Faramir Fiction Archive

Paying the Piper (G)

Written by Shireling

15 November 2005 | 22964 words

Chapter 2

Several hours later Arwen and her Father sat in quiet vigil over the unconscious Steward. They had bathed and sutured his head wound and in removing his soiled clothing discovered a large livid bruise on the right hand side of his chest; Lord Elrond prepared a poultice and they bandaged the bruised ribs; during their ministrations Faramir never stirred.

“Ada, shouldn’t he have woken by now?” Arwen asked, replacing a damp cloth across the pale brow.

“I had hoped to see some improvement by now,” he confessed, “but it was a nasty blow and I sense that he is not ready to return to us yet.”

“Can you not call him back, Ada?”

“I can try but I cannot compel him to return. It would be better if Estel was the one to seek him; there is already a connection between them and I suspect that Faramir would respond better to a friend than to a figure of authority.”

“You think he fears you, Ada.”

“No, fear is too strong a word but he is not at ease in my company.”

“Should I try, Ada? I do not have yours or Estel’s gifts but I know something of the methods you employ….could I help him?”

“The offer is kind, my daughter but I fear that for the reasons we discussed earlier your intervention would not aid him at this point,” he explained gently, cupping his hand to her down turned cheek. “No, I will attempt to reach him. Will you stay and give me your support.”

“Of course, Ada. What would you have me do?” From their positions on either side of the bed they each extended a hand and entwined fingers, allowing their joined hands to rest over Faramir’s heart. Elrond placed his other hand on Faramir’s brow. He closed his eyes and allowed his senses to reach out through his fingertips.

He sank into the darkness enveloping Faramir’s mind.

Pain.

He felt, experienced the pain with a force that threatened to overwhelm him and for a moment he was tempted to retreat from its onslaught. He pushed it down and allowed his strength to smother the pain to a bearable level. Once he had regained a measure of control he moved further into the darkness. He could sense Faramir now; his bright spirit beckoned him forward until he reached an invisible barrier. He called but his words were swallowed by the silence, silent to even his own ears. He could feel the battle raging within the frail vessel that held Faramir’s spirit, could feel the temptation to give into the darkness. He called again, and again his voice carried no sound; he was a passive observer of this battle and he recognised the instant that Faramir drew away and let the shadow take him.

“Ada!”

“ADA.” The urgent call brought him back to his senses and he found himself slumped back in his chair, Arwen’s worried face inches from his own.

“Are you alright, Ada? You cried out as if in pain.”

“I am fine,” he reassured her, reaching out with a shaky hand to a glass of water on the bedside table.

“What happened?”

“He is in great pain, both physically and emotionally. He seeks to retreat from it and in doing so he has gone farther than I could reach. Estel explained before how he distances himself from pain to better ride out its fury, at present he is too weary to fight.”

“Is there any hope, Ada?”

“Of course. I will give him something to ease both the physical pain and to ease his mind, then I will try again to reach him.”

“But won’t the medicines make it worse and send him into even deeper sleep, Ada?”

“It is a fine balance. I need to give the draught enough time to be effective so that he has the strength to find his way back, only then will he slip into healing sleep,” the Healer explained, sorting through bottles and vials until he had collected the herbs he required.

Hearing was the first sense to return, though it took a while for the fact to register that these were real sounds and not the background noises of the darkness. He reached out with this first sense to try and comprehend his situation. He could hear the gentle murmur of voices, loud enough to register but not clear enough to decipher the words. He could hear the hiss and crackle of a fire and the whispered footfall of someone’s restless pacing. He could hear the pounding of his own heartbeat drumming in his ears, louder, louder; the pain in his head pulsed and he swallowed repeatedly against the bitter up swell of nausea.

“Easy, Faramir. We have you.” The soothing voice assured him as they turned him onto his side and supported him as he retched, dry heaves that seemed sure to explode his pounding head. “Easy now.”

He tried to bring his hand up to the focus of the pain but his arms felt like lead and he couldn’t get the wretched limbs to move. He felt hands upon him, moving him like a limp rag doll. When they had finished moving and tending him he resisted the temptation of sinking back into the oblivion of sleep and instead used his energy to try to open his eyes. Even the act of trying to force open his lids left him damp with the sweat of exertion; a cool cloth was pressed against his neck and brow and he leaned into its offer of comfort.

“Hurts!” He wanted to say more but that was the only word he could articulate.

“I know, Faramir. Just relax and we will give you something for the pain.” It was a female voice and was accompanied by a soft hand cupped to his cheek. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

It took all of his remaining strength but he blinked once, twice and tried to focus on the face in front of him. Gradually the blurred vision cleared and in the dim lamplight he realised that it was Arwen.

“My Queen…..!” He struggled to sit upright but firm hands stilled his attempt, pushing him back against the pillows.

“Easy Faramir, you must rest. You had a nasty fall and sustained a bad blow to the head. You must rest.” Lord Elrond’s stern but compassionate instructions quelled any further struggle and he sank back further into the pillows. A moment later a cup was pressed to his lips and he swallowed down the offered water with relief; the drink was followed by a bitter tasting elixir, he hadn’t the strength to turn away from the noxious brew and he swallowed it with difficulty.

“Well done, young one, I’m sorry I couldn’t make that one more palatable,” The Elf Lord chuckled at his grimace. “I want you to sleep now; you will feel much better in the morning. Just relax and we will take care of you.”

As he relaxed and slipped back towards sleep he remembered the darkness and the presence. “Where’s Boromir?” he mumbled as sleep claimed him.

“Ada?”

“Don’t worry, Arwen, A little confusion is to be expected after such an injury. His heart seeks the comfort of a loved and familiar presence.” The Elf Lord assured her.

“He still seeks comfort from the past,” she said sadly, stroking her hand through his hair.

“It is a shame that Estel and Legolas are away, I think he would find ease in their company.”

“Should we send for them, Ada? Ask them to return early?”

“No, Arwen, there is no urgency. He will recover without difficulty, I deem. Now that he has wakened and knows his surroundings it will not take long for him to be back on his feet. He will be recovered before Estel’s party could get here and I fear he would hate to be the cause of the King cutting short his expedition.”

When Tamir reported for duty at dawn he found his Lord, pale, bandaged and still abed. Even from the doorway he could see the bruised and battered visage, Faramir’s face and right eye swollen and discoloured beneath the bandage around his forehead. The young Adjutant’s gasp of shock roused the Elven Healer from his reverie and he rose gracefully to usher the youngster back into the anteroom.

“My Lord, what has happened?

“Lord Faramir had a fall and banged his head. He was knocked senseless for a while but he is alright now. He will recover.” The Healer assured the shocked youngster.

“You should have sent for me! I should have been here,” the adjutant whispered, “the one time he needed me and I was out with my friends.”

“Peace, Tamir. It was an accident and you could not have prevented it. The queen and I attended him. He will be fine; two or three days in bed and he will be fit to resume his duties.

“Are you sure, Sir?”

“I am sure, young one. . . through I don’t envy you the task of keeping him in bed.”

“No Sir, he hates being idle when he knows there are duties awaiting him.” The young adjutant grimaced at the thought of the likely battles ahead

“I don’t think it will be a problem today as I am sure he will have a considerable headache. I will stay until he awakes and I will leave you some medicines to help ease his pain. Try to keep him as quiet and still as possible and try and keep visitors to a minimum, he will likely not feel up to entertaining guests. I will inform Queen Arwen and the rest of her entourage of his condition.”

When he climbed slowly to wakefulness the following morning it was to the grateful realisation that though his head still ached he no longer felt that it was liable to explode. He was also thankful to find himself alone, though the quiet buzz of voices filtering through from the ante-chamber promised that his oasis of peace would be short-lived.

An insistent need to utilise the facilities of the washroom claimed his attention. With a groan of exertion he pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. At that point the condition of his ribs came sharply and painful into focus, overriding even the increased pounding in his head. He hugged his arms around his chest to support his bruised ribs and pushed himself to his feet. An involuntary groan betrayed his actions and he found himself subject to the disapproving scrutiny of his two self-appointed carers as he slumped back down onto his bed in defeat.

“What are you doing out of bed, my Lord?” Elrond asked with a knowing grim as he pulled gently on Faramir’s arm and assessed his pulse.

“I am going to the washroom,” Faramir growled through clenched teeth, pulling his hand away and trying again to get to his feet.

“You should not be out of bed,” the healer said firmly, quelling his charge with a hand on his shoulder.

“I thank you for your concern but I ‘am’ going to the washroom.”

“Not without assistance you are not.”

“I don’t need assistance.” Anger and frustration were giving Faramir strength but he was no match for the determined Elf Lord.

“You have a choice, young one, either you allow us to help you to the washroom or we deal with your needs here . . . but I would advise you to make up your mind swiftly or you will be dealing with Arwen as well and she has been my assistant in the healing halls for long enough to have mastered the art of dealing with difficult patients!”

“Fine! Tamir may assist me,” Faramir hissed, sullen in defeat.

“We will both assist you,” the Elf Lord affirmed, giving the pouting Steward no further room for dissent.

By the time he returned to bed he no longer had the energy or the inclination to resist the healer’s attentions and he lay, limp and motionless, as the Elf Lord assessed his injuries. Though the blow to his head had been in his hairline, the bruising and swelling had spread lower and his right eye was swollen almost shut and sported a colourful array of bruises. He winced as the area around the wound was palpated and only when the healer had finished his ministrations did he finally meet his eyes.

“You’ll mend,” Lord Elrond assured him, moving his attention to Faramir’s bruised chest. “Two or three days rest will see you back on your feet.”

“But I can’t laze in bed. I have duties to attend to.”

“Your only duty at the moment is to follow my instructions. I have checked the agenda for today’s council meeting and there is nothing that cannot be postponed for a day or two. Arwen and I will keep an eye on matters until you are sufficiently recovered to return to your duties.”

Elrond was only too aware that Faramir would consider his incapacity a shameful weakness and he did his best to reassure his unhappy patient.

“Faramir, you really are in no condition to return to work.”

“Please, if you would just give me something for the pain. . . .a bump on the head is no excuse for abandoning my responsibilities. . . “

“Faramir, it was more than ‘just a bump’ . . . consider what sort of example you are setting young Tamir if you ignore my advice and instructions. Would you rather I ordered you to obey or maybe have you moved to the Warden’s jurisdiction for care and observation?”

“That is a low blow, Sir.” Faramir almost spat the words but Lord Elrond was not fazed by his ill-humour and merely fixed him with a calm and impenetrable gaze.

“Tamir, you may give Lord Faramir four drops of this medicine every four hours. See that he stays in bed and make sure he rests. Do not worry if he has no appetite today, though you must make sure he continues to take a drink every couple of hours. I will come back and check on him later.” Lord Elrond spoke within Faramir’s hearing so that there would be no doubting his orders. With a final instruction to send for him if the young adjutant was worried, Lord Elrond took his leave.

By lunchtime the following day Faramir was ready to explode with frustration. Tamir had been ruthless in his application of the Healer’s instructions, keeping visitors at bay and dosing Faramir on a regular basis. While the medicine worked well at treating the pain it also made him very sleepy, a fact that infuriated the patient who fretted against the enforced and unwelcome incapacity. In truth, Faramir still suffered from a considerable headache and found the thought of food increased his feelings of nausea. He avoided battles over eating by consigning most of his breakfast and lunch to the fire when Tamir stepped out of the room.

When Lord Elrond appeared to check on his patient Faramir feigned sleep, though he wasn’t above eavesdropping on the Elf Lord’s conversation with Tamir.

“Well youngster, how is our patient today?”

“He seems a little better, my Lord, he ate most of the breakfast and lunch you had sent up for him and he says his headache is better. . .he doesn’t like taking his medicine because it makes him sleepy, Sir,” Tamir reported.

“That is one of its purposes, Tamir,” Elrond whispered,” it helps to keep reluctant patients in bed.”

“OH. . . I hadn’t thought of that.”

“If he does indeed feel better there is no need to give the medicine on a regular basis. Keep some handy and just give him a dose if and when he needs it. What about his ribs? Is he moving more easily?”

“He seems to be and he hasn’t complained of any discomfort today, Sir.”

“Very well. I won’t disturb him as he is resting. I will be in the Houses of Healing for the rest of the day if you need me.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Try not to worry about him, Tamir. He is well on the way to recovery. He is most fortunate to have such a watchful and diligent companion to look after him.”

“It is my privilege, Sir.”

Faramir listened to the conversation with a growing sense of frustration. It wasn’t that he doubted their intentions, but he hated being fussed over and he felt more than capable of judging for himself what he was capable of. This was the second day of his enforced incarceration and he was all too aware that in his absence his duties would be piling up, especially with the King away. He could simply no longer abandon those duties and undo all of the progress he had worked so hard for. When the King returned he wanted everything to be in order and running smoothly.

As he played these thoughts through his mind he suddenly remembered that he had engaged to attend the cadets’ archery lesson, another duty he was loath to abandon. The pounding in his head intensified as he attempted to work out a way of fulfilling his obligation. Noticing the bottle of elixir he measured out two drops onto a small mithril spoon, not a full dose but hopefully enough to mask the pain without making him drowsy.

Calling Tamir to his bedside he tasked the young adjutant with seeing to some research for him in the archive, a task that would take most of the afternoon. Tamir was clearly torn between this important task and leaving Lord Faramir unattended.

“Are you sure you will be alright on your own, Sir,” he asked. “What if you need assistance?”

“I will be fine,” Faramir assured him. “I have just taken another dose of Lord Elrond’s delightful potion,” he said, pointing to the sticky spoon with a grimace. “. . .you know how that stuff affects me. If I need anything I will ask the guard to send for you.”

Tamir nodded and reluctantly gathered together the documents he required. He made sure that the Steward had a drink within reach and pulled the shutters closed.

“Tell the guard that I do not wish to be disturbed,” Faramir instructed as Tamir took his leave.

Faramir lay still for many minutes to allow the medicine to take full effect. He slowly pulled himself to his feet and struggled to dress himself in his Ranger attire, before strapping on his bow and quiver.

A small voice of reason nagged at his conscience as he made his covert exit from his chamber via the concealed door in his closet. He recognised that the chances of his illicit excursion escaping the notice of his ‘nannies’ was remote but reason and logic had long since deserted him; he could not allow the consequences of his clumsiness to interfere with his duties.

Carrying a lighted torch he made his way through the labyrinth of tunnels burrowed deep within the heart of the city. This had been his playground as a boy and Boromir had been his playmate, he knew the tunnels and passageways like the back of his hand. The last time he had utilised these secret ways had been to escape the city in his search to connect with his memories of his beloved brother. This time he stayed within the confines of the city, exiting the cool, damp confines in a sheltered corner behind the market square on the second level, using the crowds and bustle to mask his unorthodox appearance.

The archery lesson was in full swing when he arrived at the practice field and he waited quietly in the shade for a break in the session before announcing his presence. He watched in silent admiration as the twin Elf Lords first demonstrated their skills and then assisted the weapons master in instructing the cadets. It was a surprisingly peaceful scene; the three instructors moved up and down the line offering words of encouragement and instruction, occasionally stopping to adjust a stance or the position of hands on the bow. At the end of the session the cadets retrieved their arrows and gathered around the water butt to rest and quench their thirst. It was at this point that Faramir approached the Master-at-Arms and apologised for his tardy arrival.

“My Lord, we were not expecting you. I was given to understand that you were still unwell,” the old soldier commented, looking the Steward over with a glance that left no doubt that he thought that he should indeed still be abed.

“I am quite recovered,” Faramir assured him.

“Recovered but not yet truly healed,” The man confirmed pushing back a lock of hair to reveal the sutured laceration in his hair line and then tilting his face this way and that to examine the bruising around his eye. Faramir stepped away from the scrutiny with a grimace of irritation.

“Recovered enough to fulfil my obligations to assist Lords Elladan and Elrohir in a promised demonstration.”

“Lord Faramir, we were not expecting to see you here today.” Both twins appeared at his elbow and they too subjected him to intense scrutiny.

“So people keep saying. I am not in the habit of reneging on my promises, My Lord.”

“But Ada said you would be resting today. Does he know that you are here?”

“Lord Elrond checked up on me earlier. . . Now are we giving this demonstration today or have I dragged myself here for nothing,” Faramir challenged, hoping to turn attention away from Lord Elrond’s instructions and not wanting to tell an outright untruth to the Elven Lords.

“Faramir, are you sure you want to do this? You are still very pale. . .we can always reschedule this for another day, “ Elladan coaxed.

“I’m fine. Let us proceed.” The twins exchanged wry glances but felt they could do little in the face of Faramir’s obvious determination. They were both familiar with a warrior’s frustration at enforced idleness following injury and could sympathise with Faramir’s plight, even as they recognised that he would have to accept responsibility for his actions.

“Very well, Faramir. You sit here while we set up the targets.”

“Keep a close eye on him, brother. I fear that he is not here with Ada’s blessing,” Elladan cautioned his brother as they moved the targets back to accommodate the longer flight of the longbow.

“Should we send word to him?”

“No. I think we should allow Faramir his freedom. He is not a child and I am sure he knows his limitations.”

“Like Estel did at that age!”

“Yes, you are right. Still it is too late to take him to task now. . . he will have to deal with Ada later,” Elladan said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Rather him than me. You know how Ada feels about patients who do not follow his instructions.” Both twins grinned and unconsciously reached back to rub away the warning tingle that shot down from their backs to their thighs in remembrance of their father’s preferred method of accounting.

By late afternoon Faramir was beginning to regret his missed meals and his medicine; his head pounded and he felt light-headed and nauseous. The afternoon was hot and airless and his leathers clung heavily to his frame. He fetched another scoopful of water to drink and then poured the next one over his head.

“Let us finish now, Faramir,” Elladan requested, worried by his obvious distress.

“No, one more round.”

“Faramir, please…”

“I said, One. More. Round!” Faramir snatched up his bow and took his place on the firing line. The Master-at Arms took one look at the Steward and appeared ready to bring the proceedings to a halt; his was the final authority here on the training grounds. He glanced at the Elf Lords, an unvoiced question in his expression; Elladan shook his head.

“Two arrows only, My Lord,” he instructed. His glower when Faramir seemed likely to protest was enough for Faramir to leave his thoughts unvoiced.

Faramir stood for a moment to regain his composure and to clear his mind of all distractions. This was what he wanted, to be able to give his full concentration to his task, this was where he took pleasure from his skill with the bow. In engagements with the enemy firing was done with well-honed instinct, no time for thought or doubt. Here on the practice field he excelled; he blocked out everything but the target. The air stilled, the breeze dropped and even the birds were silenced to his ears; his peripheral vision narrowed to the point that the bulls-eye was the only thing in focus. He increased his pull on the bow, ignoring even the pain in his bruised ribs. He took a deep breath, held it and let the arrow fly as he released the air from his lungs.

The arrow flew straight and true, hitting the very centre of the target.

There was no applause, no cheering, just silence.

Faramir dropped his head and allowed the bow to drop from his grasp. Sixth sense told him what he would see if he turned round. He was in no hurry to look.

“Would someone be kind enough to tell me what is going on here?” The softly spoken words carried across the field and Faramir winced. His knees finally folded and he landed with a bump on his backside.

“Your lecture is not necessary,” he growled when Lord Elrond appeared in front of him

“Indeed!” The Elf Lord’s exasperation was clear from his tone if not from his expression. “Can you stand?”

“Of course I can stand. . . just prop me up on the keel and I will demonstrate that I can fly too!”

“Sarcasm is not perhaps your best defence, My Lord,” the Healer said, assessing his patients pulse and general condition. He was not impressed. He called over Tamir who was hovering on the edge of the field beside the twins.

“Tamir, you told me that Lord Faramir ate both his breakfast and lunch today, is that correct?” The young adjutant cast a worried glance at his senior before nodding his head in confirmation.

“Lord Faramir, is there something you think you should share with us?” Faramir remained stubbornly mute.

“Faramir, did you eat the meals provided for you?” Elrond tilted Faramir’s head up until he could no longer evade his gaze.

“No Sir. . .I wasn’t hungry,” Faramir ground out irritably.

“I see. Elladan, would you run to the barracks or the market and get some bread or sweet cakes or milk; anything to get some energy into this young fool. Elrohir, would you go to the stable and bring a mount for Lord Faramir, I’m sure he doesn’t want to be carried all the way back up the Citadel like a babe in arms.”

“That will not be necessary. I am perfectly capable of getting there without assistance,” Faramir said, brushing off the hands of the Elf Lord and struggling to get to his feet.

“For once you will do as you are told. . .if I hear one more word of dissent from you I will deal with your foolishness here and now!” It wasn’t a threat Faramir wished to challenge and he settled back onto his ground, his arms curled around his knees and his face hidden from view. He felt so foolish, so humiliated and yet he couldn’t blame Lord Elrond; he had brought this on himself, had brought himself to this point. He knew before he left his chambers that his actions were childish, that he would be called to account. . . but to have been caught in the act and to have his misdemeanours examined in public was more than he could bear.

The field was still suspiciously silent and as that fact registered he snuck a glance around himself. He was surprised to note that the only ones still in attendance were Lord Elrond and Tamir; the cadets and the Master-at-Arms were nowhere in sight. He breathed a sigh of relief at this small reprieve and sent up a silent vote of thanks to whoever had cleared away the possible witnesses to his humiliation.

When Elladan returned he handed Faramir a warm honey cake and a fresh dipper of water, he wasn’t allowed to move until both were consumed and he felt some strength returning to his still shaky legs. Faramir made one more determined effort to avoid being escorted back up to the Citadel on horseback. He wasn’t successful, Lord Elrond led the procession followed by Tamir who held the leading rein; the Twin Elf Lords walked on either side of the horse, not holding him in place but watchful in case he faltered. The whole progress was conducted in silence; Faramir had his eyes closed to avoid seeing anyone who might be witness to his disgrace.

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