Faramir Fiction Archive

Trail of Tears (R)

Written by Kissa

21 June 2008 | 6893 words

Chapter 4

The diffuse light coming from the inside, as well as the sounds of what seemed to be two beings gasping for breath told the Ranger his little hideout had been uncovered. He had two options: look for another shelter for the night and waste precious resting time with making sure it was as safe as his known lair or killing whatever creatures had occupied his cave.

He slithered along the walls, with the intent on ambushing the creatures which were most likely fighting over the night’s kill. As he peeked around a corner, his breath caught in his throat and for a moment his blood forgot to flow at the sight he was presented with.

In his long errant life, he had come across many strange things… and soldier’s comfort had been something he had often seen among his comrades, but what he was now witnessing could hardly be called by that name…. though that was the closest idea the Ranger could relate to right now. The men’s things, scattered all around them, hinted to them being warriors, and by the coat of arms engraved on the breastplate which lay almost within reach of him, they were Gondorians. The Ranger filed that information away for later use and continued to look, mesmerized, as the younger one ground himself against the other in a hypnotic, carefully chosen rhythm. The young one’s shirt had slid down his shoulders, but his arms were still in the shirt’s sleeves, and though the thin silk was see-through, it did preserve some mystery, as it descended low enough to conceal the spot where they were joined.

The arousal on the lying man’s face was obvious… but the Ranger also saw the greenish sheen of perspiration, the erratic breathing whose rhythm changed following a rather irregular pattern, the oval-shaped pupils, the dry tongue which was darting out to moisten even drier lips… Plus, there was blood seeping from fresh wounds, which, although they shone with a layer of salve, did not show any time of closing, and on the cave floor he could spy, among the warriors’ discarded things, at least three broken arrow heads. Orc arrow heads.

To him, all that put together could only mean one thing: the poison had already begun to attack the main organs and was beginning to show on the outside. He could not waste more time. A split-second decision was made and the Ranger carefully made his presence felt by walking loudly in the men’s direction, taking his time as he went around a corner along the rock wall, making sure they could preserve their decency upon their encounter.

„Pardon me, my lords, for intruding on this cold night.” He began, slightly bowing his head and lowering the hood of his cloak. „I thought my cave was a well enough hidden secret, but I see I was wrong. My apologies for disturbing your evening, but I am tracking down a company of Orcs which have crossed into these forests over the Harad borders. They carry poisoned arrows, with the mission to test a new, deadlier mix. I see one of you is injured quite badly and I would ask for permission to look at the wounds. This new poison acts fast and leaves permanent damage.” He said, kneeling by the injured warrior’s side. „I am Thorongil and I am a Ranger, but I have been trained as a healer by Elrond the Half-Elven. Perhaps I can help before it is not too late.”

„We thank you for your consideration… but as I am sure you have noticed on your way here, the Orcs have been slain, at the cost of my two companions’ lives” Faramir spoke in a low, controlled voice. „And my brother’s wounds have been taken care of…”

„Brother, please!” Boromir cut in, speaking with great difficulty. „I want him to take a look.”

The Ranger removed the sweat soaked shirt, examining the entry wounds in silence.

To Faramir, it was awkward. He had this nagging feeling that control had been taken from him, because as soon as this mysterios man had walked in on them, Boromir had been entranced by him, trusting him instantly. That did not please him and only spelled out more danger to be on the lookout for.

„Pardon my little brother, my lord. He means well, and in these times it is not prudent to trust strangers.” Boromir said, smiling up at the stranger. „We are soldiers in Gondor’s army. I am Aradhel and the little one is Eramir…”

Faramir’s eyes grew wide with surprise for a moment, but he quickly controlled his reactions. His heart beat faster as he realized Boromir did not trust the stranger so easily, as he had feared. It was a good thing if the Ranger did not know they were the sons of the Steward.

He took the time to study the man. What had drawn his attention from the very beginning were his eyes. Clear, icy blue eyes, far too wise for the man’s apparent age, the look in them one of undaunted pride and regal attitude. This could not be a mere Ranger!

The second thing „Eramir” noticed were the man’s hands. Clean, graceful, expressive and skilled. There were faint calluses on them, which indicated the use of a bow, but the hands were not weathered and used.

All in all, the Ranger did not seem to be just that, a humble Ranger. A spy perhaps? But on whose side? Why would he insist on helping them, if his mission or interests came first? Why waste time on them? Why was he helping them, instead of chasing them away from what he claimed to be his hideout?

Faramir’s mind worked hard to weigh all the options and to consider all the information he had gathered.

„My lord Eramir, have you used the water from the warm spring to cleanse the wounds?” the Ranger asked.

Faramir nodded.

„And you have smeared the wounds with this salve?” Thorongil picked up the small, half-empty jar from the floor of the cave.

„Aye, I have. It is healing salve, it mends poisoned flesh. Every Gondorian carries a jar with him.”

„I am afraid I need to use something stronger. I have found an herb which removes the poison from the body… I shall have to make an infusion of it and your brother should drink it.” Thorongil said.

Faramir nodded and let the Ranger take the plant from his pack, helping him prepare the infusion. When it was ready, he ordered:

„You drink first.”

Smiling, Thorongil drank a cup.

„It actually tastes acceptable, for a medicine.” He said.

That smile… Faramir felt a shiver rush down his spine. There was wisdom and nobility in the man’s features, in the way they lit up when he smiled… nay, this was not a spy for the enemy. Perhaps he was an envoy from the elven realms. Faramir knew that elves usually did not interfere with affairs of Man, but now, with the growing shadow from Mordor, the elves had begun to inquire, at the same time trying to keep their intervention at a benign minimum.

And there was something else… recognition? His mind was sending him flashes of visions… but they were far too quick and diffuse… unrelated. Nothing made sense any longer, except for the current feeling of reassurance settling in. The sensation was a first in itself, and on top of that, Faramir could feel it being relayed to him through Boromir as well. His brother was warming up to the Ranger as well… right then, the steward’s youngest son would have paid serious gold to see what was on his brother’s mind. He hated being intrigued.

Thorongil patiently waited for Boromir to drink all the infusion, scrupulously monitoring the changes in the wounded man’s condition. They spent the night in silence, keeping the fire down to a minimum, so they would not attract enemies, speaking only when necessary to preserve strength and stealth… and somehow, by the time Anor was rising, painting the cave entrance golden, Faramir was entranced, listening to an old tale of elven bravery as it was being told to him by Thorongil. The Ranger’s voice was immaterial and silky, like the wind whispering through the rock corridors long before elves of the first age named the elements wind and rock.

Looking at Thorongil, he had this strange feeling of seeing long forgotten ancestors and no one in particular, but the knowing eyes studying him back were warmed by a genuine smile… and to Faramir it seemed like he was bared to the man’s scrutiny down to the last recess of his soul.

When he went to check on Boromir, he was surprised to find his brother almost completely healed, the arrow wounds on their way to closing and scarring. As he got ready to stand and leave, he felt his brother’s hand, which had regained its strength, gripping his forearm and holding him in place, kissing him in the addictive way Boromir reserved for the rare occasions when they were alone and safe. Understanding passed between the brothers; no words were needed as the fire burning in Boromir’s eyes was lit in Faramir’s blue orbs as well.

It became obvious to the young captain that the mysterious Ranger had, without a doubt, saved his brother’s life. Had Thorongil not come forth about the Orcs’ mission of testing the new poison, Faramir would now be watching the light die in Boromir’s eyes. And that would bring about his end as well.

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