodded mutely.

I was sick immediately after I left the room. I barely had time to get out of the building, and then fell to my knees, bending double with retching. I stayed there, crouched, and even after my stomach had nothing more to throw out, still the spasms seized my body, and my own tongue tasted so vile I shuddered with disgust.

A hand squeezed my shoulder.

"You are a brave girl, Lothíriel," Maelnor said softly.

I shrugged off his hand. "Leave me."

"All right. But do not stay here too long. Promise?"

I nodded several times, feeling the nausea ebb away. He stroked my head once and was gone.

I slowly got to my feet and went towards the cherry tree that Faramir and Éowyn fancied so much. I sat on the bench, feeling helpless rage surge through my body.

The poor little child… over were his days of running around like wind, climbing trees, kicking pebbles carelessly while on his way to school… All he had left was a cruelly disfigured stump that would forever place him apart from 'the rest', the healthy and fit… His parents will look at him with pity, will try to hide tears not to distress him; but he will notice it, and will suffer tenfold; he will learn to see his old friends deliberately avert their eyes from his infirmity and sound exaggeratedly cheerful…

How I hated everything at that moment: the bloody war, the Orcs, the Nazgûl, the stones of the City that were supposed to guard the boy from all harm, but in the end crippled him; I felt I could face Sauron unarmed and slay him with the mere force of my wrath. I even hated Éowyn and my cousin, for having sat here seemingly without a care in the world, jesting and laughing.

Gradually, I calmed, breathing deeply, inhaling the sweet scent of the budding cherry blossoms, made stronger by the cruelly peaceful night. I could not change this, much as I wished to.

Suddenly, I wanted to see Faramir. He would help me see the things right. He always knows how to do so.

"Thíri! What has kept you so long? Do not tell me you have been kissing a handsome wounded warrior just behind my door. Your father would not approve, and in the end I shall suffer for not guarding your virtue properly."

He was beaming at me, happy, strong, peaceful – it struck me that I had never seen him like this before. His face had none of the pallor of the past days; his eyes were sparkling with mirth that he did not even attempt to conceal. His movements had become swift and graceful, and he seemed to tremble with an anticipation of even fuller happiness.

I sank onto the floor, resting my head on the edge of the bed.

He was at my side in an instant.

"Thíri, what is it?" he asked softly, lifting my chin so that I could look him in the eye.

"You are right… I have been with a wounded…" I whispered. "I assisted a healer with amputating an eight-year-old boy's leg."

His eyes widened in horror, and he hugged me close.

"Poor girl, that must have been quite a trial for you…"

I felt rage fill me whole.

"Trial!" I screamed, pushing him away. "Oh yes, it was. I was standing there, by his side, passing the tools to the healer! And he was awake. Under sedatives, and he did not feel any pain, but he still was aware of what was happening. He will never ever run, or jump, or just walk normally! He never even held a weapon! And you…you amuse yourself with your newfound object of affection, laugh with her, boasting your strength…"

He did not let go of me; quite the opposite, he held me even closer, stroking my head.

"Hush, girl, all will be well. You are distraught, you have never seen anything like this, but it will pass. I understand, you feel so alone here, and I am sorry for having been a bit…distracted lately. I know, you also fear for your family, dreading any news of them…"

Blind with rage, I broke free of his arms and stood towering over him.

"Shut the hell up! What could you understand about it! You do not have anyone to wait for tidings from!"

The moment after the words left my mouth, I wished myself dead.

Never had I seen such pain in anyone's eyes. Never had I hurt anyone that deeply.

I pressed both hands to my lips, my breath coming out it ragged gasps. Faramir was sitting on the floor still, transfixed, absolutely white in the face, looking incredulously at the evil being he had thought to be his friend.

"Faramir…" I whispered brokenly, reaching my hand to touch him.

His arm shot up, as if blocking a blow. I jerked back, the room spinning around me.

He got to his feet and stumbled blindly towards the doorway, not saying a word. I watched as he disappeared in the dark hallway, groping his way along the wall.

After what seemed a whole lifetime to me, I ran after him. He was sitting on the same bench, face upturned to the blooming tree, eye staring unseeingly at the blossoms. As I took a few hesitant steps towards him, he said in a strangely calm voice, "Go away, Thíri. Please."

"Éowyn!"

She was already in bed, but jumped out of it when I burst into her room.

"Thíri! What happened?" she exclaimed, grabbing my shoulders.

"Faramir…" I moaned.

Her eyes darkened in concern. "What happened to Faramir? Has he had a setback? But he looked so full of health in the afternoon!"

Hanging my head, I told her of what had transpired between us.

When I finally had the courage to look her in the eye, I involuntarily took a step back. The fury in written on her face was enough to kill.

Without a word, she raised her hand and slapped me on the face so hard that I nearly fell. Then, she rushed to the door, but stopped a few paces from it, returned to the bed, snatched a dark blue coverlet from it and ran out.

I followed her soon. When I saw her, she was sitting beside Faramir, holding his hand and speaking to him in a very soft voice; then she wrapped him in the coverlet and made him lean on her, still talking to him with unusual tenderness.

I turned around and went away, barely lifting my feet off the ground. I did not even notice when I had left the Houses. I stumbled on and on, numb, unfeeling, save for the burning in my cheek. There were piles of debris around, so I guessed I was in a lower level of the City; I was dimly aware of the voices around me, though they were but a faint murmur in my ears.

I passed a tavern, which somehow managed to stay whole during the siege and now was buzzing with clinking of mugs and drunken voices. I turned a corner and found myself in a dead end made up by a collapsed building.

I was prepared to turn back and try to find another way, when a voice called to me, "Hey lass! Not scared to wander alone?"

I looked up and saw three men, quite drunk, but still firm on their feet. They were slowly approaching me, gap-toothed grins plastered to their faces, eyes glittering from both the ale and the anticipation of a nice ending to the evening.

I stepped back, until my back was pressed to the tavern's wall. They came closer still, speaking to me, but no words reached me through the panicked stupor that seized me.

I was aware of clammy hands gripping my wrists, pinning me to the wall, while one of them started to unbutton my dress, very slowly, now and then squeezing my breasts and guffawing into my face, and the stench from his mouth was so nauseating I nearly threw up; still, I did not make a sound.

This is your punishment, Thíri. For making your father angry or sad. For being so weak, childish, and whimsical. You refused to show affection to the man who meant well and wanted to carry a happy memory to a hopeless battle; now you will endure the slobbery smacking kisses of drunken soldiers. You have inflicted a terrible wound on the person who showed you nothing but consideration and love and understanding; let your body redeem the horrendous blow you have dealt on that already wounded soul.

I closed my eyes and stood still, feeling tears trickle down my face. Suddenly, words once said by Aragorn leaped to my mind:

"…Please do not do that, child. Do not try to punish yourself. I have seen a lot in this life, and I know that the punishment people bring on themselves on their own accord is usually too hard."

I shook my head slightly. No, my lord, it is not so. For I deserved it in the full.

I stood straight, vowing not to faint. This is my monster, my Ringwraith to face, and face it I will.

The only thing I could not bring myself to do was to keep my eyes open…

TBC

Oh, poor Thíri… I know this is cruel. The whole chapter nearly made me sick, my hands are still trembling and I cannot think of any food. I guess this is my punishment for making her suffer so. I am starting to feel a bit concerned; by any chance, am I overdoing anything?

A big THANK YOU to the reviewers! Each and every one of your comments is treasured.