Chapter 27
Soft hands stroked his brow and cheeks with a feather-light touch forcing Teleziel from his deep sleep. He mumbled and tossed his head, fearing what to find once he opened his eyes.
“Master Teleziel? Can you open your eyes?”
The small voice brought Teleziel further around. The dark eyes opened slowly and he stared into the Hobbit’s light brown eyes.
“There, that’s better,” Pippin beamed. “We were growing worried about you. I found you and I thought you were dead at first. It’s a good thing, too, because you weren’t, only wounded and not as serious as it first looked. I mean, it’s a good thing that I found you, not that you were wounded. How do you feel? Do you hurt too much?”
So many questions, asked in rapid succession on the heels of so many statements, made Teleziel dizzy and he worked hard at digesting the information and assessing his condition. What had happened? He remembered the look on his father’s face and the way Imiro laughed. “No, that’s not right.”
“What’s not right? Can you eat a bite if I bring you something? There’s some thin stew, not what we’d Hobbits would call a proper stew and no fit meal, I daresay, but it’s healthy and nourishing and, well, all there is, I’m afraid.” Pippin half rose from his bedside stool. “You missed the biggest battle of all, you know. It was spectacular how the king came and he saved us with the-the ghost creatures and the Rohirrim. You’ve never seen the like of it. All those beautiful horses and the plumes, like horse’s manes, flying from the helmets—they were frightening to see but you should have heard the cheer from the walls. Every one knew Rohan had come at last and us fearing they couldn’t—or wouldn’t. And Merry, that’s my friend, he rode with the Lady Eowyn and he saved—but well, we don’t know now if he’ll live. I don’t quite know what I’d do without my friend.”
At last Pippin wound down and Teleziel was able to interject his own voice. “Faramir? How is my lord?”
Little Pippin’s face fell. “He’s not responding to anything they, meaning the healers, have done. We are all at a loss. But Gandalf –Mithrandir—says that the king has healing powers, so perhaps Strider-er-I mean Aragorn- will come and he’ll know what to do.”
Cautiously, Teleziel lifted the covers and peered at the wound, fearing the worst but needing to know what had happened to him, how badly he was mangled. His mouth was dry and his hands trembled as he remembered the horrible dream. Heavy bandages were tied in a thick wad around his upper thigh and hips. “How bad is it?”
“Not half as bad as it probably feels. Or looks, even.”
“I need to get up. I want to see Faramir.”
“You can’t,” Pippin said. “I mean, get out of bed. Lord Faramir is not far, but the healers insist you need to stay in the bed and rest. Let me pop off and find you some of that soup. It will make you feel better to have a bite on your stomach.”
*~*
“There is more,” Gandalf said as he sucked on his pipe and stared at Aragorn. “He has an Haradrim lover.”
Aragorn’s eyes widened. “I find that hard to credit. Where would he find a fe—A male? That certainly adds a different twist to it all. Tell me about him.”
Gandalf stared for a moment at the bowl of his pipe and then began to speak. “Faramir revealed that he captured the Haradrim. He claims that the young man—no, I think he’s older than he appears—had been tortured and abandoned by his own people.”
“But why?” Legolas unfolded his arms and stepped from the window to stand beside Aragorn. “What kind of people are they that they torture and kill their own?”
A thin smile stretched Gandalf’s lips. “He has no affection for women, it seems. And there is something else, something Faramir eluded to but would not say aloud. But he had complete confidence in Teleziel—that’s his name. And, in the end, I saw why. He fought bravely for Gondor.”
“I wouldn’t trust him,” Gimli said, ignoring the elf’s arched brow.
“Lord Faramir trusted him, Gimli, and he has not cast that trust aside. I am told he was also with the Rangers in Osgiliath and would have ridden out when they tried to retake it.”
“A folly that cost them too many men,” Legolas clearly showed his ire.
“Indeed, Legolas, but it is done and we have survived, despite it.”
“What stopped him from going with them?” Aragorn was intrigued by what he’d heard of the Haradrim.
“He cannot ride a horse.”
*~*
“So, here we are Tele—Where did you go?” Pippin stared at the empty cot with the covers trailing on to the floor. “Teleziel?” He bent down and peeked under the bed and then sat the small bowl of soup on the bed and walked out of the curtained cubby. “Teleziel?” He whispered.
“I am..here.”
Pippin’s bare feet slapped on the cold stone and he followed the sound of Teleziel’s heavy breathing. “What on earth are you doing? Now I’ll have to get someone to help me get you back to the bed. If you needed something why didn’t you say so before I went to find your food?”
Teleziel sat on the floor wearing the thin breechclout around his loins and nothing else. His skin dripped with sweat and he panted heavily from exertion. The bandages showed where the healing skin ripped with Teleziel’s movements. “Pippin, please, do not be cross with me. I only wanted to see him. I must, do you understand? I must see him.”
“But you’re still not well enough to move about. And I can’t carry you.”
“I can.”
Both looked up at the sound of the voice and Pippin gave a cry and launched himself at the tall man standing in the corridor. He was handsome, with a high forehead and strong jaw. His hair was brown, but streaked with gray, like his beard. He wore simple soldier’s clothes, but around his shoulders was a cloak of fine stuff that was clasped at his throat with a pin of elaborate workmanship, the likes of which Teleziel had never seen.
Aragorn studied the man sitting against the wall. He was too thin and badly bruised and battered, but not just from the recent conflict. There were old scars, visible as thin lines along his abdomen and thighs. They reminded Aragorn of training wounds, but he knew they weren’t. He’d spent some time among the Haradrim once, many years before. He knew what they did to boys like Teleziel. He must have kept his secret long hidden for him to even survive as long as he had. What had made him give away his secret? An accident? He looked into the deep, dark eyes and saw the fierceness and, oddly, fear and he thought he might understand why Faramir had taken such a fancy to the young Haradrim.
“Strider! You’ve come back at last. Have you come to look at Merry? Please say you have, for he’s terribly sick and I’m quite beside myself with worrying over him and then there’s Lord Faramir, who seems such a nice man and well, I’ve not known him long, but I’m rather fond of him. Did you know he’s Boromir’s brother? Well, he is. And then there’s poor Teleziel, who has quite gotten himself in a mess, but I don’t know what to do. I’m supposed to be giving him a bit of broth and, instead, here I am standing in the corridor trying to figure out how I’m going to drag him back to bed.”
Teleziel shrank back from the tall stranger. He was noble and proud and in him Teleziel sensed a formidable will. Pippin seemed unconcerned, but Teleziel was not certain that he was truly grown, as he claimed, and that he wasn’t really some strange child who lacked sense.
Squatting down beside Teleziel, Aragorn smiled warmly, and his eyes glowed with compassion and intelligence. “Mithrandir has told me about you—as much as Faramir told him. Many call me Strider.”
He raised his head and stared into the intense eyes. “I am Teleziel of the Haradrim.”
“So I’ve heard, but I also understand that you fought bravely for Minas Tirith.”
“My friends, too, I had friends who perished at Osgiliath.” The dark eyes clouded. “I never even had a chance to mourn them.”
“Many here have gone unlamented, but the time will come when we will sing their praises and remember their deeds. But not yet. Here, let me help you.”
“I do not want to return to my bed. I must see him.” The lips set in a stubborn line that Faramir would have recognized and smiled at.
“I will take you to him.” He held out his hand.
“Trust me, my friend?”