Chapter 13: Strange visitors

He had not expected to see a man in grey cloak by Faramir's bed, nor a strange man who stayed in the shadows, his features hidden by a hooded cloak. Boromir's gaze narrowed as he took in the stranger's grass-stained boots, mud-splattered forest green tunic, and the sword at his side. He rarely saw men of his ilk in Minas Tirith. The rangers of the North kept to themselves, away from their cousins in the South.

But the man in grey, however...

"Mithrandir," he gave the wizard a curt bow.

The Grey wizard nodded and smiled in response, but the smile could not hide the sadness in his eyes.

"It grieved my heart to discover Faramir grievously injured, Boromir. But your brother is strong, and he will survive this trial," he sighed. "I was looking forward to our discussions of Sindarin lore ... but I believe our discussion will have to wait," he said.

"Aye," Boromir said without enthusiasm.

He never did understand what Faramir saw in the wizard, nor could he comprehend how he could talk for hours with him. Yet he could see how Mithrandir's company always brought lightness to his brother's often heavy heart. Although Boromir considered wizards a suspicious lot – a sentiment he shared with his father – but unlike his father, he did not stand between Faramir and Mithrandir's friendship.

The wizard got up and walked to the door, patting him on his shoulder on the way out. "Indeed, our discussion can wait. After all, it is his brother he wants to see now."

Boromir frowned, puzzled by Mithrandir's strange turn of humour. Surely he could see that Faramir could not even open his eyes, let alone speak? He was about to chide the wizard for his ill humour when he heard a rustling sound from Faramir's bed.

His heart leapt when he saw Faramir move, and nearly shouted with joy when he saw him turning his head towards him, and his eyes fluttering open.

"Faramir?" he whispered hopefully. He was immediately at his brother's side, taking his still-limp hand in his.

Faramir's sunken blue eyes were unfocused, but no longer did they burn with fever.

His brother blinked tiredly at him – it took him a while to recognise Boromir, but recognise him he did, for he smiled weakly and squeezed his hand feebly.

Boromir brushed aside his matted hair to feel his forehead. It was still hot, but it was no longer fiery like before, and he was sweating.

"Faramir, I believe your fever's broken," he whispered happily.

Too weak to respond, Faramir squeezed his hand again. He made several attempts to speak, taking several breaths before succeeding.

"Where am I?" he finally whispered.

"The Houses of Healing," said Boromir as he fussed over Faramir's bedclothes, pulling them closer to his chin.

Strangely, Faramir smiled. "I had a strange dream…" he said.

Brother, you've had several, thought Boromir. "What was it?" he asked, a little worried.

"It was a lady … with hair of gold. She was a vision. But then I awoke … and I saw you," he whispered, giving him a weak grin.

Boromir laughed, heartened to see the humour in his brother's weary eyes.

"Then I'm sorry to have interrupted your dream, little brother. But no …," he gripped Faramir's hand tighter and brushed his brother's matted hair with another. "No … call me selfish but I'm glad to see you open your eyes."

"It seems … as if I have wandered in a dark vale for a long time," Faramir said, his voice fading to less than a whisper. Then he sighed, and his eyes slid close.

"Faramir?" Boromir cried out worriedly. But Faramir's breathing was calm and deep, and his pale face no longer troubled by bad dreams.

"Asleep," he murmured, relieved. "Thank the Valar," he whispered as he watched his brother. So content was he to watch him sleep that it was nearly an hour before he called to fetch a page to inform his father of the good news.

ooOoo

Gandalf the Grey gladly left the two brothers to their privacy ... he had a feeling that the two had precious few moments together, even in happier times. He walked slowly down the long corridor with his companion, occasionally bumping into the workers of the Houses of Healing, who greeted him gladly but cast the ranger puzzled looks.

"The two brothers are close," said the ranger softly, his face still hidden in the shadows of his hood.

"Oh yes. Despite Faramir suffering the Steward's ill favour, the two are like … there's this saying the Hobbits like to say … yes, like 'two peas in a pod'," he said with a fond smile.

A comfortable silence as they walked down the corridor, then the man broke the silence.

"A strange thing happened in the room. No doubt you saw it," said the man.

"Oh?" said Gandalf, not giving a hint if he did see it.

The ranger sighed, sounding a little exasperated. "No doubt you did, Gandalf. I touched his forehead … and he opened his eyes... I merely wanted to give him comfort in his delirium … it was almost as if he suddenly recovered." The man looked uncomfortable.

Gandalf smiled, a twinkle in his eye. "They say that the hands of the King are the hands of a Healer," he said.

"Gandalf.…" the ranger did not sound pleased.

"Yes, Estel … there will be a time when your hands are needed again."

The man did not answer for a while, then said softly. "It is exceedingly strange to hear you call me that."

"Then shall I call you Thorongil?"

The man sighed heavily. "Not in this city. For you know how much Denethor loves me," he said sarcastically.

"Then what shall I call you? For you have too many names to count," Gandalf said, still amused.

"Strider. The men in Bree call me that."

"Ah. Strider it is then," Gandalf said.

The two passed through the Houses of Healing quietly, Strider so silently that no one noticed him leaving Minas Tirith.