My Sword Trembles
by Agape4Rivendell
Chapter 6: An Empty Bed
“I have never tasted such dough. You are good!” Théodred exclaimed.
“Of course he is. Only the best become cooks in Gondor.”
Théodred laughed. “Then he is the best.”
Targon smiled. “I am still only an apprentice. I have many long… well,
we will concentrate on the cookies. Which reminds me, Faramir, you are
eating too much of the raw dough.”
“But I like it. I like the nuts too.”
“Well, not too much.”
“Look, I can make a horse.”
Théodred burst out laughing. “I will make a corral and we can put him into it.”
“Oh! Then I will make another one too. He should not be alone!” He
took another glob of the dough, pulled it in half, and popped the first
half into his mouth; then he rolled out the second half and formed it
into the shape of a horse. Targon gave him a knife and showed him how
to cut part way through the dough to make the horse’s mane.
“I want to make a saddle too.”
They worked for nearly an hour. Faramir’s stomach started to hurt
and a light sheen of sweat formed on his brow. He took a couple deep
breaths and ate some more dough. After a few more moments, he sat on
the floor and began to cry.
Instantly, Théodred was at his side. “What is wrong, Faramir?” His
first thoughts were of Boromir. Had Faramir and Boromir made cookies
together and the memory was too painful for Faramir?
“My stomach hurts,” Faramir wailed. “I think I…” He held his hand over his mouth.
“Orc’s breath!” Targon whispered and picked his Steward up and ran
to the privy down the hall. Faramir was sick three times, sobbing and
shaking in between bouts. Théodred watched in horror, then ran.
~*~
“I would not speak in front of the others; challenge your decision
in these dark times,” Théoden watched her closely, “Yet, I fear
Listöwel does not have the experience needed. Have you thought well
your decision? Ah! I see you have. Then, I will ask no further. Rohan
stands behind you, as I said before.” Théoden finally sat. He smiled as
Indis breathed a sigh. ‘Relief, probably,’ he surmised. “May I ask
you…? Why did not Thorongil return with you? My men told me he rescued
Faramir. It sees reasonable that, especially at this time, he would
deem it worthwhile, even necessary?”
Her lips parted. Then, she leaned back in her chair. “He had his reasons.”
“If he would not return to Minas Tirith, why did he not go to Edoras? Did he not know he would have been welcomed?”
“I did not ask, but I believe his reasons would be the same for both cities.”
Théoden also sat back and closed his eyes.
“You are a great king, Théoden. Your people love you; do not doubt that.”
“My father was better.”
She smiled. He was beginning to sound like Denethor. “Surround
yourself with those who love you, with strong allies, of which Gondor
is one, and with wise counselors. When strength is needed, you will
have it; when courage is needed, you will have it; and when wisdom is
needed, you will have it.”
He changed the subject. “Théodred grows straight and true.”
“He does. And your Marshal’s are the finest. I cherish Éomund.”
“Théodred - ”
Burst through the door. “Indis! Faramir is ill! You must come!” He
turned and ran from the study, Indis and Théoden behind him, with nary
a word. They ran down the stairs and a little past the buttery. Targon
sat on the floor, cradling Faramir in his arms. The apprentice smiled
up at Indis. “‘Tis naught. Too much cookie dough.”
Théoden laughed, but Indis knelt at Faramir’s side. His eyes were tight shut. She stroked his hair.
“It hurts, Amma.”
“Oh, sweet one. I know. Come; let me take you to the healer. He
will give you peppermint tea to calm your stomach and a little piece of
ginger root to make it feel better.”
“Tastes terrible?”
Indis laughed. “We will put lots of honey in the tea, but young ginger root tastes good. Cook uses it to make candy.”
“Candy would be good.” Faramir held his hands up, but Théoden moved forward and took the lad in his own strong arms.
“I have some in the buttery, Indis, if you want it now?”
“Nay, Targon. I prefer letting the healer take care of that. The
dose must be just right. Faramir is very young too and rather thin.”
~*~
Indis and Théoden met once again in the outer chamber of Faramir’s rooms. Imrahil joined them. Faramir slept.
“I do not know if it is best to keep him here in Minas Tirith. All
around him are memories. Memories that turn, in the end, to Boromir’s
death. What think you, Imrahil?”
“I would take him with me to Dol Amroth. He loves the sea. My sons
would keep him engaged. I think you should consider it. He would be
happy there.”
“Or send him with me to Edoras. Théodred loves him dearly, as a
brother. They could play and ride horses and laugh. It is a good place
to grow up.”
“My pardon, Théoden, but I would not send him to Edoras. There were
treachery and murder here in Minas Tirith, but there was also treachery
in Edoras. I cannot send him with you, though my heart would have it
so. I also wish to warn you for Théodred’s sake. Forgive me. I am
concerned. Was the attack only against Gondor? Or is further treachery
planned?”
Théoden drew in his breath and let it out in a deep sigh. “I have
not found the assassin. You are right. I do not take my son’s life
lightly, though, Lady Indis. I think you best not concern yourself
about him.”
She bit her tongue. She knew she should not have broached it in
those terms. Théoden was a proud man. She had maligned him, but she was
concerned for Théoden and Théodred.
Imrahil turned towards Théoden. “Ever is treachery a tool of the enemy.
Dol Amroth is not immune either. I have placed further guards upon my
own sons. I would have nothing happen to them. I have also strengthened
my personal guard and the palace guard.”
“If that is your choice.”
‘Oh!’ Indis wanted to shake the man. “I will not send Faramir
anywhere at the moment. I think he needs stability more than anything.
Hopefully, my presence will help ease the distress of his memories.”
“If that is your choice,” Théoden quipped.
She held up her hand, her head cocked to the side, listening. “It
is Faramir.” She ran into his room, but the covers were thrown back and
the little one was nowhere in sight. She looked in the cupboards and
the other rooms until Imrahil pointed to the servant’s door. It was
wide open. She screamed in horror!
“Nay! Indis. Be thou not affrighted,” Imrahil spoke quietly in Sindarin. “He is about. He has not been stolen again. I promise. We will find him. Let us go to Boromir’s rooms.”
“Nay, he wouldst not be there. We went this afternoon and he was most distressed.”
“I think he wouldst, Indis. Where didst he usually go when sickness
took him? If my mind serves me right, he always found his way to his
brother’s room.”
“Yes!”
He was sitting in Boromir’s bed, sobbing.
“Oh my sweet one,” Indis cried and hugged him to her. “Tell me what is wrong. Does your stomach still hurt?”
“I miss Boromir. When my stomach hurt before, he took care of me. I
always came here and he would hold me and make everything better.” He
sobbed as he desperately clung to her.
