DISCLAIMER: "The Lord of the Rings" and its characters belong to JRR
Tolkien, I only borrowed them for a while, and I promise I will return them
unharmed. I do not get money out of this, this is only for entertainment
purposes.
"For in the sixth circle, outside the walls of the citadel, there were some fair stables where a few swift horses were kept, hard by the lodging of the errand riders of the Lord, messengers always ready to go at the urging of Denethor or his chief captains. But now all the horses and riders were out and away."(Return of the King, Minas Tirith)
III
Anakil stared at the glistening waterfall, his eyes wide with wonder. "This is the most beautiful place I have ever seen!" he gasped.
"Wait until you see it at sunset," Anborn chuckled from behind. "Ithilien has many falls, but there is none to match this one, lit by the very last rays of the evening sun. Remind me to accompany you out here when the time is right."
"I will," Anakil promised. "I will." He took one last glimpse of the fall and the sunlight, then he turned around to face the Ranger.
Anborn had his arms clasped behind his back, his tall frame almost blending in with the dark rocks behind him. "We have a doorstep to shame even the castle of a king, but I fear the hall behind it is not kingly at all," he said. "I have to take your weapons now, for I cannot watch you as I did in the forest." He held out his hand.
"I am what I claim to be." Anakil protested, but he unfastened his sword from his belt and took the bow from his back.
"You will be considered a guest as long as you behave as it is expected of one," Anborn replied and accepted the weapons with a nod of his head. "You are a stranger to our company, so you cannot appreciate the trust I displayed by bringing you here. I could have easily taken your message and left you in the woods, I am sure you are aware of that. You might have been able to kill an Orc, but I strongly doubt your ability to resist a Ranger on guard, let alone overpower him."
"I meant no offence." Anakil raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "I will honour your laws. Lead on, for I have a message to deliver."
Anborn grunted in response and stepped through the dark rocky gate.
It was the entrance to a large chamber in the rocks, the roof high enough for a man to stand up straight. The only light came from the small entrance and a few torches on the wall. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, Anakil saw a great amount of weapons piled in one corner, as well as large barrels and boxes of supplies. The cave was wide enough to easily hold several hundred men, but there were only about twenty moving about, none of them showing an interest in the new arrival.
There were many mattresses piled close to the walls, four of them apart from the others. These mattresses were occupied, and Anakil guessed they were the beds of the ill and wounded. He squinted his eyes in the gloomy light, but he could not see well enough to make out whether Beldil was among them. At the far end of the cave, curtains obscured the view, maybe to give the Captain, his Lieutenants and invited guests a little privacy.
"Feel free to move about and talk to the men, but stay away from the weapons and the supplies, and do not try to leave without permission. I will send a man with water and breakfast in a little while."
"I have to see the Captain," Anakil said.
"The Captain will see you in time." Anborn bowed his head and departed without further instructions.
Anakil took his time wandering around in the large cave, avoiding the weapons and supplies carefully. There was not much to see, it was a plain camp, neither as spacious nor as comfortable as the lair of the Osgiliath company from where he had set out on his errand.
A Ranger approached him with a bowl of clean water and a dark piece of cloth and he gratefully washed the dirt and grime off his face and hands. His cloak was soiled with dark orcish blood as well, but there was nothing he could do about that for now, for he did not bring clothes to change on his journey. He dried his face and neck on the cloth and settled down with his back against the wall to get some rest.
The few Rangers who were moving about the camp were tall men, most of them with a full head of dark hair, clad in green and brown, some armed with a sword, some having shed their arms to move about unhindered. The poor description he had been given of the Captain fitted every single one of them well enough, he was unable to tell if the Captain was present in the cave.
Another Ranger brought him a mug of wine and bread, cheese and salted meat on a plate. Anakil remembered that he had not eaten for quite some time and was hungry indeed, and his stomach growled in anticipation.
"You are the messenger called Anakil?" the Ranger asked him as he thanked him for the meal.
"Yes, my name is Anakil," he replied.
"Beldil, the wounded messenger that arrived in your company, would like to have a word with you, when you have finished your meal," the Ranger told him. "He cannot come to you, the healer has forbidden him to rise and move about. His bed is over there with the other wounded." The Ranger pointed to the far end of the cave where the four occupied mattresses were situated.
"I will seek him out," Anakil promised and started to eat.
When the Ranger turned around to leave, he opened his water skin and poured some water into the mug of wine, for he did not have much experience with alcohol and feared that even a single mug would get him light headed.
The boy finished everything that had been brought to him and remained seated for a while to relish the feeling of being reasonably clean and satisfied. The dim light of the cave seduced his eyes to flutter shut, but he fought the fatigue that started to overwhelm him and pushed himself to his feet to keep his promise to the messenger.
There were four people on the sickbeds of Henneth Annûn, all of them young men, their faces white, at least one part of their bodies wrapped in bandages. It occurred to Anakil that so far he had not seen an old man among the Rangers of Ithilien.
He recognized Beldil from their time together in the woods, even though the man's forehead was covered with a white piece of cloth, and there was the dark shadow of a beard on his pale cheeks. His eyes were closed, and Anakil hesitated, unwilling to wake the man should he be asleep. There was no healer around he could ask for advice or permission to speak.
"Beldil?" he whispered. "Are you awake?"
The messenger's eyes popped open, causing Anakil to step back in surprise. "Obviously you are," he said. "My name is Anakil. You sent for me."
"You are a boy, indeed." Beldil's grey eyes scrutinized the boy for a moment, then he got his right arm out from below the blanket to slowly wave his fingers. His upper arm, where the arrow had hit him, was tightly wrapped in a clean white bandage. "Come closer, sit down if you like, we don't want to disturb the others." His voice was hoarse but stronger than Anakil had expected it to be.
The boy lowered himself next to Beldil's bed, his back against the cold wall. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
Beldil snorted. "Well enough, considering I was in close contact with a band of Orcs." He slowly offered his right hand. "Thank you for saving my life, young Anakil. I am in your debt."
Anakil hesitated before taking Beldil's raised hand, and he almost winced as the messenger, despite his injured arm, squeezed his hand firmly. He pressed back with all the strength he could muster, and Beldil smiled.
"How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I am fifteen, but I will be sixteen in a few months," Anakil replied. "Don't tell me I don't look it, those are the first words I hear when giving away my age."
"You are rather…," Beldil hesitated to find words that would not hurt, "..small," he finished. "But there is a certain advantage in being small," he added with a sly smile. "When I was your age, I was as tall as I am today, all knees and elbows and not pretty to look upon. The knees and elbows have slowly disappeared, but I fear the rest has never changed, and right now I look even worse."
"Are you in pain?" Anakil asked.
"No. The healer made me swallow a strange tasting tea, and most of the pain and the fever disappeared. I feel a little light-headed, almost as if I have had too much of bad wine, but it is better than feeling the pain. Much better. I have never been wounded before, and I have to admit I do not like it very much."
Anakil chuckled. "I know a lot of people who are convinced it is a good sign to be in pain. It assures you that you are not dead yet."
"I know people who talk like that, too." Beldil rolled his eyes in mock desperation. "Most of them are healers." His eyes searched the surroundings, and he put one finger to his lips. "Don't tell the healer I said this," he whispered. "At least don't tell him as long as I am in no condition to run."
Anakil suppressed a smile and nodded gravely. "I promise. But you have to show me who he is, for beside the Rangers named Anborn and Galdor and the third of our company whose name I did not get, I do not know anyone in this company. I even don't know the Captain. Is he around?"
"The Captain? No, he is out with everybody else. Anborn told me one of our Lieutenants went missing seven days ago. He and his party were pursuing a rather large host of Orcs, and they sent a man to summon help. The Captain set out immediately with every man in the fighting condition, but their tracks disappeared at the shores of Anduin and were not found again. We fear our men might have been overwhelmed by the Orcs, but the Captain does not give up easily. He is leading a party to look for them, he won't be back before nightfall, I guess."
Anakil drew his knees to his stomach and locked his arms around his calves for support. "Do you know him well?"
"The Captain or the Lieutenant?"
"The Captain."
"He is a noble lord, a good leader, and I believe he really cares for us," Beldil said slowly. "I joined this company when I was about your age, but I have never been a fighter. I like to move about, to find my own path, and the Captain was kind enough to let me be a messenger. I have been away running errands for the better part of ten years now.
I cannot claim to know the Captain well, he is my Captain, not my friend, but I will gladly lay down my life for him, for he is what holds this company together, and this company is my life, my home and a part of my family."
"And the Lieutenant? The one that is missing with his men?"
"He is one of the best. He always tells me that I talk too much." Beldil laughed quietly. "You know, he is right, I always talk too much. Maybe that is the curse of messengers. They deal with messages all day, written and spoken words."
"Have you delivered your messages yet?"
The smile disappeared from Beldil's face. "I may talk too much sometimes, but I never talk about an errand, only to the one man I was sent to find." He scrutinized the boy with a questioning gaze. "You have not been taught the rules of the written, spoken and concealed words?"
Anakil shook his head and cast down his eyes to avoid Beldil's hard stare. "This is my first errand outside the confines of Osgiliath," he admitted.
"Then let me give one piece of advice." Beldil paused until Anakil raised his eyes to look at him. "Never talk about the contents of a message, neither to your friend, nor to your enemy. You never know who is listening, and you cannot be sure that your friend is your friend. Do not hand a written message to anyone other than to the man you were told to seek out. If you cannot deliver a written message, destroy it before you have to leave it behind or surrender it to other hands. Lives may depend on the few words you carry in your mind or in your pockets.
Words are weapons, just as sharp as spears and swords and arrows, and when you know how to wield them, you wield a power that is as dangerous and terrifying as any other weapon people use in times of war.
If you have the choice between fighting and running, run. Nobody will know you died a hero's death if none lives to deliver the message." Beldil spoke slowly, carefully, making sure the boy understood what he was talking about.
Anakil nodded slowly, his hand creeping to the message in his pocket. "I will remember your advice," he said. "Every single word of it."
Beldil raised his right hand again and clasped Anakil's forearm. "I know you will," he said. "But I bet in an hour or two you won't be able to recall every single word."
"I will," Anakil smiled. "Believe me, I will."
"He is not singing yet, but he is talking again!" The Ranger Galdor approached the mattress and bent down to carefully ruffle Beldil's hair with one hand. "You got me worried on our ride this morning, for you did not utter a single word. I started to fear you were fatally hurt."
"It takes more than a few arrows to silence me for long," Beldil replied and swatted away the hand on his head. "Stop that, you are starting the headache again. And you are ruining my hair."
Galdor grinned and planted a brotherly kiss on Beldil's head before he sat down next to the mattress. "There is not much to ruin, I am sorry to tell you, my friend. You look better than you did this morning, but still bad enough to frighten small children. How do you feel?"
"It is a good sign to be in pain, for it assures you that you are not dead yet, as our young friend here was so kind to remind me" he replied and pointed at Anakil.
Anakil raised his hands in a gesture of peace and greeting and listened to the friendly bantering and jesting of the Rangers. They seemed to know each other well, and he was content just to smile at their conversation, until Beldil got tired and fell asleep and Galdor strolled away to do whatever a Ranger did when he was not talking with a wounded comrade and was not out fighting in the woods.
Anakil felt exhaustion overwhelm him, and he closed his eyes to get some sleep as well.
When the boy woke again, it was late in the afternoon. The cave had turned busy during his long, deep sleep. Many Rangers had arrived and were moving about the camp, opening boxes and barrels to prepare dinner, fetching water from the fall, carrying small benches for the meal, talking or resting. More were still coming in through the entrance at the fall, and more torches were lit than during daytime.
Anakil rose to his feet and stretched his stiff muscles. He spotted Anborn talking to a group of his fellow Rangers, and as he looked down at Beldil he found the messenger and his mattress gone. All the mattresses of the wounded had been brought away, Anakil guessed they had been moved behind the curtain at the end of the cave to enable the rest they needed above all.
He rubbed his shoulder blades, numb from leaning against the hard wall for hours, and the pain hit as some circulation returned. He started to move to give two Rangers a hand with a heavy looking wooden bench when a grave but gentle voice addressed him from behind.
"Anakil son of Anabar."
He paused and turned around.
The Ranger that had spoken to him was tall, even taller than Anborn, rough cut black hair framed a stern face, and keen grey eyes looked down at the boy from under dark lashes. His green and brown clothes were stained, his boots well worn, and he had his hands clasped behind his back. "Anborn told me that you would like to see the fall when the sun goes down. I will take you there."
Anakil followed the tall Ranger out of the cave, to the doorstep below the fall. The sun was about to disappear behind the horizon, and her red light was broken by the falling water, casting the thin veil into flickering shades of red, like a burning fire.
The Ranger folded his arms across his chest, and Anakil caught a glimpse of a long sword he carried at his belt. He felt intimidated by this stern man's presence, and he was in awe of Ithilien's beauty opening up before him.
"I was told you have come from Osgiliath to deliver a message?" the Ranger started to speak as the sun disappeared, and the fire burned down in the water of the fall.
'Never talk about the contents of message, neither to your friend, nor to your enemy,' Beldil's advice echoed in Anakil's mind. "My message is for the Captain alone," he replied.
"Then speak, for I am Faramir, Captain of Gondor and of the Ithilien Rangers."
Anakil noted the quiet authority in the man's behaviour, his commanding voice, and also the concerned and weary look in his grey eyes. He had seen men with eyes like this before, Captains who had just lost part of their company, or worried about some of their men, as Beldil had told him. He scolded himself for not seeing what was plainly in front of his eyes. He took a look around and realized they were alone, all men that had been moving about before had quietly departed.
His fingers dove into his pocket to present the message, and for the first time he noticed the bloody fingerprints he had left on the white paper while fingering it after killing the Orc. "My lord," he said and bowed his head. "I was sent here to deliver this message, and to tell you in person that Mablung and his company have reached Osgiliath safely and with minor injuries only. These injuries force them to spend at least a week at Osgiliath, before returning to Ithilien and giving a full account of the errand in person. Mablung has given the uninjured fellows two days leave, either to see their families or to find some – distraction from duty in Minas Tirith, as he had put it, and he personally vows for their timely return. He has sent me, I can only quote his words again, to make sure you do not worry about his well-being, for you already worry entirely too much, my lord."
Anakil could not read the Captain's face, as the man nodded at his words and took the sealed message from his hand, moving his thumb slowly over one of the bloody fingerprints. He took a look at the seal, and his brow narrowed in a frown.
Anakil had noticed the strange seal before, it was a patch of green wax, but instead of the rough outline of a ring, there was only a fingerprint visible in the wax, and two small lines, like the scratch of a fingernail, crossed in the middle.
The Captain broke the seal, pulled out a small piece of paper and read the words in the last light of the fading day. Suddenly a smile crept onto his face, transforming his stern features into the likeable face of the boy he must have been a long time ago, and Anakil felt himself smiling in return.
"Mablung," the Captain muttered under his breath and shook his head, still smiling.
"My lord?" Anakil said and forced the grin off his face. He did not now if he should take his leave or request an answer, so he crossed his hands on his back and kept his curiosity at bay, until the Captain had finished the message and decided to talk to him again.
The Captain read the message twice, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, a flickering light in his grey eyes. He took a long look out through the waterfall onto Anduin, glistening in the distance, then he put a heavy hand on the boy's narrow shoulders. "You are the bearer of good news, young Anakil. I fear there is far too little good news in these times. Mablung's company, for which we have searched in vain for days, has reached Osgiliath safely, and all of them are alive. The host of Orcs in their pursuit was taken care of by the men of Osgiliath. It must have been Mablung himself who gave you the errand, can you tell me if he was among the injured?"
Anakil nodded. "The man who wrote the message in my presence was slightly limping on his right foot, and he was cursing the Orcs' spears in every second sentence. He never introduced himself to me, for I am only the messenger."
"Anborn told me you are also an able warrior," Captain Faramir stated. "You have to tell your story when Beldil is on his feet again to join us."
Anakil felt a blush creep onto his cheeks. "I will, if my lord commands, but there is no great story to tell."
"Beldil can make an entertaining story out of the smallest event, and I am sure you can do that as well, for you are a messenger like him, and all messengers I have met so far are very able in the game of words. Let us now join the men and tell your good news, and thereafter have a meal together. You are our guest tonight, young Anakil."
"Thank you very much for your kindness, my lord," Anakil said and bowed again.
The Captain stepped into the cave and raised his hand, and the men fell silent at once. The Captain's voice echoed through the cave as he announced that Mablung and his company were safe, and the men cheered in response.
Anakil stayed at the Captain's side, and he found himself cheering as well.
Suddenly the men grew quiet and stepped aside to form a passage in their middle. Galdor and Anborn slowly walked through the cleared path, supporting Beldil between themselves. The messenger's face was flushed from the strain of standing upright and moving.
The three men stopped in front of the Captain. Anborn let go of Beldil's waist and stepped back into the crowd of Rangers.
Beldil was panting heavily but managed to raise his head in proud defiance, his left arm draped across Galdor's shoulders for support. The Ranger had his left hand on Beldil's left elbow, carefully avoiding touching the broken wrist, his right arm wrapped around the messenger's waist.
Beldil needed some time to get his heavy breathing under control, and his fellow Rangers patiently waited for him to speak.
Beldil's right hand slowly crept under his shirt, and he pulled out three white envelopes, wrinkled and dirt stained but without tears in the thin paper. He carefully bowed his bandaged head and presented the envelopes to the Captain. "Captain Faramir," he said. "I was sent to deliver these messages from Minas Tirith."
Do not hand a written message to anyone other than to the man you were told to seek out. Anakil could almost hear the words in his head. You cannot be sure that your friend is your friend.
Captain Faramir accepted the envelopes with a smile on his stern face and bowed his head in return. "Thank you, Beldil." He put his hand on the messenger's shoulder. "I have heard you fought well." The Captain's smile widened. "For a messenger." The assembled Rangers roared with laughter. "Go now and rest, for I guess these Orcs will appear like no more than flies on the wall when the healer has finished with you."
"Aye, Captain, I fear you are quite right." Beldil bowed again, and Galdor helped the messenger to turn around and slowly make his way back to his bed behind a curtain.
Anakil laughed and cheered for the brave messenger with the merry crowd, his young voice clearly distinguishable from the deeper tones of the Rangers. The Captain laughed as well, taking a short glance at the three messages in his hand. His gaze lingered on the seals for a second or two, and Anakil, standing next to the tall man, caught a glimpse of alarm and worry on the handsome face.
The boy stopped laughing, waiting for the Captain to announce the cause of his sudden change in mood, but the Captain put the messages into a pocket of his cloak, and when he raised his head, he was laughing again. But the laughter did not reach his eyes.
Anakil felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around, startled, and found Anborn standing beside him. The tall Ranger put a finger on his lips and shook his head, and Anakil realized Anborn had seen the concern on the Captain's face as well. He wanted to ask what was going on, but Anborn let go of his shoulder and quietly disappeared into the crowd.
The boy decided to keep quiet for the time, for Captain Faramir's concerns were none of his business after all. The Captain made his way through his cheering men, talking and grasping hands, but when he shortly turned around, Anakil could see that the laughter of his mouth had not been able to banish the anxiety from his eyes.
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- Thanks again to all those who took the time to read and review. I can't say how much I do appreciate your help!
Shakes
"For in the sixth circle, outside the walls of the citadel, there were some fair stables where a few swift horses were kept, hard by the lodging of the errand riders of the Lord, messengers always ready to go at the urging of Denethor or his chief captains. But now all the horses and riders were out and away."(Return of the King, Minas Tirith)
III
Anakil stared at the glistening waterfall, his eyes wide with wonder. "This is the most beautiful place I have ever seen!" he gasped.
"Wait until you see it at sunset," Anborn chuckled from behind. "Ithilien has many falls, but there is none to match this one, lit by the very last rays of the evening sun. Remind me to accompany you out here when the time is right."
"I will," Anakil promised. "I will." He took one last glimpse of the fall and the sunlight, then he turned around to face the Ranger.
Anborn had his arms clasped behind his back, his tall frame almost blending in with the dark rocks behind him. "We have a doorstep to shame even the castle of a king, but I fear the hall behind it is not kingly at all," he said. "I have to take your weapons now, for I cannot watch you as I did in the forest." He held out his hand.
"I am what I claim to be." Anakil protested, but he unfastened his sword from his belt and took the bow from his back.
"You will be considered a guest as long as you behave as it is expected of one," Anborn replied and accepted the weapons with a nod of his head. "You are a stranger to our company, so you cannot appreciate the trust I displayed by bringing you here. I could have easily taken your message and left you in the woods, I am sure you are aware of that. You might have been able to kill an Orc, but I strongly doubt your ability to resist a Ranger on guard, let alone overpower him."
"I meant no offence." Anakil raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "I will honour your laws. Lead on, for I have a message to deliver."
Anborn grunted in response and stepped through the dark rocky gate.
It was the entrance to a large chamber in the rocks, the roof high enough for a man to stand up straight. The only light came from the small entrance and a few torches on the wall. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, Anakil saw a great amount of weapons piled in one corner, as well as large barrels and boxes of supplies. The cave was wide enough to easily hold several hundred men, but there were only about twenty moving about, none of them showing an interest in the new arrival.
There were many mattresses piled close to the walls, four of them apart from the others. These mattresses were occupied, and Anakil guessed they were the beds of the ill and wounded. He squinted his eyes in the gloomy light, but he could not see well enough to make out whether Beldil was among them. At the far end of the cave, curtains obscured the view, maybe to give the Captain, his Lieutenants and invited guests a little privacy.
"Feel free to move about and talk to the men, but stay away from the weapons and the supplies, and do not try to leave without permission. I will send a man with water and breakfast in a little while."
"I have to see the Captain," Anakil said.
"The Captain will see you in time." Anborn bowed his head and departed without further instructions.
Anakil took his time wandering around in the large cave, avoiding the weapons and supplies carefully. There was not much to see, it was a plain camp, neither as spacious nor as comfortable as the lair of the Osgiliath company from where he had set out on his errand.
A Ranger approached him with a bowl of clean water and a dark piece of cloth and he gratefully washed the dirt and grime off his face and hands. His cloak was soiled with dark orcish blood as well, but there was nothing he could do about that for now, for he did not bring clothes to change on his journey. He dried his face and neck on the cloth and settled down with his back against the wall to get some rest.
The few Rangers who were moving about the camp were tall men, most of them with a full head of dark hair, clad in green and brown, some armed with a sword, some having shed their arms to move about unhindered. The poor description he had been given of the Captain fitted every single one of them well enough, he was unable to tell if the Captain was present in the cave.
Another Ranger brought him a mug of wine and bread, cheese and salted meat on a plate. Anakil remembered that he had not eaten for quite some time and was hungry indeed, and his stomach growled in anticipation.
"You are the messenger called Anakil?" the Ranger asked him as he thanked him for the meal.
"Yes, my name is Anakil," he replied.
"Beldil, the wounded messenger that arrived in your company, would like to have a word with you, when you have finished your meal," the Ranger told him. "He cannot come to you, the healer has forbidden him to rise and move about. His bed is over there with the other wounded." The Ranger pointed to the far end of the cave where the four occupied mattresses were situated.
"I will seek him out," Anakil promised and started to eat.
When the Ranger turned around to leave, he opened his water skin and poured some water into the mug of wine, for he did not have much experience with alcohol and feared that even a single mug would get him light headed.
The boy finished everything that had been brought to him and remained seated for a while to relish the feeling of being reasonably clean and satisfied. The dim light of the cave seduced his eyes to flutter shut, but he fought the fatigue that started to overwhelm him and pushed himself to his feet to keep his promise to the messenger.
There were four people on the sickbeds of Henneth Annûn, all of them young men, their faces white, at least one part of their bodies wrapped in bandages. It occurred to Anakil that so far he had not seen an old man among the Rangers of Ithilien.
He recognized Beldil from their time together in the woods, even though the man's forehead was covered with a white piece of cloth, and there was the dark shadow of a beard on his pale cheeks. His eyes were closed, and Anakil hesitated, unwilling to wake the man should he be asleep. There was no healer around he could ask for advice or permission to speak.
"Beldil?" he whispered. "Are you awake?"
The messenger's eyes popped open, causing Anakil to step back in surprise. "Obviously you are," he said. "My name is Anakil. You sent for me."
"You are a boy, indeed." Beldil's grey eyes scrutinized the boy for a moment, then he got his right arm out from below the blanket to slowly wave his fingers. His upper arm, where the arrow had hit him, was tightly wrapped in a clean white bandage. "Come closer, sit down if you like, we don't want to disturb the others." His voice was hoarse but stronger than Anakil had expected it to be.
The boy lowered himself next to Beldil's bed, his back against the cold wall. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
Beldil snorted. "Well enough, considering I was in close contact with a band of Orcs." He slowly offered his right hand. "Thank you for saving my life, young Anakil. I am in your debt."
Anakil hesitated before taking Beldil's raised hand, and he almost winced as the messenger, despite his injured arm, squeezed his hand firmly. He pressed back with all the strength he could muster, and Beldil smiled.
"How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I am fifteen, but I will be sixteen in a few months," Anakil replied. "Don't tell me I don't look it, those are the first words I hear when giving away my age."
"You are rather…," Beldil hesitated to find words that would not hurt, "..small," he finished. "But there is a certain advantage in being small," he added with a sly smile. "When I was your age, I was as tall as I am today, all knees and elbows and not pretty to look upon. The knees and elbows have slowly disappeared, but I fear the rest has never changed, and right now I look even worse."
"Are you in pain?" Anakil asked.
"No. The healer made me swallow a strange tasting tea, and most of the pain and the fever disappeared. I feel a little light-headed, almost as if I have had too much of bad wine, but it is better than feeling the pain. Much better. I have never been wounded before, and I have to admit I do not like it very much."
Anakil chuckled. "I know a lot of people who are convinced it is a good sign to be in pain. It assures you that you are not dead yet."
"I know people who talk like that, too." Beldil rolled his eyes in mock desperation. "Most of them are healers." His eyes searched the surroundings, and he put one finger to his lips. "Don't tell the healer I said this," he whispered. "At least don't tell him as long as I am in no condition to run."
Anakil suppressed a smile and nodded gravely. "I promise. But you have to show me who he is, for beside the Rangers named Anborn and Galdor and the third of our company whose name I did not get, I do not know anyone in this company. I even don't know the Captain. Is he around?"
"The Captain? No, he is out with everybody else. Anborn told me one of our Lieutenants went missing seven days ago. He and his party were pursuing a rather large host of Orcs, and they sent a man to summon help. The Captain set out immediately with every man in the fighting condition, but their tracks disappeared at the shores of Anduin and were not found again. We fear our men might have been overwhelmed by the Orcs, but the Captain does not give up easily. He is leading a party to look for them, he won't be back before nightfall, I guess."
Anakil drew his knees to his stomach and locked his arms around his calves for support. "Do you know him well?"
"The Captain or the Lieutenant?"
"The Captain."
"He is a noble lord, a good leader, and I believe he really cares for us," Beldil said slowly. "I joined this company when I was about your age, but I have never been a fighter. I like to move about, to find my own path, and the Captain was kind enough to let me be a messenger. I have been away running errands for the better part of ten years now.
I cannot claim to know the Captain well, he is my Captain, not my friend, but I will gladly lay down my life for him, for he is what holds this company together, and this company is my life, my home and a part of my family."
"And the Lieutenant? The one that is missing with his men?"
"He is one of the best. He always tells me that I talk too much." Beldil laughed quietly. "You know, he is right, I always talk too much. Maybe that is the curse of messengers. They deal with messages all day, written and spoken words."
"Have you delivered your messages yet?"
The smile disappeared from Beldil's face. "I may talk too much sometimes, but I never talk about an errand, only to the one man I was sent to find." He scrutinized the boy with a questioning gaze. "You have not been taught the rules of the written, spoken and concealed words?"
Anakil shook his head and cast down his eyes to avoid Beldil's hard stare. "This is my first errand outside the confines of Osgiliath," he admitted.
"Then let me give one piece of advice." Beldil paused until Anakil raised his eyes to look at him. "Never talk about the contents of a message, neither to your friend, nor to your enemy. You never know who is listening, and you cannot be sure that your friend is your friend. Do not hand a written message to anyone other than to the man you were told to seek out. If you cannot deliver a written message, destroy it before you have to leave it behind or surrender it to other hands. Lives may depend on the few words you carry in your mind or in your pockets.
Words are weapons, just as sharp as spears and swords and arrows, and when you know how to wield them, you wield a power that is as dangerous and terrifying as any other weapon people use in times of war.
If you have the choice between fighting and running, run. Nobody will know you died a hero's death if none lives to deliver the message." Beldil spoke slowly, carefully, making sure the boy understood what he was talking about.
Anakil nodded slowly, his hand creeping to the message in his pocket. "I will remember your advice," he said. "Every single word of it."
Beldil raised his right hand again and clasped Anakil's forearm. "I know you will," he said. "But I bet in an hour or two you won't be able to recall every single word."
"I will," Anakil smiled. "Believe me, I will."
"He is not singing yet, but he is talking again!" The Ranger Galdor approached the mattress and bent down to carefully ruffle Beldil's hair with one hand. "You got me worried on our ride this morning, for you did not utter a single word. I started to fear you were fatally hurt."
"It takes more than a few arrows to silence me for long," Beldil replied and swatted away the hand on his head. "Stop that, you are starting the headache again. And you are ruining my hair."
Galdor grinned and planted a brotherly kiss on Beldil's head before he sat down next to the mattress. "There is not much to ruin, I am sorry to tell you, my friend. You look better than you did this morning, but still bad enough to frighten small children. How do you feel?"
"It is a good sign to be in pain, for it assures you that you are not dead yet, as our young friend here was so kind to remind me" he replied and pointed at Anakil.
Anakil raised his hands in a gesture of peace and greeting and listened to the friendly bantering and jesting of the Rangers. They seemed to know each other well, and he was content just to smile at their conversation, until Beldil got tired and fell asleep and Galdor strolled away to do whatever a Ranger did when he was not talking with a wounded comrade and was not out fighting in the woods.
Anakil felt exhaustion overwhelm him, and he closed his eyes to get some sleep as well.
When the boy woke again, it was late in the afternoon. The cave had turned busy during his long, deep sleep. Many Rangers had arrived and were moving about the camp, opening boxes and barrels to prepare dinner, fetching water from the fall, carrying small benches for the meal, talking or resting. More were still coming in through the entrance at the fall, and more torches were lit than during daytime.
Anakil rose to his feet and stretched his stiff muscles. He spotted Anborn talking to a group of his fellow Rangers, and as he looked down at Beldil he found the messenger and his mattress gone. All the mattresses of the wounded had been brought away, Anakil guessed they had been moved behind the curtain at the end of the cave to enable the rest they needed above all.
He rubbed his shoulder blades, numb from leaning against the hard wall for hours, and the pain hit as some circulation returned. He started to move to give two Rangers a hand with a heavy looking wooden bench when a grave but gentle voice addressed him from behind.
"Anakil son of Anabar."
He paused and turned around.
The Ranger that had spoken to him was tall, even taller than Anborn, rough cut black hair framed a stern face, and keen grey eyes looked down at the boy from under dark lashes. His green and brown clothes were stained, his boots well worn, and he had his hands clasped behind his back. "Anborn told me that you would like to see the fall when the sun goes down. I will take you there."
Anakil followed the tall Ranger out of the cave, to the doorstep below the fall. The sun was about to disappear behind the horizon, and her red light was broken by the falling water, casting the thin veil into flickering shades of red, like a burning fire.
The Ranger folded his arms across his chest, and Anakil caught a glimpse of a long sword he carried at his belt. He felt intimidated by this stern man's presence, and he was in awe of Ithilien's beauty opening up before him.
"I was told you have come from Osgiliath to deliver a message?" the Ranger started to speak as the sun disappeared, and the fire burned down in the water of the fall.
'Never talk about the contents of message, neither to your friend, nor to your enemy,' Beldil's advice echoed in Anakil's mind. "My message is for the Captain alone," he replied.
"Then speak, for I am Faramir, Captain of Gondor and of the Ithilien Rangers."
Anakil noted the quiet authority in the man's behaviour, his commanding voice, and also the concerned and weary look in his grey eyes. He had seen men with eyes like this before, Captains who had just lost part of their company, or worried about some of their men, as Beldil had told him. He scolded himself for not seeing what was plainly in front of his eyes. He took a look around and realized they were alone, all men that had been moving about before had quietly departed.
His fingers dove into his pocket to present the message, and for the first time he noticed the bloody fingerprints he had left on the white paper while fingering it after killing the Orc. "My lord," he said and bowed his head. "I was sent here to deliver this message, and to tell you in person that Mablung and his company have reached Osgiliath safely and with minor injuries only. These injuries force them to spend at least a week at Osgiliath, before returning to Ithilien and giving a full account of the errand in person. Mablung has given the uninjured fellows two days leave, either to see their families or to find some – distraction from duty in Minas Tirith, as he had put it, and he personally vows for their timely return. He has sent me, I can only quote his words again, to make sure you do not worry about his well-being, for you already worry entirely too much, my lord."
Anakil could not read the Captain's face, as the man nodded at his words and took the sealed message from his hand, moving his thumb slowly over one of the bloody fingerprints. He took a look at the seal, and his brow narrowed in a frown.
Anakil had noticed the strange seal before, it was a patch of green wax, but instead of the rough outline of a ring, there was only a fingerprint visible in the wax, and two small lines, like the scratch of a fingernail, crossed in the middle.
The Captain broke the seal, pulled out a small piece of paper and read the words in the last light of the fading day. Suddenly a smile crept onto his face, transforming his stern features into the likeable face of the boy he must have been a long time ago, and Anakil felt himself smiling in return.
"Mablung," the Captain muttered under his breath and shook his head, still smiling.
"My lord?" Anakil said and forced the grin off his face. He did not now if he should take his leave or request an answer, so he crossed his hands on his back and kept his curiosity at bay, until the Captain had finished the message and decided to talk to him again.
The Captain read the message twice, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, a flickering light in his grey eyes. He took a long look out through the waterfall onto Anduin, glistening in the distance, then he put a heavy hand on the boy's narrow shoulders. "You are the bearer of good news, young Anakil. I fear there is far too little good news in these times. Mablung's company, for which we have searched in vain for days, has reached Osgiliath safely, and all of them are alive. The host of Orcs in their pursuit was taken care of by the men of Osgiliath. It must have been Mablung himself who gave you the errand, can you tell me if he was among the injured?"
Anakil nodded. "The man who wrote the message in my presence was slightly limping on his right foot, and he was cursing the Orcs' spears in every second sentence. He never introduced himself to me, for I am only the messenger."
"Anborn told me you are also an able warrior," Captain Faramir stated. "You have to tell your story when Beldil is on his feet again to join us."
Anakil felt a blush creep onto his cheeks. "I will, if my lord commands, but there is no great story to tell."
"Beldil can make an entertaining story out of the smallest event, and I am sure you can do that as well, for you are a messenger like him, and all messengers I have met so far are very able in the game of words. Let us now join the men and tell your good news, and thereafter have a meal together. You are our guest tonight, young Anakil."
"Thank you very much for your kindness, my lord," Anakil said and bowed again.
The Captain stepped into the cave and raised his hand, and the men fell silent at once. The Captain's voice echoed through the cave as he announced that Mablung and his company were safe, and the men cheered in response.
Anakil stayed at the Captain's side, and he found himself cheering as well.
Suddenly the men grew quiet and stepped aside to form a passage in their middle. Galdor and Anborn slowly walked through the cleared path, supporting Beldil between themselves. The messenger's face was flushed from the strain of standing upright and moving.
The three men stopped in front of the Captain. Anborn let go of Beldil's waist and stepped back into the crowd of Rangers.
Beldil was panting heavily but managed to raise his head in proud defiance, his left arm draped across Galdor's shoulders for support. The Ranger had his left hand on Beldil's left elbow, carefully avoiding touching the broken wrist, his right arm wrapped around the messenger's waist.
Beldil needed some time to get his heavy breathing under control, and his fellow Rangers patiently waited for him to speak.
Beldil's right hand slowly crept under his shirt, and he pulled out three white envelopes, wrinkled and dirt stained but without tears in the thin paper. He carefully bowed his bandaged head and presented the envelopes to the Captain. "Captain Faramir," he said. "I was sent to deliver these messages from Minas Tirith."
Do not hand a written message to anyone other than to the man you were told to seek out. Anakil could almost hear the words in his head. You cannot be sure that your friend is your friend.
Captain Faramir accepted the envelopes with a smile on his stern face and bowed his head in return. "Thank you, Beldil." He put his hand on the messenger's shoulder. "I have heard you fought well." The Captain's smile widened. "For a messenger." The assembled Rangers roared with laughter. "Go now and rest, for I guess these Orcs will appear like no more than flies on the wall when the healer has finished with you."
"Aye, Captain, I fear you are quite right." Beldil bowed again, and Galdor helped the messenger to turn around and slowly make his way back to his bed behind a curtain.
Anakil laughed and cheered for the brave messenger with the merry crowd, his young voice clearly distinguishable from the deeper tones of the Rangers. The Captain laughed as well, taking a short glance at the three messages in his hand. His gaze lingered on the seals for a second or two, and Anakil, standing next to the tall man, caught a glimpse of alarm and worry on the handsome face.
The boy stopped laughing, waiting for the Captain to announce the cause of his sudden change in mood, but the Captain put the messages into a pocket of his cloak, and when he raised his head, he was laughing again. But the laughter did not reach his eyes.
Anakil felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around, startled, and found Anborn standing beside him. The tall Ranger put a finger on his lips and shook his head, and Anakil realized Anborn had seen the concern on the Captain's face as well. He wanted to ask what was going on, but Anborn let go of his shoulder and quietly disappeared into the crowd.
The boy decided to keep quiet for the time, for Captain Faramir's concerns were none of his business after all. The Captain made his way through his cheering men, talking and grasping hands, but when he shortly turned around, Anakil could see that the laughter of his mouth had not been able to banish the anxiety from his eyes.
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- Thanks again to all those who took the time to read and review. I can't say how much I do appreciate your help!
Shakes