B2MeM Challenge weather- windy ;Injuries and other ailments - Just a scratch. Song lyrics -Open eyes and open ears wake up your starboard bride. ;Love in M-e- He believed he must say farewell to love and light. Book Titles- The wave in the Mind. The Steward and his Sons - Son and heir.
Format: short story
Warnings: minor injury
Characters: Boromir, Faramir, OMC
Summary: Faramir's visions prove dangerous for him.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
He was aboard a wind tossed ship, his bride asleep beside him on the starboard side, when the giant wave approached, towering over the small ship. He closed his eyes and prepared for death, believing he must bid farewell to love and light. The wave reared up with its mighty crest of white foam, like an angry war steed, a harbinger of death. He felt the sea spray drench his arm followed by a sudden sharp pain.
Boromir's voice forced him back to the present. The wave in his mind receded, but the pain remained. His arm was wet, not with seawater, but with blood.
"You are hurt!"
"It is nothing, just a scratch." Faramir ruefully reached for his kerchief and wound it around his injured arm.
"Whatever were you thinking of, Faramir?" Boromir's eyes were filled with a mixture of anger and concern. "I could have killed you. You were leagues away!"
"I am sorry, Boromir. My concentration wavered."
"Was it one of your visions?" Boromir asked in a softer tone.
Faramir nodded. "It was the vision of the wave in my mind again. It seems to draw ever closer."
Boromir sheathed his sword and nodded to his squire to unbuckle the light armour he was wearing. "Our sword practise is over for today. You are hurt; brother, we must summon a healer. I am so sorry, Faramir."
"Do not trouble yourself, it is nothing, the bleeding has almost stopped."
"It could become infected. If it were one of your men who was injured you would insist that they see the healer. We had better go to the Houses now, if you can walk that far, we do not want to keep father waiting for the day meal."
"Very well." Faramir sighed. "I can walk."
"I know you have always had visions," said Boromir, "but now they come in the middle of a practise bout? You are starting to worry me!"
"The times are growing darker from which we shall either escape, as did Elendil and his folk, or be utterly destroyed as was Númenor of old!"
"How cheerful you are, brother!"
"Not all my dreams are foretell doom. This time there was a fair maiden with me, I knew her to be my bride. Then sometimes I have visions where I see the White Tree blossoming and I kneel before the King returned." Faramir turned. His brother saw that his eyes were alight with joy.
"That sounds like a nightmare to me," said Boromir. "I look forward to having rod and rule when our father leaves the circles of this world." His expression brightened. "Maybe you see me, little brother? If I were to lead us in victory against the Dark Lord, maybe the Council would offer me the silver crown?"
Faramir shook his head. "I have never met the man I see in my visions, Boromir, but I would know him at once if I beheld him."
"You had best not speak of such fancies to father."
Faramir laughed mirthlessly. "I know better than to do that."
The brothers lapsed into silence as they walked side by side down to the sixth circle where the Houses of Healing were located. It was a windy day and a fresh breeze from the Anduin blew in their faces and hair. When they passed through the gardens of the Houses, the autumn leaves swirled about their feet.
"I knew it would be windy today," Faramir remarked.
"Another vision, little brother?"
Faramir laughed. "No, the moon had a golden ring about it last night, that always signifies stormy weather, or so the sailors at Dol Amroth say!"
"Never have I known anyone with such a thirst for you lore as you; you even remember old tales that you hear from the common folk!"
"It is true, though. Who knows when such lore might prove useful?"
"I have no idea!" Boromir threw up his hands in mock surrender as they entered the Houses of Healing.
The brothers enquired of the clerk who greeted them if they might see Master Tarostar, one of the senior healers. He was kin to their father personal healer to the Steward's household.
"Master Tarostar is occupied," said the clerk. "You will have to wait, my lords."
"I am the Steward's son and heir," said Boromir. "I desire that he attend my injured brother now."
"Boromir!" Faramir chided once the man had scuttled away.
"What is the use of being heir to the Stewardship if I cannot make use of it?" Boromir replied.
"But Master Tarostar might be tending some seriously ill patient!" Faramir protested.
"Or he might be having an afternoon nap. When men have important business they usually make sure their lackeys inform the world of it!"
He had no chance to say anything further before Tarostar appeared. He was a tall man of middle to late years with greying hair and a bushy beard.
"My brother is hurt," said Boromir before Tarostar had a chance to speak.
"It's just a scratch," Faramir said.
"Let me be the judge of that," said Tarostar. "Come with me." He led the way to an inner chamber, which was reserved for those of high rank when they were ailing or wounded.
Tarostar bade Faramir sit on the bed and unwound the bloody kerchief that he had wound around his forearm. "Hmm," he said, as he examined Faramir's arm.
"Hmm?" said Boromir. "Is my brother badly hurt?"
"For once, the patient is right," said Tarostar. "It is just a scratch. How did you come by it, Lord Faramir?"
"He was injured when we were sparring," said Boromir.
"Can you not be more careful?" Tarostar said testily. "I have enough to do with patching up men who were injured by the enemy!" He began to clean the wound then applied a salve. It stung and Faramir grimaced.
"It will not be effective if it does not hurt," said the healer. He picked up a bandage and bound it around Faramir's arm. "Keep the wound wrapped for a day or two, it does not require stiches and should soon heal. Now I must return to my seriously injured patients. I bid you good day." He swept from the room.
"What appalling manners that man has!" said Boromir.
"We should not have bothered Master Tarostar," said Faramir as the two left the Houses of Healing. "One of the apprentice healers could have tended such a minor wound."
"We are the Steward's heirs, we deserve the best care," said Boromir.
"So does every humble soldier that fights for Gondor," Faramir replied. "We are but Arandur, servants of the King."
"A king that will never return," said Boromir. "The people look to the House of Húrin for leadership in these dark times."
"Which we shall give them," said Faramir. "But we live in hope still of the King's return, however many centuries have passed."
Boromir did not reply and the two walked up to the Citadel in silence.
"Have your dreams if they give you comfort, little brother," said Boromir. They had reached the Court of the Fountain. "However, the days of our longfathers have gone. Behold, the White Tree is dead and crumbling. It will never again bring forth blossom."
"I have seen it my visions covered in fair white flowers," said Faramir. "Therefore I live in hope."
"Steel will serve where dreams cannot. I prefer to trust my sword," said Boromir.
"I dream of the day that I can offer my sword in allegiance to to the king then sheathe it forever," said Faramir, a faraway look in his eyes.
"Your dreams are my nightmares," Boromir replied. "You were born in the wrong times, little brother."
"Yet times can change," said Faramir. "Though whether for good or ill, my foresight does not tell me."