September 2975
He woke with a start, disoriented. Someone was calling his name, and squeezing his hand.
"Andra. Andra, wake up!" Turning his head, he saw Imrahil staring at him with concern. "You were having a nightmare."
"Was I?" He struggled to recollect, and after a moment, remembered. The young prince watched his face darken.
"Yes, you were. Tossing and turning and crying out. It's all right, I don't mind. I've often wondered why you don't have them all the time, with the life you've led."
"I am very sorry to have disturbed your rest, Imri."
Imrahil cast a glance out the window, where the sky was just beginning to lighten. "I've been sleeping since early yesterday evening. I can't sleep my life away." He turned his attention back to his friend. "Do you want to talk about it? Can you remember what it was about?"
The Heir released his hand and Andrahar rolled onto his back. "It was the market again," he said, staring up at the swanship-embroidered bed canopy. "The market where you found me. Only this time, you never came."
"What happened, Andra?" came the question, quiet as the murmur of the sea in the distance.
"What do you think?"
There was silence for a moment, then he heard the covers rustle. A long arm snaked beneath him and drew him across the short distance that separated him from his lord. The next thing he knew, Imrahil was holding him close.
"I am still here. It is not my intention to go anywhere without you."
Trust Imrahil to get to the heart of the matter, Andrahar thought. It probably is my fear of a future without him that caused me to dream of a past without him. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed and allowed himself to be comforted by his lord's proximity. There was no desire in him at all for the prince at present, unnerved as he was by the dream, other than what he deemed a rather childish desire for reassurance. He rested there for some time, just listening to Imrahil's breathing, and eventually his unease over the nightmare began to depart. When he finally sighed, and relaxed completely, there came a chuckle from his lord.
"That is better!"
"How are you feeling this morning, Imri?"
"Very well, actually. No headache at all at present."
"I should go and get you some food then."
"Why do you not go and get what we need for our oath instead? I would wager that Fin is still asleep, so now is a good time. We can have breakfast afterwards."
"Very well." Imrahil let him go, and he rolled out from under his blanket, and pulled on his boots and tunic. "I will return soon." The prince nodded.
During the time that his friend was gone, Imrahil got up, took care of his morning necessities, and washed up, changing his nightshirt for a clean shirt and breeches. He was feeding the embers of the previous night's fire, and poking it back to life when Andrahar returned, looking freshly washed and brushed himself, and carrying a roll of bandaging, a couple of white towels, and a stoppered bottle. The Haradrim paled when he saw his lord at the hearth.
"My lord, come away from there!"
"Whatever for?"
"The Seers of my folk scry in fire! It could set you off!"
"Oh, for Valars' sake, Andra! The goodwives of Belfalas scry in the tidal pools under the moon at certain times! Are you going to forbid me my washbasin next?"
"If necessary," Andrahar said grimly. He pulled the bed curtains upon the side of the bed closest to the hearth halfway closed. "Get up there, and don't look into the flames!" Shaking his head with a grin, the prince did as he was told.
"I am going to use your dagger if you don't mind," the Haradrim continued. "It is a bit longer, and better suited for this."
"Do as you like, Andra. You are the expert upon this ritual." Imrahil could hear him moving about, presumably finding the dagger and placing the blade in the coals. There was some quiet muttering in Haradric that the prince could not quite make out. Then Andrahar walked around to the other side of the bed so he could consult with his lord without Imrahil having the least excuse to look towards the fire.
"There are words we will say when we do this, but you should not call upon the Sacred Fire; as a Gondorrim, it would bring ill-luck upon you. So you might want to give some thought to what powers you wish to invoke to witness this." Imrahil nodded, frowned in thought for a few moments, then went to open the window. A moist, chill autumn breeze blew into the room.
"Is there anything I can do to help? Don't we have to do this next to the fire?"
"No. If it is present in the room, that is enough. You could pull that small side table out into the middle of the floor if you are feeling well enough. We can set what we need upon it." Imrahil did so, and Andrahar brought the towels over, spread one on top of the table, left the folded one at the side of the spread one, and placed the bottle beside the folded towel. He then fetched the dagger from the fire, and held it up until it had completely cooled, whereupon he cut a piece of bandage about two feet in length and laid it beside the towel along with the rest of the roll.
Picking up the dagger again, this time in his left hand, he moved to one side of the table, and indicated that Imrahil should take the other side. "Take the hilt in your left hand along with me." The prince reached out and grasped the dagger, which was point up between the two of them. Andrahar then put his right palm against the edge of the blade closest to him, point even with the top of his palm, and Imrahil followed suit on his side. Black eyes met grey, and held. The Haradrim took a deep breath. "On the count of three…one….two….three!" Two left hands drew the blade down against right palms. Two young men winced slightly, though in truth the cuts were little deeper than scratches.
Andrahar spread his fingers of his right hand and knitted them into Imrahil's. "We can put the blade down now." They set it upon the table, and the former slave took up one end of the piece of bandage. "Take the other end of that, Imri." When the prince had done so, Andrahar wrapped his end around their entwined hands once, retaining his grasp upon the end. "Now you do the same." When that task was completed, and the bandage pulled snug, the palms were tight against each other. A tiny trickle of blood wended its way down the inside of each wrist.
"Now we say the words." The knight-probationer looked down at the table for a moment, then solemnly back up at Imrahil. "I, Andrahar son of Isfhandijar, call upon the Sacred Fire as witness, to burn into being the bond our birth has denied us. By our mingled blood I declare that this man, Imrahil, is my brother, till death and beyond."
The Heir to Dol Amroth smiled, and there was no hesitation when he spoke. "I, Imrahil son of Adrahil, call upon Manwë , Lord of Air and Oaths, to bear witness. Though the same womb did not birth us, nor the same seed sire us, by our mingled blood I declare that this man, Andrahar, is my brother, till death and beyond."
The morning breeze picked up and blew in the window again, and the fire flared for a moment. Two pairs of eyebrows, one heavy, one elegantly arched, rose in tandem. Two young men shivered slightly. Then they released the bandage, and their hands.
"A good omen, I think," Imrahil commented. Andrahar nodded.
"If you believe in such things."
"If you do not, then why did you trouble to invoke such powers?"
One of Andrahar's rare grins creased his face. "Because I am not absolutely certain that I am correct in my unbelief! But that was well done, my…brother." His voice was almost shy upon the last word. "It was as eloquent as if you'd thought about the wording all night. Here, let me bind your hand up."
"Only if you let me bind yours when you're done." The bottle turned out to contain the herbal wound-wash that Master Kendrion prepared to prevent infection, and Andrahar had obviously absorbed his lessons on battlefield leech-craft. Even with his own hand injured, he was able to bind Imrahil's without getting any of his own blood upon it. The prince returned the favor with similar deftness. When he had done, his new oath-brother gave him a penetrating look.
"Still no headache?"
"Not yet."
"Then I shall fetch us breakfast now. You get back into bed."
"Andra, I feel perfectly well!"
"And let us see that it stays that way. Get back in bed." The Haradrim tucked the bottle under his arm, handed the dagger to Imrahil, and pushed the table back into its original position. Pausing a moment in thought, he went next door into Imrahil's bathing chamber, and returned with another clean towel. Straight-faced, he draped it over the silver washbasin on the washstand, covering it. The prince gave him a look of utter disbelief, then his mouth started twitching as he tried to repress a laugh. Andrahar gathered up the towels and bandages, and started out the door, but not before pausing in the doorway. "Remember, no looking in the flames."
"Oh, for pity's sake, Andra!" The knight-probationer chuckled and departed.
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The grey dawn became a grey, rainy morning. Imrahil ate a good breakfast, much to the relief of his sister, who came up to visit him soon afterwards. Finduilas, upon first seeing the two bandaged hands, asked what had happened with a frown.
"Andra and I have sworn an oath of blood brotherhood," Imrahil said blithely. The frown deepened.
"Whose idea was that?" Finduilas asked. Andrahar dropped his eyes.
"Mine," Imrahil said firmly. "I wanted him to. I was trying to look up the custom when Lord Denethor visited the other day. But I could not find it, so I had to ask Andra about how it was done."
"But why, Imri?"
"Why not? Hasn't he already been like a brother to me? I saved his life, and he's saved mine how many times now? It was only a formal recognition of what we both already know." Seeing his sister still skeptical, the young prince shamelessly proceeded to play his trump card. Pleading , guileless grey eyes sought her sympathy, and Andrahar noted that Imrahil actually managed to make his lip tremble the tiniest bit. "Andra is so strong, Fin. I feel stronger when he is with me. And not so…afraid of all of this."
That broke Finduilas. "Oh very well! I can't say that I fully understand your reasoning, but if it makes you feel better…I'll let you explain it to Father and Mother." She laid a hand upon Andrahar's shoulder, and when the knight-probationer looked over at her, added, "You're the one who has my sympathy! I hope you know what you are letting yourself in for."
"Yes, my lady," came his quiet response. She got up from her chair.
"I am going to go downstairs to talk to Uncle Aerandir about hiring us a ship to take us to Dol Amroth, Imri. Lord Thorongil had suggested that perhaps the Elves might be able to help you, and I trust Master Kendrion more than any Minas Tirith healer."
Imrahil gave her a surprised look. "You're taking me home, Fin?"
"Yes. Perhaps Lord Gildor's folk hold an answer to your problem. The healers here obviously do not. I am very worried about you, Imri. And I think you might do better at home in any event. We Dol Amroth folk need the Sea, I think at times. We don't do well when long away."
"It would be nice to see Mother and Father again," the young prince commented wistfully. "I did not spend very much time there at all before I came here to see you. And I had not even considered Lord Gildor's folk. But what about Lord Denethor? Your courtship will founder if he is here and you are there." Finduilas pursed her lips.
"I have spent months here in Minas Tirith far away from Mother and Father, and now you are seriously ill. If he wishes to see me, he knows where we live, and the roads are good in Belfalas at least."
A twinkle came into Imrahil's eyes then. "And everyone says that I am the one who inherited Mother's stubbornness! I think she gave it to both of us!" His sister scowled at him.
"There is no way that I am as troublesome and stubborn as you, my brother! But as I am the eldest, it falls to me to care for you as best I may. Now-I have sent for the healers to come and look at you again today." He gave her a disgruntled look, and she shook a finger at him. "None of that! They may not know how to cure your visions, but they can tell me if you are strong enough to travel. Will you stay with him, Andrahar?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Ring if the two of you need anything." When she had gone out the door and down the hall a safe distance, then Andrahar turned to Imrahil.
"You," he declared, "are despicable." He made an attempt at a falsetto. "'I feel stronger when he is with me!'"
The prince flopped back against his pillows, hands behind his head, grinning. "Yes, I truly am bad, aren't I?"
"I had no idea that I had just bound myself in brotherhood to a man who could make his lip quiver like a maiden's."
"Not quite like a maiden's. The manner in which it is done must be much more subtle than that to be effective. And it is truly only effective upon female relatives."
"Like your mother? Or Lady Tirathiel?"
"Well, effective only upon Fin, then!" Slight exasperation colored the Imrahil's tone. "I'm her baby brother, after all! Do you want to play a game of chess?" Andrahar allowed that that would be pleasant. "Then pull that little table back over here to the bedside, if you will. It's certainly proven useful today."
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Andrahar and Imrahil were well-matched as chess opponents, both of them having been instructed in the game at an early age, but neither of them obsessive about it. Andrahar's game was perhaps less flexible and more relentless, but Imrahil's occasional scintillating brilliance was punctuated by flights of fancy that as often as not blew up in his face. There were generally two possible outcomes for any particular game; the young prince would either run circles around his more stolid friend, or the Haradrim would juggernaut over the Heir's disorganized defenses.
This day, Imrahil's play was hardly at his best. The headache returned mid-morning, though he tried to hold it at bay with willow-bark tea, and insisted on continuing the game. Andrahar watched him closely while trouncing him at the same time, and when he reached blindly for the wrong piece and toppled a couple of others, the knight-probationer said, "That's enough, Imri. I will set this aside for later," and did so. When he returned from putting the table back in its place, he found the Heir pale against his pillows, eyes closed and jaw clenched against the pain.
"Would you like some poppy?"
"Not yet. Give it a bit. Perhaps it will get better. Do you think you could read to me for a while? To take my mind off of it?"
"As you wish." Andrahar went to the desk and looked through a couple of books, and knowing his lord's tastes well, selected one that depicted the scurrilous doings at court in Imrahil's great-great-grandfather's time. Returning with it, he settled himself back into his chair and began to read.
He knew himself to be a boring reader, his delivery flat and rather expressionless, unlike Imrahil, who could make a list of chores sound like epic poetry. But he did his best, and the account of scandal and intrigue did actually interest him, perpetually bemused as he was by the odd goings-on of the Gondorrim. He had been reading for a while, and was rather absorbed in the book, when Imrahil interrupted him, reaching a hand out blindly towards him.
"Andra. It's happening again."
"Another vision?"
"Yes. It feels like…a bad one." A pained smile twisted his mouth. "And to think I managed it without any flames…or washbasins."
Setting the book aside, Andrahar reached for both Imrahil's hand and the bell-pull.
"I'll send for Finduilas. And I am here. We will stay with you Imri, until you come back." But there was no answer, and when the Haradrim looked down, the young prince was already lost in the vision, body slightly rigid, eyelids parted the least little bit. A slight tremor ran through him from time to time.
Princess Finduilas came swiftly in answer to Andrahar's summons, and the two of them settled themselves, sworn brother and blood sister upon either side of Imrahil, each one holding a hand, each one speaking to him comfortingly, encouraging him to find his way back to them. But half an hour became an hour, the longest any of his previous visions had lasted, and still he did not wake. The hour became two, then three, then four with no change in his condition. Aerandir and Eilinel joined the vigil, then departed again when Eilinel became too distraught. The healers came early in the afternoon as well, for the routine appointment that Finduilas had requested. They stayed a while, pleased to be able to finally observe the prince in the throes of his foresight though they tried, not entirely successfully, to hide their glee at the happy chance from his sister. Then, declaring themselves still baffled despite the new information, departed to consult their healing scrolls and the apothecary. The grey day began to darken towards evening.
"How much of this can he take?" Finduilas had asked Andrahar softly mid-afternoon.
"I do not know, my lady." He did not repeat to her Thorongil's comments about Imrahil's heart failing him or the possibility of him going mad. To worry her further seemed both pointless and cruel. Instead, he continued talking to Imrahil and stroking his hand, extending the only lifeline that he could, and wondering where Captain Thorongil was.
If he does not bring the help he promised, and soon, then he had best start riding for the border!
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"I apologize, princess, but I had to ride halfway to Lossarnach to find what I needed." The cloaked figure in the doorway was heedless of the water he was dripping onto the very expensive carpets, and Finduilas did not seem to care either.
"Captain Thorongil? What do you here, sir?"
"I told the prince yesterday that I had an old family recipe for a tonic that might help with his headaches. I promised that I would find the ingredients and make him some. It took longer than I had thought that it would."
The princess got up and went to the captain, ushering him into the room.
"T'was kindly thought of, my lord. But as you see, my brother is…well, I do not know how you would get him to drink a tea or tonic." Thorongil looked at her pale, anxious face and smiled reassuringly.
"Let me worry about that, lady." He regarded the still form on the bed with concern. "How long has he been like this?"
"Since before lunch. It has never lasted so long before." At her urging, the captain removed his cloak and she took it. "I cannot believe the servants were so lax as to not take this for you! I will take it downstairs and see that they dry it as best they can."
"Do not fault them, lady. I was in a hurry and rather bullied my way past them. Have you hot water prepared for tea? Could you bring me some? And a bowl?"
"Of course, my lord." She departed. Thorongil moved to the side of the bed and looked down upon the prince.
"This is a large bed," he remarked. "I will need to move him closer to this side, so that I may reach him." Accomplishing this task with Andrahar's assistance, he then pulled up a chair to the bedside and settled himself into it. Laying a hand upon the young prince's brow, he looked up at the Haradrim. "Close the door if you would. Admit none but the princess when she returns, and please do not disturb me." Andrahar nodded, and did as he had been bidden, taking up station near the door so that he could insure that none but Finduilas would enter.
"What is it that you are going to do, captain? 'Tis more than dosing him with tea from the sound of things."
Thorongil looked up at him, his eyes troubled. "I will do what I can, and we must hope that it suffices. For if he has been lost so long, he may very well already be beyond my meager skill. This is not exactly your usual sort of illness." A bit of an oddly fey smile touched his lips. "Here is where we shall find out exactly how well I was taught." Closing his eyes, he bent his head, seemingly deep in thought. After a moment, his voice came, soft but with an unmistakable ring of command. "Imrahil." His jaw tightened and his other hand clenched upon the coverlet, as if he were under some sort of strain, but naught else happened, save that he spoke the prince's name again after a bit, and several more times at intervals after that, his voice sounding more distant each time.
This was the scene the Princess Finduilas walked in on when she returned with the things Thorongil had requested. Puzzled, she started towards the captain, only to be halted by her favored bodyguard's hand upon her arm. When she would have spoken, Andrahar placed a finger upon his lips. He then relieved her of the tea-kettle, taking it to hang over the fire that it might stay hot, and placed the bowl upon the mantle. She watched him, frowning slightly, then went back out the door when he gestured that she do so and held the door for her, closing it after them.
"Andrahar, what is going on in there?" she demanded when they were out in the corridor, folding her arms and regarding him imperiously.
"I am not entirely certain. But whatever it is, it is of my asking."
"What do you mean by that?"
"The other day, when Captain Thorongil visited, I watched him closely, because he was watching the prince closely. And I realized that he knew what was wrong with Imrahil, where the healers did not. He promised some medicine that might help the prince's headaches and as he was leaving, I drew him aside privately, and confronted him. He admitted that he had heard of such an ailment as the prince's before, that Imrahil's foresight was uncontrollable for some reason. It was then that he made the suggestion about the pairiki.
He intimated that there might be something else that he could do to help, but that he did not wish Lord Denethor to learn about it. Whereupon I told him that if he did not do everything he possibly could to aid the prince, and Imrahil died, then I would hunt him down and kill him."
Finduilas' eyes widened in astonishment. "Andrahar! You threatened a Captain of Gondor? That is treason!"
Black eyes met hers calmly. "No, my lady, I promised retribution to a Captain of Gondor."
"Wordplay! Threatened, promised, whatever you call it, you overstepped yourself!" The next thing she knew, she was staring down at the back and bent head of the knight-probationer, who knelt submissively before her upon the floor.
"If I have displeased the princess so greatly, she has only to call her knights, and have my unworthy head stricken from my shoulders."
"Oh! There it is again! The head-chopping business! You know how I hate that, Andrahar! Will you never tire of it?"
"The first time it fails to be effective, my lady, I shall be dead. So the answer is no," came the murmur from the level of Finduilas' knees.
"Oh, get up off of the floor!" she exclaimed in exasperation. ""Tis unbecoming for a knight to grovel thusly, and whatever it is that the good captain is doing with my brother, I want to watch it! He and I will discuss this matter of his reticence about Lord Denethor later."
The Haradrim rose swiftly to his feet, that he might open the door for the princess, and the two of them entered the room once more.
Things were very much as they had left them; Imrahil pale and silent in the bed, Captain Thorongil with his hand still upon the young man's brow, his eyes closed, his own brow furrowed in concentration. He looked very weary, as if he'd somehow ridden again to Lossarnach and back in their brief absence. "Imrahil!" he said once more, and there was a long moment of silence, as if some response were being listened for. Then suddenly, eyes still closed, he took the prince's hand up in his own and smiled.
Andrahar, watching Imrahil, touched Finduilas' arm gently. "Look, my lady," he whispered, indicating the prince. Imrahil had slumped into his pillows, totally relaxed, and his eyelids had closed completely. "The vision is over." Finduilas peered at her brother more closely.
"I do believe you are right." She was whispering as well. Some minutes passed as the two watched silently; then, shaking himself a bit, the captain opened his eyes and looked around. He seemed almost relieved.
He truly was not certain that he could do this, Andrahar realized.
"My lady, could I trouble you for that bowl and hot water now?" Thorongil asked the princess politely. If he was troubled by her presence there, he did not show it. Finduilas started for the hearth, but Andrahar stopped her.
"Let me, my lady. You should go to your brother."
"And I know better than to refuse since you'll just want me to chop your head off again."
Thorongil gave her a questioning look as she moved to his side, but she did not explain matters to him. Andrahar got the bowl from the mantle and the teapot from the hearth, brought the bowl to the bedside table, and filled it with the steaming water.
"Is that enough, sir?" The captain nodded.
"That will more than suffice." Reaching into a pouch at his side, he drew forth some herbs, crushed them between his two hands, breathed upon them, and cast them into the bowl. A very strange thing happened. Andrahar, who had been expecting some sort of herbal aroma, caught instead a pungent whiff of myrtle and the scent of the sea.
Finduilas' nose lifted in surprise. "It smells like home!"
"Does it?" Thorongil asked, smiling even more broadly. He took up the bowl, and held it before Imrahil's face. His own expression seemed not so weary now, as if he had been refreshed by something in the steam. "Wake, Imrahil! You are worrying your family."
Before, when the visions were done, the prince had always lapsed immediately into exhausted slumber. Never had he simply awoken as he did now, looking about alertly. Andrahar and the princess exchanged amazed looks.
"Fin. Andra. My lord…captain." The customary glint of mischief was back in his eyes. His sister seized his hand.
"Imrahil! How do you feel?"
"A little tired, but mostly hungry." He glanced out the window. "And no wonder! Another day gone!" A pleading look was directed at his sister. "Feed me, Fin?"
"Of course. I will send for supper. Eilinel will be so pleased!" She rang for a servant, then turned back to Thorongil.
"My lord, I have never seen the like. However did you do that?" The captain's lanky form unfolded out of the bedside chair, and he offered it to the princess with a bow.
"My family knows something of healing, my lady. A gift not unlike your family's gift of foresight."
Finduilas, seating herself at her brother's side, gave him an intent stare. "Such gifts are generally found only in our oldest families, though the blood runs thin even here." Thorongil shrugged gracefully.
"The blood of Westernesse is strewn across the lands of Middle-earth as the stars were strewn by Elbereth herself across the sky. Sometimes a long-buried seed brings forth strange fruit."
"Andrahar says that you would rather I not speak to Lord Denethor about this."
"That is true. But I have no way of stopping you from doing so."
"Fin," said Imrahil suddenly from the bed, "you must not!"
"I am sure that the princess is capable of making her own mind up about the matter," the captain said. "But it is true that Lord Denethor has suffered enough from his father's fulsome praise of my modest military efforts. If my victory in this new arena were to come to his attention, then I fear he would become even less well disposed towards me than he already is. The prince's illness was inexplicable to even the finest of Gondor's healers. If it should depart as mysteriously as it came, then no one will question it." He smiled again then, his most lovely smile. Finduilas dropped her eyes. "However, I do not mind if you speak of my old family recipe for severe headaches."
The princess sighed, and glared at her brother and her bodyguard. "It was bad enough when it was just the two of you," she said. "I am absolutely outnumbered when you add him in as well!" Thorongil chuckled. "Captain, I owe you a great debt for what you did here this day. My silence seems a small enough price to pay."
He bowed. "I thank you, my lady."
"And I you. Will my brother be well now?"
"He may still have the visions. His need for the instruction of the Elves has not changed. But the headaches should not return, and the visions will hopefully be of much shorter duration than this last one. You should be able to travel to Dol Amroth with no difficulty. But for now I fear I must depart. I have a patrol in the early morning." Finduilas rose to see him to the door, but he paused beside Andrahar upon his way out.
"Am I still in mortal peril, Andrahar?" The Haradrim bowed.
"No, my lord. Now I stand in your debt."
"A man who can reliably kill a man with a knife at twenty paces is in my debt?" Imrahil gave his sworn brother a baffled look as Thorongil continued. "Not a bad recompense for a little time and a few leaves! Rest well tonight, Imrahil, but you can get up tomorrow if you wish. A good evening to you all." And with a wink at Andrahar and a grin, he departed.