Chapter 8

With a clean bill of health Tamir left the Healer’s chamber and asked for directions to Lord Faramir’s room. He bade leave of one of the attendants to be admitted; she had him wait while she enquired.

Through the open doorway he could see that the bed was empty and he craned his neck to get a better view. He could see two people standing one each side of a high padded bench; when one of the attendants moved Tamir caught a glimpse of Faramir. The bench was tilted at a sharp angle and Faramir lay face down along its length, his head lowered and his arms extended above his head; padded rests at his shoulders held him in place and prevented him slipping forward. He lay pale and unmoving, oblivious to his surroundings. The scene reminded Tamir of a macabre scene of torture!

The attendants were focussed on their patient; taking it in turns to bang rhythmically on his back with cupped hands. One of the towels that covered Faramir slipped and Tamir caught a glimpse of his naked back and shoulders, revealing a mass of livid bruises.

“What are you doing to him?….leave him alone!” Tamir’s shout alerted the attendants to his presence. Shock and anger goaded him into action and he pulled the nearest attendant roughly away, trying to shield his master’s battered body with his own. “Keep away…don’t touch him,” he sobbed. His cries brought others to the chamber.

“Peace, Tamir, no one is trying to hurt him…you must let the healers work.” The Queen’s voice soothed and her hands gently but firmly pulled him away.

“Look what they’ve done to him, Lady! Please don’t let them hurt him any more, he’s been through enough,” he begged as she led him away to a quiet room along the corridor to be joined by the King and Prince Imrahil. Nobody spoke until Tamir had calmed.

“I’m sorry Tamir, we should have given you some warning before you saw Lord Faramir, your early arrival took us by surprise.” The King’s voice broke through his distress.

“And is this where I am to be told my services are no longer required, Sire?” Tamir asked bitterly.

“Why should your services be no longer required?”

“If my Lord is to be stripped of his responsibilities and banished I will not be able to accompany him; my service is pledged to Gondor.”

“Lord Faramir is not to be banished. I spoke in anger and haste and for that I have already apologised…he is relieved of his duties only until he is recovered. Besides which, it is not for me to interfere in Lord Faramir’s appointments, only he can release you from his service,” he reassured, conscious that the Adjutant had spent the last three days worrying about his Lord’s and his own future.

“Tamir, Lord Faramir has been very ill since you brought him here,” explained the Queen. “As we feared, he contracted the Fever; his exposure to the cold and rain plus his state of exhaustion weakened him and the illness has affected his breathing. The Healers have been trying to clear the congestion in his lungs by tipping him and percussing his chest, as you saw earlier. The bruising seems to be a consequence of the illness; he had bad bruising to his arms and shoulders when he was admitted to the Warden’s care that must have occurred before his journey to the city! I promise you no one has mistreated him.”

“I’m sorry, my Lady…it was such a shock and I’ve been so worried about him. I should have been here to take care of him, not lazing about and getting under my mother’s feet.” This last bitter comment was addressed towards the King.

“Tamir, we need you to tell us what really happened at Henneth Annun?”

“Lord Faramir has already explained that, Sire.”

“And what about the bits of the story he left out?  It is obvious that there is more to the story. Why in his fever did he keep crying out that he had taken a life, had killed a boy called Beruel? Does that name mean anything to you?”

“There was nobody at Heneth Annun by that name,” Tamir said after a moment’s hesitation. The King didn’t miss the evasion of the reply.

“So you don’t know who Beruel is?” Tamir found himself pinned by the King’s gaze; he couldn’t ignore this direct question.

“Beruel was the name of the boy who died here in the wards before the Coronation,” he confirmed reluctantly. “It was his death that pushed Lord Faramir to despair before he…”

“…killed the prisoner,” finished the King with sudden understanding. “So what happened at Henneth Annun to trigger that bad memory?” All eyes turned to Tamir who squirmed under the collective scrutiny of those present. He was clearly reluctant to say more or to reveal what had transpired.

“Tamir, we need you to help us. We all recognise and applaud your devotion and loyalty to Lord Faramir but we cannot help him if we do not understand what we are dealing with,” the Queen explained taking the lead. She realised that the Adjutant’s antagonism towards the King was hindering the interview.

“Please help us to help him,” begged Prince Imrahil.

Tamir turned and addressed his report to the Prince.

“It was like my Lord said, the place was in chaos; all order had broken down, there was no one left to take charge. Lord Faramir re-established order in the camp at the surface, organised light duties for the convalescents and rotas for sentry, hunting and cooking duties for the others.

“Then we went down into the caverns.” Tamir looked to the Queen, his face haunted by the memory

“It was like something out of your worst nightmare…the sick and dying lying in their own filth! The lads looking after them were doing their best but they were run ragged; with no hot water, no supplies, they could do little more than scratch the surface!”

“We lost track of the days; the patients either got better or died ‘till we were left with just seven; they had lost the symptoms of the fever but were left with breathing problems. By that time we were all pretty exhausted.”

“There was one soldier who helped us look after his companions, his name was Johean; not the brightest spark but gentle and compassionate, always cheerful, always singing, and not the usual rough and bawdy soldier’s songs but sweet rhymes and tunes such as parents  sing to their children. He looked after us too, bringing hot drinks and food and urging my Lord to rest.”

“Just when we thought we were through the worst Johean got sick; just keeled over in a dead faint. Within hours he was raving and thrashing and we had to restrain him to his cot to keep him from hurting himself. For two days his fever raged before it finally broke and he knew us again; he kept apologising for getting sick!” Tamir’s distress broke the progress of his story and Arwen pressed a cup of water into his hand, allowing him to regain his composure.

“That night Lord Faramir insisted that he take first watch, he promised to wake me at midnight so I could take over and let him rest.”

“I wasn’t sure what woke me but I realised it was nearly dawn. I could hear people talking in the main chamber; one low and soothing, the other loud, high-pitched, full of fear.”

“Johean was cowering against the wall by the waterfall, he couldn’t see me but my Lord did and he signalled me to stay back. He kept talking to him, low and soothing; he was squatted down, slowly edging closer all the time. It was like Johean was two people; one minute talking quite rationally and the next raving and cowering saying orcs and goblins were after him. Lord Faramir got close enough to get a hand onto his arm and managed to coax him away from the water. I could see that Lord Faramir had the situation under control so I went to get some blankets… One of the other patients woke with a fit of coughing; the noise seemed to panic Johean, he leapt away back towards the water. My Lord tried to hold him but the lad was like a man possessed; he knocked Lord Faramir down and he lost his grip…Johean fell down into the pool below.”

“Lord Faramir was on the ground but he wouldn’t let me help him. He told me to get help for Johean, so I called for aid and headed down the stairway to the lakeside. He was dead, though whether by drowning or injury I couldn’t tell. We retrieved his body and I returned to the cavern. Lord Faramir was still on the ground, soaking wet and cold. I couldn’t rouse him. One of the patients said he had seen him have a fit, so I guessed it was one of the turns he’d had before. We lifted him onto a cot and got him warm and dry; he didn’t wake for several hours. By the time he finally roused the boy had been buried. He insisted on getting up, ordered the wagons and said we were leaving for the White City. He never once mentioned the lad or what happened…”

A long painful silence followed the completion of the tale, each listener contemplating the significance of the revelations.

“May I be excused now, Sire. I would not want to be accused of dereliction of duty to My Lord.” Tamir stepped perilously close to the line of insolence in his address to the King.

“Tamir, you forget yourself!” chastised Prince Imrahil, “remember to whom it is you speak. You owe the King your respect!”

“My apologies Sire. It was not my intention to disrespect the dignity of your office.”

“And what of me personally, Tamir. Can I not claim your respect?”

“Have you earned it, Sire?”

****

Later in the King’s apartments the discussion turned again to Faramir.

“Why is it that everyone else seems able to get through to the boy and I cannot,” grumbled the King. “You all seem to find no difficulty in gaining his confidence and his trust and yet with me he is withdrawn, defensive and downright frustrating. He effortlessly commands loyalty and devotion from his retainers, the people love him and yet to me he is a closed book.”

“Tamir certainly thinks you treat his Lord ill,” commented Imrahil with a chuckle. “There aren’t many who would dare cock-a-snoot at the King!”

“It is so frustrating!  I get the feeling that there is something going on that I don’t understand, some piece of the puzzle that is hidden and yet the harder I look the more obscured it becomes. Legolas, you are closer to him than anyone, have you any idea what is going on here?”

“No, though I don’t for a minute doubt his loyalty. He works himself hard; though at what I don’t understand. I have asked him what it is that consumes his time and his attention but he said he was just learning about the duties and responsibilities of being Steward!”

 Legolas looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing. “You might like to consider that perhaps you are the problem, Estel!”

“Me, I don’t understand?”

“Well, not you personally but the rank you hold, your position!  He’s not like us, he never knew you as a scruffy, smelly Ranger,” he said with a smile but not in jest. “Think about it, he’s been brought up on tales of lore and history, of ‘the Return of the King’, and you appear like a knight out of legend to vanquish the worst threat ever known and to personally pull him back from the very brink of death. I think he cannot see you as anything other than The King and he doesn’t think himself worthy of your friendship or consideration.”

“You may be right, my friend,” said Imrahil sadly, “his father’s treatment of him left him with a very poor view of his own worth and an intense fear of drawing attention to himself. I pray that he can weather this latest setback”.

****

Faramir’s recovery was slow and his convalescence closely monitored by the Warden and his friends. He chaffed against the enforced idleness, having been forbidden to indulge in anything related to work. He got around this restriction by having Tamir run his errands and keeping him informed about progress at the Retreat. As he slowly regained his strength he begged to be allowed out in the afternoons to sit in the gardens and enjoy the sun.

Tamir, armed with rugs and cushions would see him settled in his own private garden and would supply him with refreshments and books that would occasionally conceal documents from his scribe or the Chamberlain. He tried to write to Éowyn but his feeble attempts to write with his left hand frustrated him and he was unwilling to have the scribe or Tamir pen these personal letters on his behalf.  He explained his dilemma one afternoon when Arwen and Legolas joined him.

“Faramir, Éowyn knows that you were missing and that you have been ill,” the queen explained.

“How…why.” Faramir was distressed by the news. “You should not have told her!”

“Faramir, the envoy from Rohan was here for the Council, there is no way he could have concealed your absence on his return to Edoras. When you returned and were so ill I thought it only right that I should let her know; in her place, I would have wanted to know!”

“Please, Lady, would you help me to send word to her that I am recovered, I need to put her mind to rest as soon as possible. She worries about me!” he finished, sheepishly.

“Of course she does, we all worry about you.” She didn’t say it out-loud but Faramir caught a hint of her unspoken ‘silly-boy’.

 “How are you faring now, Faramir?” asked Arwen one afternoon, a few days later, noticing that he appeared to be particularly tense.

“Just fine!” he replied sarcastically. “Every morning I am prodded and poked, massaged and manipulated until the ‘Warder’ and his henchmen come and batter me senseless. Then, if I am a very ‘good boy’ and cough up enough to satisfy them, I am rewarded with a dose of some foul concoction that knocks me out for hours…my life is one round of pleasures!”

He was surprised when his tirade elicited a merry laugh from Arwen.

“It’s not funny!” he pouted.

“No, but now I know you are truly on the mend,” she laughed. “My father always said he could tell when his patients were getting better by how much they complained!”

“I miss him, My Lady; I wish he were here…. Oh, forgive me, that was thoughtless of me, I never meant to cause you distress,” he begged, seeing the look of sadness on the Queens face.

“I too miss him, Faramir. But can you not bring yourself to confide in me, for it is clear that you are greatly troubled, would it not be better to share what distresses you so.”

“I cannot, though I thank you for your offer; I have to find a way to resolve this on my own…”

“Faramir, does this trouble pose a threat? Are you in trouble? Does it threaten Estel?”

“No, Lady!” he cried, clasping her hand and holding it to his chest. “There is no threat to the King, no risk. I have pledged my life to his service, I will not let any harm come to him if it is in my power to prevent it.”

As he was allowed more and more freedom Faramir began to take a more active role in the management of the Refuge. Arwen, overhearing the Steward and Adjutant discussing plans, asked him about it. Without revealing the circumstances under which it was established or his own role in financing the venture he explained a little of what it involved. He was astonished when she asked to see it. He tried to dissuade her, citing its location in the poorer section of the city and the humble nature of the users but she was not to be put off. So one afternoon the three of them plus a small Guard detail set off for the Second Circle.

Arwen was amazed not just by the scope but by the scale of the undertaking. The building teemed with men, women and children all busy and occupied. The Elven Queen soon attracted an entourage of small children, hanging on her skirts and following her from room to room. She didn’t seem to mind the grubby handprints that stained her gown or the stifled giggles as they shyly touched her hair and her ears. Faramir left the Queen talking to the women in the kitchens about domestic concerns, while he went to the gardens to talk to the veterans. It was Tamir who rounded them together when it was time to return to the Citadel, conscious that the King would not take kindly to it if they kept the Queen out late.

Arwen made frequent visits to the Refuge; she enjoyed the opportunity of being involved; offering her skills and her experience and relishing the company of the younger members of the community. Faramir didn’t accompany her on these subsequent visits and he knew that he could not now hope to keep his own involvement in the project a secret, but whatever the Queen learned on her visits she kept it to herself and protected his confidence.

TBC

A/N;  Thanks to everyone for your feedback. Hugs. J