Chapter 28

Courage

Faramir stood stiffly and allowed Borlas and his son to lead him away from Daisy's stricken body. As they came back behind the line Anborn and Ceris joined them.

"Nice shooting, my lord!" Anborn breathed, as he knelt to examine the wound in Faramir's thigh.

"Once a Ranger, always a Ranger," agreed Ceris, patting Faramir on the back appreciatively.

Faramir was beginning to shake, as the adrenaline rushed through his system. He drew his hand through his hair and gratefully accepted a flask of water from Elboron, drinking from it deeply. He only stopped to groan when Anborn, investigating his wound, touched it a little too firmly and pain shot through him.

"Reinforce the line," Faramir ordered Borlas. "They will be on us again soon. Tell the men to stand down and take what rest they can, pass the water flasks but keep a watch. Send a messenger to the King; the White Company are under attack from Uruk-hai and fell beasts of the air but the men fight valiantly and our line holds."

Borlas nodded but hesitated, his eyes going questioningly to Anborn's as the Ranger straightened.

"Go now!" Faramir ordered and the young lieutenant rushed to obey immediately.

Anborn snorted. "You shouldn't be too hard on him. He's doing well, and he was just concerned for his Prince."

Faramir nodded wearily. "They are all doing well," he responded. "But they do not need to know of my injury." He sighed. "And will I live?" he asked ruefully.

Anborn chuckled. "Aye, my lord. Though skinny and fragile as you have always appeared, I deem it would take a full battalion of mumakil to down you. One poor fell beast had no chance!"

"Would that Daisy had been equally blessed," Faramir muttered. He felt his son's arm comfortingly around his shoulder.

"Daisy was of Rohan, Father," Elboron said grimly. "It is the way he would have wanted it."

Faramir sighed and shut his eyes as he felt them moisten. "It is not the way I wanted it," he said softly, his voice quivering as he spoke.

"Stand still, my lord," Anborn said. "Let me tend your wound or should you like to walk round all day skewered like a wild boar?"

Faramir opened his eyes and smiled. "Nay, I would not," he agreed. "Do what you must do."

Anborn pursed his lips. "The arrow should really come out but we have not the time now. Is it painful?"

Faramir rolled his eyes and looked to Elboron. "I have an arrow sticking out of my thigh and this dullard asks if it is painful! Anborn get on with it, now."

"Very well," Anborn replied.

Ceris and Elboron stood in front of Faramir and he braced himself against them with his hands on their shoulders. Very carefully Anborn took out his knife and parsed around the shaft of the arrow about three inches above where it entered the Steward's thigh in a gory messy wound. Faramir took a deep breath and his grasp on the two men's shoulders tightened as Anborn bent the shaft and snapped it cleanly off.

The Steward's head slumped forward as he bit back the pained cry that rushed to his lips.

"Father?" Elboron whispered in fear.

Faramir lifted his head and smiled bravely at his son. Anborn was now covering the wound with soft material to protect it. He then took a clean bandage from the pack on his belt and bound it tightly around the wound and the rest of Faramir's thigh. The Ranger Captain stepped back to examine his handiwork.

"It will do, my lord," he said grimly. "But you really need to see a Healer."

Faramir snorted dismissively. "It will serve," he said, withdrawing his hands from the support and gingerly putting his weight on to the wounded limb. "I do not expect I shall be walking far this day!"

Coming to them through the mists that still swirled around the miserable piece of land they paid so dearly to defend was a new sound. From the south came the brave note of horns blasting through the air.

"'Tis the Eorlings," Ceris said as they all turned to see but the fog and the incline was too great.

"King Elessar sends out the Rohirrim," Faramir muttered as he thought back to the council the day before. "They are to engage on the south with the cavalry and chariots of the Easterlings." His eyes flashed bravely bright against his grimy face. "It must go well if the Rohirrim ride forth already. It will not be long until the King can send us reinforcements!" He voice was purposefully loud to be heard by as many of his men as possible. "Come, take heart my brave men!" he shouted. "Here we will stand! Let us light the fire in our hearts once more!"

He made his way down to the line of men, only slightly limping on his injured leg. "I think they will come at us again very soon. Rangers, save your arrows for the fell beasts," he ordered. Then he turned to the men next to him in the White Company line. "Is there room for another in these brave ranks?" he asked.

"Of course!" Came back the proud reply from one of the men he stood beside. "It would be an honour to fight beside you, Lord Faramir!"

Anborn and Ceris exchanged a shrug and then they too joined the line. Elboron had already ensured he was standing proudly beside his father.

"No," Faramir replied. "The honour is all mine, I assure you!"

Every man who heard him knew deep in their hearts that he meant his words. And all drew courage from their leader as he stood beside them, sword drawn, eyes flashing defiance, ignoring his pain, ready once more to steadfastly share their doom.

"Get me more water, boy!" The Healer screamed at Eldarion as he glanced up at the boy from his work. The young Prince stood transfixed at the edge of the area of the camp that served as the army's makeshift hospital, where he had wondered following Cirion.

The Healer's arms were soaked in blood up to the elbows and in front of him on the table lay a man screaming in agony. Two orderlies held the patient down pinning him by the shoulders. The young Prince's eyes were drawn to the man's stomach or at least the place where his stomach should have been. It was slashed open and just a mess of red and purple oozing blood and organs.

Eldarion felt the rush of nausea at the unspeakable horror. He turned away and vomited down the side of a nearby tent.

"Are you well?" asked a familiar voice in his ear.

Eldarion wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "No, I am not," he spat. "Where do you think you are going, Ciri?"

Cirion sniffed unconcerned. "I just wanted to know how the battle went. I cannot sit in a tent at a time like this!"

Eldarion drew in a ragged breath. Around him people rushed past, more casualties groaning in pain for the healers, more soldiers patched up and heading back to the front. The whole scene threatened to overwhelm the young Prince. He had imagined that battle would be unpleasant but the sheer horror of it humbled his imagination. He wanted to shut off all of his senses, rush back to his tent and stay there until the whole thing was over.

"Come on!" Cirion said and moved away once more.

Eldarion hesitated. How could Cirion cope with the vile nightmare surrounding them? Why did it not make the second son of the Steward's heart quail as it did his own? Eldarion's brittle confidence threatened to snap completely.

Cirion stopped and turned back. "Come on Darion!" he shouted over the noisy chaos that surrounded them. "There's a messenger from the White Company over there. He will tell us how the battle goes!"

Eldarion took another breath. Quietening his fears, he followed after Cirion once more, trying desperately to lock out the dreadfulness that continually bombarded his senses.

Cirion stopped before a weary looking man who sat on a barrel and was drinking thirstily from a flagon. The man's shoulders were slumped, his uniform tattered and torn but on his breast he wore the emblem of the White Company. Around his head was a hastily applied piece of cloth that was stained with red and appeared to be doing little to stem the flow of blood from the wound beneath it. Instead an ensanguined puddle was forming on the shoulder of his doublet. The man's face was as pale as death and, all the time the two boys stood before him, he never once lifted his hopeless eyes from the floor.

"Tell us how the battle goes!" Cirion was pleading as Eldarion walked up beside him.

The soldier spat, his voice when it came was dull and as lifeless as his downcast eyes. "Badly," he muttered. "I cannot go back to it."

"But you must," Cirion said. "What of your honour?"

The man snorted derisively. "Honour is for lords and kings," he said. "Men such as I have no honour, in a battle we simply exist to be hacked to pieces by those massive, inhuman brutes." He ran his hand through his hair and Eldarion noted that it was shaking uncontrollably. "They came at us through the mists with savage screams. They are invincible! We will all die!" His head slumped further towards the ground.

Eldarion exchanged a glance with Cirion and was surprised to see the younger boy's eyes flashing with anger. All Eldarion felt for the poor wretch before them was sympathy.

"You cannot sit here!" Cirion pressed. "Not while others die!"

"You know nothing of it." The soldier could not summon up the energy to argue with this young upstart before him, his voice remained passionless, subdued, and almost dead. "Hide here with the camp followers, boy," he continued. "Or better still, run as far and as fast as you can. Find some hole and hide. Hide and pray that these beasts do not find you!"

Cirion was bouncing, his face flushed and his fists clenched with anger. Eldarion feared he was about to punch the weary soldier before him, who spoke such words alien to the boy's very being. In order to forestall such action the young Prince stepped between the two.

"What do you here?" he asked the soldier in a gentle voice.

The soldier shrugged. "I came with a message to the King. I was wounded on my way through the carnage and thus came for aid." He nodded his bowed head towards where the healers worked. "They are too busy for one such as I."

"You should return to your post," Eldarion noted.

"Aye, I should," responded the soldier dully. "But I cannot find the strength to return to such slaughter."

Eldarion gulped and bent to kneel beside the soldier. He placed his hand on the man's shoulder. As he did so it was as if he released a damn, torrents of tears began to flow forth from the soldier.

Cirion looked away in disgust but Eldarion tried to sooth the man as much as he could. He remembered his own fears in Saruman's tower. He remembered the words of encouragement Lord Faramir had given him and he offered such words of hope to the man beside him, gently reassuring, calming, giving all he could to find the man and bring him back.

At first his words had little affect and Cirion shuffled impatiently. "Leave him," he pressed. "He is naught but a coward! My father does not need his like."

Eldarion flashed a severe look at his friend but continued to talk very quietly to the man beside him. Cirion got the message and ceased his criticism, he did however, continue to hop from one foot to another with annoyance.

Finally the man's sobs became less. He drew in a deep breath and gulped back further tears. For the first time he looked up into the face of the boy beside him who spoke so maturely. Recognition flickered, quickly followed by shock and then embarrassment and guilt.

He pulled away from Eldarion's arm, slipped off his barrel and knelt on the floor, head bowed.

"My Prince," he said. "I had no idea it was you. My apologies. I spoke so . . ." He stopped unable to find any words.

Eldarion stood up and smiled. Beside him he could sense that Cirion was looking at him in an odd way. Sometimes Eldarion wondered if Cirion was so carried away with their friendship that he forgot who the Prince really was. Most times Eldarion was glad that this was the case but he noted now the new glint of respect for him in the younger boy's eye, and could not help but feel gratified by it.

Eldarion turned his attention back to the soldier before him. "My father would have you fight for him, friend," he said with as much authority as he could muster. "I know it is hard but you are a soldier of Gondor, are you not?"

"Aye, my Prince."

"I too, would have you fight for the children of Gondor." Eldarion stepped forward and taking hold of the man's chin, he lifted it gently. "Would you do that for me?" He asked, holding the man's stare in his own wide blue eyes of innocence.

The soldier breathed in. There was new steel in his voice as he nodded proudly. "Aye, I will my Prince," he said.

"Then go back to the White Company, for I am sure Lord Faramir has need of your sword."

The soldier nodded. "He does, for we are sorely pressed. The Prince is himself injured, yet he will not ask for further reinforcements from the King."

Eldarion sensed Cirion stiffen at the news. "Then go," he said to the soldier. "And take the hope of the children of Gondor with you!"

The soldier nodded, bowed and then left, his disposition completely changed from that of the wretch who had sat on the barrel only minutes earlier.

Eldarion watched him leave, feeling a little pride in what he had accomplished. Movement beside him pulled him back to the present, however. He reached out just in time to grab Cirion by the shoulder.

"Where are you going?" he asked sharply as the younger boy tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

"You heard what he said!" Cirion said. "My father is injured and in dire need!"

"And what are you proposing?" Eldarion pressed, enjoying his newfound confidence. "To fight a troop of Uruk-hai on your own?"

"Look I am not asking you to come with me!" Cirion squirmed more violently. "Just let me go!"

Eldarion compiled with a sigh. Cirion pulled his mail shirt back into place and stared at the Prince, his eyes spitting their anger.

"Look Ciri," Eldarion began. "There is naught . . ."

He never finished his sentence. There was no point since the person it was aimed at simply sidestepped around him and sped off in the direction of the riverbank.

"Eru!" Eldarion cursed uncharacteristically. "Cirion! Come back here this second!"

But Eldarion should have known that once the second son of the Steward got an idea in his head, no-one, not even his father, let alone the heir of Gondor and Arnor, could change it. Yet again, Eldarion found himself dodging through the camp chasing Cirion's fast disappearing back, as his common sense screamed at him that this was not a very sensible strategy!