A Face in the Crowd: Faramir

Chapter Three - Hope Rekindled

*Some short sections of text in this chapter are taken from The Return of the King, property of J.R.R Tolkien & the Tolkien Estate. All of my fanfiction is not for profit.

The water was taking an age to boil. Was it even now too late? Keren was trying to stay calm as she waited, though her mind was in turmoil. What was she even doing? Kingsfoil would not save him, she was following the word of a lunatic. His breathing had been so laboured - he could not have long left. Perhaps he was already dead.

Bergil appeared at the door, skidding to a halt.

"Keren, Ioreth sent me into the gardens to look for fresh kingsfoil, but it's all been culled!" His voice was high with panic, and he was close to tears. "I don't know what to do! He's going to die! The great Lord Faramir, he's going to die, Keren!"

The answer came to her from nowhere. She ran over and put her hands on his shoulders.

"There may be somewhere closer, but we don't have time to run about searching. I know for sure there will be some in my father's house - go down to the fourth circle, ask for Maleron's workshop, go to the privy in the back. Nay, listen to me!" she said, and shook his shoulders as he looked at her as if she was mad. "He culls his yard every month, and keeps some leaves to freshen the smell. Only a few, and they may be dry now, but it's all I can think of, it will have to serve."

He was nodding quickly, blindly, clinging to her.

"Don't stand there gaping, Bergil, go!"

He went.

When the water was at last ready she scalded her hands in her haste to pour it. She placed cloths over the hot bowls to protect the now raw skin and set off back to the warden's room. She longed with all her heart to run, but could not afford to spill the water.

When she returned to the room all was quiet and tense, the men and Ioreth standing around, unable to help. The new king of Rohan was not there, and Keren guessed he was keeping vigil at his sister's bedside. Elessar was kneeling beside Faramir, a hand upon his brow. The strange man looked weary, almost ill with fatigue, and the light from the green stone he wore seemed fainter than before. His eyes were closed and a light sweat dewed his skin. Faramir was as still as death. Elessar opened his eyes and registered Keren's return, but he seemed strangely unfocused.

"Either side of the bed," he said to her, faintly.

She rushed to do his bidding, placing the bowls down gently on the two chests next to the bed, leaving the sheets over them to retain the heat. She flinched as the burnt skin of her hands pulled away from the thin material. Beregond looked at her with concern but she shook her head at him.

Don't worry about me now.

She drew back next to Beregond in the corner of the room.

Elessar appeared to go into a trance again. He called Faramir's name commandingly at first, but then the call became fainter and fainter, until it was little more than a whisper. His head hung low and his hand on Faramir's brow started to shake. This went on for some time, and Keren really could not see the good it was doing. She listened anxiously for Bergil's return.

She was soon rewarded with the sound of his feet slapping on the stone floor of the corridor. He almost dived into the room, flying into the great Prince Imrahil in his haste.

"It is kingsfoil, Sir, but not fresh, I fear," he said to Elessar, who was swiftly brought out of his trance by the exclamation. He looked dazedly at the boy, but as soon as he saw what was in his hand he seemed to come to. Bergil opened the dirty cloth he had been clutching, and within lay six leaves of the weed, almost dried. "It must have been culled two weeks ago at the least. I hope it will serve, Sir?"