I am so sorry it has been so long since I last updated! I have been so busy with graduation and open house business! Also, before reading this chapter I have altered a few things: Farmir did not first go to Minas Tirith from Ithilien. He went straight to Osgiliath in this story (the city was already lost to orcs we'll say). Also, Denethor did not try to burn himself and Faramir alive. Now enjoy!
Chapter Eight
I stayed mostly in my bed for the remainder of my days off. I began to feel grimy and unclean, but that was no more than how I should feel. I was sure that whores and harlots did not feel clean. Anger and shame were my constant companions during those few days.
Flashes of memory kept replaying as I lay wallowing in my own misery. The court women laughing at me, the drunken man and his roaming hands, not to mention his painful question that had brought to light my whole situation.
Then there was the extravagantly dressed up woman who I had looked at in the looking glass before I had left. I should have known then and there. That was not me. I never wanted to show my face again thinking of my naivety and plain foolishness. I was no more than a common peasant who did not know her place.
Boromir was the second highest ranked man in all of Gondor, under only his father. Needless to say he would soon be the Steward. Amazingly, I had known all of that from the beginning, but I had still lost myself in the noble son of Gondor.
He had been kind to me, not from the goodness of his heart, but because he wanted something from me. It confused me because the Steward's son could have any woman he wanted without taking the time to be kind. Looking back though, the fact that he wanted something was confirmed when he bought me such extravagant gifts. Again, I chided myself for my stupidity.
A couple times Reallan came to visit me and I told her that I was only feeling a little under the weather and that she should not worry. I would be back at the houses when I was supposed to be. Her old, wrinkled face frowned at me. She warmed me some broth and made sure that I ate every last spoonful of the bland liquid.
Two days later I was up and getting ready to return to my duties at the Houses. A terribly, biting wind was tearing through the White City, but one only had to look East, at the threatening clouds and sparking volcano, to understand why. I wrapped a soft scarf around my head to keep the wind from pulling at my hair.
As I stepped out of my house, the wind stung my exposed face and tugged at my cloak and scarf. The city was nearly deserted as everyone was trying to stay out of the cold. It should not have been cold at that time of year, but the evil of Mordor made many things unnatural.
My house was on one of the lower levels of the city and so it was quite a long trek to get to the Houses, which were near the top. As I neared the Citadel I saw a group of men walking towards it. Among them, his great size making him clearly recognizable was Lord Boromir. He seemed to be in deep discussion with the men.
As I drew nearer to them, Boromir's grey eyes came up and met mine. It was as though we were both frozen, not able to look away. He did not move to acknowledge me and I, of course, could not acknowledge him.
When his companions noticed that they had lost their Lord's attention they quickly began to look around for the reason. Boromir, not wanting them to notice me, the lowly healer, drew them back into conversation, breaking his gaze from mine.
Losing his eye contact pierced me like a wound, another wave of reality washing over me. The feeling pulled me under in the same way a strong river current might, stealing the air from my very lungs.
When the men were out of sight I reached to brace myself against the cold, stone wall. I had not seen Boromir since the feast and I had been dreading the moment when I would. I had terribly underestimated what the pain would feel like. It was so much worse.
I had fought my feelings so hard when I had first gotten to know Boromir. I had been smart then, understanding how it would never be anything, it could not. He was kind to me and it had caused my feelings to fight back against my defenses. Boromir had me feel in a way that I hadn't felt in a long time. When he had invited me to his feast I had assumed that he felt at least a fraction of what I did. I allowed my heart to soar.
Then, the next thing I knew I was standing, nearly choking, after seeing Boromir again. I could almost feel my heart cracking all over again, struggling to hold itself together. I could not understand why men seemingly only wanted one thing from me when I had so many other things to give.
I finally managed to get a grip on myself and continue on my way to the Houses of Healing. Reallan met me at the door. Her weathered face frowned at me.
"Lindy, you still do not look well." She pressed a hand to my forehead.
"I am a Healer also. I would know if I was unwell," I jested. In all reality I was fine n body. It was my heart that was unwell.
"Well, luckily it should be an easy day. The only patient we have right now is that little lad over there," Reallan gestured to a far bed.
A little boy was sleeping there. There was no one with him.
"His name is Amlaith. His mother brought him in and she was sick with the same fever that he is, but she was worse. However, she insisted that I care for her son first and so I did. While I was giving him the medicine his mother passed on." Reallan did not seem particularly distraught. Being a Healer brought one an unfortunate understanding of the reality of death.
"And his father?" I inquired.
"The woman managed to tell me that her husband was killed years ago in an orc skirmish. The boy's only living family is an uncle who is a Ranger in Ithilien with Lord Faramir." Reallan studied me with her Gondoran grey eyes. "Lindy, I can stay if you are unwell," she offered.
"Oh nonsense, Reallan. I am truly fine. Go home and relax," I assured her, shooing her out of the door. Her departure left the Houses in a deadly silence. I turned to look at the young boy lying prone in the bed.
No one else was present in the Houses and so I went to take care of the young Amlaith. I laid a cold rag on his forehead and then went to the foot of the bed. Even though the boy had a dreadful fever his small feet in my hands were nearly frozen. I rubbed his feet fervently, hoping to draw the fever away from his head. It was not uncommon for victims of extreme fevers to lose some of their sanity, if they recovered at all. It was very important to the get the fever away from the victim's head.
Days passed and still the fever did not break. I tried everything I had ever been taught and even a few old wives' remedies. Nothing worked.
The only benefit of my constant attempts was that my mind was drawn away from Boromir. I hardly had a chance to thing about the Steward-Prince in my desperation to save Amlaith's life.
Almost a full week had passed before I found the young boy covered in sweat and blinking in the sunlight. A huge smile came across my face as I slowly approached him.
"Amlaith, my name is Lindy," I said gently. "How do you feel?" I asked.
The boy looked at me for a moment. "Tired," he said. "And a little hungry."
I laughed lightly. "I think we can perhaps find you something to eat."
Suddenly, Amlaith was looking at me curiously. "Where is Mama?"
Telling someone that a loved one had passed was one of the hardest things in all of Arda to do. How do you tell a mother that her son will not be returning from battle? How do you tell a new husband that his wife and bay did not survive childbirth? How do you tell a young boy that his mama has left him behind?
"We shall worry about that after we get something to eat," I responded. Luckily the boy was still too groggy to question me further.
-ooooOoooo-
The very next day a man in a very travel-stained cloak entered the Houses of Healing. I approached him as he removed his hood. He was a handsome man, though he smelled of horses and long travels. His long hair was dirty and matted and his face was dirt streaked.
"Sir? Can I help you with something?" I asked politely.
"My name is Hallas. I was told my nephew, Amlaith, is here. That he is ill," the man said. He looked at me with dark brown eyes.
"He is here," I said, leading the man to Amlaith's bedside. "His fever has broken and he is quickly recovering."
Hallas stood quietly over his peacefully sleeping nephew. "My sister has passed on." It was a statement, not a question.
I nodded. "I had not the heart to tell him."
The man looked down at me and there was a deep sadness in his eyes. I was then struck by both curiosity and a desire to change the subject.
"Your sister said you were a Ranger in Ithilien with Lord Faramir. Did someone send word of your nephew's illness?" I asked.
Hallas nodded. "A family friend wrote to me of my sister and Amlaith being ill." He paused. "Lord Faramir was sent to Osgiliath to take back the city, but he such a compassionate man that he granted me leave to return to Minas Tirith to take care of my family," Hallas said quietly.
I nodded. "I am so sorry for your loss."
"While he sleeps I should wash my travels away. I shall be back." The tall, handsome man departed from the Houses.
-ooooOoooo-
In the next few days, Hallas was constantly in the Houses sitting next to Amlaith. He had returned in clean clothes, with combed hair, and a tamed beard. I studied the young man and guessed that he was in his late twenties or early thirties. His tanned face was weather beaten, but other than he appeared young.
The afternoon that he informed Amlaith of his mother's passing I thought my own heart would break. The boy sobbed into his uncle's chest and even Hallas shed a few tears for his lost sister. Amlaith finally cried himself to sleep as his uncle held him in his strong arms.
I met Hallas with a cup of tea when he walked away from the bed.
"I am all that poor child has left in this world," he said quietly.
"And he is lucky to have you," I replied, seeing the distraught look on his face.
Hallas shook his head. "I am not so sure."
I rested my hand on his forearm. "You truly care about Amlaith and that is all that is important." We were both looking at my small hand lying on his muscled forearm.
-ooooOoooo-
Hallas and I became quite close in the time that Amlaith was in the Houses recovering. The news of his mother's death had been a major setback to the boy's recovery. Hallas and I spent hours talking in one of the window seats while Amlaith slept quietly.
Hallas told me of his life as a Ranger and his fear of raising and being solely responsible for his nephew. I told him bits and pieces of my own life; only what he needed to know, and comforted him in his fear.
"Amlaith will need a mother figure," Hallas said one afternoon looking at me with his earnest brown eyes.
I was not completely shocked by his insinuation. I had heard of more sudden and less likely marriage proposals before. In times of war they were extremely common. I had come to Minas Tirith to start a new life. Hallas' veiled request was a realistic option for a woman of my means. Hallas as a man was quite likeable. He was kind and honest if not a little dull, but then no one is perfect.
Before I could respond or give any more thought to the matter, the door burst open and men poured in, one being carried. In the whole crowd I only saw one person and he was looking directly back at me with hard, grey eyes, taking in my situation in the window seat.
"That is Lord Faramir," Hallas said urgently as he quickly pulled me to my feet. I snapped out of my reverie and went to examine the Steward's younger son.
I tried so hard to ignore Boromir's presence as I worked on his brother, but it was near to impossible. The other men left, including Hallas, and I was left alone with him.
Faramir had two arrow wounds and perhaps the hottest fever that I had yet felt. I worked on the man, doing everything I could think of to at least get him to wake.
Boromir was pacing back and forth and pulling at his hair. He looked beyond distraught and it was only made worse as minutes passed and his brother did not even stir.
"Do something, Lindy! Fix this!" He shouted desperately at me. I jumped in fright at his sudden booming voice.
When I knew there was nothing left to try I straightened up and laid a cool rag on Faramir's forehead. "I assure you, my lord; I have done all that I can for now."
There you go! I hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought!
Happy reading,
Avonmora