After Imrahil's second vision, Finduilas insisted that he remain in his bed for at least a week, and in truth, he did not have the energy to object. To his dismay, there was a third vision the very next day, without any provocation whatsoever. Finduilas witnessed that attack, the first time she'd seen one, and was understandably upset. Andrahar held him, as he had before. When it was done, the prince lay insensible for hours, and woke to an excruciating headache and a feeling of extreme fatigue.
The following day, Imrahil suffered one as well. This time the vision was more chaotic, confusing and formless, the images passing so swiftly that he almost could not even register what they were. The after effects were more severe as well. The headache was so bad that it made him sick to his stomach, and he could not bring himself to eat. He lay, quenched and subdued, in a nest of pillows upon his bed, with the curtains drawn over the windows, for the light hurt his head.
Finduilas had sent to the Houses of Healing the day of the second attack and soon all of the most senior healers were in an uproar, their professional reputations at stake as they endeavored to cure the only son of Gondor's richest nobleman. The noxious potions they concocted and fed to the prince only served to destroy what little appetite the headaches had spared. Imrahil found himself subject to other indignities as well, as they required samples of various bodily fluids to study. Endless whispered consultations took place by his bedside and in the farthest corners of the room. He bore it all patiently until the late afternoon of the fourth day, when one of the healers suggested that the only way to cure him was to drill holes into his skull to release the evil humors.
At that point the objections began, loudly and at length, and said healer shortly found himself being strong-armed to the door of the townhouse by a very swarthy and humorless Swan Knight. He was quickly followed by the rest of his fellows, as the young prince declared that he had had enough medical attention for one day. Andrahar returned from the expulsion to find Finduilas bathing her brother's brow, worry plain upon her face.
"You should have let them stay, Imri. They were only trying to help you."
"They cannot help me. They don't know what is wrong."
Finduilas did not deny it. "At least take the potion they left you for the headache."
"It's poppy, Fin. I don't want to, unless I absolutely have to. Perhaps when I need to sleep." He reached out and took his sister's hand. "It is almost dinnertime. Go get something to eat. Andra can watch me. You won't please the Steward's son if you let yourself get too thin."
"And you won't please me if you don't eat your dinner again."
Imrahil sighed. "I will try to eat, Fin. I promise I will try." With a final squeeze of his hand, Finduilas departed, promising to return with some truly tempting food for him. When she had gone, the prince turned to Andrahar, who was sitting in a chair beside the bed, his face expressionless. His hands, always a more reliable indicator of his emotional state, were toying endlessly with the end of his belt.
"How is your head?" the Haradrim asked in a low voice.
"It hurts," Imrahil admitted, "but not so badly at the moment." He was silent for a little while before he spoke again. "Andra, promise me that you will stay with my father and mother if the healers don't solve this thing. You are a Swan Knight now, and it is not safe for you in Harad."
"I will stay, Imri. But there is no need for such promises. The healers will figure out what is wrong with you."
"Come now, you have no more faith in their nostrums than I do, and I am beginning to think this is not just going to go away on its own. Do you know that my great-grandfather had a brother who died when he was my age? All father would ever say was that he fell ill. I am beginning to wonder if it were not something like this." At Andrahar's look of alarm, he smiled a pained but reassuring smile. "You needn't worry. I am not giving up, nothing like that. But I am getting very tired of this." The prince regarded his friend fondly for a moment, then spoke again, on an entirely different subject. "Do you remember the other day, after my first vision, when you said that your people often chose their own relatives? I asked you how they did that, but you never answered me."
Andrahar thought back briefly, then nodded. "I am sorry. We started speaking about something else, and I never returned to your question. I did not know that you were truly interested."
"Well I am! I was searching through the books in the library for it when Lord Denethor visited me, but I could not find what I was looking for. And I really can't read now, my head aches too much. What exactly were you speaking of?"
The knight-probationer let the belt fall, and gestured gracefully. "There are a couple of customs I was thinking of. Sometimes someone will adopt one not of their blood-kin as a son, if they have no other relative. That is done simply by publicly declaring the person to be their son before three witnesses. There is paperwork that must be completed later, but the declaration is the actual legal binding."
"And the other?"
"Is a blood-oath between two who wish to be the brothers the powers did not create them to be. They take a knife and purify it in the fire." A small, ironic smile. "It is supposed to symbolize that the Sacred Fire is part of the union, but personally, I think it's just so the wounds won't turn putrid." The prince chuckled. "The participants then hold the blade between their right hands and slash their palms; not deep, just enough for the blood to flow. Then they bind their palms together and make their oath of kinship. After that, they are brothers."
Imrahil smiled his most beautiful smile, and Andrahar, watching him, thought that his heart might break. Of all the things that could have happened, of all the ways that he might perish, I never thought of this! And I can do nothing to stop it! I cannot protect him from the inside of his own head!
"I had hoped it was something like that. I should like to make that oath with you, Andra," the Heir to Dol Amroth said softly to his former street-rat. "I know that it is not what you want from me, but it is what I can give." His face grew a little sad. "Of course, I have been an awful lot of trouble to you over the years, so I would understand if you did not wish to."
The knight-probationer looked at him, his own expression stricken. "Not wish to? Of course I would wish to! But are you certain, Imri? It is for life."
"I would expect nothing less." There was a twinkle in the grey eyes that had been so alarmingly distant much of the time these last couple of days. "Fin will be back soon, now is not a good time. But sometime tomorrow perhaps, when she is resting and you are watching, we will do it."
A brief nod. "I will ready what is required."
"There you go, being practical again. And organized as well. I may be the prince, but it's easy to see who's running things around here." Andrahar looked slightly scandalized and taken aback at the thought. Imrahil chuckled again. "It is all right, Andra! What did father call you once, my nanny? More than a little truth to that, but I don't mind. I rather like it. In fact, I've come to rely upon it. And now, if you don't mind, I think I'll try to sleep a bit before dinner." The prince sighed and closed his eyes, and Andrahar settled himself to watch once more.
8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8
Finduilas not only brought a tray of delicacies for Imrahil and a more robust meal for Andrahar, she also brought Captain Thorongil, clad in sober civilian clothes, though she did not let him into the room until she had asked her brother's permission.
"Are you feeling well enough to receive guests, Imri?"
"Yes, Fin," Imrahil replied with a yawn. "My head is behaving itself at present. And who knows, perhaps a little pleasant dinner conversation will help my appetite." He sniffed with actual appreciation at the tray, and Andrahar's spirits lifted a bit. Perhaps they had seen the last of this problem… "This smells good. Who made it?"
"Eilinel herself. And if you don't eat it, you will break her heart."
"Curious. I usually require a much more hands-on approach to break a lady's heart."
"Imrahil!" But Finduilas did not look all that upset. She seemed cheered by the small show of her brother's usual obstreperousness. "I will leave you with your guest and look back in later. I fully expect to see an empty plate." Imrahil smiled at her and took up his fork. "Thank you, Fin. Please thank Aunt Eilinel as well." He took a bite, ate it, then looked to the door, where Thorongil still waited.
"I beg your pardon, captain! Do come in! In all likelihood, it's safe enough--I've had my episode for the day."
The captain stepped inside, and bowed.
"I am not worried, my lord prince."
"Indeed, why should you be? You've already shown yourself more than capable of dealing with my little eccentricities. Where have you been, by the way? I would have thought you'd have stopped in for dinner at least once by now. You are welcome to join us now, if you wish."
The captain folded his tall form into a chair by the bedside. "No, thank you--I ate before I came. And I did intend to visit earlier, but I've been on patrol, and just returned this evening." He gestured towards Imrahil's bed. "It would appear that your vision did happen again, despite precautions."
"Oh yes. Lord Denethor was present for the second one. He was asking me a lot of questions about you."
Thorongil's expression was regretful. "I apologize, my lord prince. It was never my intention that you find yourself caught between me and Lord Denethor."
"You are not the one making an issue of it, captain." Andrahar, who was eating his own dinner, gave Imrahil a rather pointed look.
"While it's still warm, Imri." The prince turned his attention back to his food, and began to eat again.
"How bad have things been for you?" Thorongil asked. Andrahar swallowed and answered before his lord could, so that Imrahil could continue eating.
"He has had a vision every day since the first one. And he has very bad headaches, so fierce they make him sick to his stomach. This is the most appetite he's had in two days. The healers do not know what to do. They have tried all sorts of things. There was one today who wished to drill holes in his skull."
The captain frowned slightly. "That does not sound particularly helpful." He changed the subject then, to a humorous story from the city that the young prince could listen to without having to stop eating. Imrahil enjoyed it, his eyes twinkling as the tale went progressed, but Thorongil's own eyes were very intent upon Imrahil. Andrahar watched him watch the prince, equally intent. And as he did so, the Haradrim realized a couple of things--that the captain was rather perturbed about the prince's condition, though he hid his alarm well, and also that he was neither puzzled nor surprised.
He knows what this is!
"If I may be so bold, my lord prince….there is a herbal concoction that I know of, that is good for headaches," Thorongil said when the story was over. "But the ingredients are a little difficult to find in this area, so I doubt that your healers would have thought of it. I would be willing to try to find what is needed and mix it for you, if you wished to try it. It would not harm you, and it might bring you some relief."
Imrahil set his fork down suddenly and swallowed hard. He'd eaten about half the plate, but his eyes were beginning to get the slightly squinty look about them that Andrahar had come to recognize as the headache at its worst.
"I would very much appreciate that, captain. Andra, could you take this? I fear that Aunt Eilinel will simply have to be heart-broken- I cannot eat anything more right now." Andrahar swiftly took the tray and set it on the bedside table, then settled him back against the pillows.
"That came on fast. Is it very bad?"
"Bad enough. And getting worse." Imrahil looked at his dinner plate blearily. "The timing is wretched as well."
"Then you should have some of the poppy, I think, my lord," Andrahar suggested firmly. Having actually gotten a little food into Imrahil, the Haradrim was determined to keep it there. The prince started to nod, thought better of it, and wagged a hand in reluctant acquiescence. Andrahar poured a cup of water and dropped the required dosage into it with speed and precision. Imrahil was propped up enough that Andrahar did not need to lift his head to give him the dose, but he held the cup to his lips.
"Drink all of it, Imri." The prince did so with a grimace, and when he had done, smiled ruefully at Thorongil.
"I fear, captain, that I was not very good company, and I am about to become even less so. Will you forgive me?"
"If you will forgive me for imposing myself upon you when you are so ill, Prince Imrahil." He rose and bowed. "I will see if I can find the herbs I spoke of, and I wish you a peaceful rest this evening."
"Thank you, captain." The prince's voice was soft and weary.
"I will be back in a few moments, Imri. I'm just going to see the captain out." A hand rose and fell once upon the coverlet in acknowledgment, and the two men left the room, Andrahar closing the door softly behind him. Adjusting his strides to Thorongil's longer ones, he stayed by the man's side as they made their way downstairs. But when the captain would have turned down the hall to the front entrance, a hand was laid upon his arm.
"A moment of your time, please, captain." Thorongil's eyebrow arched curiously. "If you would follow me." The taller man did not protest, but allowed the young Swan Knight to lead him to the library. Andrahar, finding it empty, ushered him in and shut the door behind them, then turned and looked up at the captain.
"You know what ails him. I saw it in your eyes."
There was no attempt at denial. The taller man nodded gravely. "I have not actually seen it before, but I have heard of such things. His gift of foresight is out of control, either because it is too strong, or because the hekadi did some damage to his mind."
"What will happen to him?"
"I do not know. He might die from exhaustion, or because his heart gives out during a particularly strong vision. He might go mad from the visions and the pain. He might somehow learn to control them in time, and so survive, though that is the least likely outcome."
"Can you help him?"
"I believe I could give him ease, perhaps help him with the headaches. But the visions would continue. He needs someone more experienced in the ways of those with such gifts to instruct him in controlling them. I do not possess such skills. One of the First-born would know the way of it."
"The pairiki? The Elves?"
"Indeed. Though where he would get such an instructor, I do not know. Those of the Golden Wood do not welcome mortals, and such other of the Elder Kindred that could possibly help him live far to the north. He could not make that journey in his current condition."
Andrahar scowled. "There is Edhellond. The southern haven. It is not so far from Dol Amroth. Imrahil has been there before."
Thorongil looked annoyed with himself. "Of course! I had forgotten that. Lord Gildor's people, are they not?"
"Yes. Do you know of him?"
"I have heard something of him. He has been there for a long time, after all." The captain's face had that closed-off expression that it got when he was keeping something to himself. "Would his folk aid the prince?"
"They have befriended the royal house of Dol Amroth. The question is, are you going to aid him?" the knight-probationer asked impatiently.
"I have said that I will seek what I need tonight and tomorrow, and when I find it, I will return," Thorongil promised. "Although there is a condition that comes with my aid."
"And that is?"
"I would very much prefer that Lord Denethor not hear of this. That means that Lady Finduilas should not know what I do here."
"I will do what I can to prevent that, my lord, though it may be difficult. I cannot guarantee that she will not hear something about it."
The captain sighed. "That is unfortunate."
"But I can guarantee one thing," Andrahar responded quickly.
"And that is?"
"That if you possess the means to help Imrahil, and you walk away because of your differences with Lord Denethor and your desire to conceal your ever-so-mysterious past, you had best keep walking right out of Gondor, my lord. For if the prince dies because of your inaction, then I will come for you, no matter how long it takes, and I will take you down."
"Are you threatening me, Andrahar?" Thorongil's face went blank and unreadable.
"No, my lord. Threats are for those who need to appear more dangerous than they actually are. I have no such need. I am merely stating my intentions."
The corner of the captain's mouth twitched. "You have sparred with me," he reminded the younger man.
"Indeed. But you have not thrown knives with me. I can reliably put a blade in a man's eye from twenty paces. Which renders the question of who is the superior swordsman moot. And you are making the mistake of assuming that this would be an honorable contest."
Thorongil indicated the belt that girded Andrahar's waist. "I would have thought that honor was of some small concern to you."
"If my lord were to perish through my inaction, then I would have no honor until I redeemed it with my death. I would not survive you for long, captain, if that is any consolation."
Thorongil's reaction was not what the Haradrim expected. His rare, disarming grin appeared, and he laughed. "Peace, Andrahar! I have not said that I would not help the prince, even were Denethor to hear of it. I may not refuse Imrahil. For though I've not taken a healer's oath, I know of a healer who would never forgive me were I to walk away from someone in such need. I was raised better than that, you see."
Andrahar shrugged. "Unlike Lord Denethor, I care little about how or where you were raised or who raised you, my lord Thorongil. I know only too well that those of high birth may possess low character, and that the opposite may hold true as well. But I am glad that you will try to help my lord." He moved to the door and opened it, indicating that Thorongil could leave with a bow and gracious gesture. The captain started through, and then paused, turning to lay a gentle hand upon Andrahar's shoulder.
"You would lend him all your strength if you could, but he is stronger than you think. He can endure this, for a little while at least. But you need to convince Princess Finduilas to take him to Dol Amroth. If you must tell her that I told you so to convince her, then do it. I will deal with the consequences of that, if there are any. And get some rest yourself. You look as if you've gotten little of late. I will return tomorrow when I have acquired what I need."
Andrahar nodded, glowering as he tended to do when someone suggested he possessed a weakness of any sort, and watched the captain go.
8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8
Imrahil was deep in drugged sleep when Andrahar returned to the room. Finishing his own supper swiftly and perfunctorily, he piled his plates upon the prince's tray and set everything outside the door. Then he used the prince's washbasin, and pulled his boots and tunic off, setting them on the bedside chair. After a moment's hesitation, the dagger was slipped under the pillow, the sword hung within reach beside the bed, and he went to the wardrobe to find the extra blanket he knew was there.
Getting carefully onto the bed, though there was little chance he would wake Imrahil, he settled himself under the blanket with a bit of space between himself and his lord. His arm bridged the gap, resting upon the young prince's chest, the hand directly over Imrahil's heart. The slow, steady beat soothed and reassured Andrahar, and eventually he dropped into sleep himself.
Thus it was when Finduilas looked in about an hour later. The Princess, knowing how lightly the knight-probationer slept, did not at first step into the room, but when black eyes immediately opened and met hers, she entered. Andrahar made to rise, but she stopped him with an upraised hand.
"Bide where you are, Andrahar. If you stay so close tonight, then I shall seek my own rest. He did not eat very much, though he promised to try."
"He did try, my lady. The headache came back during dinner. He took the poppy that he might keep what he'd eaten down."
The princess gave her brother a worried look. "The healers…have not been able to find anything that will help yet. I hope that they will."
"Lord Thorongil had a suggestion tonight I thought had merit, lady. He thought that the Elves might help where mortals could not, that you should take the prince home and seek help from Edhellond."
Finduilas stepped softly to her brother's side, and stroked his brow. Imrahil did not move. "I had not considered that. Father says the foresight is because of our elven blood. Perhaps Thorongil is right--the Elves have cunning healers. And our own healers are every bit as good as those here in Minas Tirith. I would deem Master Kendrion better. Though I cannot imagine Imrahil being able to make the trip."
"Not by land, but perhaps by ship. He told me the other day that he'd not had the wave dream the whole time he was on the Asfallin."
The princess looked surprised. "That is extraordinary! Imri always has the wave dream! Do you suppose that is why he is in so much difficulty now? That the visions were held back for so long that now they are out of control?"
"Imrahil thinks something of the sort. But in any event, a ship would travel more smoothly, upon the River at least, and he could rest upon deck and be far more comfortable than in a carriage. We could take a healer with us. The voyage downstream is relatively swift as well. The weather is fair at present, and will hold so for some time to come. The season of storms is not upon us yet." Andrahar's gaze, as it rested upon the prince, was very worried. "I do not believe the healers are going to come up with anything more that is particularly useful after today's little display, my lady."
Finduilas' brow creased. "Perhaps not."
"And there is something else to consider, though I do not like to speak of it," Andrahar said very softly. "If it is your brother's fate to perish," the princess flinched, "then I know he would prefer to be with his parents. You sent to them, think you that they will come here?"
"It would not surprise me in the least. My message has not arrived there yet, of course, but I was very alarmed and I think Mother and Father will know that, from both my letter and Uncle Aerandir's."
"Then were we to take ship, we would more than likely meet them on the way."
Finduilas nodded. "I could send another message to inform them of our intent. The captain's idea does indeed have some merit, Andrahar. I will speak to Uncle tomorrow about it. And speaking of Uncle, you should sleep in tomorrow. He said to me this evening that you've been at morning practice every day for weeks now without pause, and that while such zeal was admirable, any body, even yours, needs to rest now and then. He threatened to chase you off the lists should you show up." At the Haradrim's snort, she smiled, a smile very like Imrahil's. "I will make you a bargain. You sleep in with Imri here, and I will sleep late myself in the morning, knowing that he is safe with you. We will both benefit."
Imrahil and Adrahil, Andrahar reflected, were not the only persuasive people in the royal family of Dol Amroth. And the princess had been getting little rest…He inclined his head in polite acknowledgement and lay back upon the bed, while she kissed her brother's brow, and fussed with the edge of the coverlet, pulling it up slightly.
"Good night, Andrahar."
"Good night, my lady."
"We will see what counsel the morning brings." She departed with a last smile for him. When the door had closed, Andrahar draped his arm over Imrahil as he had before, but this time, there was a quiet, wordless murmur from the prince, and his hand flopped up to rest upon his friend's. The Haradrim sighed, and let himself slip back into slumber, and dreaming.