Chapter 13
Faramir’s soft voice washed over Teleziel, soothing his jagged nerves. He licked futilely at his dry, cracked lips. “You told me to choose.”
Looking around, Faramir spied the water ewer and hefted it. Water brimmed the surface and sloshed over his hand, but it was tepid, as though it had been sitting there all day. He retrieved the wooden cup and poured a measure of water and held the cup out to Teleziel. “Drink.”
The wooden rim touched his lips and the water spilled down his chin before Teleziel managed his raw throat and aching jaws. He coughed and then gulped another mouthful of water. Twisting his head away, he held up his hand. “I can’t.”
Clotted blood smeared his hands and rivulets dried on his forearms in streaks of crimson on olive-colored skin. Teleziel’s entire torso and thighs bore long, thin wounds, now crusted with dried blood and beginning to scab. His hair, too, was cut, and so close to the scalp that there were visible marks from the knife. After setting aside the pitcher and swallowing his nausea, the captain forced himself to meet Teleziel’s gaze. “I have never encountered your like, Teleziel of the Haradrim. This ..problem…is beyond me.” His disclosure came reluctantly.
Teleziel looked down at himself and then back at Faramir. He
knew how he must look to the captain, and was, even himself, unable to fully
comprehend what’d he’d done. Or even, why he’d done it. Shame
filled him, not for the act, but for the pain he caused his jailer. Everything
the Gondorian did was a singular act of kindness to a prisoner. Teleziel wasn’t
sure he understood it, but he knew he was grateful for the small reprieve.
“My father was right to leave me to die. I am a coward.”
Twisting to his feet again, Faramir paced in a tight circle. His head remained lowered and his hands dug into his hips as his legs took him in a circuit that began and ended with Teleziel. “Shall I have Mablung finish it for you?”
“He would like that,” Teleziel almost smiled. “I am not ready to die, Captain of Gondor. I tried.”
“So I can see.” Faramir walked to the door and grimaced at Damrod and Mablung. He held up a warning hand, forestalling any comment from Mablung. “Not now, Mablung, please. He needs cleaning up and fresh clothes, if any can be found.”
Mablung’s lips tightened into a thin, pale line and his gray eyes glittered with anger too long suppressed. Damrod only nodded and tugged at Mablung's arm. “We’ll take care of it, captain. Should we bring him food? Do you think he will eat it now?”
Mablung jerked his arm away and glared at Damrod. “You cannot be serious. He’s…have you actually looked at him? He’s sliced his own flesh as you or I would slice a melon, without any thought whatsoever. And you worry if he’s hungry.”
“I do not profess to know what goes on in the Haradrim’s head, Mablung,” Damrod answered patiently. “Nor do I profess to know what to do with him or even for him. That is for the captain to decide.”
“Your devotion to the prisoner is touching, Damrod. Perhaps you are as blinded by his exotic beauty as the captain?”
“Mablung,” Faramir grated, his resentment clear in his voice.
“I am not blind to his beauty, but there is room in my heart for only one. I feel sorry for him. He’s pathetic and sad.”
“He’s a prisoner.”
“Mablung,” Faramir raised his voice, something he did rarely with his men, and the Ranger instantly quieted. “I have given you an order.”
Once more, Damrod took Mablung’s arm. “We’ll see to it, captain.”
Faramir leaned against the doorway with his head bowed, trying to think, trying to steel himself for the sight of Teleziel. Revulsion gripped him as he thought of the beautiful skin marred by the knife. Even from the door, he could smell blood and urine. Fear. That, he found odd. He heard a slight noise behind him and he turned, suddenly remembering the knife left carelessly beside the Haradrim. The enemy.
He watched as Teleziel held onto the wall as he forced himself to his feet. His lithe muscles rippled gently beneath his abused skin. Faramir’s eyes drifted restlessly over Teleziel, from his cropped scalp down to his sex dangling between his thighs. The urge to strike Teleziel came upon him unexpectedly and was so strong that he had to turn away.
Teleziel tried not to groan as the cuts reopened with his movements. Fatigue unlike any he’d ever felt before wracked his body. And, yet, an uncanny exuberance flowed through him. He felt alive and vivid and real. The ghost-like quality of his life seemed to finally have a different meaning, although he could not quite grasp it. He knew if he could stay alive, he’d be able to understand the siren call. His knees trembled and he slid down before he realized it and squatted, panting.
“We should probably dress your wounds,” Faramir said absently, as if thinking about something else entirely.
Teleziel only gasped softly. Sweat trickled into the wounds and throbbed. This time, however, there was no release. There was only…pain. He raised his head and stared in bewilderment at Faramir’s rigid back, unable to think beyond the stinging and ache. Tears blurred his vision.
Faramir, sensing something was wrong, turned and saw the Haradrim squatting on the floor. All color had drained from his face so that even his lips were bloodless and his eyes glazed in the way of those in pain. A cold hand wrapped around Faramir’s heart. With difficultly, he stepped forward. “Teleziel?”
Sitting with his head pressed against the cool stone, Teleziel whimpered softly.
“You’ve lost too much blood,” Faramir murmured as he stroked the sweat from Teleziel’s brow. “You’ve a fever, too.”
Damrod entered then and stepped over to Faramir and Teleziel. “I’ve a good remedy for fever, captain, if you want it.”
“Yes, I think so.” Faramir glanced up, concern written upon his features. “Is the water ready?”
Damrod nodded briefly. Bending down, he grasped Teleziel by one of his arms. “I’ll help you carry him.”
Faramir launched himself to his feet and grabbed the other arm. “Thank you.”
Together they carried the limp Haradrim between them to the small room where the hip- bath was set up. Teleziel made no sound as they walked down the corridor. His head hung between his shoulders and his breathing remained shallow and harsh. His skin was clammy and too warm. Carefully, they maneuvered him into the water, but they were unable to submerge him as they would like, so they struggled and bent the sagging body, trying to force the long limbs into a tiny space. At last, when they were both drenched with sweat and water, they had Teleziel situated. His feet dangled on either side of the tub and his head rested against the back edge. He’d made no sound as they’d struggled with him, but Faramir knew they’d hurt him by the white lines around his mouth.
“Can you hear me?” Teleziel’s head barely moved in response.
“I’ll return shortly,” Damrod said as he backed from the room.
Mablung replaced him. “I’ve brought more water.” He set down a pail and water sloshed over the side.
“Thank you,” Faramir picked up a cloth and dipped it in the clean water from the bucket. Already the water in the tub ran pink. He squeezed out the water over Teleziel’s face and head, washing away the blood and getting an even better look at the grim wounds.
“Captain?”
“Yes, Mablung?”
“I wanted to tell you that I was sorry for what I said earlier. It’s just that,” when Faramir turned and looked at him, Mablung had to pause and gather his thoughts as he saw the pain in Faramir’s eyes. “I see how your kind heart wants to reach out to him and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Faramir’s full mouth twisted in a brief, bitter smile. “I lost my heart when I first saw him, Mablung.”
Mablung stared at his feet. “I know that, captain.”
“Do you think it’s clouded my judgment?”
“Yes. He’s Haradrim.”
Faramir ran the damp rag over Teleziel’s chest and mentally counted the number of wounds. “I think I’m the only one in any real danger.”
“That’s why he’s my enemy.”