With the light of early morning came the stable lads as promptly as ever. Mornings were the busiest time for them, feeding and watering the horses, tacking them up for their riders and so on. Once the morning duties were completed the stables were often quiet until evening when riders started returning, and even then it was just a matter of getting the horses settled for the night and often times Harma would give the lads the rest of the day off after morning.

The boys got to work right away, even though their "captain" was not to be found. It was highly unusual for Harma not to be there for the morning work unless he let them know the day before that they'd be on their own the next morning. He'd even been there to personally see to the riding arrangements for the King and Steward and their sons, despite the fact that he had looked rather unwell that morning. Of course, it helped somewhat that both King and Steward had a habit of insisting that they pack their own horses, an old Ranger's habit that they hadn't let rest.

The boys worked with their usual alacrity until it was time to break for lunch. A few of them decided to pay a call to their captain at home, thinking that he must have been convalescing from a bout with some illness. However, Harma's father told them in no uncertain terms that he had not been home in three days.

The boys started to head back to the stables wondering where in Arda their "captain" could have gone, when one of them said, "do you think maybe we ought to try to find him?"

"Captain was in the City yesterday, and he must've taken care of the horses last night," said another of the boys. "I don't expect he could've gone too far."

"I don't think he was feeling well, d'you think he's in the Houses?" one offered.

"Let's find out," said the first lad. "If he's there and the nurses let us, we can visit him and let him know we will take care of everything till he's better. But if he's not there we need to find him. I just don't have a good feeling about it."

"Neither do I," a few of the other boys murmured.

They went to the Houses to inquire of Harma and found themselves standing there waiting for someone to go by. At length a healer finally came through the front hall.

"Good morning, lads," he said pleasantly. "Is all well?" None of them looked particularly unwell or injured.

"Good morning, Captain Damrod," the boys said variously.

Damrod smiled affectionately. He'd never been a captain at any time in his life, but that never seemed to matter with these lads, to them anyone who had already gone through training was automatically a captain. Certainly it mattered no less to them that he hadn't done anything relating to Gondor's army since the War and had been a healer for nearly 20 years.

"Has Captain Harma been here?" one asked hurriedly.

Damrod thought for a moment. "No boys, I've not seen him since last night when he was closing up the stables. Was he not there this morning?"

They shook their heads. "His ada said he'd not seen him in a few days," one boy recounted. "He'd seemed unwell yesterday, so we thought he might be at home resting or here. We thought that if he wasn't here we maybe better look for him."

Damrod looked concerned and nodded gravely. "You should seek for him indeed, boys. If you find him, even if he seems well, will you please bring him here to the Houses."

The boys agreed and hurried off in search of their "captain." The sixth level was easily searched as it was much more upscale, much less crowded and with fewer back ways. Only one of them was brave enough, however, to go to the Silent Street to search. The only thing he found there was a small silver ornament wrought like the symbol of the White Tree.

The lads then searched about the fifth level of the city, finding nothing at all. It was not until they went down to the fourth level, some of them not even permitted by their parents to go lower than the fifth, that they found their beloved captain. There was a grimy alleyway that led back from the main street near the Merry Widow tavern, a decided location of curiosity for most lads their age. It was a shadowy way even by day, not at all the sort of place children should be loitering.

For a moment they hesitated, peering into the shadows and trying to discern whether there was something there in the path or not. It could just as easily have been someone's dog seeking a cool place to nap. Mustering their courage, a few went trepidly forward, then suddenly stopped still. They ran back out to the corner where those less brave were waiting. "It's him! Come on, we've got to help him, he's sick."

They tried to wake Harma, but it seemed that he was too ill to grasp what they wanted, only groaning and trying feebly to shift about. He did not even realize that they were trying to help him, for he seemed to be trying to get away from them.

One of the boys ran out to the street and asked a nearby soldier for help, saying that there was a sick man in the alley who needed to be taken to the Houses. Seeing who it was there, the soldier hesitated for a split moment before hooking an arm under Harma and lifting him up, hurrying to get him up to the Houses of Healing. It was generally thought unfair, if not completely improper, that Harma had been trained as a soldier of Gondor, but then given a civilian position after completing the training.

When they arrived at the Houses, Damrod was waiting near the entrance and immediately led them to a chamber that he'd had prepared. "Thank you, I will see to him," Damrod assured the worried boys; the soldier had already departed back to his post on the fourth level.

"Will you tell us when he wakes?" one of them asked.

"I will let you know. If he is well enough you may visit later, but just now he needs some care," Damrod said. The boys took the hint and went back to the stables, hoping to wait until they had word.

Damrod began to remove the unclean clothing from the younger man when his assistant entered with some supplies. Despite obviously having been sick, Harma had no signs of fever, in fact, he was much too cold. A fire was kindled in the hearth, even though it was quite warm outside. Harma continued to struggle weakly until a bowl of healing herbs was brought near him and he settled into a peaceful sleep. Damrod's assistant bathed Harma with the infusion while Damrod took care of the scrapes on Harma's face and tried to assess the marks on his neck.

Something serious had clearly befallen the young hostler and it had rather upset Damrod. In the years after the War, as Damrod had taken up the healing arts, he had watched Harma grow up on the sixth level. Harma often incurred numerous scratches and minor injuries, as young boys will, but what was different about Harma was that, instead of running home to his ada, he often came to find Damrod in the Houses. Over the years, Damrod had come to take quite a liking to the shy child.

For some while Damrod sat with Harma, having done all he could for his immediately symptoms. As Harma began to wake in unfamiliar surroundings he felt panicked for a moment, when he felt a touch on his shoulder he tensed up, too afraid to look to see who was there. For the briefest moment he hoped against hope that that was Elboron's hand and that these were his chambers. A familiar voice, which was not Elboron's, dispelled that hope, but also diminished his fear.

"How are you feeling, Harma?" Damrod asked concernedly. "Do you think you can take some tea?"

Harma felt tired and his thoughts were foggy, but he was desperately thirsty and nodded for the tea. After a few sips of the reviving liquid Harma's eyes cleared and he seemed more coherent.

"Do you have any knowledge of what happened to you?" Damrod asked, hoping that Harma could provide some information that would help him ensure the proper treatment.

For a moment Harma just lay there trying to go back past the blackness he'd just come out of, unsure of how he had ended up in a room in the Houses of Healing. He shifted a bit in the bed, there was a soreness that ached him and he tried to budge his weight off of it. Suddenly that brought it back to him, what had happened after he left the Merry Widow. He looked like he'd gone sick again and Damrod could tell that he remembered something all too well, but Harma just said, "no… I don't…." His voice rasped and Damrod knew right away that there had been some internal damage to his throat.

"All right," Damrod said softly, "do not speak just now." He took the cup of tea and made another brew that would be more beneficial to the throat. Damrod had no hard evidence, but it certainly appeared that someone had done this to Harma, these sorts of injuries were not accidental, nor was the misery in Harma's eyes. Just now the younger man needed to rest his voice; it could take a few days before he would be able to speak regularly again, and it seemed that Harma was not emotionally ready to talk about it anyway. When he found out, though, Damrod felt sure that, though it had been many years, he could still remember enough from his days in the Rangers to ensure that whoever had hurt Harma would regret it.

"I'll want you to stay here for a few days and rest, Harma," Damrod said gently.

Harma sat up abruptly, shaking his head. "No… I need to go back…," he rasped.

Damrod sat down on the bed beside Harma. "You must stay here, Harma, under my care. Please understand this, what you need is time to recover. Now, I shall let the stable boys know that you are all right and will return as soon as I say you may, and I can also send word to your father that you will be here for a few days."

Harma lay back down resigned, but still shook his head. "Don't tell… him."

"Whom? Your father?" Damrod asked and Harma nodded. "I am sure he is worried about you," Damrod said, though he didn't really mean it. He had long been suspicious that Harma's father was quite unkind to the boy. Harma's mother had died in childbirth and the King himself had delivered the babe, trying desperately to save the mother as well, and Harma's name had been Firien's last breath. Ironically, Damrod's father had died before he was born, and though his mother had never even remotely taken it out on him, he and Harma had often understood one another well for it.

"Please…." Harma's voice was getting worse the more he tried to talk.

Sighing, Damrod nodded. "Very well, I will respect your wishes, but then you must also comply with me. You must not try to speak, you've got to rest your voice before permanent damage is done and you are rendered mute."

Harma nodded and laid his head on the pillow, subconsciously signaling that he wanted to be alone. The thought had come to him of the one person who, especially now, would never wish to hear his voice again, the one whose voice he'd loved more than all else. Harma felt like weeping, but at the moment he was just too weak.

"All right, lad," Damrod said with a sad smile. "You drink that tea, it will help a lot, and after a while I will bring you some water. Get some rest. I think you might have encountered too much ale, which would explain why you don't remember much from last night."

Harma felt relieved that he could use that as an excuse, even if it was rather clear that Damrod had only said that to help Harma cover for himself.