Hinder

XII. Houses of Healing

Like after any battle or fight—even in the modern times—people needed aid; it was the same in Arda. With the magnitude of the battle on Pelennor Fields and the skirmishes within the city of Minas Tirith, the Houses of Healing were swamped. Ranging from Gondorian soldiers, average citizens (the elderly, disabled men, women, and children), to Rohirrim, some Dúnedain, and one elf from Lothlórien.

Seated beside a prostrate-Haldir, Rowan watched the healers—most female—move from one patient with broken bones to another suffering from a severe head injury. With how bad the wound looked from afar, she bet the soldier would lose his eyesight.

At least the cries and moans had disappeared. The stench of burnt flesh had been replaced with a soothing herbal scent—Rowan appreciated that the most.

Because the noise had died down and the punctures and rips in his flesh had been seen to, the elf-captain was asleep. He had lost consciousness before the Rohirrim carrying him arrived at the Houses, and Haldir honestly looked dead when Rowan made it. But now, life had returned to his face.

Rowan just sat there, watching him sleep. Thinking.

She hadn't moved from his side when Éomer came in with Éowyn to bandage her broken arm, or when Aragorn came in with a man called Prince Imrahil (the slim frame and sharp, angular facial structure meant the man had Elven blood) to help share the healing of the elves. He mainly treated burns—including Merry and the White Lady of Rohan's burned sword hands.

It wasn't that she feared Haldir wouldn't recover—he surely would; the problem of him not being able to go with them to the Black Gate kept her seated. She was selfish in accepting his help back at Meduseld. With the skilled elf protecting her, she figured she could avoid Lady Galadriel's prediction. Being as how he can't stand on his own right now, though, he couldn't possibly go.

So, did that mean the Lady of Light's prophecy was guaranteed to happen?

Rowan didn't want to die. Even if she didn't and somehow went back to her time, she didn't want to go, now that she had found love with Éomer. She was happy here. Back home, she wasn't anymore.

Other questions kept hounding her: if she went back, how would Éomer—or Merry and Pippin, or any soldier in proximity—react? What would they think? Should she tell them the truth?

How would they respond if she did confess she wasn't from Arda? Especially Éomer.

Would he shun her? Would he abandon her like Wyatt?

She rubbed a hand over her face. These questions were giving her a headache. Besides, whatever would happen now was bound to happen. Eliminating the possibility of the king of Rohan rejecting her was the only thing Rowan could ensure by not telling him. Him knowing the truth wasn't a necessity, like letting Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir know.

If she didn't die in the coming days and Middle-earth was saved for the time being, and she and Éomer remained together, maybe then she'd tell him.

For now, she'd keep quiet. Worrying over something that wasn't life-threatening ever helped anyone.

And the question about her dying... Well...

Leaving Haldir in a peaceful slumber, Rowan headed for the exit. Perhaps she could find a Rohirrim who knew where Éomer was, or she could just wander through Minas Tirith. She bet she could find her way to the famous White Tree of Gondor—all she had to do was keep going up.

No matter what she did, though, Rowan would imagine Boromir beside her, giving her a tour of his beloved city. It wasn't as magnificent and white as it once was because of the battle, but Minas Tirith had survived—he would've been proud.

Thinking about the Gondorian captain brought up the issue of his brother. Was Faramir okay? Did he get hurt then almost burned alive by his deranged father like what's in the book and the movie?

Instead of leaving the Houses, Rowan walked until she found a servant to ask.

The woman's eyes lowered. "Captain Faramir received grievous wounds when he rode to Osgiliath, but nearly being set afire with Lord Denethor..." She shook her head. "It is a wonder he yet lives."

She released a small sigh. With the way the servant was talking, it had begun to sound like Faramir hadn't survived.

"Is he well enough for me to visit?" Because of a scrunched brow, Rowan added, "I knew his brother."

She lit up. "Captain Boromir?" But the joy on her face melted away. "You said knew. He has fallen?"

"I'm afraid so."

The woman shook her head again. "It is as many of us feared with no rumor of him ere Rohan."

She took a second before straightening up. "But, yes. Captain Faramir can accept you if he is not resting." The servant gave Rowan directions to his room before heading her own way.

Rowan headed down the hallway, turned a corner, and stood at the shut door for a while. She raised her hand to knock, but lowered it. What if he was sleeping, and the noise disturbed him?

Deciding to just poke her head in to see if he was awake—and leave if not—she eased the door open as quietly as she could and looked in.

A form lay underneath the covers in the crème room, but she couldn't tell if Faramir was awake. Surely he was with the doors leading to a gardened-courtyard open, letting in noise. The sheer curtains slightly billowing in the petty wind made sound by themselves. Not annoying, but enough that might bother someone who needs quiet.

Slipping inside, Rowan silently closed the door, then tiptoed to the end of Faramir's bed.

She was struck hard with recognition. For a second, she could've sworn Boromir lay there. Once she looked longer, differences emerged like sharper cheekbones, a slimmer face and shoulders, a shorter nose, and a more youthful appearance. The cut and hue of hair was identical, though. David Wenham was a perfect cast for Sean Bean's brother.

The extended look also confirmed the fact that he was asleep.

"I'm sorry," she whispered before turning for the door to leave.

"What do you apologize for, my lady?"

Rowan looked back to find Faramir awake and looking at her, puzzled. He even had the same shape and color of Boromir's moss-green eyes.

"You have suffered much heartache, and I wish I could bring relief..." She looked down at her hands. "But I am here to confirm what you must've felt in your soul."

It was silent as her words sank in.

"Boromir is dead," Faramir stated quietly.

Rowan nodded. "I was one of the ten companions with him. Because of my gift of foresight, I joined the Fellowship.

"I foresaw your brother's death at Amon Hen. After preventing it, I promised myself I would bring him back to you. I did not see his second death at Helm's Deep. For that, I am sorry—sorry I could not keep him alive when you so need him."

"You need not seek forgiveness, my lady," he began. She looked up to see Faramir now sitting in bed, his entire torso—under a loose light blue shirt—wrapped in bandages. His eyes saw some distant memory to his right.

"That day he left for Rivendell, I had a feeling was the last I would see of him."

Faramir turned back to her. "As you said, I felt Boromir's passing in my soul. I am saddened to truly learn of his death by you, but I also welcome it. Having absolute certainty now will banish the hope that I was wrong. Thank you...?"

"Rowan," she supplied. With the way he trailed off and ended it with a question mark, he wanted her name.

"Thank you, Lady Rowan."

I'm no lady, she thought as she shared his smile, bowed her head in farewell, and headed for the exit. She stopped at opening the door and turned back. "The White Lady of Rohan is someone you must meet. Her name is Éowyn."

She closed the door.