Chapter 8. Son of the Thain

Healer Woodruff entered the room, scrubbing at her face with her fingers, leaving streaks of soot when she dropped her hands. Her greying hair had come loose from its hairpins, cascading wildly down her back, and she'd torn her skirts somehow.

Mardi told her all that had been done, and she nodded, taking the Thain's wrist between her fingers, placing her ear against his chest to listen to his lungs, at last straightening up wearily.

'The steam has helped some, I think,' she said. 'I will stay with him now. You go on out to the courtyard; they're bringing people down from the fire lines now, burned, or breathed smoke, or both.'

Mardibold nodded, took up his bag, and left the room.

Outside, smoke still hung in the air, and a growing number of hobbits were being carried into the courtyard and laid upon the stones. Mardi could see healers and other hobbits going from body to body, his Rosa among them, rendering aid, cutting away clothing, washing wounds, smearing honey on burns, giving cups of cold water, and washing away the soot from pain-wracked faces.

Only the injured remained; the able-bodied left as soon as they deposited their burdens, to return to the fire lines to collect more injured, or to help beat out hot spots that still flared. Mardi took a deep breath of smoke-tainted air and hurried to join the work.

Inside the Smials, Woodruff gave orders to light candles and place bowls of vinegar everywhere to absorb smoke, then turned her attention back to the Thain.

Reginard watched helplessly, cursing to himself. He should have overruled the Thain, he should have been on the fire lines himself, with Pippin directing the emptying of Tuckborough and watching from the top of the Smials... but how does one overrule a ruler? Besides, he said to himself, even so Pippin would not have been safe from the smoke; great clouds had rolled eastward from the fire, to the very streets of Tuckborough and the courtyard of the Great Smials.

Woodruff looked up to see him. 'Out you go,' she said abruptly. 'You've other work to do, I'm sure.'

He nodded; she had the right of it. Thoughts tumbled in his mind, thoughts of what needed doing, dispelling the last of his shock. His last glimpse as he left the room was of Diamond sinking into the chair by the bed, taking her husband's hand.

There was work in plenty to be done: taking reports from the fire lines, counting the wounded, issuing orders to begin rounding up the scattered animals, taking descriptions of missing animals from worried hobbits, arranging for the great room to be scrubbed clean in time to serve late supper, setting up a roster for firewatch - for they'd have to keep an eye on the burned-over areas for some days, making sure the fire did not come to new life. Regi was kept busy collaring Tooks to oversee all these details.

He'd just sent the last one off and was in search of a bite to eat and a drink to wash the taste of smoke from his mouth, when a cousin found him. 'Regi, it's Faramir,' he said urgently.

'Has something happened to the lad?' Reginard demanded.

'Och, no,' the other was quick to reassure, 'it's not like that, more like his nurse is at her wits' end; the lad won't talk, won't eat, she doesn't know what to do. She asked if you might talk to him.'

'Where is he?' Regi said.

'In his room, of course. Will you come?'

'Aye,' Regi breathed. 'Do me a favour, will you Fredi? Bring some food and drink there, for me as well as for the lad.' The other nodded, and the twain parted ways.

Regi knocked softly at the door, hearing the nurse's "Come!" He pushed the door open, to see Faramir sitting on his bed, face pale, eyes enormous, nurse hovering next to him.

'Farry,' she said, 'The steward's here to see you.' The eyes looked at him, and then away.

'Leave us,' Regi said. 'Go and get yourself something to eat.' She nodded in relief, gave the lad a quick hug, whispered she'd be back soon, and left the room.

Regi sat down next to the lad, at a loss for words. Farry seemed to be staring into a great void. 'Well,' Regi said.

The eyes turned to him, somehow too wise and too old for a lad of four years. 'Is it done?' Faramir asked.

'The fire's out, for the most part,' Regi answered cautiously.

Faramir's eyes pierced him, full of questions that the lad dreaded to ask. With difficulty, the lad said, 'Is he dead, then?'

'No one's dead that I know of,' Regi said. 'I haven't heard all the reports, yet.'

The lad nodded and looked away again, still taut, waiting.

Suddenly, Regi understood. 'Your Da,' he breathed. The lad looked to him again, dread plain in his eyes now. 'He's breathing, lad. While there's breath, there's life.'

Faramir nodded and looked away. 'Lungs,' he said. 'That's what you use to breathe with...?' as if he weren't quite sure.

'Aye, lad,' Regi said.

'The Brandybucks... I heard them talking, when they didn't know I was there,' the lad said softly. 'They said he'd die young, because of his lungs.'

Regi sat riveted in shock.

The eyes turned back to him and Faramir continued. 'Is this the time? Will he die now?'

'I don't know, lad,' Regi answered, shaken. He cursed those careless Brandybucks, whoever they'd been, gossiping in the child's hearing that way.

Faramir nodded, and his eyes regained their inward look as he turned away again. 'I'll wait,' he said.

Regi tried to put an arm around him, to give him a reassuring hug, but the tiny lad remained stiff and unresponsive.

'Farry,' he said softly. 'Try to sleep now. This isn't helping your Da.'

Faramir shook his head. 'I'll wait,' he repeated, and Regi could hear the steel he'd inherited from his father in his young voice.