"A Healer's Oath"
Part 1
by Beryll
"Fall back! Fall back!"
Faramir was shouting the order at the top of his lungs, but still he wasn't sure if all of his men were able to hear it over the clamor of battle.
"To Minas Tirith! Back to Minas Tirith!"
He grabbed a man who was locked in combat with an especially ugly orc, shoving him hard after his fleeing comrades, finishing the orc skewering him on his sword.
Glancing back at the river he saw more and more orcs pour onto the shore. There was no doubting Osgiliath was lost. Again. And again it was he who had lost it. His heart bled when he thought of how much blood it had cost to regain the city. It bled even harder when he thought of Boromir's proud grin when he had retaken the city.
He felt like he was stabbing a dagger into his brother's back with giving up Osgiliath. But the fact remained that it would have been utter foolishness to sacrifice more men in a fight they could not possibly win.
His father would think differently. Fighting another pair of orcs, it was not their crude clubs impacting on his sword, sending waves of pain to his tiring arms that hurt. It was the look he could already see on his father's face. The disappointment. Again he had failed to show his worth.
He dispatched the second of the orcs and turned to follow his men, now precariously far behind them, when a loud 'thud' seemed to reverberate through all of his body. For a long moment, he just felt confusion but then he looked down and saw the point of a thick orcish arrow protrude from his chest. 'Shot in the back, perfect', was the thing he thought, when the pain began to spread as if burning oil had been poured into his veins.
He took another stumbling step, then he lost his balance on the uneven ground, falling, the pain of crashing to the ground nearly insignificant compared to the spear of fire that seemed to be lodged in his lung. Breathing seemed impossible and still his body tried, unwilling to die.
Darkness gathered around the edges of his vision, while he fought to get on his feet again. All he managed was to turn on his back, the arrow breaking off, jolting inside the wound, making him groan in pain.
The sight that greeted him was a grinning orc standing over him. An orc with a spear raised in his hand, about to be brought down to finish him off. With calm Faramir faced his death, wondering if he would meet his brother on the other side, strangely sure that he would find no reproach in Boromir's eyes when he had been so sure he could expect nothing else from his father.
The darkness intruded more and more. Soon all would be over.
But then another orc appeared next to the first one, catching hold of the first's arm when it was just about to descend.
"Wait!" the second orc growled, a grin splitting his face showing rows of rotten teeth. "Don't ya see what ya got 'ere? Dat's da steward's pup. He'll be useful!"
Faramir had the time to feel the bleakness of despair, before the darkness swallowed him.
--
The first impression that swam into focus in his fogged mind when Faramir regained consciousness was the strange numbness where he was sure pain should have been.
"Da master wants da pup for questioning!" The rough orcish voice intruded next and brought home the fact that he had been captured with the force of a sledgehammer.
The urge to open his eyes, to move, to find a means of escape in mindless haste was overwhelming but Faramir managed to stay still by sheer force of will.
"He's still unconscious," a human voice answered.
It took Faramir a moment to place the accent but then he realized it must be Haradrim. He remembered the soft singsong from times when there had been negotiations with Haradrim at his father's court.
"Wake 'im! Da master wants 'im now!" Again the orcish command, much too close for Faramir's liking.
"You delivered him not in the best of conditions. If I wake him now there's a good chance he will die. How will you explain that to your master?" There was an underlining of anger in the human voice now.
"How long?" From the deeper timbre of voice Faramir guessed there must be a second orc present.
"I don't know. At least till morning. Now get lost and let me do my work!"
"Ya little shit!" There was a shuffle and then a grunt of pain from the human. "Watch ya words! Or we eat ya bones!" Then the heavy steps of orcs departing.
Faramir allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He was safe from their paws for now it seemed. Still he kept his eyes carefully closed. After all it was obviously his unconsciousness that had saved him.
He heard somebody move closer and tried hard to keep his breathing even, to stay unmoving.
"You can just as well open your eyes," the Haradrim's voice said close to him. "I know you're awake."
Faramir opened his eyes slowly. The face above him swam into focus slowly and for a moment Faramir wondered if it was a face at all as there seemed to be nothing but fierce dark eyes. Then he realized that the man was wearing the traditional veil and headcloth of the Haradrim.
Faramir used the opportunity to quickly get a grasp of his surroundings. He was in a small tent, lying on a simple pallet. There were herbs hanging on line, a small heap of bandages, a bowl of water, sharp needles lying next to it on a clean cloth. A healer's tent.
The Haradrim was kneeling next to him, watching him intently. "How do you feel?" he asked.
Taking stock of his body's condition would have been the next thing on Faramir's mind anyway. He looked down and noticed that he had been stripped of his armor and under-tunic and that his chest was covered with a thick bandage. He didn't feel any pain at all, but a numbness in his right shoulder and arm. His mind felt slightly and rather pleasantly fogged still.
"Can you understand me?" the Haradrim asked, now a slight hint of worry in his voice.
Faramir nodded slowly, regretting the motion immediately as bright stars of light exploded in his vision, making him blink in confusion.
"Try not to move your head." the Haradrim said. "I used herbs to numb your pain while I took out the arrow and worked on the wound. It is strong stuff and goes to the head before it clears out of your system."
Faramir resisted the urge to nod again. That explained why he could not feel his arm. The thought that he might not regain use of it was frightening to say the least. But then again, maybe that should not worry him overly much as he was scheduled for questioning by the orcs in the morning.
"The arrow has pierced your right lung but I managed to stabilize it, you will heal and live." the Haradrim continued but then glanced over his shoulder at the tent flap. "Well... make that you would live..." he muttered his eyebrows drawing together into a scowl and Faramir was strangely sure he detected a note of anger in the healer's voice.
The Haradrim took a small vial from the pouch on his sash and opened it carefully. "Here, take a small sip of this." He said and held the vial to Faramir's lips, slowly lifting his head so he could drink.
Faramir felt like he should resist, but all things considered there really was no point. So he swallowed a bit of the draught. It tasted slightly bitter and strangely fresh, cleaning away the stale taste in his mouth, clearing his mind as well. An unpleasant tickling ran through his right arm, followed by a sharp stinging feeling in his right shoulder and he winced slightly.
The Haradrim took his right hand in his. It was a decidedly eerily sight, as Faramir could see the healer's fingers touch his skin but he couldn't feel a thing.
"Try to move your fingers, please." The Haradrim commanded in a gentle but insistent voice that seemed to be a trademark of all healers, no matter what nationality.
Faramir tried to concentrate on the simple task and felt a wave of relief when he watched his fingers twitch.
"Good," the healer said, satisfaction clearly evident in his voice. "No permanent damage. You will regain full use of your arm, with time and a little practice.
Faramir could not suppress a crooked grin. "I thank you, healer," he said, his voice a bit ragged. "But I fear I will not have that time."
Again the Haradrim glanced over his shoulder as if he expected the orcs to have returned already. A frown creased his brow above his dark eyes when he looked back at Faramir. For a long moment their eyes remained locked.
Faramir wondered at the multitude of varying emotions he noticed in the other's eyes. He had spoken to Haradrim before but they had always stayed cool and harsh. This man's eyes were fierce too, but they also reflected deep emotion. Curiosity stirred in his scholar's mind, despite his dire situation.
"I did not know the Haradrim had healers at all." he carefully ventured, "I thought they value death in battle over life in general."
The healer snorted in obvious disgust. "That is true. A healer is scorned and counted as a coward among the mighty Haradrim. He is counted barely above a woman. Still this healer values life over death. Be assured of that. And they do make use of me, if only to rent my work to the orcs who actually value me higher than my own people do."
Faramir felt his curiosity boil, but he was sure that asking the man why he had chosen a life ridiculed by his own people would have been too bold.
"And you, prince of Gondor? How did you come by an arrow in your back? Isn't the courage of the warriors of Gondor just as foolish and proud as that of the Haradrim? How come you had enough sense to turn around and flee?"
Faramir blinked at the healer in surprise, not entirely sure if he had been insulted or commended.
Then he noticed a sparkle in the other's eyes that made him sure the healer was grinning behind his veil and a slow smile spread on his face as well.
"Even my father counts me a coward, no matter what I do," he answered, feeling a strange kinship with the Haradrim, "so why try to attain glory that is beyond my reach anyway?" Then he sighed softly. "And I had to get my men to safety. Just like you I value life over death."
The Haradrim nodded, the frown reappearing on his brow. "I somehow feared you would say something like that," he muttered, rubbing his temples with his thumbs. "In the morning those two orcs will return to take you to questioning," he continued. "You will be very lucky if you die a quick death but it's not likely. The master they were talking of is the King of the Nazgul."
A shudder ran through Faramir, followed by a piercing pain in his wounded shoulder. To face a Nazgul in combat was a horror. To face one bound and helpless was beyond Faramir's imagination. Cold fear gripped his heart.
"However, there is one thing which stands between you and that monster." Compassion was in the healer's eyes when he spoke on. "I have sworn the healer's oath of my people and it forbids me to allow harm to come to my patients until they are released from my care. And you are, by no means, healed enough to be released."
Faramir stared at him in disbelief. It was beyond him why a Haradrim - Gondor's sworn enemy - should protect him.
The man opposite him snorted softly, one of his expressionate eyebrows rising slightly. "Is it so unlikely that I should know honor, even if I am just a healer? To deliver another human into the hands of an orc... that is despicable."
Drawing a deep breath, Faramir tried to regain his composure. "It is not the fact that you are a healer," he said. "But that you are an enemy."
Again mirth sparkled in the other's eyes. "I have no quarrel with you, prince. Just because I was dragged out of my village to serve the Haradrim army as a trading token with the orcs does not make me their willing ally or your enemy."
Slowly realization that this man was not here because he wanted to dawned on Faramir. "Still I doubt there is much you can do to help me, brave healer," he said.
"Ah, you underestimate me, prince." the Haradrim said and Faramir could now hear the smile in his voice. "Just because I am not strong of arm doesn't mean that I am weak of mind as well. It may not be a simple feat to get you out of this camp alive, but it is not impossible either."
His words sparked hope in Faramir's heart and he sat up straighter. His right arm still felt numb, but he felt the strength of desperation spread through the rest of his body. If he made it back to Minas Tirith he would be able to rest maybe, but now he needed to remain sharp. And that was something he was good at, despite everything his father thought of him.
"So what is your plan?" he asked.
"You will put on my clothes and walk out," the Haradrim answered.
Faramir blinked at him in surprise, his agile mind quickly processing all the possible routes of escape and then informing him that this truly was the best idea.
"What about you?" Faramir asked, unable to simply accept this generous offer. "They will not be happy that you let me get away."
"If you will be so kind to knock me unconscious, I will only hear endless insults about my inability to even restrain a wounded man and get a sound beating. But apart from that I should be fine. I am too valuable to them to just kill and to insignificant for the higher ups to notice." He sighed softly. "And it is not like they really need any of the intelligence you may provide. Gondor is doomed anyway."
Faramir felt inclined to agree but he did not say so. No matter how impossible the odds he still had to try to protect his people.
The Haradrim started to peel out of his robes and Faramir watched with much curiosity as the man before him shed his veil, revealing his face. He was quite handsome, a fierceness to his features that would have befitted any warrior and Faramir mused, that his courage certainly matched that of any other Haradrim and that their scorn was not well placed.
The healer then helped Faramir put on the robes and don the headcloth and veil, now standing before Faramir in a simple loincloth that showed off a fit body, for a moment making another kind of curiosity stir in Faramir's loins. He quickly suppressed that mad notion. Now really was not the time.
"Will you tell me your name, so I will know who I owe my life to." Faramir asked when the disguise was in place.
The healer again smiled and this time Faramir saw his face lighten up in the expression, yet again touching him in unexpected ways.
"Shazar," the man said.
Faramir bowed his head. "I will remember your courage as long as I live," he replied.
"However short that may be," Shazar answered, his smile still in place. "Now if you will please hit me real hard. It would be nice if you managed to get me unconscious in one try..."
Faramir nodded and then punched the other man's temple as hard as he could with his left hand. The blow was maybe not delivered with as much expertise as would have been possible had he had use of his right arm but it still served its purpose as the healer crumbled to the ground. Faramir was just able to catch him.
He put the other man down gently, his hands lingering on the naked skin a moment too long. Shazar did look beautiful, his darker skin exotic to Faramir, his face now relaxed and strangely sweet.
'May the Valar protect you', Faramir thought, not sure if the Haradrim even believed in the Valar. And then he bent down and quickly placed a kiss on the unconscious man's lips. 'And may they grant me opportunity to repay your kindness.'
Then he stood up straight, gathered his courage and then walked out of the tent with all the coolness one would have expected of a proud Haradrim.
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Beryll
go to PART 2