Chapter 26
Pippin’s face screwed into a tight ball of misery as he knelt beside Faramir. He stroked the sweaty brow and, with his lips pressed against the unresponsive ear, whispered the urgent message of love. He waited for a few minutes, hoping for a flicker of the waxy eyelids or a twitch of the slack mouth. The Hobbit sniffled and leaned away. “Well, I’ve failed you anyway, Lord Faramir. I am no substitute for the exotic thing pacing the walls and my little voice isn’t the one you long to hear. I am sorry, you know. If he could, I know he’d come. But—Lord Denethor—your father, wouldn’t allow it if he knew.” Pippin wiped at his face with his sleeve and stared around furtively.
He wished Merry were here, or perhaps Gandalf. They’d know what to do for poor Faramir. What he needed was medicine, but there didn’t seem to be any that worked on whatever ailed poor Faramir. And then there was Denethor, who seemed to have gone into a state of shock when he saw his son carried into the city on a bier. He’d fled the throne room and locked himself away in the tower and had not come out, not even to eat. Pippin didn’t know what to make of it, but he felt small and alone and more helpless than he’d ever felt in his life.
“Wake up, Faramir,” he whispered once more. “Please.”
*~*
Every muscle in Teleziel’s body ached. Sweat trickled down his chest and back; blood slicked his numb fingers. All of the foulness of Mordor seemed to be scaling the walls and, in his heart, he knew the worse was yet to come. The smell of dead orc mingled with the smell of mortal blood and death. A thousand throats screamed their anger and pain and their voices echoed around the stone buildings until one’s head threatened to burst apart from it. No matter how many orcs died by his blade, there was always another creature, misshapen and grotesque, to replace it. His blade rose and fell, his feet danced in a graceful rhythm of thrust and parry.
He found himself surrounded by men he did not know and moved uneasily among them as he tried to find a more defensible position. No one paid him any mind in the baffling moments of life and death struggle. He wore Gondorian armor and he killed orcs as efficiently as any of them. With this his new-found allies were content. At last, he found a reasonably safe nook from which to make a stand when he heard someone cry that the level was finished and to abandon their post. Faramir, the voice continued, was dead as was Lord Denethor. Minas Tirith had fallen.
His mind was only dimly aware of his surroundings, of the battle, pitched and bleak, pressing him on all sides, nibbling away bits and pieces of his confidence until at last he made a mistake and felt the nasty sting of an orc blade.
*~*
Mithrandir moved quickly through the smoking ruins, stepping over dead bodies in a single-minded determination that came only from experience. He’d learned many lives ago not to look too closely at the dead for the futility of it would overwhelm him and he would weep. Denethor, the fool, lay smoldering in his own ashes with his hands clutched around a cracked and broken palantir. Faramir, now sleeping fitfully in the Houses of Healing would probably pass into the realm of shadows and there was nothing that he could do about it. He sought his young charge, Master Pippin, most recently of the Steward’s guards. While Mithrandir had no time for stupidity, he knew the little Hobbit was deeply shaken by events. As he walked along, he shouted to the flagging troops, reminding them that Faramir, their beloved captain, yet lived, and to hold their positions. He promised them help. Where would he find it?
He stepped briskly around a corner and momentarily froze. “Oh, dear, no.” His voice was heavy with sadness and he stared at the scene. But, perhaps it was better this way? Only the gods knew.
“Pippin,” he said, moving forward from the shadows. “Come away.”
Pippin looked up at Mithrandir’s voice and sniffled loudly. “First Lord Faramir and then Lord Denethor. Now him. The city’s fallen, Gandalf.” Tears streamed unabashedly down his chubby cheeks and his tiny hands clasped long, dark ones in his own. “He asked me to tell Lord Faramir—“
“Never mind,” Mithrandir interrupted. “It doesn’t matter now. Come on, let’s get you some place safe. I must be in too many places at once to waste a moment’s time mourning one in thousands.”
“I can’t just leave him like this…here on the cold stone with out so much as a shroud to cover him. I do not think Lord Faramir would like that.”
“Look around you Pippin. No one here is being looked after. We have only time for the living now.”
“When Lord Faramir awakes he will want to know what happened to his friend. Let me get someone to help me move him up one level. Maybe he’ll be safe there for a bit. Please, Gandalf.”
With a deep sigh, Mithrandir shoved the sleeves of his robe higher up on his muscular forearms. “Very well, Pippin, if it will make you feel any better. Let me get him under the arms.”
“Yes, Gandalf, it would make me feel a lot better.” Pippin moved away and allowed Gandalf to work. “I can see what Lord Faramir asked you too look after him; he’s very handsome.”
“Yes, so he is,” Mithrandir said absently as he thrust his arms beneath Teleziel’s armpits.
“What was that?”
Mithrandir paused. “Did you hear something?”
“Only my wishful thinking, I suppose.”
“Maybe not, Pippin. Maybe not.”
*~*
The shadows were heavy and fog lay thick on the ground. Faramir could not stop shivering and his body ached from the force of his chills. He tried calling out, but his voice only came back to him in echoes. He cried out for his brother, Boromir and for his friends, Damrod and Mablung. No one answered him.
He thought he saw something move furtively ahead of him and he broke into a run. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he seemed to be standing still. Again, the figure appeared and, for a moment, he knew the person.
“Teleziel? Teleziel come here. Wait, please. What—where?”
The figure half turned and stared silently at Faramir, as if accusing him. Then he turned and slowly walked into the deepening fog.
“Teleziel, no, don’t go.” Faramir’s teeth chattered and he slid to the cold ground.
*~*
“What are you doing lying in bed?”
“I do not feel well,” Teleziel mumbled as he tried to snuggle deeper into the pillows.
“Lazy. Whore’s son.”
Teleziel opened his eyes and stared in horror at Faramir’s distorted face. His skin was waxy and pale. Swallowing painfully, Teleziel flung back the covers. “I-I..” he looked around in confusion, not recognizing his surroundings. The room was large and airy with windows overlooking a tree filled meadow. Gauze thin curtains of rose and cranberry hung over the windows. The bed on which Teleziel lay was large enough to sleep half the Rangers and was topped by a silk coverlet of scarlet. Thick rugs covered the polished wood floors and tapestries hung on the whitewashed walls.
“My city is burning and orcs rampage through the streets and you lay abed, like a pampered princess waiting for her morning chocolate. I thought I could trust you. I saved you. And for what? THIS?” Faramir flung his arms wide, encompassing the room.
Teleziel scrambled from the bed, ignoring the pain lancing through his hip and side and leg. As his feet touched the floor, he realized with a bone chilling shock that one his legs was missing from the knee down.
“Faramir, I cannot get up,” he whispered as he felt gingerly around his thigh. “My leg, what has happened to my leg?” He felt the exposed bone, ragged and tender, and he whimpered.
“You cut if off, of course,” Faramir said. “How like you, Teleziel of the Haradrim, to harm yourself to get out of your duties.”
“No, I didn’t. I swear, I would never betray you that way. I promised…”
“Promised?”
Teleziel jerked his head up and met Imiro’s direct, flat gaze and he fell back with a sharp cry. “No. No.”
“What did you promise, Teleziel? What did you promise for you life? Your manhood? Your honor?” Imiro laughed harshly as he advanced toward the bed. “How could you promise what you do not possess?”
“I am dreaming,” Teleziel muttered as he tossed
his head from side to side. “Or is this the afterlife? Is that why you
came to me, Faramir? Did your city fall?”