When Damrod went to the stables to inquire of the lads there if any had found any items near Harma, the only one who had been brave enough to walk down the Silent Street stepped forward. "I found something, Captain, although it was not near Captain Harma," the lad said, showing Damrod the trinket.
"Where did you find this?" Damrod asked, taking the object and feeling it in his hand. If he was right, this was made of mithril.
"Behind the House of the Kings, sir, on the Silent Street," the boy answered, suddenly feeling a bit awkward for having been prying about the houses of the dead.
Damrod thought on this for a moment, thinking that it could do no harm to take it to Harma and see if this was what he was searching for. How it would wind up behind the House of the Kings was beyond his knowledge, but if it was mithril it would explain why he was so frantic to recover it.
"Thank you. Harma had been looking for something and I thought that perhaps one of you might have found it. Whether this is it or not, I do not know."
"How is he?" one of them asked quietly. They had all hoped that when Damrod came over he'd have good news, but when he hadn't said anything of Harma at all and only asked if they'd found anything first off, they were all a bit afraid.
"Oh, he is doing well, lads," Damrod said with a smile that any adult would have seen through. "I want to give him another couple of days to rest though. He gives himself no rest at all, and so I think that I might ask him to stay longer than he really needs to. He deserves a bit of a holiday, do you not agree?"
All of the boys agreed unreservedly and promised that they would continue to take care of everything until their captain returned. At that Damrod did smile genuinely. He remembered how dedicated he and his fellow Rangers had been to their own captain, Faramir, even in some of Middle-earth's darkest days. "Thank you for your loyalty, boys. It is the best thing you can give to your captain," he said sincerely before leaving to pick up a few supplies while he was out (as an excuse to allow Harma some more time to himself.)
When Damrod returned to the Houses he found that, despite a nodded promise, Harma had yet to touch the fruit or water Damrod had brought for him. He just lay there looking sad.
Damrod sighed, it seemed that Harma did not even notice he was in the room, and he was bothered greatly by this. It had been on Damrod's mind that Harma was still technically under the same protection as all soldiers of Gondor, since he had done the training and was appointed by Captain Bergil, even if the post was a civilian one, and that it was a very grave offense to attack a man under such protection. Damrod wondered if Harma feared retribution should he speak of what happened; after all, it was exceedingly clear that Harma remembered very well, even if he had claimed that he did not after waking in the Houses.
"Harma, I talked with the lads over at the stables. One of them found something unusual, though it was not near you. Is this what you were looking for?" he asked, holding out the silver ornament.
Judging solely by the way Harma's eyes lit momentarily as he reached out with more energy than he'd shown yet, that was indeed what he had been searching for so worriedly.
Damrod smiled slightly, it was an encouragement that there was something that could stir Harma from his sorrow. Now it was just a matter of seeing if that effect would last long. Harma held the object tightly and close to him, making Damrod think that this thing was more valuable to Harma than it's cost, even if that was indeed mithril. "I can understand why you wished to have that back," Damrod said, hoping to keep Harma's spirits up. "Unless i miss my guess, I believe that that metal is in fact mithril." Damrod supposed it was an heirloom, for new mithril was a thing unheard of, except, perhaps for the King, who had close ties in just about every realm in Middle-earth.
"Where…?" Harma whispered, trying to save his voice. He hadn't even thought about what Damrod had said about mithril. He just wanted to know that his gift from Elboron had not been touched by malicious hands.
"The lad said he found it on Rath Dinen, behind the House of the Kings. Though I know not how it could have gotten there," Damrod said. He knew that Elboron would go there on occasion, for he had seen him talking with the porter at times, but it was not exactly the sort of place one frequented.
Harma, however, realized just what had happened. He had fallen asleep there at the back of the House of the Kings after descending Mount Mindolluin. He had intended to wait there until Elboron came down so that he could say a more proper goodbye and apologize for having spoken so coldly. He loved Elboron and wanted to be sure that he knew it, even if Elboron would no longer be able to be with him. He remembered stirring at first light to a touch on his shoulder but because of the dream he'd had, he was sure that Elboron was just kissing him goodnight. He'd gone right back to sleep, so tired he was, until the sun rose a little higher, shining in his face and waking him. It was only then that he'd come back to the reality of the situation. The little silver tree must have slipped from it's hiding place as he rose and dusted himself off, knowing that he needed to go directly to the stables to make sure that Mornaloth, Elboron's horse, was ready for the journey.
Then Harma realized what Damrod had said about mithril. He wondered for a moment if Elboron had known it was mithril when he gave it to him, but Elboron was well learned about these things, and most surely he would have known it well. Was this, then, to mean that Elboron had cherished him so highly as to give him such a gift? Harma did not dare to believe it, and yet, he felt that if only Elboron loved him that much, perhaps it could mean that he loved him still, in spite of his duties. To Harma, even if their love could not be known, even if it was only known between them and nothing done about it, that would be still be enough for him. It was that thought that Harma would hold to and hope to, and suddenly he realized how long it had been since he had eaten anything.
When another day had come and gone, and Harma seemed to have been brought out of his grief so well, Damrod wondered if there really had been anything further that happened to the younger man. Perhaps, he thought, he was just being too protective of him. After all, men, especially young men who have had too much to drink, will tend to get into fights just as young boys will incur cuts and scrapes unnumbered.
Yet Damrod asked Harma to stay one more day, just until he was certain that his voice was recovered. Harma promised not to argue as long as he could help Damrod in the healing garden. After that though, Damrod could see no reason why Harma shouldn't resume his duties. And still there was something in the back of his mind that cautioned him not to let Harma out of his sight for too long.
When Harma was feeling able to use his voice at a more audible level without too much tenderness, Damrod conceded that as a healer he was satisfied and that Harma had his permission to go.
"Thank you, Master Damrod. You needn't have taken such care of me," Harma said, speaking normally for the first time in days.
"Yes, I did need to, if only to reassure myself. You're a good lad, Harma, and I, for one, am proud to know you." Damrod was half inclined to ask Harma if he would not like to stay in his own home up in the Citadel, where it was infinitely safer, but he held back.
Harma smiled slightly. Before he had recovered his most treasured possession, he had strongly considered leaving Minas Tirith for good, it was clear to him that he was not in any way wanted within the City. Now, though, he was more of a mind to stay and wait until Elboron's return. Maybe there were some here who would miss him after all.
Harma intended to go over to the stables first thing to let the lads know that he was all right and to see if one of them wouldn't mind fetching his regular cloths from home for him. Harma meant to get directly back to the work he'd missed and, though he would not say it, he truly did not wish to go anywhere near his "home" yet.
He knew he would have to go home at some point, though; especially now that he needed to watch his back more carefully. Harma started to feel a sickness rising again at that thought, but quickly suppressed it. He had made up his mind that he would not allow it to bother him. They'd hurt him, but they would not destroy him, not while he still carried Elboron's gift, and in that he was resolved.
However, Harma had not even gotten out of the Houses when Gondor's Captain-General approached him. Captain Belthil was an exceedingly outgoing and reasonable man, by all standards, and many often compared him to Gondor's former Captain-General, the famed Lord Boromir (it only helped that there was such a resemblance between them that it was often said that Belthil could be taken for Boromir's son had he had a child – proving yet again that though the rumor mongers of Minas Tirith thought they knew everything, some secrets were guarded beyond their knowing.)
"Harma! Just who I am looking for. And thank the Valar you look well. When the lads told me you were here I was worried. We need you, young man," Belthil said in his usual gregarious manner.
For a moment Harma just stood there. What could the Captain-General possibly need him for? Suddenly his senses came back to him and he saluted properly, causing Belthil to crack up.
"Forget about that!" said in throes of laughter. "Just come on up to the Citadel with me, we need to discuss a proposition with you."
Harma had gone completely nervous, this was most unexpected. The Captain General did not ordinarily go around sending messages. "My lord… I – I am scarcely dressed to -"
"Don't worry about that either. You can wear something of Faramir's, he won't mind," Belthil said, already turning to go.
"Faramir's, my lord?" Harma said practically choking. He knew that the Captain-General was close to the Steward and the royal family, but wasn't that taking things too far?
"Faramir, my assistant," Belthil smiled broadly. Over the years it had caused a good bit of confusion to have two Faramirs within the Citadel. Hooking Harma under the arm, Belthil led him up to the Citadel, blithely chatting about how nice the weather had been, even if they could do with an afternoon rain to cool off after a vigorous sword practice.
Harma was taken up to the tower where Belthil stuck his head into a study saying, "Fara', going to borrow some of your clothes, if you do not mind."
"You are going to do what?" the slightly younger man replied curiously. Belthil had a much broad-shouldered build than Faramir's rather lean frame.
"Not for me!" Belthil said, as if it was obvious that he was talking of Harma, who was all but hiding behind Belthil and had not said a word. He could not begin to understand why he was suddenly pulled away to the Citadel and he was growing more afraid by the moment.
"Oh, certainly! Go right ahead," Faramir said finally stepping out into the hallway and seeing the young stable master. "How are you faring Harma?"
"Well, my lord, thank you," Harma said, dipping his head hurriedly.
Before he knew what was happening, he was being lead again across the Citadel's lawn to one of the houses along the ramparts. Belthil went in and Harma stayed by the door waiting. A moment later, Belthil returned looking confused. "Oh, there you are, I thought I'd lost you to the dormouse that patrols this place. He's been a menace since it warmed up. Cutest little bugger I've ever seen though. Come on in, you can wear whatever you want. Put on his council robes, he won't care."
"Lord Belthil," Harma said, finally plucking up the courage to speak, "this is incredibly generous of you, and please do not think that I am ungrateful in any way, but… is this necessary, my lord? I mean… I could have just gone home and -"
Belthil smiled, though not as openly as usual. "You can do that later, right now we are a bit rushed. The underlying matter is pressing."
Harma just accepted that he was not going to find out anything in advance and so obeyed the Captain-General and dressed himself in the simplest things he could find. He firmly refused to take advantage of the generosity he was shown until he knew what was going on. He had scarcely emerged from the bed chambers to ask Belthil if what he was wearing was suitable, when he was again swept off back to the tower, Belthil saying that he looked perfect without really taking a look at him at all.
In the midst of all the confusion and whirlwind, Harma's thoughts suddenly slowed down, even as he was rushing to keep up to Belthil. He remembered distinctly the last time he was told that he looked perfect.
Harma had had a difficult day. The morning in Minas Tirith had been miserably hot and humid. He'd had five temperamental horses brought in from a contingent visiting from Dale; it wasn't that Harma blamed them, they were all jet black and in this weather it had to be torture to have to ride about with 200 pounds on your back, especially being from so far north and not used to such summers. It was just that one of them had nearly kicked down his stall door before Harma was able to unlatch it and let the beast prance and paw and rear to show his displeasure with the Gondorian climate. Harma had told his helpers to head home and keep cool, he knew that these horses all needed an expert hand and he did not want to risk one of the young boys getting hurt. All he asked was for a few buckets of water to be fetched so that he could ease the horses' agitation.
Then, later in the afternoon, once he had finally cooled all five of the huge chargers and moved on to taking care of his regular work, rain clouds gathered and quickly broke in a torrential storm. It was a relief from the heat, but by the time all of the horses in the paddock had been fetched in, Harma was drenched to the bone and starting to shiver.
Glad he could soon quit for the day and hoping for the cloudiness to last a few days, Harma shook the wetness from hair vigorously and started to peel off his waterlogged tunic. He did not notice the door opening and had no knowledge that he wasn't alone until he was startled by arms wrapping around him.
"Well, you're all wet," a whisper teased at his ear.
Harma sighed. He should have known. "Bori', come on, I'm a mess."
Elboron spun Harma around to face him, his dark hair wet and glistening, rivulets of clean interrupting sweat-caked dirt all over his face. Elboron looked lower to the shirt that might as well have been invisible, the leggings were clinging a little closer than usual as well, he noticed. Humming appreciatively, Elboron said, "On the contrary… you look perfect."
Harma glanced over Elboron's shoulder, noting that he'd latched the stable door when he sneaked in. Harma just grinned, and shivered a bit again, saying, "I think I'm going to have to get out of these wet clothes before I take ill."
Harma was lost in the memory, holding on to the silver tree and holding on to hope, until he almost walked directly into Belthil when he stopped to open a door. Inside was Captain Bergil, looking grave. For some inexplicable reason, Harma became intensely worried. Had they found out what had happened to him? If so, why did the Captain-General seem so welcoming? But what could have made Bergil seem so grim when he was usually every bit as friendly as Belthil?
"Harma," Bergil said, "thank you for coming on such short notice. I wish to ask a favor of you."
Harma gave a half bow and said quietly, "I shall do what I may, Captain."
Bergil rose and smiled weakly, laying a hand on Harma's shoulder. "You are nearly my last resort and I sincerely hate to take you from the stables, but I am in need. I have just received word from Emyn Arnen that my father is in poor health. My adjutant is in Dol Amroth and not expected back until about the same time as the King and Steward and their sons. All the other men here already have more than enough of their own work to see to and I, bluntly, I just do not have enough confidence in anyone else to stand in my stead for a time. I will not be far away, but I do not know how serious he is…." Bergil trailed off, pain clear in his eyes.
"Stay as long as you must, Captain, I shall stand for you as best I can and I am honored by your trust." Harma had no knowledge of how he would handle looking after a Captaincy and, truth be told, he sincerely did not want to do it, but Bergil looked like he was about to run to Emyn Arnen faster than any horse could bear him.
"Thank you, Harma. I do not know how to thank you enough for your willingness to help me. The Captain-General will see to getting you settled in here. I am afraid I must go at once." And he did with only a farewell from Belthil.
"You are a good man, Harma," Belthil said sincerely. "We can slow down a bit now, I'll show you your guest chambers and let you get comfortable. I can have supper sent up to you or you can join Faramir and I. Lady Arwen may dine with us if she is feeling well. And… what else? Oh, I will send someone to fetch a few things from home? And let your father know you will be staying up here for a while. Fair enough?"
It was still all too much for Harma to take at once and he just nodded, though he knew that his father was not going to be happy that he had not bothered to tell him of this himself, regardless of what the Captain-General had to say. Whereas before he hoped that it was all a misunderstanding and that Bergil's father was as healthy as ever, he suddenly found himself rather wishing that the Captain might be detained for some while, or even just take advantage of his "willingness to help" and take an extended holiday for himself.