Shadow and Thought

Shadow and Thought by Linda Hoyland



The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been or will be made from this story.

This story is rated "R" because of torture,injuries and mild sexual content concerning a husband and wife.I was unsure if this should be a PG13 or R story and chose the higher rating to be on the safe side.


Shadow and Thought

Chapter One – Strained relations

June 3020

The Golden Hall at Edoras was filled to capacity for the Wedding Feast of Faramir and Éowyn. The occasion was even graced by the attendance of the High King himself and his Queen.

Éowyn was wearing a gown of white, embroidered with green and silver, a gift from Queen Arwen. She had never looked so beautiful. Faramir’s attire of black velvet embroidered with the White Tree of Gondor accentuated his noble features.

Éowyn smiled at her handsome husband. She reflected how blessed she was to have met such a man and gained his affections. As sister the King of Rohan, she had never expected to be fortunate enough to marry for love, but rather for political reasons. She still marvelled that a man such as Faramir would have chosen her, rather than one of the beautiful ladies of Gondor.

The young couple smilingly greeted their guests. When the High King approached, they both bowed low. Now that she had fallen in love with Faramir, Éowyn was no longer uncomfortable in Aragorn’s presence. She had come to realise the feelings she had experienced for him, had been nothing more than infatuation, embarrassing for them both at the time, but now in the past.

Aragorn embraced Faramir and kissed him on the forehead, murmuring words of congratulation. He then kissed Éowyn’s hand and said: “It gladdens my heart, lady, to see you in bliss today. It was indeed a happy day when I told Faramir to care for you!”

The smile froze on Éowyn’s lips. Her dreams crumbled to dust in that instant. It was all a sham, Faramir’s protestations of love for her were nothing more than a political ploy to unite Rohan and Gondor and avoid her being an embarrassment to Aragorn’s Queen!

A curious remark Aragorn had made to her brother at Theoden’s funeral feast about him giving the fairest ‘thing’ in Rohan to Gondor was now all too clear. She was just a ‘thing’ to be disposed of however the King pleased.

She stiffened but determined to hide her distress, which passed unnoticed even by Faramir as at that moment, Éomer called for a toast to round off the festivities.

***

Éowyn now lay in the carved marriage bed, which had been used for generations by the house of Eorl. Her maid had helped her undress and change into a nightgown of finest linen adorned with lace. The bed had been sprinkled with pink and white blossoms while blessings were said for the prosperity and fertility of their union.

Now all that was lacking was the bridegroom. She had looked forward to this night. Now the thought of Faramir’s embraces was as repulsive to her as if she were a slave sold to pleasure the highest bidder. Tears rolled down her pale cheeks.

She could not help but love her husband despite it all, although, the fact he and the King had deceived her over this marriage tore at her heart. It was impossible to hate Faramir, so quiet, gentle and shy. As for Aragorn, fury blazed within her at what he had done. She vowed to hate him until her dying day.

She tried to calm herself, thinking that at least, the coming night would show whether Faramir felt any attraction towards her at all, or was just blindly doing his King’s bidding.

The door opened and Faramir entered looking somewhat embarrassed. She could hear the raucous shouts of the men outside.

“Tonight you venture deep into Rohan, Lord Faramir, be sure to leave a colt or at least a filly behind as proof of your visit!”

Faramir drew off his velvet robe revealing his nightshirt beneath. He climbed into bed beside her. She took a deep breath, determined not to show her feelings.

Faramir turned towards his bride and studied her pale features and tear stained cheeks. Always perceptive and gentlemanly, he sensed her obvious distress and determined not to add to it by forcing unwelcome attentions upon her. Greatly though he desired her, he would wait until she welcomed his attentions. He planted a gentle kiss on her brow.

“You look weary, my lady, this day has been tiring for us both .I will leave you to your sleep.”

With that, he turned away from her, blew out the candle, and fell into a deep slumber.

Éowyn lay sleepless beside him, silent tears pouring down her cheeks. She had feared him taking her, knowing he did not love her, but this proof of utter indifference to her charms was even worst. No doubt, his thoughts were with some Gondorian beauty who was his mistress!

A few hours later, Faramir was the first to awaken. He lay gazing at his beautiful bride when the light of early dawn came into the room.

How he loved her! His experiences with his harsh father had made him determined that no one, least of all his wife, should ever think him cruel or unfeeling. Obviously, Éowyn felt uncomfortable about the intimacies of marriage but he was a patient man.

***

The next day, Éowyn and Faramir, together with the King and Queen and their attendants, returned to Gondor. That night and the nights that followed, Faramir spent in his dressing room, determined not to distress his nervous bride.

Having spent his entire adult life in the service of Gondor, he understood little of women. He had carefully preserved his body for marriage and assumed that the intimacies of marriage were something that would come as naturally as to his dogs and horses. It seemed, it might be more complicated than he had at first assumed. Maybe Éowyn was afraid of childbearing? He hardly raise such a delicate question with her, though. If only there were someone, he could talk to! How he missed Boromir! He had not approved of his brothers dalliances, but at least he would have known what a woman expected!

He buried himself in his work, trying to put aside his feelings of being rejected yet again. He had hoped so much for a wife who loved him and could give him a large brood of children to whom he could be a loving father. He often dreamed of himself embracing his children and playing with them. He could see a little girl, as beautiful as her mother and a boy who resembled Boromir, and they were just the eldest of his large brood.

It seemed, though, he was destined to be rejected yet again. His only consolation was his love for his King, who treated him with the kindness and compassion that Denethor had denied him. Yet, for all the King’s kindness, he feared that one day, he would reject him too, and dismiss him as not good enough to serve one so great.

Éowyn brooded over how the King had tricked her and wondered what Faramir’s true love looked like

February 3021

Aragorn Elessar, High King of the reunited kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor, struggled to suppress a yawn as the fourth course of the state banquet was served. ’Surely only a Hobbit could enjoy eating so much food,’ he thought.

A trade delegation was visiting from the lands of the Haradrim in the South, and this was the third banquet this week that was being held in their honour.

Aragorn was seated beside Éowyn, Princess of Rohan, and now wife of his Steward Faramir, Prince of Ilithien. She was engaged in an animated conversation with a Gondorian noble several places down the table, concerning the relative merits of the horses of Gondor and Rohan and was ignoring the King completely. He tried once more to involve her in the conversation. “You have been in Minas Tirith for several months now, my lady, how do you like the City?” he asked pleasantly.

“Not at all!” she snapped. “I detest stone cities, wood is far superior such as my people build with.”

The Gondorians looked shocked at Éowyn’s outburst. A deathly silence hung over the gathering as all eyes focussed upon Eowyn. Faramir, who sat on her other side, blushed scarlet; looking as if he wished the floor would open and devour him.

Queen Arwen, ever the diplomat, hastily tried to smooth matters by saying: “It takes a while to learn to like a new home, I know. I too, missed Imladis for a time.”

“Yes, my lady. Indeed that is so.” Éowyn replied pleasantly, much to Faramir’s relief. Faramir could not help but notice that the Queen seemed to have put on weight and seemed to have an especial glow around her tonight. Obviously, life in Gondor suited the beautiful Elf.

The King smiled proudly at his wife. Trying to put his embarrassed Steward at his ease, Aragorn turned to him and asked. “The silk, which we have been shown is very fine, do you not think, Lord Faramir? Should we ask for a regular supply to be delivered to the city?”

“As you wish, my Lord King.” Faramir replied.

“I wondered what you thought,” Aragorn persisted.

Faramir flushed. “I defer to your judgement in all matters, my lord,” he answered.

Aragorn sighed and gave up attempting to make Faramir express an opinion. He caught the eye of Imrahil, Faramir’s uncle, seated across the table. The Prince of Dol Amroth shook his head and started a hasty conversation about the weather in Harad.

“Only one more course and then we can retire,” Arwen whispered in her husband’s ear.

He smiled and forced himself to continue playing the polite host.

***

“Why were you so rude to the King?” Faramir demanded of Eowyn, once they were alone in their apartments. Éowyn had just dismissed her maid and was un-braiding her long golden tresses, which she preferred to brush herself.

“I detest the man and his stone prison of a city! He patronises me and has done from the moment we first met!” she replied forcefully, brushing her hair with increased vigour.

“But you owe him your life, we both do!” Faramir protested.

“Had he not scorned me, I would never have despaired so much in the first place. He is nothing but a hypocrite, who pretends to be good and noble while he ruins others’ lives!” Éowyn snapped, putting down her hairbrush. ”Your gratitude will have to suffice for us both seeing as you act like the man’s lap dog! I’m going to bed now!”

“He is a good man, the greatest and noblest of our age,” Faramir protested, “I just do not understand why you hate him so much.”

“You are under his spell just like my brother!” Éowyn retorted. “I bid you goodnight, my lord.”

“I will leave you to your sleep, my lady,.” Faramir said quietly, repressing his feelings as he had been taught to do since early childhood.

Fearful of incurring his wife’s wrath by saying more, the Steward retired to his dressing room, leaving Éowyn alone in the large bedroom. Climbing into bed, she buried her face in the pillow, stifling her sobs as thoughts of how Aragorn had tricked her into this loveless marriage overwhelmed her

On the other side of the wall, Faramir wept quietly too wondering why it had all gone so awry with his marriage. He loved his wife so much. Yet, now she hardly seemed to be able to endure being in the same room as him.

She had looked so happy on the day when they had spoken their wedding vows. Yet, before the sun had set on that same day, she was again the cold and melancholy woman he had first encountered. He had shrunk from her scornful gaze since that day. Often, he wondered if secretly she still loved the King and that was why she professed to detest him so.

***

In the Royal Apartments, Aragorn and Arwen lay side by side in the darkness.

“You are troubled, Estel.” Arwen made it a statement rather than a question.

He turned towards her and stroked her hair. “How well you sense my thoughts tonight, vanimelda!” he replied. “I was fearing you had lost the ability in these past weeks.

“I expect it will return,” Arwen said vaguely. “You will toss and turn all night if you continue to fret so,” she said, sitting up to light the bedside candle. “Now tell me what troubles you.”

“I did not mean to keep you awake.” He sighed and turned to face her, thinking how beautiful she looked by candlelight, her black hair framing her ivory completion and tumbling over the shoulders of her lace trimmed nightgown.

“I was wondering if I might have made a mistake in keeping Faramir as my Steward and advisor, though no one could work harder than he, nor know more about Gondor. However, I need someone who will give me different opinions and tell me when I make mistakes. Faramir looks as if I mean to beat him every time he is spoken to and has never once voiced an opinion of his own!”

Arwen listened sympathetically to her husband’s outburst.

The banquet tonight was the last straw!” Aragorn continued, “I think he resents me taking his place! Yet at first, I thought we could be friends. Although, I could never fill the place of his brother, I hoped I could be as family to him, or at least befriend him. I truly like the man. Yet, he always acts around me, like a hound waiting to beaten! I suspect he is in pain still from his old wounds, yet if I offer to treat them, he reacts as if I wanted to torture him!”

Arwen shook her head at the despair in her husband’s voice. “Faramir loves and respects you, Estel, I see it in his eyes. However, he also fears you, for you, like his father, are his lord. He fears he will do something that irks you and he will then feel the weight of your wrath as he felt Denethor’s. Make no mistake, though, however timid he might seem, he would stand up for what he believed to be right, whatever it cost him. For did he not face his father’s wrath by letting Frodo go? Then, you told me he was furious when he thought your had uprooted the White Tree. Give him time to get to know you. He will come to see that you are no tyrant like Denethor was.”

“I hope you are right, my love,” Aragorn said gloomily.“ The Lady Éowyn’s conduct pains me too. Though, I would gladly have been as a brother to her, she looks on me with such hatred! Then these endless banquets, council meetings and documents, drive me to distraction! I have tried so hard, but if I could still have you as my wife, I would gladly return to the simple life of a ranger! I cannot but help feel sorry for Faramir; the poor man is married to a shrew! I pitied him tonight.”

Arwen laughed. “You misjudge the Lady Éowyn,” she said. “I like her; she has a good heart beneath that prickly exterior. She and I are fast becoming close friends. No doubt she still smarts from having once loved you”

Aragorn looked surprised.

“She still feels rejected by you, so you feel the rough edge of her tongue, Arwen explained. “I see her with the other ladies, where she is much loved and admired, but no woman looks fondly on any man who rejected her, even if it were but a young maid’s infatuation! Then she feels caged in the city, after the plains of Rohan. You could not have asked her a worst question!”

“You are wise, my Evenstar, you see things that I do not.” Aragorn tenderly nuzzled his wife’s cheek.

Arwen laughed, a soft musical sound that her husband never tired of hearing. “You forget I have lived many more years than you and there is little that I have not seen or experienced. I can also see you feel caged and are lonely.”

“Lonely? But you are everything I dreamed of and more, Arwen!” Aragorn protested, while at the same time looking slightly sheepish that she could read him so well.

Arwen stroked his dark hair soothingly. “Remember how Ada used to say that love was like a rainbow and one needed to experience all the colours?” she replied. “You miss the freedom; to be able to go out riding or hunting with good friends where you can forget the pressures of being King for a time. Your fellow rangers, and the members of the fellowship, now that Legolas and Gimli are travelling, are all far away. Your good friend, Éomer is busy in Rohan with his royal duties. I have my ladies as companions, while you are surrounded by bickering nobles and a Steward who could be your friend but acts like a beaten lapdog! You need to remedy that and get away from the Court and the City, which stifle you.”

“Maybe if we were to ride out in the countryside, without any retainers and get to know each other better, that perhaps Faramir would learn then that I am just a man like any other and then be comfortable when he is with me.” Aragorn mused.

”You are not just any man, I would have no other!” Arwen said, embracing him. He drew her close, savouring her nearness, her touch, and her scent. “Did you manage to pass the afternoon pleasantly?” he asked, thinking ruefully of the Meeting with the visiting Ambassadors.

“Yes, I spent it with Dame Ioreth.”

“Dame Ioreth?” Aragorn sounded puzzled.” I had no idea you enjoyed that old crone’s company!”

Arwen chose her words carefully before replying. She wished now that she had managed to avoid mentioning Ioreth’s name. She had no wish to awaken her husband’s curiosity just yet.

“She is wise and is telling me many things I need to know about mortal women.” she replied carefully.

Aragorn yawned. “I could think of many more appealing companions that you could choose,” he said. “But if her company makes you happy, I am pleased you have found a companion for when I am called from your side by affairs of state.”

”We should try to sleep now. You have another banquet with the Harad delegates tomorrow.” Arwen suggested, anxious not to discuss Ioreth further.

Aragorn groaned as he blew out the candle. “I shall need you with your diplomatic skills at my side to endure it!” he grumbled.

“I will be beside you. In a few days they will be gone, and then you can plan how you can escape for a while and maybe befriend your Steward too.” she said, settling down beside her husband and snuggling into his arms. Within a few moments, he was snoring peacefully. Arwen lay awake for a while, pondering the complexity of human emotions, and wondering when the time would be right to tell her husband her secret.

TBC


The characters belong to the Tolkien Estate and no profit has or will be made from this story.


Early March 3021

Faramir slowly climbed out of bed in his dressing room, grimacing at the pain from his wounds, which was always at its worse early in the day. He reached for his robe and pulled it on over his nightshirt. He wandered out in the main bedroom and sighed with relief that Éowyn; always an early riser, had already vacated the chamber.

He anxiously looked through his clothes, wondering what he should wear for the private audience to which the King had summoned him.

He loved the King dearly, and yet he dreaded every audience with him, always fearful that he might do something wrong and see the same scorn and contempt in his Sovereign’s eyes that was ever present in his father’s.

As a lover of lore and learning, there were so many things he would have liked to ask Aragorn to tell him about. The King was said to be elven- wise and the most widely travelled of all living men. How he yearned to ask him about the Elves, his travels, and tales of the ring bearer; but always the words froze on his lips.

By now, he supposed, the King must think him half witted.

He pulled on his drawers and breeches under his nightshirt.He then carefully selected a shirt of fine linen and tunic of blue velvet and laid them on the bed. He cared little for his appearance, but not to dress properly to speak with the King, would show a sorry lack of respect.

It was unusual for one of the Steward’s rank not to have a servant to help them dress, but why burden them with the sight of his scars, or for that matter endure the embarrassment of their pitying and curious looks? Faramir thought sadly, as he pulled off his nightshirt, winching at the ever-present pain in his shoulder, where the Southeron arrow had torn into the muscles almost two years before.

The healers were amazed he could use his arm and shoulder at all and he supposed he had the King to thank for that.

The King had offered him further treatments and not for the first time, he wondered if he should have accepted, but it was so embarrassing to appear weak in front of his Lord, and it was doubtful that the offer was ever made as anything other than a gesture.

After all, the King had far more important matters to concern himself with than his Steward’s old wounds. How could he even remove his shirt in front of him to reveal the shameful and ugly scars? Only criminals usually bore so many on their backs. Then, what treatment could there be, to ease hurts he had borne for so long? The King was a skilled Healer, not a magician!

***

He tried to eat breakfast but was too nervous to swallow more than a slice of buttered toast. He made his way to the King’s study, aiming to be as punctual as possible. He knocked timidly at the door. A kindly voice swiftly bade him enter.

How he hated this room, which had been his father’s! There were new hangings on the walls, tapestries of the kings of old, brought from Rivendell. However, new furniture was still in short supply after the war, and Aragorn still used Denethor’s desk and chair.

The King rose to his feet and smiled as Faramir entered. Aragorn was obviously finishing his breakfast since he had a tray in front of him. “Have you eaten?” he asked Faramir.

“Yes thank you, my lord, I have breakfasted on some toast.”

“I am glad someone besides myself still eats breakfast, the Queen says she is not hungry these past weeks, so I must eat it on my own! Do have a goblet of wine and try one of these honey cakes; they are delicious. Only a Hobbit could eat all the food the kitchens provide for me!”

Faramir was unable to resist taking a cake from the proffered plate. It never ceased to astonish him that Aragorn thought nothing of handing round cakes like a servant would. His father would never have dreamed of doing such a thing! The King always seemed to know, too, what delicacies he especially enjoyed. The cakes were quite delicious, although the butterflies in his stomach made it difficult to swallow.

To his relief, Aragorn settled himself on the couch by the window rather than behind the desk that had been Denethor’s. He gestured to Faramir to sit beside him.

They sat eating honey cakes in silence for a few minutes, listening to the rain outside. Faramir’s stomach settled. Despite, his awe of his lord, there was something calming about his presence. Often when they were working together, they would partake of refreshments thus and were Aragorn not his Liege Lord and a figure out of legend; Faramir would have enjoyed the occasions, as he sensed a kindred spirit in the man sitting beside him.

“Thank you for organising my birthday celebrations so well, Faramir.” Aragorn said; brushing the crumbs off his lap after the last cake was finished. He took a sip from his goblet of wine.

“It was my pleasure, sire. It is hard to believe you are ninety, you look scarcely more than half that age!” Faramir replied, hoping that this was all the King had summoned him about. Obviously, his efforts had met with the Royal approval.

Aragorn laughed. “Everyone says the same. In the North, the Chieftains never married outside the Numenorean lineage, so I could perhaps live another hundred years providing I do not fall in battle.”

“I wish you many more years, my lord,” Faramir said formally.

“I did not send for you to talk about that though, apart from expressing my pleasure,” Aragorn continued. Faramir’s heart sank. He knew he must have done something wrong.

Aragorn rose to his feet, Faramir did likewise.

“Has the couch caught fire?” Aragorn teased.

“No but I cannot remain seated while you stand, my lord!” the Steward protested.

“I have told you many times there is no need to observe protocol on informal occasions. Now sit down and be at ease!”

Faramir complied. He could never get used to Aragorn’s disregard for court etiquette.

After wiping his hands on a moist towel by the tray, Aragorn picked up a parchment that was lying on the desk and unrolled it. “I have just learned that Duilin of Morthond’s last surviving brother has died, leaving no male heir," he said, consulting the scroll. “His widow and daughters inherit the bulk of his lands and property. However, under the terms of his grandfather’s will, his hunting lodge now belongs to the State of Gondor, being left it to the male line only. It is situated in the forest about a half-day’s ride from here. As there are no pressing affairs of state at present, and the New Year Celebrations are three weeks away, I thought that you and I and our ladies might go and spend some time there.”

“Sire?” Faramir was at a loss for words, torn between delight at the honour of being invited to spend time with the King and fear that he was bound to disappoint in some way.

“Protocol dictates that we must have an escort to travel there but we can dismiss them once we arrive,” Aragorn continued, “I will be frank with you, I miss my old life sometimes and yearn for the freedom of the woods and fields, to eat and dress simply and pass by unrecognised as a ranger rather than a king.”

Faramir nodded his understanding, accustomed as he was to court life; he still sometimes missed the simple life of a soldier and thought it must be even harder for the King.

“But why do you want Éowyn and myself to come?” He was unable to stop himself voicing his thoughts aloud.

“Your wife once told me she feared a cage, and she makes no secret that she sees this city as one. I believe that riding out in the open countryside would benefit her while the builders are still working on your new home in Ilithien. As for you, Faramir,” Aragorn paused and gave him one of his warmest smiles. “You work far too hard and need a respite. Also, I would like to get to know you better. We work together closely and yet, I feel I know you little better than when we first met!”

Faramir blushed. “I fear you would find me a dull companion, my lord.”

“Your Uncle tells me quite the contrary. I would know the truth!” Aragorn’s tone was stern but there was a twinkle in is eye as he spoke. “Now, tell me, will you come? I feel you should see the Property and help me decide what should be done with it. I assume Duilin’s intent was that your family should have the use of it, seeing as the will was made in your father’s time.”

Faramir bowed deeply. “I am obedient to your command, sire.”

Aragorn sighed, somewhat impatiently. “I meant it as an invitation, not an order, but I assume that means you will come?”

“I am honoured to accept, sire.”

“It gladdens my heart that you will. You may go now and make what preparations you need. We shall leave in three days time.”

Faramir made his farewells, bowed again and left.

Aragorn slumped wearily on the couch. He found every private audience with Faramir somewhat wearing. He felt torn between a desire to shake the man for his over formality and nervousness ,or to embrace him as a troubled soul in need of love and reassurance. Imrahil had told him that Denethor had always treated Faramir coldly, reserving his affection and approval for Boromir. After his favoured son’s death, Denethor had lost his wits and tried to burn himself and his surviving son alive. Although, Faramir had been unconscious at the time, such dreadful events had taken their toll on him. It said a good deal for the young man’s strength and resilience that he had recovered sufficiently to act as a most efficient and hard working Steward to the King.

Aragorn glanced out of the window behind him. The rain had almost stopped and the sun was struggling to come out from behind a cloud. He rose to his feet and stood looking out. A beautiful rainbow had formed and stood out in sharp contrast to the black clouds hovering over the city. Maybe it was a good sign for the future.

***

“I am sorry, my Love, I cannot,” Arwen said regretfully.

The ladies of the court dismissed, Aragorn was alone with his Queen in her solar where she was sewing a tapestry.

“But, beloved, it was your idea!” he protested, dismayed at her reaction to the trip to the hunting lodge.

“I know and I wish I could come with you but Ioreth says I must not.”

Aragorn looked bewildered. ”Ioreth? Whatever is it to do with that old crone?”

Arwen realised she could keep her secret no longer. “She is the most experienced midwife in Gondor,” she said quietly.

“You mean, you are…?” Aragorn was lost for words.

Arwen wished she could capture his expression of joyful and amazement and cherish it for always. “Yes, Estel. We are going to have a child.”

“But when? How?” he stammered.

She smiled at him, wondering why men were so lost for words about something so natural.

“The usual way, I believe, and our child should be born in a few month’s time, though Ioreth is uncertain about the exact date when the mother is an Elf and the father a Man.”

“Why did you not tell me before?” Aragorn looked hurt. “I expect all of Gondor knows by now and I am the last to be told!”

“I disliked hiding it from you but I feared something could go wrong,” Arwen explained. “Ioreth assures me now three months have passed, all should be well, and I should carry the babe to term. She may let her tongue run away with her, but never about the ladies whom she attends. She is most discreet on that account. You have not said if you are pleased or not?” She pretended to look annoyed though she could already read the answer in his eyes.

He drew her close in a fast embrace. “Beloved, I am delighted! I dreamed of our child for so long! I will cancel the hunting trip. I cannot leave you at such a time!”

Arwen laughed. “There is no need, Ioreth assures me, I am strong as a horse and the babe is not due until at least September, probably later!”

A light of realisation dawned in Aragorn’s eyes.” So that is why you have not wanted to eat breakfast and are less perceptive than usual?”

Arwen laughed. “It surprised me that you did not notice before, not to mention that I am gaining weight!”

“I thought only that your beauty was growing greater with each day!” Aragorn replied.

The Queen reached across the table and picked up a parchment lying there and her expression grew sombre. “I have just had word that my brothers are due to arrive any day and I will have much to discuss with them.”

Aragorn’s own eyes were filled with a mixture of sadness and guilt. “I am glad that you will see them again before they sail. I still feel guilty that I took you from your family and soon you will be parted from them for eternity!”

Arwen gripped his hands fiercely and planted a loving kiss on his lips. “It was my choice to make. I would rather follow you beyond this world than sail to Valinor with my family. Soon, I will hold our child in my arms and we will create a new family, you and I!”

Aragorn returned her kiss. “I know, but you love your family dearly.”

“They could stay here for our lifetime if they chose to do so!” she snapped, returning to her needlework and jabbing her needle into the tapestry with vigour. “But it is their choice not to. I have chosen to be with the one, who loves me most!”

“You have given up so much for me, though!” Aragorn’s eyes were moist with unshed tears.

“I have all that I ever wanted. Many suitors asked for my hand, but you were the only one, I ever loved and desired to wed! Now let us plan your hunting trip for I hope you catch some friends there!” Arwen laughed, her mood changing suddenly “I will have need of the Lady Éowyn in the months ahead!”

“What use could you have of that sour tongued lady?” Aragorn asked in bewilderment.

“She has become a good friend to me and she is skilled as a midwife,” Arwen replied ”I would have her with me both as a healer and a friend. Ioreth is very competent, but hardly comforting.”

Aragorn was about to comment that comforting was hardly a word to apply to the Lady Éowyn, when he remembered how he had heard she had comforted the women and children at Helm’s Deep and safely delivered a babe in the Glittering caves in the midst of the battle. Arwen’s choice was doubtless a wise one. He drew her close and kissed her again. “I will miss you, vanimelda!”

Arwen smiled as she returned his embrace.” Once you are out in the wilds again, you will be so happy, you will forget all about me until you return!” she teased. “You might be King, but you are still an untamed ranger at heart! Maybe this little one will tame you? “ She grasped his hand and guided it to place over her belly.

Aragorn found himself trembling with awe, as he contemplated the miracle of new life growing within her. What he had scarcely dared to hope for, was happening at last. He would soon have a child to hold in his arms.

For seventy years, his dream of making her his wife had seemed almost impossible. Then, despite the fact they were both descended from the union of Luthien an Elf, and Beren, a mortal, he had tried to contain a niggling fear that children might not be possible from their union in this later age. What joy to know such fears was unfounded! Gondor needed an heir, but more than that, he wanted a son or daughter to love and nurture.

“Beloved!” he murmured again and kissed her tenderly.

***

Éowyn was furious when Faramir told her of the King’s invitation. “What?” she cried, “Spend weeks in the middle of nowhere with that vile man! I will not go!”

“You should not speak of the King so disrespectfully!” Faramir chided.” You must come with me, Éowyn, the King especially requested it and he is our Liege Lord. We owe him our duty.”

“Has he not done enough to ruin my life already?” she raged.

Faramir sighed. As he feared, she was still in love with Aragorn and how could he ever compete? “You need not see much of the King if you do not wish to,” he said, trying to placate her. “It will be an opportunity for you to leave the confines of the City and ride out in the countryside to your heart’s content.”

“I love riding but not if he is within ten miles of me!” she snapped, storming out of the room.

Faramir let her go, wondering sadly if she would ever again look at him as she had done during their courtship. He wanted nothing more than to clasp her in his arms, smother her with passionate kisses and tell her how beautiful she was. He was certain though, if he tried any such thing, she would most likely strike him for being less than a gentleman. He could only hope that spending time away from the Court with her might soften her heart towards him.

***

Éowyn wept in the privacy of her bedroom. This was the last straw. Not only had the King trapped her in a loveless marriage but now was even forcing her to spend time in his company. Maybe, he even planned to try to make her his mistress. She knew such was the custom of past kings of Gondor and of Rohan too, or so rumour told.

Drying her eyes, she came to a decision.

She went into Faramir’s study, aware that he kept parchment and ink on his desk and helped herself to both. Dipping the pen in the ink, she began to write a letter.

‘Dearest brother,

I beg you to come and take me home. Faramir does not love me and cares nothing for my honour. I can endure it no longer.

Your loving sister, Éowyn.’

She addressed the missive and put it to one side, awaiting a chance to slip it amongst other documents being sent to Rohan.

Feeling better after having decided to complain to her brother, she washed her face, changed her gown, and went down to prepare for the midday meal.

TBC



The characters are the property of the Tolkien estate

Chapter Three

Comfort and Conversation

A small detachment of Royal Guards, resplendent in their livery of the White Tree, was already assembled the next morning on the Sixth Level when Faramir and Éowyn joined them.

There was no sign of the King and Queen and the horses were beginning to get restive by the time Aragorn finally appeared on his own. “Greetings, my friends!” he said.” It gladdens my heart you are coming with me today. The Queen sends her regrets that she cannot come with us, for she is indisposed.”

“Can’t we wait until she is better?” Éowyn challenged rudely.

Ignoring her tone, Aragorn replied. ”She bids us go and enjoy ourselves in her absence. Come, my friends!”

”I’m sure she is very happy about her husband going off for weeks in the middle of nowhere!” Éowyn said sarcastically, supposedly under her breath, but loudly enough to be heard.

“Control, yourself!” Faramir hissed, pulling his mount up beside his wife’s. “You almost speak treason, my Lady!”

Éowyn tossed her head defiantly but said no more.

They passed through cheering crowds as they descended the levels of the City. The people presented flowers to their King and Steward. Once they had left Minas Tirith behind, they passed through several villages, and then rode out into the open countryside until they reached the forest, which they journeyed through for several hours.

Aragorn made pleasant albeit somewhat stilted conversation with Faramir. He tried to include Éowyn, but her sullen replies were monosyllabic. Eventually, he abandoned the attempt.

It was late afternoon before they reached their destination; a large house, standing in a clearing of the forest. It was built of grey stone and had a slightly dilapidated appearance, though the small garden was tidy and the courtyard had been recently swept, no doubt in anticipation of their arrival.

“Will we be expected, sire?” Faramir enquired of the King.

“Duilin of Morthond kept this Hunting Lodge in constant readiness for visitors,” Aragorn replied, “There should be sufficient servants to keep the house running in good order. I did however. send a messenger to inform them of our coming.”

A middle-aged woman, who appeared to be the housekeeper, appeared on the threshold, no doubt alerted by the clatter of hoof beats on the stones.

The woman curtsied and after introductions were made, led them inside. She despatched the guards to the kitchens for refreshments with a young maid and then showed the King and his companions to the main apartments.

The Housekeeper threw open a door to reveal a chamber dominated by a huge bed. The walls were covered by heavy tapestries showing hunting scenes. A few uncomfortable looking chairs and a table completed the furnishings. A log fire, blazing in the hearth, softened the somewhat austere surroundings.

“The rooms are all like this,” the woman explained. “I’m afraid they are somewhat lacking in elegance, sire, but when the late master came here with his companions, they would hunt all day and then feast and retire, to sleep six or eight to a bed. They would rise again at dawn for the chase. We have not had a lady here in a long time.”

“The rooms will suffice, for our needs, good dame. We too, plan to be out riding most of the time.” Aragorn replied.

“Dinner will be served when you are ready, sire,” she informed him, then curtsying again,she look her leave.

Aragorn took the first of the chambers and then left Éowyn and Faramir to choose where they wanted to sleep. Arwen had teased him before he had set out that morning that it would be a good thing if he were to share a room with Faramir. She was certain the sound of his snoring would convince the nervous Steward that his King was as much a flawed human being as any other. He wondered if maybe he and Faramir could go hunting overnight together to put Arwen’s suggestion into practise though he was certain his snoring could not be that loud. How he wished his Queen were with them! Even the prickly Éowyn liked her and she had the Elven power to calm even the most anxious individuals, such as his Steward.

Faramir chose the room next to Aragorn’s, which was almost identical and asked Éowyn to make her choice of the others.

It was on the tip of her tongue to retort. ‘Can you stand my company so little, you would not even share a bed as vast as this with me?’ but she remained silent and withdrawn.

Little did she know that nothing would have pleased Faramir more than to have her sleep at his side, but her sullen demeanour made him certain she would instantly refute any such suggestion.

Dinner was a gloomy affair for them all. Aragorn again struggled to make conversation, Faramir was too ill at ease to make other than polite replies, while Éowyn sat in glowering silence. Had she not been so hungry after a hard day’s riding, she would have stayed in her room and refused to attend the meal at all.

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, and even Éowyn felt in a better mood when she came down to breakfast. After they had eaten, the Captain of the King’s Escort came to inform Aragorn that the men and horses were rested and ask for further instructions.

“Take your men and return to Minas Tirith. You may then take leave before returning to escort us home for New Year celebrations,” Aragorn replied.

“May I speak freely, sire?” the Captain asked.

Aragorn nodded his consent.

“I thank you, my lord, but surely some of us should stay to guard you and the Lord Steward and his Lady?” the Captain protested.

“I know you mean well, Captain, but the purpose of this trip was that we could be alone and away from the Court formality,” Aragorn replied. “The Orcs are no longer a threat after Sauron’s defeat and there are few wild beasts in these parts. I have lived in the wild before we enjoyed this safety and peace. I came to no harm, and Lord Faramir is an experienced ranger too, so you need have no fear. Go now, and enjoy your leave!”

The Captain bowed and departed, still looking worried.

Aragorn then sough out Faramir and Éowyn. “I have been greatly looking forward to returning to my old ranger days and casting off court etiquette. Shall we enjoy our freedom and go out riding this morning, my friends?”

“Yes, my Lord King, I will see that the horses are saddled,” Faramir replied.

Aragorn sighed inwardly at the formality but hoped matters would improve over the coming days.

“I have a headache. I would be excused,” Éowyn said coldly.

“Maybe some fresh air would do you good, my lady? I have herbs I could give you to ease it,” Aragorn told her.

Éowyn realised her mistake and wished she had pleaded some female malady instead, which she knew the men would consider too delicate a matter to question.

“Rest and solitude are the best remedies, my lord. I have need of neither your herbs nor your company, ” Her snub was coldly intentional.

Aragorn looked at her, the hurt obvious in his eyes. “I wish you a speedy recovery my lady,” he said, bending to kiss her hand and brushing his fingers lightly across her forehead.

“Leave me alone!” she snapped. “I do not want your help. You think you can solve everything, but you are not omnipotent, my lord!”

Aragorn’s grey eyes flashed with sudden anger. “You forget to whom you speak, my lady!” he said coldly.

“You pretend you want us to be your friends, yet you don’t hesitate to remind us of who you are if we speak freely!” she retorted, her eyes flashing.

Faramir wished the ground would open and swallow him. He pretended to be adjusting Iavas’ bridle. The fine chestnut mare had been a wedding gift to him from Éomer and was Faramir’s pride and joy.Never before had he owned such a magnificent horse.

Aragorn and Éowyn stood glaring at each other for what must have been but a few seconds but felt like hours to Faramir, who watched apprehensively out of the corner of his eye.

Aragorn bowed his head slightly. “You speak the truth, my lady. I ask your pardon. I would ask you to treat me with neither more nor less courtesy than any other man you encounter in future.” He suddenly looked her straight in the eye again.

“I will endeavour to remember that, my lord,” Éowyn retorted icily.

“We will leave you to rest then,Éowyn.” Faramir said, anxious to depart before another argument could break out. “If you feel well enough to ride out later, take care in these wild places!”

“You, my lords, are not armed, so why should I fear?” Éowyn replied, blushing slightly, embarrassed that Faramir had so obviously guessed her intention of taking Windfola out once they were gone.

“A woman needs to protect herself more carefully than a man does,” Faramir replied, bending to kiss her cold cheek.

“Farewell!” said Éowyn. Without a second glance, she went back inside the house.

“I must apologise for Éowyn’s behaviour, sire.” Faramir said ruefully, as they rode away side by side.

“It is not your fault, Faramir. She did, I fear, speak the truth, albeit somewhat bluntly. Obviously something makes the lady unhappy,” Aragorn said calmly. “I hope her health and spirits will improve.”

“I do not know what ails her, even less how to aid her,” Faramir replied gloomily.

“She is usually happy on horseback,” Aragorn replied soothingly. ”Maybe, we will eventually see her smile. Now let us give the horses have their heads and enjoy our ride !”

The path led uphill and King and Steward let their mounts choose their own pace.

Both were excellent horsemen. Faramir always felt more confident when astride a horse, that being one of the few areas in which he had openly outclassed both his father and his brother.

The wind blew on their faces, carrying the scent of early spring blossoms.

They halted upon reaching the brow of the hill and admired the view in silence for a few moments. Faramir was the first to break the silence. “I used to ride out here with Boromir on the rare occasions we both had leave,” he told the King. “It was one of the few places where we could enjoy ourselves together away from the pressures of the Court. I believe Boromir visited the Hunting Lodge too. He knew Duilin of Morthond well.”

“I did not know you came here with your brother,” Aragorn said.”I did not wish you to be sad today.”

“The memories are happy ones,” Faramir replied. “Our father never knew we came to this place. We felt free for a while.”

“Shall we dismount for a while and let the horses graze? It is a pleasant spot to sit and admire the view,” Aragorn said. He swung easily from the saddle. Faramir followed but jarred his shoulder as his feet touched the ground. He visibly winched from the pain.

“Does your shoulder pain you still?” Aragorn’s voice was full of concern.

“I just feel occasional pain, sire,” Faramir replied, inwardly cursed himself. Just as he was managing to acquit himself well for once with his King, he had to show some weakness again!

Aragorn seated himself on a fallen tree trunk and gestured for Faramir to sit beside him. They sat in silence for a few minutes looking towards the White City, which was just visible on the horizon, the towers gleaming in the sunlight.

The King studied his Steward unobtrusively; his keen healer’s eye noticing the younger man was in obvious pain. “The arrow damaged your shoulder muscle, if I recall rightly. Let me ease it for you.” Aragorn said, his voice gentle but firm.

Faramir immediately stiffened. “It is nothing, sire, just a mere twinge which has passed. It has been a while since I have ridden so far in one day. It would not be fitting for the King to tend his subject.”

Aragorn sighed. “It is surely fitting that one friend should aid another,” he said. “There is no need for you to be so formal, Faramir. We are not in the Council Chamber! You may call me by my given name when we are alone.”

“You do me great honour, sire but it would scarcely be appropriate, sire if…” Faramir shifted uneasily on the only to jar his shoulder again which caused him to hiss with pain.

“It is hard to watch another suffer when you have the means to give them ease. Come, let me give you what aid I may! ” Aragorn’s tone was almost pleading much to Faramir’s surprise.

Realising if he continued to refuse, his behaviour would be as ungracious as Éowyn’s; Faramir nodded, and then reluctantly loosened the lacings on his shirt and tunic. He slowly pulled his clothing away from the injured shoulder and bared the heavily scarred flesh, repressing an inward shudder as he did so. He so hated having the ugly scars revealed!

He supposed he should be thankful that his back was still covered, as those scars distressed him even more, having been caused by the lash, rather than by honourable battle wounds. It still shamed him to remember that Aragorn had seen them in the Houses of Healing, despite the King’s kindness to him then.

Aragorn moved closer to him and Faramir looked away, not wanting the King to see his pain and embarrassment. He became aware of warm fingers gently probing his shoulder. He tensed in anticipation of the pain that would follow. To his surprise, instead of agony, he felt a great sense of warmth and comfort enveloping the injured joint. He recalled the sensation from when Aragorn had tended him before, but afterwards had wondered if he had dreamt it.

He stole a furtive glance at the King. Aragorn appeared to be almost in a trance with his eyes closed. After a few moments, the King opened his eyes and blinked in the bright sunlight. He looked strangely weary.

“That should have eased the pain,” he said, looking at Faramir, his grey eyes full of compassion.

Faramir gingerly moved the joint and smiled. “How did you do that?” he asked, curiosity overcoming his embarrassment that yet again the King had seen the ugly scarring and felt the need to tend a mere subject like himself!

Aragorn shrugged. “I scarcely know. It is a gift those of my lineage possess, a kind of energy transference that heals. You should have told me your wound still pained you .I can see now that it has not healed well. I can sense that the nerve is damaged while the muscle is badly scarred.”

“You have too many affairs of state to concern you, my lord, to be troubled over me,” Faramir replied, knowing full well he had disobeyed his King’s instructions.

“The health of my Steward is a primary concern. Obviously you do not know me well!” There was a brief flash of anger in Aragorn’s usually calm demeanour, which he immediately regretted, when Faramir cringed as if struck. “Peace! I am not angry, Faramir, just saddened that you seem unable to approach me. I am your lord but that does not mean you should fear me.”

“I am unused to such kindness. You have always been most gracious to me, my lord. I am your most humble servant.” Faramir replied with downcast eyes.

Aragorn inwardly cursed Denethor for having raised his younger son to have such fear of his liege. At times, he felt like shaking his Steward. Yet, he sensed under the timid exterior was a man of great courage and honour, whose trust he could win over the coming weeks if he but tried. Ever since he had taken the crown, he had tried to reach out to Faramir, but apart from a few brief instances, the stifling atmosphere of the Court was not conductive to friendship. “I command then to be at ease with me! I do not eat my Stewards for breakfast, and though I know I lose my temper, at times I do not bite! You are quite welcome to give me the rough side of your tongue should I merit it!” He grinned at Faramir. ”Now let me massage your shoulder. It should ease it further.”

“Yes, my lord.” Faramir said obediently.

Aragorn controlled his rising exasperation when his Steward looked at him a way reminiscent of a trapped mouse waiting to be devoured by a cat. The pulse in the younger man’s neck throbbed far too rapidly.

“I am not going to hurt you,” the King said gently, as he started to work on the damaged shoulder.

“I know that, sire “ Faramir replied. “It is just that …” His voice trailed off. He could hardly tell the King that now he was in Denethor’s place, he kept expecting him to treat him as his father did, that sounded so irrational.

“This will work far better if you relax.” Aragorn instructed. “Close your eyes and breathe deeply. Remember, I was a healer, long before I became a king!”

Faramir strove to do as he was bidden, all the while remembering the attentions of the court healers and the pain they had caused him in the past. To his surprise, the King’s touch was so gentle he felt no pain, even though it felt as if the damaged joint were somehow being remoulded. He relaxed, finding the soothing strokes of Aragorn’s exceptionally warm fingertips oddly comforting. He even started to feel drowsy and only forced himself back to full wakefulness by thinking how embarrassing it would be to fall asleep with his head on the King’s shoulder!

“Is this another gift Elendil’s line possesses?” he asked in a bid to stay awake.

Aragorn laughed. ”No, it is a simple Elven technique that any could learn. Arwen is far more skilled at it than I am.”

Faramir remembered the Queen was unwell. “I hope your lady’s indisposition is not serious,” he said.

To his surprise, Aragorn smiled. “No, not at all! I will take you into my confidence, Faramir, I can trust you not to tell anyone else yet, Arwen is expecting our child!”

Any lingering doubts Aragorn might have felt about Faramir, perhaps resenting being supplanted as a possible successor, vanished at the other’s immediate and delighted reaction.

“That is wonderful news! I am so happy for you both.” Faramir turned and beamed delightedly at his King.

“Thank you, Faramir. We are keeping the news private for some weeks yet, but I wanted to share such glad tidings with you. I have waited so long to be a father!”

“You will make a most excellent one, I am certain. You are truly blessed! “ Faramir exclaimed wistfully.

“I am sure you and Lady Éowyn will soon be blessed too,” Aragorn replied.

“I don’t know, Éowyn and I, we haven’t …” his voice trailed away in embarrassment at the turn the conversation had taken.

“Does she not desire to be a mother?” Aragorn asked.” Many women are nervous at first.”

“I do not know.” Faramir replied “I would not have her think me a brute by forcing my wish for children upon her! I love her too much.” He blushed scarlet and wished the ground would swallow him, realising the implications of what he had said. Why did he always say and do the wrong thing when he was with the King?

“My lord, I am so sorry, I did not mean …”

Aragorn calmly continued massaging Faramir’s damaged shoulder. He was beginning to understand now much of what had puzzled him before.

“I know you meant no insult,” he said reassuringly. “I am also certain that you know Elves only bear children when they wish to. You have a gentle nature quite unlike your father, Faramir, so banish such thoughts far from your mind. I do know, however, that even he did love your mother and was always kind to her. Though, it is not my place to tell you how to conduct your marriage, I do suggest that you talk to your lady. It is better not to surmise what others think, especially women. Arwen never fails to surprise me even though I have known her for seventy years now! One word of advice I will give you; remember that women easily feel rejected and then blame men for not knowing the reasons why!”

“I will take your advice, sire, though sometimes I fear Éowyn does not love me. I wonder if…” His voice trailed away, too embarrassed to mention his suspicions.

“Well she certainly has no love for me. I see only hatred in her eyes.” Aragorn replied, reading his thoughts. “That saddens me as I have always loved her since our first meeting.”


Faramir stared at the King in shock.

“As I would a sister, naturally. Arwen is the only woman I have ever been in love with and always will be.” Aragorn said calmly.” However, I would not lie by pretending I shared Éowyn's hatred for me. Put your mind at rest on that count, for I doubt she would have become close friends with Arwen, were she still in love with me!”

“I apologise, my lord for speaking thus.” Faramir said awkwardly.

“I hope you will continue to speak your mind throughout the coming weeks,” Aragorn replied, hopeful that he was finally putting his Steward at his ease. “If you wish for a friend to confide in, I would be honoured to be that friend.”

Faramir rewarded his King with a shy smile then remained silent while Aragorn continued massaging his shoulder.

“Your wound should pain you less for now, but I must keep tending it until it is fully healed.” Aragorn said at last.

Faramir stirred reluctantly, he had actually been enjoying the King’s ministrations much to his amazement. ‘Pleasant’ was not a word one associated with Healer’s treatments usually. He nodded his agreement.

“I was trained by Elrond to use Elven techniques,” Aragorn explained again with that uncanny ability to sense what he was thinking. “That is all I can do for this morning.”

"Thank you, sire. It already feels so much better.” Faramir smiled warmly at his lord as he re-laced his shirt.

Aragorn impulsively laid a hand in blessing on the younger man’s head.

To the Steward’s horror, a dreadful vision came into his mind just like it had happened two years before. This time he saw Aragorn sprawled across a bed; his naked flesh bloodied and torn. The vision could not have lasted more than a few seconds, but its intensity left Faramir feeling faint and dizzy. He would have fallen from the log had not the King caught him.

TBC

These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.


“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man should lay down his life for his friends.” The Bible: John, 15.13

With grateful thanks to Raksha for her help with revising this chapter.


Warning this chapter contains torture .Please do not read if you are likely to be distressed

Faramir could see Aragorn sprawled across a bed. The king's naked flesh was bloodied and torn. He was standing helplessly by the bedside, his sight slightly veiled by a curtain of tears. The vision could not have lasted more than a few seconds, but its intensity left Faramir feeling faint and dizzy.

He would have fallen from the log had not the King caught him.

“What is the matter?” Aragorn’s voice was full of concern. “Are you unwell?” He placed a comforting arm round Faramir’s shoulders and steadied him.

Faramir tried to compose himself, and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“I will be well in a moment, sire. As you know, I sometimes experience visions. Boromir and my father had them too, though less frequently than I. It usually happened when were in close proximity to each other”

Aragorn nodded. “I know, many of our Race are gifted, or cursed with them to some degree. What did you see?”

Faramir hesitated, wondering what he should say before deciding he should warn Aragorn. ”I saw a vision of you, my lord. You were badly injured. I know not when or how, but I beg you to be careful.”

Aragorn, touched by the emotion in Faramir’s voice, forced himself to smile reassuringly. “I will do my best, but you could be seeing the aftermath of a battle fifty years from hence!”

“I do not know. It could be that it is a mere trick of the mind. When I last foresaw danger for you, I was wrong, praise the Valar! “

“When was that?” Aragorn queried. “Your visions are usually correct. You foresaw my coming and that the White Tree would bloom.”

“It was when you tended me before you rode out to Mordor. I had a vision of you badly wounded, maybe dying, with your friends weeping by your side.” Faramir laughed. “Thankfully that vision was totally false.”

Aragorn froze as he felt his blood run cold. “Your far-sight did not lie, Faramir. I was indeed badly wounded then and only lived by the grace of the Valar. I decided that it was best that few knew about it, since we still faced as some of Sauron’s forces. Then afterwards, I kept it quiet to spare the feelings of the Hobbits. That time was hard enough for them.”

Faramir shuddered but could think of nothing to say. Aragorn patted his arm reassuringly. “We cannot prevent such visions and just have to use them as best we may,” he said. “Are you able to stand up now?”

The Steward nodded. His head had stopped spinning but the fearful image lingered in his mind.

Still feeling slightly dazed, Faramir permitted Aragorn to help him to his feet. “ Are you able to mount your horse?” Aragorn asked solicitously.

“Yes, thank you, sire, I am quite recovered now,” Faramir replied, feeling very foolish. He swung himself into the saddle, somewhat surprised at how much less painful his shoulder was now.

They rode on until they reached the outskirts of a small settlement comprised of a handful of dilapidated huts, of the kind used by charcoal burners.

An old woman was sitting outside a hut watching them intently. She called as they made to ride past, “Well, I never did, if it isn’t the King and the Steward! Greetings, my lords!”

Aragorn and Faramir felt it was only courteous to respond to her salutations. They brought their horses to a halt and dismounted. The old woman dropped a deep curtsey.

“Arise, good lady!” Aragorn said, smiling at her kindly. “How did you know who we were?”

“I was at your coronation with my family.” she replied. “You must be thirsty after your ride, my lords. Will you do me the great honour of tasting my home made wine?”

Aragorn hesitated, if past experiences were anything to go by, the wine would probably taste worst than vinegar. However, as King he had a duty to respect his subjects’ feelings. After all, wine, unlike water did not carry the risk of coming from a contaminated well and there could be no harm in tasting it to please the old lady.

He took the proffered goblet, thinking as he did so, that it was fine workmanship for a poor woman to own, no doubt a family heirloom. He gestured to Faramir to do likewise.

Apart from having a slightly bitter flavour, the wine tasted better than expected. They drained their goblets thirstily and gladlyreturned them to the old woman, thanking her, before remounting and riding off.

Aragorn glanced back. The crone was still staring after them, a strange expression on her face. “That old woman unnerves me for some reason,” he remarked.

“I suppose she has never spoken to a King before, she would not expect you to ride past her threshold when she saw you crowned.” Faramir replied, urging his horse forward.

They rode on for about a mile or so and then the scenery started to blur around Faramir. “I think I need to dismount,” he told Aragorn, dismayed at showing yet another sign of weakness.

“The trouble with drinking wine is that nature always calls soon afterwards!” Aragorn said wryly. “I think we had better both stop here.”

They made their way to a clearing surrounded by trees. Faramir half slid and half fell from his horse and tottered behind the nearest tree. He stole a furtive glance at the King and was alarmed to notice he was no steadier on his feet. They stumbled back into the clearing both yawning.

“I will have to sit down,” Faramir gasped, sinking to the ground. Everything seemed to be spinning alarmingly.

Aragorn tried to collect his befuddled wits. “The wine must have been drugged!” he exclaimed. “We must get away from here! We should have brought weapons.” He tried to remount Roheryn but his legs refused to obey him.

“Can’t keep my eyes open!” Faramir murmured sleepily.” I don’t feel well!”

Aragorn tried to go to his aid but could only take a few unsteady steps before he sank unconscious at his Steward’s side.

***

Aragorn had no idea how much time passed before he came to his senses. At first he thought he must have fallen asleep on the grass and wondered why his mouth was so dry and his head pounding. He tried to get up only to find to his dismay and fury that his hands and feet were bound securely. A groan alerted him to Faramir’s presence at his side.

Before he could fully gather his wits, a rough voice said with mock courtesy:

“Let me introduce myself to my Lord Elessar and my Lord Steward. I am Fennas and this is my brother in law Calardan. We were waiting for you to wake up as we didn’t want you to miss any of our surprise!”

“I have not had the dubious pleasure of making your acquaintance before!” Aragorn snapped, wishing his voice sounded less hoarse. “Now let us go immediately and maybe I will not deal with you too harshly!”

“I remember, you, Fennas, why are you doing this?” Faramir’s voice, sounding equally husky broke in.

Fennas laughed; an ugly sound devoid of mirth. “You should already know the answer to that, Faramir. For forty years my father served as Porter to your father, only to be slain to save you, the worthless whelp of a great man!”

“I grieved for your loss, but I cannot be held responsible for it” Faramir said with dignity. “Your quarrel, if there be one, lies with me, so release the King at once!”

Calardan spoke for the first time. He was taller than Fennas and carried a bow on his back.

“You both have a lot to answer for!” He growled. “I was married to Fennas’ sister and a right fair woman she was too and about to have our first child when the Black Breath came upon her. She lingered for days growing weaker. I lost all hope and then heard tidings that the King had come and had the power to heal her malady. I went off to find you, my lord, but you were far too busy with that useless weakling there, and your other fine friends, to save my poor wife and our babe! She was the daughter of that poor old woman who gave you the wine just now. He brushed away a tear with a dirty sleeve.

Aragorn looked at him with genuine compassion. “I would have helped your wife had I known.” He said. “I feel for your losses and will pardon your behaviour if you release us at once!”

Fennas gave an evil grin as he opened a bag, which had been lying on the grass. Several knives, a poker and a horse whip fell out on to the grass.

“You and your precious Steward won’t escape that easily, Elessar.” he said. “I intend to teach you both a lesson to avenge my poorfather and sister. Maybe, if I feel generous, I will let one of you live, if you can entertain me well enough!”

Aragorn repressed a shudder as he glanced at Faramir’s white face. They were obviously dealing with madmen. He struggled to free himself. A well-aimed kick from Calardan bent him double with agony. Aragorn bit his lip to suppress a cry.

Fennas roughly pulled Faramir up on his knees, and held him still while Calardan seized a knife and slit the Steward's tunic and shirt down the back.

“It seems only fitting that we should use my wife’s kitchen knives to avenge her,” Calardan said with a fond grin, stroking the hilt. "She was so proud of them, they were part of my bridal gift and I spared no expense. That's real brass!"

“We should have stripped them before they woke up.” Fennas grumbled. “These are good clothes, worth two months’ wages to the likes of us!”

“It’s too late to grumble about that, now, we’ll just have to cut their clothes off.” Calardan retorted. “We should have secured the horses too before they wandered off.”

Aragorn and Faramir struggled to remain impassive. Their predicament grew worse by the minute. They were bound and helpless with no prospect of rescue. Aragorn silently cursed his own foolishness for allowing himself to fall into this trap, and worse involve Faramir. If only they had refused the wine! Yet, it had seemed but a small courtesy to accept a drink from an apparently loyal subject.

Fennas picked up the horsewhip; it was a cruel version with lead-weighted thongs. Aragorn had banned the use of that type, hating to see horses mistreated.

Smiling at his victims, Fennas lifted the whip above his head and then cracked it down upon Faramir’s unprotected back. The Steward tried to crawl away from the source of the blows, but was bound too tightly to evade their strike.

Aragorn blinked, wishing he could close his eyes and not see the terrible course of Fennas' cruelty. He remembered how he had vowed never to let Faramir be beaten again .He felt overwhelmed with anger at his own helplessness to prevent it happening.

The whip fell again and again.

Silent tears traileddown Faramir’s cheeks, but he made no sound.

“Leave him be!” Aragorn cried in his most commanding tone. “He has never harmed you nor evenwished you ill!”

Fennas lowered the whip, dragged Faramir to his feet with Calardan's help. They shoved him against the nearest tree and secured another rope round his feet. He then pulled the Steward upright and yanked his arms over his head and secured them to the birch tree.

If it had not been that Aragorn had earlier eased his shoulder, Faramir would have cried out in agony at the rough treatment.

Aragorn was dragged to his knees and he felt the cold steel against his flesh as his clothing was slit and his back was bared.

“Pleased to oblige, Lord King Elessar.” Fennas said with mock humility. “We can always beat you instead of your lap-dog Steward!”

He flexed his muscular arm and raised the whip.

The lash tore brutally into Aragorn’s flesh, over and over again. He bit back the cries of pain, which rose to his lips, determined not to give them that satisfaction as he felt the warm blood oozing from the wounds.

Faramir could only watch in horror, as his King was brutally flogged. His own back throbbed painfully but seeing Aragorn suffer was a far crueller torment. He wondered why ever had the King taken his place as the victim.

“Release him! I am the cause of your anger!” Faramir cried. “Take me instead!”

Even through the mist of pain, Aragorn was touched by Faramir’s self sacrifice.

“Why are you letting us beat you, Elessar? You have only to say the word and we beat him instead!” Calardan offered, from where he stood watching, obviously enjoying the spectacle.

Aragorn gritted his teeth and said nothing. Faramir had already known too much pain in his life and if he could protect him, he intended to, whatever the cost. He had little hope that either of them would emerge from the ordeal alive, but maybe if they vented their wrath on him, they would at least grant his Stewart a quick and painless death.

“Enough!” Calardan cried after what seemed an eternity. “We want them to last long enough to pay fully for all our losses!”

The two men roughly dragged Aragorn to his feet and rammed him against an ash tree, securing his ankles and then tying his hands above his head, painfully jarring his already injured shoulders

The rough bark scraped the open wounds on his back. He was no longer able toprevent himself crying out in agony.

Fennas and Calardan roared with laughter. “So King Elessar knows how to scream then!” They guffawed. “We thought he was struck dumb!”

Fennas picked up a fallen branch and thwacked The Steward across the legs with it several times. Growing bored with the lack of response, he then picked up a knife and cut into Faramir’s arm.

“Leave him be!” Aragorn gasped, as Faramir squeaked with pain. “This man has suffered enough!”

Despite their predicament, Faramir felt shamed that his King should try to save him despite having been tormented even more cruelly.

Fennas grinned, “As you command, Lord King!” he said.

He approached Aragorn and slit what remained of his tunic down the front and then cut his the cloth of his breeches from the waistband, exposing the vulnerable flesh of his belly.

Calardan approached with a strange looking knife, which Faramir recognised as an Orc blade.

“No!” Faramir shouted, trying vainly to break his bonds.

“Make sure our loved ones are remembered!” Fennas cried.

The knife cut into Aragorn’s chest with a searing pain and he could not help but moan. Calardan cut in methodical strokes down his ribs and across his belly with an occasional slash at his legs.

“No! You cursed traitors, no more!” Faramir vainly ordered. His voice was hoarse with rage and fear and only a little pain.

Calardan stepped back as if to survey his handiwork.

Unable to endure the horror of seeing his King, the kindly lord who had healed and comforted him, being savagely tortured, Faramir wept. There might be some who deserved to suffer such pain, but not Aragorn, who had renewed their land.

He closed his eyes to avoid seeing the King’s bruised and bleeding body.

“You are going to watch or we can do something else!” Fennas’ harsh voice bellowed in Faramir's ear. The man was hovering like a hawk, enjoying his anguish. “What say we blind him, or make certain neither of you ever father children?”

Faramir forced his eyes open again. Their main quarrel was with him, why must they hurt Aragorn so?

Fennas had now kindled a fire and was holding the kitchen poker in the flames.

He approached Aragorn. “Now you can choose who gets this treat,” he said. “You can try it first, but just say the word and I'll burn your Steward instead!”

Aragorn said nothing and bit back the cry as the poker touched the tender skin beneath his ribs. He felt the searing bite of the hot iron, and the tang of blood in his lip. He knew that the tale of his many years was going to end in a few minutes. How much more pain would there be before he lost this last, unequal, struggle?

Faramir started to retch as he thought of the day his father tried to burn him alive.

He now realised how wrong he had been to fear Aragorn and fear the King would treat him as his father had done. If only he had understood Aragorn! They could have been friends.

He wanted to beg them to torture him instead of the King. Yet the words stuck in Faramir'sthroat, so great was his fear of fire.

“I’m tired of this!” Calardan said after a few moments of cruelly jabbing Aragorn with the poker.” It’s time I used my bow again. I rarely have such good targets to shoot at, sitting ducks you might call them! Which one shall we shoot first?”

“I would enjoy seeing the expression on my Lord Steward’s face when we shoot the usurper!” Fennas chortled.

Aragorn bowed his head and sent a silent prayer to the Valar to protect his loved ones and watch over Arwen and their child. He had hoped and dreamed of so much and now his life would end for nothing at the hands of deranged ruffians.

“Let the King go!” Faramir was finally able to say.

“Release...my...Steward!” Aragorn said slowly, summoning all the authority he could command. “You have had your revenge and wounded me almost to the death already, but you could still show mercy and spare him.”

“Maybe I will and maybe I won’t.” Fennas replied. “You will not live to find out, Elessar! Your line has ended; Fitting, since you let my line die.”

Aragorn managed a smile as Calardan nocked an arrow in his bow. His killer was wrong. The line of Elendil would not end here, for Arwen carried their child! He hoped she would tell them how much he had loved them both.

The arrow flew free and pierced his chest. Aragorn knew no more.

Faramir allowed himself to close his eyes. There was no more to see, since hope was gone.

The arrow might have missed Aragorn's heart, but no one could continue to endure such butchery and still live. A feeling of total emptiness and desolation cut through Faramir's very soul. Ever since he could remember, he had yearned for the King to return, and when Aragorn had come, he was everything he had dreamed of and more. Now his King, his lord, was dying and with him the hopes of Middle - earth. Faramir no longer cared about his own peril.

“Cowards!” He screamed. “'Tis a paltry vengeance to kill a bound and helpless man! Your lost ones would despise you if they could see you now! You are not avengers; you are traitors and you are accursed!"

Calardan raised his bow.

“We would have spared you, as our Steward's only living son; but you will eat those words and beg for mercy!” Fennas jeered. “Stay the arrow, brother, that is too quick a death for him!”

He advanced, clutching the now red-hot poker, which had been resting in the now blazing fire.

Faramir braced himself for the pain. For all his fear of fire, it could be as nothing compared with the anguish burning in his heart.

TBC



The characters are the property of the Tolkien estate.No profit has been,nor will be made from this story.

Éowyn sat brooding for a time after the men left. She was furious at being in this deserted place with only a King she despised and a husband who shunned her for company. Looking out of the window though, she perceived the bright sunlight and could hear Windfola neighing in his stable. Her spirits lightened at the realisation she had a perfect opportunity to engage in her favourite pastime.

She hastened outside and saddled her stallion. As was her custom, when riding alone, rather than because Faramir’s had told her to, she took her sword with her.

She rode along the only track leading into the forest lost in her own thoughts, passing the charcoal burners’ huts without even noticing them.

She was surprised and somewhat alarmed to suddenly come across the two familiar riderless horses still saddled and bridled. Faramir and the King, for all their faults, were devoted to their mounts. They would not willingly abandon them to stray into possible danger, as wolves were known to inhabit the forest.

Roheryn neighed and indicated that he wanted her to follow which she did. The horse was highly intelligent and she trusted his instincts. Suddenly, she heard shouts and screams. She galloped towards the source of the sound, drawing her sword as she went.

Rounding a bend in the track, a horrific sight met her eyes.

She saw Faramir was tied to a tree being threatened by a man brandishing a red-hot poker. A second man, wielding a bow stood beside the first. She could hear them boasting about how much pain they intended to cause Faramir by first burning him, and then shooting him with arrows.

Blind fury overcame her, she might be angry with Faramir for marrying her for political reasons and for shunning her bed, but how dare those ruffians attack such a gentle and kind- natured man in cold blood?

Using surprise as an advantage, she urged Windfola even faster and lashed out at Fennas, just as he raised the poker to strike Faramir in the ribs. The sword caught his throat, piercing a main artery. He swayed, made a gurgling sound, before falling lifeless to the ground.

Calardan tried to draw his bow, but Roheryn, sensing evil, reared up at him trampling him to the ground with his powerful hooves.

The man screamed and tried to escape from the animal’s powerful hooves, but soon fell silent, the life ebbing from him when vital organs were crushed.

Éowyn leapt from her mount and rushed to Faramir’s side, quickly slashing the ropes that secured him. She supported him, preventing him from falling when the bonds were loosened.

“You’re hurt!” she gasped. Any doubts Faramir harboured, that she still loved the King rather than him, vanished at that moment, at the love and concern in her eyes. However, any elation he felt was swiftly overshadowed by his concern for Aragorn.

He trembled with shock and pain as she held him but quickly collected himself.

“My hurts are slight,” he said, trying to flex his arms, which felt as if they had been torn from their sockets. “I fear they have killed the King, though! Go to him, please!”

Éowyn made her way to the tree where Aragorn was secured closely followed by Faramir who stumbled along as best he could.

Aragorn’s head lolled lifelessly to one side. The arrow protruded from his chest, and his many open wounds oozed blood.

Faramir feared they were too late as he helped his wife cut the ropes. A wave of guilt swept over him. As Steward, he ought to have been able to protect his Sovereign!

Aragorn sank limply to the ground. Faramir, hindered by the pain and stiffness in his limbs, was unable to catch him.

Much to his Steward’s relief, when Aragorn hit the ground, he moaned and curled into a foetal position as if trying to ward off further blows.

Faramir knelt beside him, cradling the King in his arms. “He is alive! Help him, , Éowyn please! You are trained in healing arts!” he begged. He feared though, all they could do was to make the King’s last moments more comfortable.

Éowyn stood looking down at Aragorn with an unreadable expression, unpleasantly reminiscent of that of a cat, which had just captured a particularly stubborn rodent.

Aragorn opened his eyes and saw Faramir bending over him. “Leave me; save yourself!” he murmured, before losing consciousness again.

Éowyn’s expression suddenly softened. “Can you help me get him on the horse?” she asked.

Faramir nodded. “ I will do anything to help my King,” he said staunchly. “Will he live?” He held his breath awaiting her answer.

“I cannot tell until I’ve seen how bad the wounds are.” she replied.” They are not bleeding profusely, which is good sign, but if the arrow has pierced his lung, I fear he has little chance of surviving. I am more concerned about your hurts, my lord.”

“I have a few lashes, cuts and bruises, nothing worse. Do not worry about me. The King needs your help far more.”


Éowyn led Windfola to where Aragorn lay and murmured in his ear. The horse, trained to bear those wounded in battle, sank to his knees and knelt beside the King. Éowyn and Faramir dragged him across his back.

“You mount behind him and see he doesn’t fall,” she said, easing him into the saddle. “I’ll ride your Iavas and Roheryn can follow us.

“What of the bodies?” Faramir asked.

“Let the wolves have them!” Éowyn snapped with some relish. Faramir silently agreed with her.

The ride, though only of a few minutes duration seemed to take hours. Faramir had to hold on to Aragorn as best he could, to prevent him from sliding off the horse, even though he knew he was aggravating his wounds by touching him. Aragorn moaned softly but remained barely conscious.

After what was in fact a short ride, but felt like an eternity, they reached the sanctuary of the lodge

Éowyn helped Faramir dismount with the King. They half dragged, half carried him inside to his bedroom, and laid him of the huge bed, a vast piece of furniture, which seemed designed to accommodate at least six people.

A fire was already burning in the grate and the lamps were lit against the gathering dusk of the late afternoon.

Éowyn called to the serving maids to fetch hot water and towels while Faramir pulled off Aragorn’s boots.

She only now noticed Faramir’s torn clothing. The lashes from the whip appeared like scarlet ribbons, visible where the tunic had been shredded.

“I shall tend you first, my lord,” she said firmly, her eyes brimming with concern.

Faramir shook his head though touched by her obvious distress. “They treated the King far more cruelly. My hurts can wait.”

Éowyn nodded reluctantly. At that moment, one of the maids arrived with the water and towels. Faramir was relieved that Éowyn took them from the girl at the door, rather than letting her enter the room and gape at the stricken King.

Frowning, she placed the bowls by the bed and washed her hands, sizing up the King’s condition as she did so. Her frown deepened. “You must let me see your hurts if I’m to help you.” she said, shaking Aragorn gently.

Unaware of his surroundings, he instinctively curled up, his hands clutching his wounded body as if expecting further mistreatment. He moaned but made no sign of having understood,

Faramir impulsively moved nearer and gently gripped the King’s hands. “Please my liege.” he begged. “Let us aid you, I beg of you!”

Aragorn opened his eyes, which were dulled with pain and confusion. It tore Faramir’s heart to see his King so stricken. He groaned again but made no further attempt to resist their ministrations when they touched him.

Faramir gently prised his clutching hands away, as he moved to assist Éowyn.

“That arrow must be removed first.” Éowyn announced “We’ll have to turn him on his back.”

Aragorn groaned in pain at the pressure of the mattress against his wounds.

“I’d better get a knife,” Éowyn said, calling to the servant, whom she had instructed to wait outside the door. “It will have to be cut out.”

Faramir shuddered .He knew the arrow must be removed but wondered how much more Aragorn could endure. He feared he must be very close to death already.

Faramir noticed for the first time, that the King was wearing a silk shirt. “You should try pulling it first,” he said. I will him down!”

“You will tear the flesh if you do that!” Éowyn bent over Aragorn and noticed for the first time, that he was wearing a silk shirt. “I’ll try pulling it first,” she said. Hold him down!”

“You will tear the flesh if you do that!” Éowyn protested.

“Just try, I have a feeling it might work,” Faramir urged.He gripped Aragorn’s arms and held them He could not bring himself to look at the King’s face.

Aragorn arched and cried out in agony. Éowyn took hold of the arrow and almost fell backwards, it came away so easily.

Hastily, she grabbed a towel and pressed it over the wound to staunch the bleeding. With her free hand, she forced the King’s mouth open and looked inside.

Éowyn stared in amazement at the discarded arrow, now lying on the floor.

“Arrows can come out easily if the victim is wearing a silk shirt, ” Faramir explained, The Easterlings are so hard to better in battle for they take little hurt from arrow wounds, unless the tip pierces a vital organ. The silk tunics they wear protect their flesh from being torn by arrows.”

Éowyn lifted the cloth and looked at the colour of the blood staining it. “There’s no blood in his mouth and the blood here isn’t pink or frothy, so I don’t think his lung was pieced, or even a rib damaged.” Éowyn announced as the bleeding started to slow. “It appears to be just a flesh wound, which should heal cleanly enough.” She fastened a makeshift bandage over it, then sighed when she eyed the many wounds covering Aragorn’s bloodied and battered form. “I hardly know where to start,” she murmured, picking up a knife. “Help me get these rags off him so I can see the rest of his hurts properly.” She slashed the remainder of his clothing and pulled the rags away from the battered flesh.

Before she cut what was left of the breeches away, Faramir grabbed one of the towels and placed it over the King’s hips in an attempt to preserve some modesty for his sovereign.

Éowyn looked wryly amused. “I have seen plenty of unclothed males in my time.” she said, much to Faramir’s shocked surprise. “Your Gondorian women are sheltered compared with those of Rohan!”

Aragorn felt he was having a nightmare; his whole body throbbed with pain, varying in intensity according to where he was being prodded. He had often been wounded in battle but this pain was far worst. Mocking voices echoed round his head followed by a sensation that he was lying naked on a bed under the harsh scrutiny of Lady Éowyn’s gaze.

He forced himself to open his eyes to dispel the image, only to see her blonde hair and grey eyes hovering above. He closed his eyes again, for even Arwen had never seen him thus. They always changed into their night attire in their dressing rooms and blew out the bedside candles as soon as they had got into bed.

He tried to protest but the pain was too great to allow him to utter any other sound than a high-pitched moan.

“He’s coming round!” said Faramir. He clasped Aragorn’s hand. “You are safe now, my King.” he said soothingly.

“Come on, help me move him on his side!” Éowyn ordered impatiently.” The sooner we get this over with, the better!”

Aragorn felt a sharp stab of pain in his back as he was turned and then the agony eased a little; apart from the painful sensation of none too gentle fingers probing his wounds.

Éowyn pulled away the last shreds of Aragorn’s ruined clothing and ran her hands over his injured body, pressing her fingers down to check for broken bones. She caused him to gasp with pain when she touched his wounds. Once she would have delighted in touching him. Now, she felt only revulsion.

“I can’t find any fractures,” she announced at length. “There are countless wounds but none of them seem very deep.”

“Will he live?” Faramir asked almost pleadingly. “Can you save him?”

“His heart still beats strongly, so he may recover. That is; as long there is no great infection and he can endure the pain,” she said thoughtfully. “Each wound is not dangerous of itself but there are so many. First they must be thoroughly cleansed.”

She called for the servants and ordered them to bring more hot water, cloths, and salt. Settling herself on the edge of the bed, she held up a lamp to better examine the cruel lash marks crisscrossing Aragorn’s back.

“I will start by cleaning these.” she said “They will be the hardest to treat, as there are fragments of bark and even small insects in them!”

Faramir looked and shuddered, remembering the men flinging the King against the ash tree and his agonised cry when the rough bark jarred the lacerated flesh.

Adding some salt to the hot water, Éowyn placed the cloth on Aragorn’s back to start the cleansing, rubbing the lacerated flesh much as if she were scouring a cooking pot.

Aragorn jerked away, crying out in pain.

“Hold him still!” Éowyn instructed Faramir. “This must be done.”

“Please be gentle.” Faramir pleaded.

“I can always get one of the maids to do if you’re not satisfied!” she retorted.

Faramir moved round to the other side of the bed and sat facing Aragorn. He meant to grasp his arms and secure him, but at that moment, the King’s eyes flickered open again.

The Steward had always found it hard to meet his gaze, so piercing and yet so compassionate. Now those same eyes were dulled with pain and fear.

Impulsively, he held out his hands to the King. “ Éowyn needs to clean your wounds, you must be still, my liege!” he said, offering his hands in a gesture of comfort.

Somewhat to his surprise, Aragorn reached out and gripped them. Faramir nodded to Éowyn to proceed.

Whether Faramir somehow succeeded in offering some comfort, or whether Éowyn was more gentle, neither would ever know for Aragorn quieted while Éowyn bathed and cleaned and extracted the fragments of bark from the raw wounds.

His grip on Faramir’s hands tightened to the extent that he almost cried out. The Steward as if every bone in his hands was being crushed.

Aragorn made no further sound but an occasional silent tear rolled down his cheek

“That’s done!” Éowyn said at last. Aragorn loosened his grip and Faramir gave an audible sign of relief.

“So sorry… hurt you.” Aragorn whispered so faintly that Faramir had to bend to hear him.

“Think noting of it, sire,” he said, gently brushing the tears from the King’s pale cheeks and blinking away the moisture in his own eyes.

Éowyn called for more water and moved round the other side of the bed. Faramir rose to his feet giving her room to work. She thoroughly cleaned the shallow but jagged gashes disfiguring Aragorn’s chest and belly.

Éowyn had turned her attention to the burns, which she dabbed with cold water. “I doubt these will even scar.” she said calmly. “That fire wasn’t very hot fortunately. Now go and fetch me some old sheets and some honey!”

Faramir, startled, moved back towards the bed. “Don’t you want some bread as well?” he asked, puzzled how she could eat at a time like this.

He looked anxiously at Aragorn, who lay panting slightly as Éowyn moved down to clean the gashes on his legs. The wounds covering his body were still bleeding sluggishly but looked clean.

“She knows what she is doing.” There was almost a hint of a smile in Aragorn’s voice.

“I’m glad you approve, my lord!” she answered tartly. “You need bathing next.” She made as if to lift the towel covering him, then changed her mind when she saw the distress in his eyes.

“On second thoughts, you can bathe him, while I fetch the things I need. Unless you would rather I fetch one of the serving girls? Éowyn added, noting Faramir’s expression of alarm. “I cannot do everything!”

“I will do it,” Faramir said.

Alone with the King, Faramir felt even more uncomfortable and wondered where he had found the audacity to clasp his hands and wipe his tears away earlier. He would never have dared to do such a thing for his father, let alone bathe him. And Aragorn was not just Denethor, Ruling Steward of Gondor but the High King, a figure that had appeared out of legend, the heir of Elendil wielding the Sword that was Broken and bringing healing in his hands.

He picked up the cloth then hesitated, looking down at the injured man on the bed.

“I do not bite, Faramir and I thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

Aragorn’s quiet voice made his Stewart start.

“I am sorry you should have to bathe me, but do it if you would, before your lady returns, as alas I am too weak to help myself!”

Faramir suddenly recalled the memories he had tried so hard to suppress of when he first met Aragorn, and how the then ranger, had fought against his own weariness to treat his wounds. Feeling ashamed of his own reluctance, he picked up the bowl and began bathing his King, starting with his face.

“It is my honour to serve you, my lord,” he said formally.

“I would rather you call me by my name. Titles are not used between friends in private. And as you can see now, I am a man like any other!” Aragorn said softly as Faramir dried his face and started on his arms, noting as he did so, that the shoulders looked bruised and distended where his arms had been stretched, while the wrists were red and raw from the where the ropes had bitten. He imagined his own body would look little better once there was time to investigate.

“As you wish, sre.” Faramir replied inadvertently disobeying the request immediately.

Aragorn said nothing; exhausted from the brief conversation. The pain from the wounds seemed to increase with every moment. He lay gasping from the pain while Faramir gently moved the washcloth over his relatively uninjured parts.

“Would you like us to try and fetch the Queen? She would be of comfort to you.” Faramir asked impulsively.

“No! I forbid it!” Aragorn shook his head and spoke with all the strength he could muster. “It would distress her too much to see me thus, and I would not risk our child by having her travel at present. I see how my hurts distress you, who were a soldier and she is not even accustomed to mortal pain. You are comforting me, so I am not alone. Promise me you will not send for her!”

“I promise and I will stay here with you.” Faramir could see the wisdom behind the King’s words. He realised what the shock of seeing her husband so cruelly hurt could do to the gentle Elf, although he wished someone better qualified than himself could comfort Aragorn.

He continued washing the King but hesitated when he reached the towel covering his hips. Looking up, he met Aragorn’s rueful expression.

“Please do it, Faramir, rather you than the serving maid your lady offered to fetch!”

Despite the Aragorn’s words, Faramir felt he was committing almost a sacrilege to see the high King naked when the towel was removed.

He found he was indeed so different than any other man when he bathed him and at the same time checked for any further injuries. To his relief, he found none apart from a bruise caused by the brutal kick he had received to the groin. It looked as if it would heal quickly on its own. He took up a clean towel and wound it round Aragorn, fastening it like a loincloth.

“Thirsty.” Aragorn murmured.

Faramir filled a goblet with some of the clean boiled water and held it to the King’s lips before returning to his task. He was just drying Aragorn’s feet when Éowyn returned.

The Steward went to help her with the armful of supplies she carried.

“You look as if you just climbed Orodruin!” she exclaimed, seeing her husband’s expression.

“That was the High King, you just told me to bathe!” Faramir replied. ”I have often helped look after my men when they were injured, but this is different as they were not figures out of legend!”

“After a few days of bathing, changing bandages and dealing with him when nature calls, I doubt you will be so awestruck!” she commented wryly. “My brother, Éomer King was just a naughty boy whom I ducked in the horse trough when he pulled my hair; I expect the King of Gondor was once much the same!”

Faramir was unsure whether to smile at her words or blanch at the reminder of what else his nursing duties would entail.

Éowyn placed the pot of honey on a table by the bed before beginning to tear the sheets into strips. Faramir helped her, wishing his arms and shoulders did not ache so much, not to mention the dull throbbing in his back.

TBC

A/N

It is a fact about silk shirts providing some protection from arrow wounds.They were worn by Ghenhis Khan's warriors.


The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.

Éowyn opened the jar of honey and placed it on the bedside table. After washing her hands in clean water, she approached the King.

“You need to hold him again,” she instructed Faramir. Plunging her fingers into the jar, she began to smear the honey thickly across Aragorn’s lacerated back. "Honey is an old remedy of the Mark.It prevents infection."

Aragorn gave a cry and clutched at Faramir’s hands. The wounds smarted as the sugary liquid seeped into them, but he made no further sound of protest, his healer’s knowledge aware what she was doing would aid him.

Éowyn moved round the bed and smeared an equally thick layer of honey on Aragorn’s other wounds. He endured it patiently, his sharp intake of breath the only indication of the agony he was enduring.

Finally, she unbound the arrow wound and smothered it with the sticky liquid. This time, Aragorn could no longer contain his cries of distress. He almost crushed Faramir’s hands as he clutched them so tightly.

Éowyn washed her hands again, then folded strips torn from the old sheets, to make soft cloth pads. She pressed them against Aragorn’s many wounds.

“Can you lift him?” she asked Faramir, “I need to bandage him now.”


The Steward braced himself against the bed and lifted Aragorn as gently as possible, while Éowyn secured the pads in place. Then while Faramir still supported the King in his arms, she peeled off the bloodied bed linens and replaced them with clean ones.

Panting, Faramir lowered the King back on the bed. Éowyn covered him, first with a sheet of fine linen, then several blankets. She placed a pillow under his head and tucked the covers under his chin, Moving away from the bed, she was forced to turn aside, not wanting to see the tears of pain that ran down the King’s face.

Faramir reached under the covers and squeezed Aragorn’s hand in sympathy. He stood there a few moments, looking anxiously at the King’s face. Aragorn’s face was contorted with pain and an occasional low moan escaped his lips.

Mercifully, his features relaxed when either unconsciousness or sleep eventually overcame him.

“We have done all we can for the King.” Éowyn said firmly. “It is your turn now, Faramir. Take off your shirt. I only wish I had some sort of pain relief to give you.”

Faramir was painfully self-conscious about his many scars, which until now, he had managed to conceal from Éowyn. However, he had little choice but to let her see his wounds. He knew he could not afford to neglect his own injuries when the King might have need of him. He tried to lift his arms to remove his torn and bloodied tunic, he found they refused to obey him, the damaged muscles protesting at being hoisted above his head.

Éowyn stood watching him, half chidingly and half sympathetically before taking up the knife she had used to remove the King’s clothing. Quickly she cut away the torn tunic and shirt, and pulled the shreds of cloth away from his body.

“No!” she gasped when she saw the cut on his arm and the cruel welts disfiguring his back. “You must be in so much pain, why didn’t you let me tend you first?”

“The King’s need was greater.” Faramir said, looking across at the still form on the bed.

Then the realisation hit him, had it not been for Aragorn, his injuries would be those the King was enduring now. He shuddered, and no longer able to maintain his iron self control, burst into tears.

Éowyn impulsively held him close for a few moments and soothed him, while his body convulsed with grief and shock.

When he had regained some of his composure, she gently disengaged him from her arms and picked up a cloth to bathe his wounds.

“What happened exactly?” she asked in a matter of fact tone.

“We accepted a drink from an old woman which turned out be drugged, To late we realised our folly and collapsed unconscious. We came to our senses at the place where you found us.” he told her, wiping his face with his hand. “There were two men there, brothers in law named Fennas and Calardan. They blamed the King and myself for the deaths of their kinsfolk and wanted to make us suffer to avenge them.” Faramir swallowed hard. “They had a whip and used it on me and then the King…”His voice faltered.

Eowyn paused in her ministrations. “You will feel better if you tell me,” she coaxed gently.

“The King told them to leave me be. So they started beating him instead. They informed him he had but to say the word and they would leave him alone and return to beating me. Yet, he was silent. I ordered them to let him go but they would not listen. One of them cut, after tying me to a tree, but compared with what the King endured it was nothing!”

He gave her only the bare facts and did not pause for breath as he spoke in case he was unable to continue. Looking towards the still form on the bed, he remarked, “That ‘hypocrite’ as you recently called him was willing to give his life just to spare me pain! I can hardly bear to look at him knowing I should be suffering the pain rather than he! Why could I not spare him? Why was I not strong enough to help him?”

Faramir started to sob again. Eowyn soothed him by stroking his hair and murmuring words of comfort. Her eyes kept straying towards where Aragorn lay. She wondered if she had somehow misjudged him. Yet, there was no question he had tricked her into a loveless marriage, of which Faramir was as much a victim as she. Such thoughts were too painful to dwell on now.

She focused her attentions on Faramir’s wounds, rubbing his back so vigorously that he cried out. “It is almost done,” she said wiping away the blood. Then she saw the old scars and gasped. “You’ve been flogged before?” she enquired in horror.

The memories came flooding back to Faramir of the times his father had beaten him with a horsewhip. The palantir had changed him from a cold, but fair and honourable man into a stranger that at times his sons could hardly recognise

He thought back to his first meetings with Aragorn in the Houses of Healing, the King’s kindness and his own shame that his King should have seen him thus. Why had he continued to fear the man and even refused the offer of Elven remedies to fade the old wounds? It all seemed so foolish now.

Eowyn was looking directly at him, her eyes demanding an answer.

“My father was a hard man and I could never please him, especially after he took to using the palantir” he said simply. “I fell short of his expectations so I was punished.” He tried to shrug but the movement sent waves of pain through his bruised shoulders. He saw the pity he both feared and expected in his wife’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently “I scarcely knew my father. Theoden King was kind to my brother and me, at least until Grima’s evil influence clouded his mind.

She picked up the honey jar and smeared her hands with the thick, sticky liquid.

Faramir felt the honey sting and bit back a cry as she applied a generous amount to his back.

Eowyn then washed her hands and applied a bandage before turning her attentions to the cut his arm and his bruised and bloodied shoulders.

She started to apply a salve. Had the circumstances been different, Faramir would have thrilled at the rare pleasure of her closeness and touch. Such was his pain, though; he wished fervently that Aragorn were tending him, his touch being far gentler than his wife’s rough, though well meaning ministrations. He would gladly welcome her touch in the bedchamber but she lacked the hands of a naturally gifted healer.

“I’ll tend the hurts on your legs now,” she said briskly. “You’ll need to take off your breeches and drawers.”


Faramir flushed scarlet, wishing he could be more comfortable with his wife. And yet she was still a stranger to him. “ I have but bruises on my legs. There is no need to bother you with them!” he protested, a note of rising panic in his voice.

“I am your wife!” Eowyn said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

Looking wretched, Faramir reluctantly started to unfasten his breeches.

“It seems you just need some salve, which you can apply yourself, then. I will fetch some fresh clothes after I’ve helped you with your boots.” Eowyn said, taking unexpected pity on him. “I will be back soon, if you need more help.”

Faramir heaved a sigh of relief when she left. After a hurried glance to check that Aragorn was still asleep, turned away from the bed and peeled off the remainder of his clothing.

He found he was bruised from branch that Fennas had hit him with, but not too badly. Hastily he bathed the hurts and rubbed on the salve. He just managed to drape a towel round his hips when Eowyn returned with a bundle of clean clothing.

“Do you need any help?” she asked.

Faramir shook his head. “These hurts are but slight,” he answered.

“Be sure to tell me if they get worse.” Eowyn admonished. “I will help you with your shirt. I will leave you to finish dressing, while I request the servants to prepare some food for us.”

The soft linen shirt felt pleasant to his skin and he was pleased she had chosen a lightweight velvet tunic for him to wear.

He sat meekly on the chair while she eased them over his head. To his surprise and delight she kissed him on the lips before leaving the room.

A rush of pleasure spread through his body at this unexpected show of affection. Her reactions to his injuries, suggested that maybe she cared for him after all. In any other circumstances, he would have been overjoyed. However, the throbbing pain in his back and shoulders and the King’s serious condition, drove all other considerations from his mind.

He found it easy enough to pull on the linen drawers and thick cloth breeches. His boots were a different matter; he was forced to sit barefoot until Eowyn returned with food and drink for him.

He drained the proffered cup greedily and again when she refilled it. However, the bread and meat felt like sawdust in his mouth and he could only manage to eat a little fruit.

Eowyn anxiously studied her husband’s drawn and tear stained features, thinking how much she could have loved him, had only she not been so deceived. Political unions were usual amongst her class. Had her marriage been presented as such from the start, she would have accepted it, given that Faramir was attractive, and a union to cement the alliance between Rohan and Gondor made perfect sense.

Yet, to have been tricked into thinking he loved her, only to learn that Aragorn had decreed the marriage to rid himself of a potential embarrassment prior to Arwen’s arrival, still enraged her. She hated the King; yet, he had unselfishly endured pain beyond imagining in trying to spare Faramir.

The man was an enigma. Unable to wrestle with her troubled thoughts any longer, she went outside to see how Windfola was faring.

Faramir maintained his vigil with the King, trying his best to attend to him when he briefly awoke and needed to answer nature’s call, notwithstanding their mutual discomfort. Despite Eowyn’s predictions, his reverence for his King was not lessened by such mundane and embarrassing tasks.

By the time the sun set, Eowyn had returned to Aragorn’s bedside, where she sat with her husband, maintaining a vigil over the wounded King.

They said very little, Faramir feeling too distressed after his ordeal while Eowyn was too irate at being forced to care for the King and somewhat troubled by her earlier speculations.

Had it been anyone else on Middle- earth, she would have helped them gladly. Not this wretched man, though, who had caused her nothing but turmoil since she first laid eyes on him.

Several hours had elapsed, and Faramir, exhausted from the day’s events, had fallen asleep in the uncomfortable chair. Eowyn decided that she had better check Aragorn’s bandages before retiring to bed.

Much to her annoyance, the ones covering his back were heavily stained. She concluded it was better to change them now, in case they soaked through on to the bed linen overnight.

“ Wake up! I need you to help me change the King’s bandages.” she told Faramir, rousing him from an uneasy doze.

“Could it not wait until morning? He seems to be resting peacefully and sleep is a great healer.” Faramir replied once he was sufficiently awake.

“So you are the healer now! Maybe you should do it?” she retorted, in truth she would rather have doing anything, save tending this particular wounded man.

Faramir deemed it best to say nothing. He was in too much pain to argue. Sleeping in the chair had only served to intensify the throbbing in his back and shoulders.


Eowyn summoned a servant and asked her to fetch water and clean linen. As soon as they were brought, she impatiently pulled down the covers to begin her task.

“Hold him down!” she instructed Faramir.

“I will awaken him first so he will know what is happening.” he insisted. He gently squeezed Aragorn’s hand and called him.

“My lord, wake up! It is time to change your bandages!”

Aragorn’s only response was to groan and murmur; “Water!”

Faramir filled a cup and lifted it to Aragorn’s lips. He gently supported his head while he sipped the drink.

Eowyn stood by the bed, arms akimbo, waiting impatiently to proceed.

Satisfied that Aragorn had drunk his fill, Faramir put down the cup and clasped the King’s hands, feeling them tighten round his own in expectation of the inevitable pain that was coming.

Eowyn determinedly pulled the blankets further down and started to unwrap the bandages, beginning with those covering the lacerations on Aragorn’s back

The first one came away easily enough, but the second refused to yield to a gentle tug. It was stuck so she tugged harder. Still it refused to yield. Exasperated, she snatched at it with all her strength. This time the bandage came free and with it fragments of Aragorn’s lacerated skin and flesh beneath.

The King arched in agony and gave a piercing scream of pain and shock, almost crushing Faramir’s hands in his distress.

“Eowyn! What have you done? Are you trying to kill him?” Faramir cried.

His wife grabbed a cloth to staunch the now copious flow of blood.

The Steward swallowed hard to control a sudden wave of nausea at the sight of the deep and gory laceration on Aragorn’s back.

“I forgot to soak it.” There was a scarcely detectable hint of panic in Eowyn’s voice.

Faramir could hardly bear to look at Aragorn’s face, so great was the pain in his eyes.

The King was gasping and trying unsuccessfully to hold back the tears of pain. Sweat poured from his brow.

“It will soon be over then you can rest.” Faramir said with a calmness he did not feel. “Peace, sire! Just grasp my hands. I will not leave you.”

Aragorn managed somehow to give him a faint smile.

Eowyn finally succeeded in staunching the bleeding. She soaked the other bandages with lukewarm water. After waiting a few moments, they came away easily. Then, a little more gently than before, she bathed the wounds, applied more honey and bound them again.

Faramir stayed, holding Aragorn’s hands until he fell asleep. Only then did he turn on Eowyn. “Could you not you have been more careful?” he chided, careful to keep his voice low. “His pain will be worst than ever now!”

“It was an accident,” she said rather sulkily. “I did not think they would stick like that so soon. Maybe, we should stay with him a while longer.” she added, in an attempt to pacify her husband.

Faramir said no more for fear of disturbing Aragorn. He looked at Eowyn with an expression of great sorrow mixed with fury burning in his grey eyes.

Aragorn did not awaken again though he twitched and moaned frequently in his sleep. After an hour or so had passed, Eowyn suggested they retire to bed.

Faramir shook his head. “The King should not be left,” he said. “What if he should wake and need something?”

“One of the maids could sit with him.” she replied.

“I will not leave my King.” Faramir said firmly. “I can sleep on the chair here.”

“Do as you wish.” she shrugged, although her eyes showed concern. “Though, do not forget you are injured too. If you must stay here, why not sleep here on the bed? It is large enough.”

Faramir shook his head.

You must have shared with wounded comrades before, surely?” Eowyn asked somewhat incredulously.

“Many times but never with a living legend; I might somehow aggravate his wounds!” the Steward protested.

“How could you in a bed this size?” Eowyn said sceptically. “If you wish to be uncomfortable, though, I will leave you to it. Don’t let the fire burn too low and if you are in pain, call me. Goodnight!”

Fearing she might soften if she lingered, she swept out of the room without a second glance.

Faramir stared after her for a few moments and then resumed his vigil over the King.

Aragorn seemed to grow more restless over the next few hours but did not awaken.

Faramir watched him anxiously but as time passed, sleep overcame his desire to be vigilant.

He woke with a start, roused by a loud moan from the bed. He was on his feet within seconds. “Sire?” he whispered.

Aragorn’s eyes were open but he seemed unaware either of Faramir or his surroundings. His eyes were wide with some terror. Much to Faramir’s alarm, he was shaking convulsively, breathing with ragged and shallow gasps.

The Steward placed a tentative hand on his lord’s brow and found the skin was cold, clammy, and drenched with sweat. He struggled to hold back the feelings of panic that threatened to overwhelm him. “I will be back soon,” he told the unresponsive Aragorn

He left the room and hurried to Eowyn’s chamber.

Despite his haste, he still felt he should tap at the door before entering.

“Come in!” she called.

“What is it?” she asked sleepily, reaching for her robe.

“I think the King is dying!” Faramir cried

TBC

If you are interested in why Eowyn uses honey to treat Aragorn and Faramir’s wounds, this link provides interesting information. http:www.chm.bris.ac.uk/webprojects2001/wyatt/medicinal.htm


The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been or will be made from this story.

Éowyn was on her feet in an instant. Faramir turned his back discreetly while she pulled her robe over her nightgown. He was thankful that she would at least come.

Éowyn hastened to Aragorn’s bedside and felt his forehead, before pulling back the covers to check his heartbeat. As she had feared, it was dangerously weak and rapid. This was the last thing she needed: the King of Arnor and Gondor to die in her care, much as she detested the man. His skin felt like ice to her touch. She quickly pulled the covers back over him.

“What ails him?” Faramir enquired anxiously.

“He is suffering from shock,” she replied. “The pain and trauma are proving too much for his body to endure.”

“Is it dangerous?” Faramir could not hide the fear in his voice.

“Very, in his weakened condition he could easily die,” Éowyn replied gravely.

“No!” Faramir cried, his voice filled with anguish “Surely you can do something?” he asked desperately.

“He needs to be warmed and calmed but I know not how. The fire is high and he has plenty of blankets.” Éowyn replied grimly. “If he could swallow a warm drink that might help,” she added as an afterthought.

Faramir stood looking down on Aragorn, his eyes moist with tears. This was the King, for whom Gondor had waited almost a thousand years for his coming. And to him, Aragorn was even more than that, for he knew him to be a noble and compassionate man, who had saved his life and comforted him during his darkest hour.

Faramir felt almost overwhelmed by a turmoil of emotions; responsibility mixed with helplessness; fear, compassion, and a burning anger for the men who had brought his King to such a plight. He wondered now why he had feared Aragorn as he feared Denethor. he knew that he loved the King, not only as his lord but as the father he had always wanted and the brother he had lost.

It had been his mistake to fear that all figures of authority would treat him as his father had done. He should never have shied away from the warmth and kindness that Aragorn had so freely offered him.

He forced his racing thoughts to calm. Inwardly, he asked himself what would he do, were it Boromir and not the King lying close to death on this bed. He determined to try to save his lord, whatever the cost.

Suddenly realising what he must do, he bent to try and pull off his boots, only to groan with the pain, which shot through his arms and shoulders.

“Whatever are you doing?” Éowyn asked.

“What you suggested earlier!” he replied. “Help me remove my boots and tunic and shirt, please!” He was too agitated now to feel more than a hint of his usual shyness.

Struggling to suppress a wry smile, Éowyn did as she was bidden.

Once divested of his clothing, Faramir hesitated for a moment, amazed at his own boldness, and then started to remove the bandages covering the upper half of his body. Luckily they did not adhere to his flesh.

“What are you doing?” Éowyn demanded, “You need those bandages to protect your wounds! You are risking your own health now!”

“They also trap my body heat which I need to share with the King.” Faramir said simply. “You can replace them later.” He gingerly eased himself up beside Aragorn and turned on his side to face the badly injured man. Taking care not to touch his wounds, he gripped the King’s cold arms with his warm hands.

Aragorn’s flesh felt even colder now than before. Faramir tried to suppress his feelings of dread. He murmured soothingly. “My lord, you are safe, no other shall harm you, be easy now!”

“If you mean to hold him like that, you would be better using his given name; you sound as if you are at a Council Meeting!” Éowyn advised.

Faramir realised the wisdom of the counsel. “Aragorn!” It sounded so strange to address the King so informally. He had to push aside years of carefully taught court etiquette to so. “Aragorn, you are safe now. I am here beside you.”

The King gave no sign that he was even aware of his Steward’s presence.

“He is so cold!” Faramir exclaimed after a few moments. ”Éowyn,please help him! He is dying, I think!”

“How?” she asked, trying to conceal her rising panic. “This is beyond any arts I know.”

“Help keep him warm!” he pleaded. “Come the other side, you must hold him too!”

“What?” she gasped in outrage. Was it not bad enough that her husband shunned her bed; let alone demand she share it with another, no matter how chastely? “You ask too much! Whatever would the Queen think?”

“She would understand that nothing improper was taking place and plead for the life of her husband! Were it any save the King, you would not hesitate!” Faramir replied. “I have seen you comforting others when they had need of you. Go and find a servant to help if you will not? Why do you hate him so much?”

Éowyn did not reply. Once she would have shared Aragorn’s bed gladly, even as his mistress so great had been her desire for him. After she had realised how he had tricked her into marrying Faramir, her love had turned to hatred and bitterness.

Aragorn’s shaking became worse and Faramir struggled in vain to gently restrain him. He slid from the Steward’s grasp and landed on his flayed back. He cried out in sudden agony.

Éowyn felt a sudden stab of compassion mixed with guilt. She knew the kind of shock Aragorn was suffering from, was usually caused either by severe loss of blood or extreme pain. She doubted he had lost sufficient blood to cause him to go into shock, so pain was the most likely cause, some of which he had suffered at her hands. She hastily slipped off her robe before she could change her mind and climbed up beside her husband. Together they managed to move Aragorn back onto his side. She then moved to lie behind Aragorn, helping her husband to hold him.

Much to her surprise, she found herself feeling pity for the shivering man she held. He was far too ill even to realise she was there. Strangely though, she found she was far more disturbed by the close proximity of Faramir, whose fingers brushed against hers as they held Aragorn’s arms.

It seemed apt that Aragorn should now lie between them literally. He had always come between them. He was her first love, to whom she had offered her all, only to meet with rejection. When she had met Faramir, she had believed that here was a man who could love her as Aragorn had not. When she had learned his love had been no more than a shadow and a thought, either; a mere guise to ensure she complied with the King’s will; her heart had then turned to stone.

Faramir guessed nothing of her thoughts. Night after night he had longed for his wife to lie close beside him. He was too distressed to fully appreciate her close proximity now. He was only grateful that she had agreed to help him try and save the King.

He still felt angry with her for her earlier cruelty, wondering if she had handled the King more gently, that there would no need for this desperate and somewhat undignified attempt to save him.

Aragorn still shook convulsively. His laboured, ragged breathing was the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. Faramir impulsively guided the King’s restless head against his own shoulder and gently smoothed the dark hair.

He could now feel the dangerously weak and rapid heartbeat vibrating against his own stronger one as Aragorn’s chest rose and fell against his own body. ‘You cannot die!’ he thought, ‘I could not bear it and what of Arwen and your child? What of Gondor and her people?’

Aragorn’s eyes were open, staring straight unseeing; his mind remained locked in some dark horror.

Desperate for any remedy, Faramir started to sing an Elvish lullaby, hoping that the familiar sounds of Aragorn’s youth, might soothe him and reach him on some level that speech could not.

He wished fervently that he had Aragorn’s power to give his strength to another. Gladly would he give his last ounce of strength to save his King. He knew he was not gifted with such abilities, yet the blood of Numenor flowed in his veins too. Maybe if he willed it hard enough, he could offer his life energy to another?

He continued the lullaby, all the while focussing his strength into the man beside him, remembering when they had first met. How much care and tenderness the King had shown to him, even though he was a stranger to him at the time! Aragorn had given him everything; friendship, kindness, lands, titles, his very life. He was determined now to try and repay him.

***

Aragorn felt cold; so very cold that he trembled. He could hardly breathe now, for the pain seemed to intensify with every passing moment, driving him into some dark realm, from where there was no escape, lest it be in merciful release of death.

He could still see his attackers’ faces, their features contorted with hate as they tormented him. He was trapped; helpless to escape the pain and humiliation.

He was sorely tempted to use his people’s ability to return the Gift.

Suddenly something reached out to him in the darkness, like a star piercing the blackness of the night sky.

He became dimly aware of someone holding him, cradling him in comforting arms and singing a familiar lullaby he remembered from his childhood.

Maybe he was dying, but surely the pain would fade if he were?

The pain in his tormented body was almost unbearable; yet, somehow the warm arms and familiar words brought comfort. He fought against the encroaching darkness with renewed resolve, remembering his Queen and their unborn child.

***

Faramir continued to sing, though grief and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. He started to shiver, while Aragorn grew warmer from his body heat.

Éowyn had not heard her husband sing before. The beauty and richness of his voice took her by surprise providing a welcome distraction.

Together, they cocooned the King in their warmth through the long hours of the night.

Cramped, uncomfortable and now more that a little embarrassed at his own boldness, Faramir continued to fight for the life of his King, however hopeless it seemed.

His injured arms and back throbbed painfully. However, he determined not to move until he was sure his King had no further need of his aid.

Faramir planted a gentle kiss on Aragorn’s brow, willing him to live. Often the King had greeted him thus, but never until tonight, had he felt emboldened enough to bestow a similar blessing. He noticed that Aragorn had now closed his eyes, though whether that was good or ill, he knew not.

Gradually, Aragorn stopped shaking and lay quietly. His breathing became less ragged. Slowly warmth returned to his body.

“How is he faring?” Faramir whispered to Éowyn.

She reached to feel Aragorn’s heartbeat. It felt stronger and steadier to her touch. Slowly, she sat up, taking care not to jar the King’s injuries. “I think he is a little better,” she said. “I’ll fetch him a hot drink. That should further ease him.” She slid from the bed and pulled on her robe, then lit another candle and made her way to the kitchens.


Faramir waited anxiously, continuing with his song. He wished Aragorn would come round, while at the same time, wondering however such a dignified man would react to finding himself being held like a child by his Steward.

Éowyn reappeared a few minutes’ later, clutching three steaming cups; one of which she placed on the small table by the bed, the other two by the fire.

“Can you sit up with him?” she asked.

The Steward was so stiff he could scarcely move. He slowly eased himself into a sitting position, still holding Aragorn.

Éowyn took some of the weight from him.

Aragorn slowly opened his eyes and groaned. He looked at Faramir, an expression of bewilderment on his face.

“What is happening?” he whispered through parched lips. “I had such dreams of pain and darkness!”

“You were attacked but you are safe now,” Faramir said reassuringly.

Éowyn held out the mug. “Try to drink this, it should help you, “ she coaxed.” It is the tea the Hobbits drink. Merry sent some from the Shire, which I brought it here with me.”

Faramir moved his position slightly, allowing his wife to hold the cup to the King’s lips.

Aragorn took a sip and swallowed. “Tastes nice, warm,” he murmured.

To their great relief he kept drinking until the cup was empty.

They gently eased the King back onto the bed, this time on his other side. Overcome with pain and exhaustion, he fell asleep at once.

Éowyn felt his brow. “I think the crisis has passed,” she said quietly.

“The Valar be praised!” Faramir gave an audible sigh of relief. “Thank you for helping him.”

“For some reason my brother dotes on him as much as you do, so disagreeable man though he is, I would prefer him to live if only to spare the tears of you both!” she said dryly.

“Why do you hate him so much?” Faramir asked yet again.

“The reason is too obvious to speak of, especially he wronged you too!” she snorted; going over to the fire and collecting the two cups she had left there.

“ I have no idea what you mean, The King has never wronged me. I could not wish for a kinder lord!” Faramir said fervently.

“You men are all the same,the way you refuse to see each other’s faults!” Éowyn retorted.

Faramir felt too exhausted to press the matter further. He was shivering and the pain in his back and shoulders had grown almost unbearable.

Éowyn pressed a cup of lukewarm tea into his hands. “Drink this, you look as if you need it!” she ordered. Picking up a spare blanket, she draped it round his bare shoulders.

Faramir pulled it close across his chest and gratefully sipped the tea. It was strong and liberally sweetened with honey.

Éowyn took up her own cup and stood sipping the drink by the fire. Her golden hair gleamed like burnished copper in the warm glow.

Faramir gazed at her with open yearning in his eyes. He quickly looked away.

“Drink your tea,” she coaxed. “You have had a shock too and need it. Then you must have your bandages replaced.”

His eyes grew heavy even as he drained the cup. He was only dimly aware of his wife taking it from him .He struggled to keep upright as she smeared his back with honey and bandaged the painful welts before helping him back to bed beside Aragorn.

Éowyn hesitated for a moment, then climbed into the bed beside her husband. She lay gazing at his face, the handsome features marred with lines of grief and pain. ‘If only he could be honest with me, she thought, ‘Maybe our marriage would have a chance then.’ She glared at the sleeping King, the other side of Faramir, annoyed with herself for softening towards him earlier. She was, however, greatly relieved he still lived.

She wondered whatever had possessed her to hold him, unless it were remorse for her earlier rough treatment of him. The man deserved to suffer, though, just as he had made her suffer!

***

TBC


The Characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.No profit has been,nor will be made forom this story.

Just after dawn, Faramir was awakened by the sound of the door closing. Half asleep still, he supposed it to be one of the serving maids tending the fire.

Then the events of the last day came flooding back. He remembered that he was still in the hunting lodge, lying in a huge bed with the King asleep on one side of him and his wife on the other.

He sat up cautiously, so as not to disturb the others. His every muscle feeling stiff and sore after his ordeal of the previous day, while his back throbbed painfully.

Aragorn suddenly moved in his sleep and cried out.

Faramir laid a gentle hand on his King’s forehead. To his alarm, it felt hot to the touch. He turned and shook Éowyn awake.

“I think the King has a fever!” he told her.

Yawning, Éowyn struggled to wake up, before leaning over him to see for herself.

“It is only to be expected.” she replied calmly, feeling Aragorn’s burning forehead. “With wounds like these, there is usually some infection. We will find out where it is when I change the bandages later. Try and get some more sleep for now!” Éowyn lay down again and pulled the covers up.

“Surely you are not going back to sleep?” Faramir protested.

“What can I do?” she replied, “I have nothing to give him to lower the fever. He is in no immediate danger and is sleeping, which will do him more good than any help I can give him. Rest while you can and try not to fret so. Remember you are injured too!”

Ignoring her advice, Faramir slowly and painfully climbed over her to get out of bed. He then struggled to don his shirt and tunic, only succeeding after several attempts.

He was not like Boromir, who most unlike most his people would often stride in from sword practise, his shirt open almost to the waist. His brother would often go down to the kitchens and ask the maids for a drink. He would linger in the doorway, basking in their admiration of his muscular frame, adorned with battle scars which only served to make him all the more interesting to the fairer sex.

Faramir often surmised that showing off to the serving wenches was Boromir’s main reason for visiting the kitchens, rather than thirst. He had often taken his brother to task about it, reminding him that custom dictated a gentleman should be properly clad at all times and their father would be furious if he found out.

Boromir would laugh and then make his brother blush by reminding of the time he had walked into the servants’ quarters dripping wet and stark naked. Faramir had only been about three years old and had gone in search of his nurse. The woman had gone to fetch a towel after his bath and stayed gossiping to the laundress.

The servants had found the whole incident highly amusing. However, Denethor had not and that night Faramir had received the first of many punishments, which from that day on, became a regular pattern of his life,

The maids were already up and about when Faramir entered the kitchens to ask for some water to bathe Aragorn with.

Although it was still early, the sun was rising and it promised to be a fine day.

A young girl, who looked about twelve years old, was scrubbing the stone floor, while a sulky looking woman, who could have been any age between twenty and forty, was watching a kettle boiling on the fire. They both got up and curtsied as Faramir entered.

“I would like hot water, clean cloths and some firewood sent up to the King’s room please,” he said. “Please knock and leave the things outside the door.”

“Yes, my lord.” the older woman said. “Will the King live?” The question sounded more than casual. Faramir was oddly troubled by what was after all just an impertinent servant girl, who obviously did not know how to behave.

Her features vaguely familiar but he could not place where he might have seen her before. Faramir thought She must have been quite attractive in her youth, she was the type of woman his brother always favoured with ample curves and long dark hair

“You should implore the Valar that out lord recover swiftly.” Faramir replied sternly. The woman pointedly turned her back and returned her attention to the boiling kettle.

“Please tell the cook we would like some chicken broth later,” he said, ignoring her rudeness until he had time to rebuke her properly.

Returning to the bedroom, he settled himself beside the King and gently sponged his face, neck, and arms as soon as the water was brought.

Aragorn relaxed slightly in his sleep, seemingly eased by his Steward’s ministrations. Faramir became increasingly worried. He had little healing knowledge but it seemed to him that the King’s fever was growing worse. He wished Éowyn would awaken.

She stirred when Aragorn became increasingly restless and started to thrash around and cry out, obviously reliving the attack upon him.

This time she awakened fully and sat up and felt the King’s brow.

“It is worse than I thought,” she sighed. “When I have dressed, we must try to find the source of the infection.” With those far from comforting words, she left for her own room, leaving Faramir feeling more anxious than ever.

Éowyn soon returned, now fully dressed and having instructed the servants to bring what was needed.

Approaching the bed, she pulled down the covers. Aragorn recoiled, shivering and moaning.

Faramir tried vainly to soothe him. When Éowyn leaned over Aragorn to start soaking off the bandages, he tried to fight her off, some corner of his fevered brain obviously remembering the night before.

“Hold him still!” she ordered her husband.

“Try to treat him more gently,” Faramir counselled.

Éowyn tried again, only for Aragorn to struggle all the harder. He lashed out wildly and narrowly missed striking Éowyn.

“Be careful!” Faramir counselled.

“I suggest you do it yourself then!” his wife replied, her patience wearing thin.

“I will and gladly.” he replied, carefully rearranging the covers to prevent Aragorn becoming chilled.

He started to sing an Elvish song again while he very gently soaked off the wrappings covering the King’s upper body.

This time, Aragorn lay still and quiet beneath his touch and did not struggle when Éowyn helped her husband lift the King into a sitting position to remove the bandages.

She washed her hands and carefully examined the many hurts.

The arrow wound at least was clean, while the burns were already healing, as were the wounds on Aragorn’s legs.

They soon found the source of the infection. Several of the stripes on his back felt hot and inflamed and were swollen with infection, as was one of the cuts just below his ribs.

Eowyn frowned as she examined them. To her dismay, they were far worse than she had anticipated. “I did clean them as best I could.” she said defensively.

“I know you did, but I think it was impossible to cleanse his back thoroughly after they rammed him against that tree.” He shuddered at the memory. “They cut him with a rusting blade which would make things worse too.”

“All I can do is clean and dress them again. Bathing him repeatedly might bring his temperature down,” Éowyn said.

Together, they gently laid him back on his side. Éowyn began her painful task.

Aragorn started to struggle again as the agony coursed through his body .Too feverish to be aware of what was happening; he cried out. “No more! Leave me alone, Let my Steward be!”

Faramir had difficulty in restraining him. Even Éowyn’s strong stomach felt somewhat queasy when she cleaned the evil yellowish pus oozing from one of the wounds, and scraped away the fragments of tree bark, which clung to the lacerated flesh. She applied a mixture of honey and vinegar in an attempt to combat the infection.

Faramir was then left alone to bathe the King as he had done the previous day. This time, Aragorn did not speak nor show any sign of being aware of what was happening.

Although Faramir had felt uncomfortable the day before in having to carry out such intimate duties for one he had placed on a pedestal; he would have given anything for the King to be aware of what he was doing rather than so seriously ill.

He respectfully kept Aragorn covered by the blankets while he washed him, both protecting his modesty and keeping him warm.

Éowyn came back into the room bringing clean bed linen. Faramir helped her to change the sheets.

Aragorn continued to writhe constantly. Éowyn placed pillows either side of him to try and stop him turning on his back and aggravating his wounds.

“I don’t know what else I can do,“ she sighed. “I might not like the man, but I don’t want him to die! The pain and infection are fast draining his strength.”

Faramir gently persuaded the King to drink some water. He sat beside him on the bed bathing his face, singing in Elvish and trying all he could to bring the fever down.

His own wounds throbbed and ached. He ignored then, concentrating solely on the King’s worsening plight.

Aragorn cried out repeatedly, calling for his mother, Arwen, and several other people that Faramir did not know.

Faramir grasped the King’s hand, which seemed to calm him a little. However, the fever continued to rage unabated.

The Steward realised Aragorn was wise not to want Arwen here. The sight of her husband in such pain would greatly distress the gentle Elf. That, together with the journey would endanger the unborn heir to the throne of Gondor. Yet it was hard for him to sit there watching him cry out for her. Sadly, he wondered too, if Éowyn would ever love him like the Queen loved Aragorn. It was obvious to all who saw the Royal Couple that they adored each other.

From his earliest childhood, Faramir had been taught that Gondor must always come first. She had ever proved a demanding mistress.

He felt he had failed both Aragorn and Gondor. It should have been him lying there and not the King. If only he had Aragorn’s strength and courage!

He found himself weeping and for once did not fight to repress his emotions, as there was none present save the unconscious King.

Much to his shame, Éowyn returned and saw his tears before he could stifle them.

To his surprise, she did not chide him for his weakness. Instead, she quietly sat on the bed beside him, placing a comforting arm around him.

She waited until his tears stopped, then said quietly. “I’ll fetch us something to eat. It will make you feel better.”

A few minutes later, she returned with some broth for them both. It tasted surprisingly good and Faramir found himself relishing it, though if he had been asked, he would have denied feeling hungry.

“Should we try and get the King to swallow some?” Faramir suggested.

Éowyn shook her head. “No, not while his fever rages. He just needs water and plenty of it .If only I had something I could give him for the pain and fever. I fear he is growing weaker. I think I will look outside in the garden to see if any healing herbs grow there. I wish I had brought some with me.”

Faramir had a sudden thought. “I wonder if the King brought healing supplies,” he mused aloud.

“I doubt it. He would hardly expect to need them here.” Éowyn replied. This was supposed to be a holiday!”

“Before we were attacked, he tended my shoulder. He did not seem taken aback to be doing so. I wonder if he did bring healing supplies, for when he was a Ranger, he would travel prepared for emergencies.” Faramir pointed out.

Éowyn rose to her feet. “I will fetch his pack from the other room and we shall see. Why ever didn’t I think of that before?”

Aragorn was now sweating and writhing with such agitation that Faramir breathed a silent prayer to the Valar for his life while he waited for Éowyn to come back.

She soon returned, triumphantly clutching a worn leather satchel Aragorn had brought with him.

Faramir wondered if it were left over from his days as a Ranger, it looked so ancient and battered.

The Steward hardly dared to hope as he unfastened the frayed straps. What if it only contained clothing, or even a secret stash of pipe weed, though Aragorn had sworn he had given up the Halfling’s pleasure for the love of his bride.

“His spare clothing is in his other pack.” Eowyn announced as if reading Faramir’s thoughts. She unfastened the satchel and carefully tipped out the contents on the small bedside table. Faramir left Aragorn’s side to see the packets and jars revealed.

“Here’s willow bark, feverfew, marigold, dandelion, garlic, arnica, cashew nut oil and even poppy juice!” she exclaimed. “If only I had thought of this before! I should have brought my own healing supplies too!”

“You could not have known!” Faramir soothed. “Can you make a tea to help him?”

She nodded. “Yes, I have all that is needed here. But first, he needs poppy juice for the pain I fear that taxes his strength the most.”

She carefully measured a small drop of the thick liquid into some water and handed the cup to Faramir. He lifted it to Aragorn’s lips but the King moaned and turned away.

“Aragorn, drink this, it will help you!” the Steward whispered in Elvish, gently stroking the stricken man’s hand to soothe him.

Aragorn briefly opened his eyes and a brief flicker of recognition was in their grey depths. He slowly swallowed the medicine.


Faramir found he was holding his breath while Éowyn prepared the herbs, willing them to work. As the moments went by, he felt Aragorn relax a little and dared to hope the poppy juice was easing him.

Éowyn brought the herbal tea, blowing on it to cool the steaming liquid. She sipped it and pulled a face. “This tastes vile!” she exclaimed. “I don’t even know if it will be effective for one as ill as he is.”

She handed Faramir the cup, together with the spoon, she had used to mix it with. “You had better use this,” she suggested. “I doubt he will drink it easily!”

Faramir started spooning the brew into Aragorn’s mouth. To their surprise, he swallowed obediently as if his healer’s training had conditioned him to take it.

Once the cup was empty, Faramir lowered him back on his pillows, where within moments, Aragorn relaxed and slept, his noble features no longer contorted with agony.

Faramir found he was shaking. Éowyn pushed her husband down on the bed and pulled the covers over him.

“Drink this and rest!” she said, handing him a cup. “Your wounds need tending, but that can wait. I will stay here and watch over you.”

Faramir drank obediently, unaware of the poppy juice she had added.

Kissing him on the cheek, Éowyn watched her husband fall asleep, the lines of pain and worry easing from his face. She felt angrier than ever with Aragorn. It was through him her husband was injured by bringing him here, as well as being his fault he was unhappily married to her rather than to some Gondorian beauty of his choice. The more time she spent with Faramir, the more she grew to love him, an affection which he could never return after Aragorn had ordered him to deceive her into a loveless marriage!

She settled herself on the chair but it was hard and uncomfortable. The bed looked soft and inviting, despite the fact it was partially occupied by the man she hated so much.

Eventually, Éowyn gave up trying to resist. She climbed up beside Faramir, as far away as possible from Aragorn and lay on top of the covers. Despite her attempts to stay awake, she was soon slumbering peacefully beside Faramir and the King.

When Éowyn awoke again, the position of the sun in the sky suggested it was well past midday already. She was surprised to discover that beside her, Faramir had nuzzled against her body, while his hand was stretched out protectively towards the King.

Trying not to awaken Faramir, she leaned across to feel Aragorn’s forehead. It was still burning hot to the touch. She sighed, realising she would have to continue fighting for the life of one she so despised.

TBC


The characters belong to the Tolkien Estate and no profit has or will be made from this story.

Faramir yawned and slowly and painfully sat up. “Did you add something to my drink?” he asked. “I must have slept for hours!”

“You badly needed rest, so I shall not apologise for giving you a sleeping draught.” Éowyn smiled at him. “I will send for food and drink and then tend your wounds.”

Faramir turned to look at Aragorn. “How is the King?” he enquired.

“There is no improvement .He is still feverish.” Eowyn replied. “The poppy juice is making him sleep.” She rose to her feet to summon a servant to bring refreshments.

They ate a light meal, neither being very hungry.

Faramir sighed deeply as his wife helped him remove his tunic and shirt in preparation for tending his wounds. He was slightly less embarrassed than the previous day, but still disliked anyone seeing his scarred body.

Éowyn called for warm water and gently bathed his wounds. To her great relief, the injuries, although still raw and painful, were clean and bore no signs of infection.

“Well?” he asked a trifle anxiously.

“You are healing well and the wounds are not inflamed. You must be stronger than you look!” She smiled at him before applying herself to smothering the wounds in honey before covering them with clean bandages. “Do your legs still hurt?” she asked.

Faramir shook his head.


“Would you like me to mix something to ease the pain?” she asked.

“I feel much better, I do not need it,” he assured her.

Eowyn looked doubtful but said no more. She helped Faramir to dress again before leaving the room.

Aragorn suddenly shifted on the bed and groaned. Faramir was at his side in an instant, grasping the restless hands.

“Aragorn, are you in pain?” He asked anxiously.

The King’s eyes opened. This time they held a flicker of recognition. “Faramir?- So much pain - burning. Water, please!” he murmured disjointedly

Faramir lifted Aragorn’s head with one hand and raised the cup of water to his lips with the other. Aragorn drank thirstily and drained the cup. Faramir filled it again, noting with alarm how parched and dry the King’s lips looked.

The King’s forehead was dripping with sweat, so he moistened a cloth and gently wiped Aragorn’s face.

“Thank you, my friend.” Aragorn whispered, as the water revived him. ”I am glad you are here.”

He lay still for a few minutes and then fell asleep again.

Éowyn returned to the sickroom after what felt like an age to Faramir. She looked somewhat more cheerful than before and her cheeks were slightly flushed.

“You should go outside for a few minutes!” she told him.

“But what if the King needs anything?” Faramir protested.

“Whatever he needs, can wait for a few minutes. I can sit with him while you are gone. I have just been to see horses and taken a walk in the garden and feel much better for it. You need some fresh air or you could become ill as he is, now go!” She pushed him towards the door.

Faramir reluctantly made his way to the garden. It was a small, rather neglected patch of land cleared from the surrounding forest, containing a vegetable patch, bare at present, being so early in the year, and a herb garden populated by a few sparse plants.

A short path led to a meadow, where the horses were grazing. He stiffly and painfully made his way there.

The cowslips and primroses were in bloom, creating a cheerful carpet of yellow. They reminded Faramir of his early childhood, when his mother was still alive. She had loved primroses. Boromir would often take his little brother out into the gardens to gather the blooms for her.

During the last few months of her life, Finduilas had been too frail to go outside and could only enjoy the flowers if they were brought to her room.

He remembered one day a few weeks before she died; when she had felt a little stronger, She had donned her favourite blue mantle, embroidered with stars, which had been a gift from her brother, and gone out into the gardens of the citadel with her children and her maids.

His mother had sat on a bench smiling and watching her sons play. Faramir had picked her a bunch of primroses. She took them from him and kissed him and called him her precious jewel. That was to be his last happy memory of her. She had grown paler and thinner by the day. Before that summer was over, she was dead.

Faramir’s childhood happiness had ended then too for Denethor, always a stern man; had grown even grimmer with the death of his wife. The only time Faramir had ever seen him weep, was on the night that she died. Afterwards, he became cold and withdrawn so that the two brothers were forced to rely increasingly on each other for mutual support.

Finduilas had already taught Faramir his letters before she died, and his love of books and learning had come from her. This had infuriated his father who would say: ‘Gondor needs soldiers, not scholars!’ every time he caught his younger son reading. He could never please Denethor, who was fond of saying: ‘Your mother was strong before you were born!’ which made him fear from an early age that he must somehow have killed her.


His Uncle Imrahil had told him when he was older that Faramir was much wanted, and his mother had lost several babies both before and after him. The hurt however, remained.

As if sensing his melancholy, Iavas came up to nuzzle his face. The Steward stroked the silky chestnut mane for comfort. He had known so many losses, his mother, Boromir, his loyal comrades and his father. He had been ready to join them beyond the circles of the world. The Valar must have had other plans for him, for Aragorn had come and saved him; not only healing his body, but also giving him the love and compassion he so craved and needed. He had been such a fool to shy away from the friendship, the King had so freely offered to him.

Now he had the chance to repay some of the debt he owed to Aragorn. He impulsively picked a handful of primroses and made his way back to the house. He noticed the serving woman he had seen in the kitchens earlier, was standing watching him. He could only assume she was curious about her new masters.

He called at the kitchen to collect a small jar of water and asked the housekeeper the woman’s name.

“That will be Hanna, you mean, my lord.” she replied. “Not quite right in the head, poor thing, after some family tragedy. She does her work well enough, though.”

He returned to the sickroom and placed the flowers on a table. Éowyn was sitting in a chair, lost in thought.

When Faramir came in she looked up. “The fresh air looks to have done you good.” she commented.

“ You were right about the fresh air, I feel much better.” He told her “I picked some flowers while I was out .You and the King should both be able to see them here.”

Eowyn’s resentment flared anew. Caring for her husband had reawakened her feelings towards him. She prized courage and admired the stoicism with which Faramir endured his hurts. If only she could concentrate her attentions on him, then maybe he could eventually grow to love her if she cared for him tenderly enough. Yet to her fury, she had to devote most of her energies to Aragorn, the man she once loved, whom she now hated as intensely as she had once adored him.

Faramir walked over to the bed and stood looking anxiously at Aragorn. He felt as if he had broken his sworn oath of fealty, as his first duty was to protect the King. “How is he?” he asked Éowyn.

“A little better,” she replied, “ I checked his wounds a few minutes ago and they are starting to drain.”

“I can sit with him now, “said Faramir. “ You take Windfola for a short ride. He will need exercise.”

Thankfully, Éowyn escaped the sickroom.

Faramir continued to bathe Aragorn’s face and hands. To his great relief, he seemed more comfortable and woke occasionally to take sips of water.

At nightfall, it seemed sensible for them to again rest beside him on the vast bed. The Steward struggled to remain awake, but his weakened body could not fight the urge to rest.

When he awakened again, Aragorn lay still and quiet; Faramir was overcome by dread, afraid of what might have happened while he had slept. “Aragorn!” he cried.

Aragorn slowly opened his eyes. ”Water!” he croaked through parched lips.

Filled with relief, Faramir reached for a cup and held it so the King could drink. Aragorn drained it thirstily.

“How are you?” Faramir asked him, feeling Aragorn’s forehead. The King’s temperature appeared to be almost normal much to his delight. The slight infection, which remained; could he hoped, be easily remedied by plenty of fluids to flush the poisons from his body.

“Better, though I ache almost everywhere.” Aragorn somewhat revived by the drink, replied while Faramir refilled the cup for him. “How long have I been here?”

“It is the third day since we were attacked,” Faramir told him. ”I am so glad you are feeling better.”

“Thank you, I cannot remember very much. I was aware, though that you stayed with me and I thank you. It cannot have been pleasant for you either.” Aragorn’s hand gripped Faramir’s wrist as he made to put the empty cup down.

“It was an honour, sire.” Faramir replied, feeling he should revert to formality now his King was lucid. He only hoped that Aragorn was unaware how they had had to hold him.

“Will you grant me one favour?” Aragorn asked, still gripping Faramir’s hand and sounding rather vulnerable.

“Anything, sire,” Faramir replied earnestly. ”What is your wish?”

“ That you would continue to treat me as a man rather than a King on a high throne. To begin with; you would please me by using my given name in private. I know that you can, since I heard you just now.” Aragorn managed a wan smile. He tried unsuccessfully to move to a more comfortable position and groaned.

“I will try, sire, um, Aragorn,” Faramir said nervously. Years of training in court etiquette were not easily undone.

“Thank you, I have need of a friend, not a servant or courtier. You have seen for yourself now, that I am just a man such as you are, neither more nor less.” Aragorn groaned and fell back exhausted upon the pillow. The conversation had exhausted his meagre reserves of strength.

“I will get something to ease your pain.” Faramir said, gently patting the clutching hand. ”Try to rest now.”

“I will mix his poppy juice,” Éowyn announced, having been awakened by the conversation. She slid off the other side of the bed and came over to look at Aragorn. “I think he will heal now. “You would make a good healer, my husband!” she pronounced, in a voice devoid of emotion.

“I only treated him with kindness,” Faramir replied quietly.

Eowyn seethed silently at his implied rebuke. However, she said nothing, but stirred the medicine furiously.

None too gently, she began removing Aragorn’s bandages and inspecting the wounds, prodding them hard enough to make the unfortunate King cry out in pain.

“They are healing,” she pronounced. “The infected wounds are draining well and the others will soon close.”

“I will look after him on my own from now on,” Faramir said firmly. Despite his very rudimentary knowledge of healing, he felt he could care for Aragorn better than Éowyn. Her Healers training counted for little when her dislike for the King was so obvious.

“As you wish,” she conceded with supreme indifference. “I shall still need to mix the medicines and help you change the bedding.”

Aragorn, though sleepy by now from the poppy juice, was sufficiently aware to heave a deep sigh of relief at this latest development.

Éowyn noticed and irrationally resented it.

Later that morning, Aragorn was well enough to eat a little broth, which Faramir patiently helped him spoon into his mouth. He seemed to relish it and smiled his thanks before asking for more water. He then slept for much of the day. Faramir sat beside him, patiently caring for his needs.

Éowyn went out riding. When she returned, she changed Faramir’s bandages and helped him lift Aragorn when they changed the bedding and the bandages again before bedtime.

That night, Faramir again settled himself to rest again next to the King on the large bed.

Éowyn climbed in the other side. She lay there wakeful while the hours passed, listening to her husband’s breathing. She thought how strange, yet frustrating it felt to be sharing a bed with him. Even if he were to desire her, his injuries and the presence of the King made any amorous overtures impossible.

The next morning, Faramir brought one of Aragorn’s nightshirts for him to wear. The King sighed with relief as he was eased into it. Not only did it restore some of his dignity; but also it felt more comfortable next to skin than the sheet did.

Aided by the herbs and Faramir’s gentle care, Aragorn’s wounds began to heal. However, once the dosage of poppy juice was reduced, he was much plagued by nightmares whenever he tried to rest. Faramir too, suffered from much the same problem, both men being haunted by their ordeal.

The wounds on the Steward’s back were healing well, under his wife’s care. His arms and shoulders though remained very painful. He feared to take sufficient poppy juice to ease the pain, lest it made him too sleepy to care for Aragorn.

On the fifth day since the attack, Aragorn was finally well enough to sit up in bed surrounded by plump pillows. His wounds still pained him and he felt weak. However, he was well on the way to recovery. He could now hold a cup and partially wash himself, though Faramir still had to bathe his injured back.

When Faramir approached with hot water salves and bandages, Aragorn sighed. “Not again!” he complained. “You only changed the bandages a few hours ago.”

“Éowyn told me you needed fresh ones every few hours,” Faramir said firmly, unlacing the neck of Aragorn’s nightshirt and easing it down to uncover his upper body. He gently undid the bandages to reveal the wounds.

“I believe you are healing.” Faramir said uncertainly. “What do you think, Aragorn? You know more than I do.” He gently felt the area surrounding the wounds that had become infected, checking for any sign of heat and inflammation.

“I agree with you,” Aragorn replied, wriggling away from Faramir’s cold fingers.

“Keep still!” Faramir ordered. “How can I do this if you refuse to be still?”

To his surprise, Aragorn burst out laughing for the first time since they were attacked. “We have come full circle since we met, have we not?” he chortled. “ I remember the first proper conversation I had with you, when I was telling you to be still.”

“How long ago that seems!” Faramir mused as he gently bathed the injuries covering Aragorn’s back. “I remember how you tended my wounds and told me to look after Éowyn. I feared you would never come back from Mordor.”

“Were it not for Frodo and Sam, Sauron would have killed us all.” Aragorn said gravely. Faramir handed him the washcloth and placed the bowl of water within easy reach. “We were indeed blessed by the Valar.”

Faramir tactfully lingered in fetching the salves from the other side of the room to give the King a little privacy. He was trying to care for the King by treating him, as he would like to be treated himself, were he in a similar situation. “Have you heard any news from Frodo and Sam? Éowyn writes to Merry but he says little of Frodo,” he asked.

On her way to the stables, Éowyn paused outside Aragorn’s room. She had seen Faramir take in the water and dressings and was wondering whether she should examine the King’s wounds again. Then she heard laughter and her name mentioned.

“I think Frodo will go over the sea with my foster father within the year,” Aragorn said quietly, his eyes full of sorrow. “I have heard he has never truly recovered from his wounds. If only he had stayed in Gondor, maybe I could have helped ease his pain. I am glad I told you to care for Éowyn, as I feared both your futures. Who could have foreseen the outcome? I find a friend and you find a wife!”

“You thought of everything, especially as you won the crown and with it, your own bride!” Faramir replied somewhat flippantly, while he replaced his bandages and eased the nightshirt back over Aragorn’s shoulders.

“I feared all our plans would go awry,” Aragorn said thoughtfully. “But everything turned out as it should.”

Listening inadvertently to their conversation, Éowyn fumed. They were discussing how she had been given to Faramir like some unwanted parcel! There had been times when she had questioned if Aragorn’s remark at her wedding had really meant, what she thought it did, but here was the proof!

Overcome with rage and humiliation, she stormed out to seek comfort on Windfola’s broad back.

Faramir picked up the heavy bowl and flinched as the pain in his shoulder stabbed.

“As soon as I am sufficiently recovered, I will ease your hurts,” Aragorn told his Steward.

Faramir took a deep breath. He had been trying so hard to avoid the King seeing his wounds again. Yet now, it did not seem like such an ordeal. “ Thank you, I would be grateful for your help,” he conceded.

Aragorn felt a certain sense of satisfaction; the last few days had been a nightmare beyond his wildest imaginings, but one good thing at least had come out of it. Faramir no longer feared him and was even willing to accept his help. Maybe, at long last they could become friends.



These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

Why I could take his sword here, and with one quick dart right through his heart! Stab him as he mocks me; what sweet revenge for all his laughter! - The Desert Song 1926 Broadway operetta with music by Sigmund Romberg and book and lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II and Otto Harbach

Von seinem Lager
blickt' er her, -
nicht auf das Schwert,
nicht auf die Hand, -
er sah mir in die Augen.
Seines Elendes
jammerte mich; -
das Schwert - ich liess es fallen!

From his couch,
he looked up -
not at the sword,
not at my hand -
he gazed into my eyes.
His misery
tormented me!
The sword - I let it fall! - Tristan und Isolde – Wagner. 1;3

In middle of the night, Éowyn awoke from an uneasy sleep in the chair beside the King’s bed.

Faramir and Aragorn had kept waking each other up by crying out in their nightmares. Éowyn had therefore persuaded her husband to take a few hours rest in the next room. She hoped his dreams would be less frequent away from the King.

Bright moonlight illuminated the room through the open shutters. In a corner, Andúril, the King’s legendary sword, lay propped up against the wall. He had placed it there on the day they arrived at the Lodge.

Éowyn felt curious about the legendary blade. She had never seen it unsheathed. Her dislike of Aragorn had prevented her from asking him to show her the fabled weapon’s blade.

Unable to resist temptation, she tiptoed across the room, picked up the sword, and drew it from its sheath.

It was surprisingly light, and weighed far less than the swords of the Mark. She noticed the blade was finely decorated with a design of a crescent moon and stars. There was also an inscription, in a script she was totally unfamiliar with.

She stood holding the sword for a few moments; it was very beautiful and very sharp, a unique weapon.

Just then, Aragorn moaned in his sleep. Éowyn had almost forgotten that he was in the room; so engrossed was she with studying Andúril.

She walked over to the bed, almost as if in a dream, the sword still in her hand.

She found herself studying the King’s sleeping face, features she had once loved but now despised and hated. The mouth filled with lying words; the eyes full of false compassion, when all the time he had mocked her and tricked her into a loveless marriage.

Her life lay in ruins because of this man. Were it not for him, she would be either the honoured hostess at her brother’s court, or married to some man who truly loved her, and would give her his children.

Now there was nothing, nothing left to live for. Her life seemed to stretch endlessly before her; barren, bleak and loveless.

A few days ago, she had dared to hope again that Faramir needed her and even might have some warm feelings towards her. However, he had made it abundantly clear that he had no need of her company. Now he was sufficiently recovered not even to need her to tend his wounds.

Were she to return to Éomer’s court, she would be nothing but an object of scorn and pity. If only she had seen through the web of deceit when Faramir had proposed to her!

She had not loved the Steward then, for every other man had paled in comparison to Aragorn. Her main reason for accepting his hand in marriage had been as a way of restoring her damaged pride. She had been flattered that at least one worthy man found her desirable and had intended to be a good wife to him. Yet as the months of their engagement went by, she had come to love the gentle Steward of Gondor and believed he loved her in return.

However, Aragorn’s meddling had meant it was all nothing but a lie.

She studied the blade in her hand, wondering how many lives had ended on its sharp point. How easy it would be to take her life with one thrust of this sword. Better still, though to first take the life of the man who had brought her to such misery!

With a single stroke, she could end her own misery, free Faramir to marry a woman he loved and make him the most powerful man in Gondor by disposing of Aragorn.

Clutching the hilt with both hands, she raised the blade and held it poised over the King’s heart.

She hesitated as a turmoil of emotions overwhelmed her. It seemed harder than she had thought to do this deed.

Why could she not strike? Maybe she should just take her own life? But then she would die unavenged. Again, she braced herself to deal the fatal blow.

She started when Aragorn’s eyes slowly opened. He neither moved nor spoke, but simply looked at her. Not at her shaking hand, not at the sword, but deep into her eyes.

His gaze held none of the anger or contempt she expected but a mixture of sorrow, compassion and bewilderment. His sorrow wounded her, and for the first time she glimpsed the essence of this man who had been the first to capture her heart.

Éowyn took an involuntary step backwards, dropping the sword in her confusion. The expression in his grey eyes pierced her very soul.

The blade fell to the stone floor, the clatter seemingly deafening after the tense silence of but a moment before.

Aragorn’s hand suddenly reached out to grip her wrist with surprising strength for an injured man. His gaze was now full of cold fury, which terrified her. This was no ordinary man, but the heir of Elendil who had beaten Sauron in a battle of wills and commanded the Army of the Dead.

The realisation of what she had been about to do stabbed her like a dagger. She had committed high treason and knew her life was now forfeit. Éowyn hardly dared to breathe, all too aware that she had been caught in the act of trying to murder the High King of Gondor and Arnor. What would her brother think of her now? Worse still, would her husband be punished for her wicked and foolish actions?

“The inscription reads, “I am Andúril who was Narsil the sword of Elendil. Let the Thralls of Mordor flee me,” Aragorn informed her in a voice devoid of emotion. “Tell me, my lady, why were thinking of stabbing me with my own sword?” The King’s calm voice was like ice, which was far more terrifying than if he had ranted and raved.

“I accept my life is now forfeit under the law of Gondor,” she said bleakly.” I long only for death.”

“I do not desire your life, my lady, but rather, an explanation,” Aragorn replied in a chilling tone she had never heard him use before. “I demand to know why you considered killing me, not that I believe you would do the deed. You have too much honour to attack a wounded and weaponless man. You can tell me now, why you hate me so much, I order you as your King!”

Éowyn shivered at his tone and at how he seemed able to see into her very thoughts. The grip on her wrist tightened making flight impossible.

“Do you really need to ask?” she replied.

“I am asking and I want an answer now!” His tone was enough to freeze the blood in her veins.

“Why should I not hate you?” Éowyn replied bitterly. “You called me back from death against my will, after you ruined my life by rejecting my love. Then you tricked me into a loveless union by ordering Faramir to marry me to remove any possible embarrassment from Lady Arwen! You boasted of it on my wedding day! Today, I overheard you jesting about it again with Faramir. I can bear it no longer, I want to die, I thought of taking you with me, but only truly meant the blade for my own heart!”

Aragorn gaped at her open mouthed, so astonished that he loosened the grip on her wrist.

“What?” he exclaimed, sounding both hurt and astonished. “I swear to you, my lady that never did I command Faramir to marry you; he did so because he loved you. If I speak falsely, you would be quite welcome to kill me; since such a scheming knave would well deserve your fury! I do not know why you should think so ill of me! Arwen has always known that you once had romantic feelings for me. She believed them were but a shadow and a thought, which fled once you met Faramir.”

“How could you Éowyn? The King speaks the truth!” Faramir, on hearing the commotion had entered the room unnoticed. “I married you because I loved you, no man influenced me, I swear it!” Faramir’s reproachful tone was almost harder to bear than the King’s cold fury.

The Steward hastened to Aragorn’s bedside and grasped Éowyn’s arm, as if fearful she would attack the King. ”Has she harmed you, sire?” he asked in dismay “I am so sorry, I had no idea she would even think of such a deed. I accept my punishment at your hands.”

“She has not touched me; peace Faramir!” Aragorn said bleakly.

Éowyn glanced nervously at her husband and then turned back accusingly to Aragorn.

“But you told me yourself on my wedding day, my lord, that you asked Faramir to look after me!”

Aragorn nodded. “Yes I did indeed, my lady. I also told him to look after the Hobbit Meriadoc and all the people of Gondor! I requested Merry to look after you too! I hope you are not now going to accuse me of planning a bigamous marriage for you, to both a man and a Hobbit or maybe the entire male population of Gondor? “

Éowyn cringed at the biting sarcasm. She felt very foolish now.

“Remember those were dark days;” Aragorn continued.” I never thought that either your brother or myself would return alive from Mordor. I did not wish you to be alone and friendless in a foreign land. All I wanted from Faramir, was to see that you were escorted safely back to Rohan, had you both survived the war! My words at your wedding feast meant merely that I was glad I had encouraged Faramir to seek your company since he came to love you. He could give you his heart when I could not!”

As the full impact of their words sunk in, Éowyn covered her face with her hands.

“But you shunned my bed!” She accused Faramir, momentarily ignoring Aragorn’s presence. “I thought you didn’t love me and regretted the marriage. I even suspected you had a mistress!”

“I have always loved you and desired you. I was waiting for you to show some sign you desired me likewise! I would never take you unwilling, trembling with fear and revulsion! I feared too that you would reject me should I beg of you to truly become my wife! I suspected you still loved the King. As for a lover, my only mistress is Gondor!” Faramir replied reproachfully, also seeming to forget Aragorn was there.

The King cleared his throat loudly.

Brought back to the present situation. Faramir flushed scarlet. He turned again to his wife. “Why did you not tell me how you felt, Éowyn instead of attacking the King? Do you not know the penalty for such a crime is death?

Éowyn burst into tears at his words; Faramir hesitated, unsure whether to console her or take her to lock her in her room. Aragorn gestured he should choose the former.

“I am sorry, so very sorry, Faramir. I love you so much!” she sobbed, clutching him tightly. ”Now it is too late after my wicked and foolish act of treason!” After a few moments, she pulled away from her husband’s embrace and knelt before the King. “My Lord, I wronged you and I can only say that I am sorry, though I do not expect or deserve your forgiveness for my folly! I ask for no mercy, except to beg of you not to punish Faramir. He would never betray you like I have done this night!”

“I do owe you my life, my lady, so far be it from me to desire to take yours!” Aragorn replied sternly. “I pardon you for this. However, I warn you, never again to raise a blade against me in anger or it will go very ill indeed for you!”

Amazed, Éowyn kissed his hand in fealty and gratitude. “What penance would you have me make, my King?”

Aragorn smiled at her and his tone softened. “I charge you never to let such a misunderstanding arise again between you and your husband or between us! If you are angry, speak of what troubles you ere sunset of that day!”

“I give you my word, my lord.” Éowyn said tearfully. “If only we could start again!”

“Dry your tears and rise, my lady!” Aragorn said gently. “Maybe when I am less weary, I can think of some way to express our hopes for a happier future.”

Faramir moved forward to kneel before the King beside his wife.

“I can never thank you enough for your mercy, my lord!” he said fervently.

“My friend,” Aragorn said with a wan smile. “I could not repay your kindness with anything but the same.”

Faramir grasped the King’s hand in gratitude. To his alarm, it trembled slightly and was clammy with sweat. Aragorn’s features looked grey and drawn. The shock of the night’s events was obviously taking its toll.

“Do you have any of Merry’s tea left?” Faramir asked Éowyn, “If you do, maybe you could make us some. I think we are all in need of something with restorative properties. But first bring some water, so I might bathe the King.” It was almost a relief now to concentrate on these tasks, which only a few days ago had embarrassed him beyond measure.

“Merry sent me a chest of tea. I have plenty,” Éowyn replied, feeling glad of an excuse to escape. “I will fetch the water at once.”

“Could you pick up my sword please, Faramir and sheath it?” Aragorn asked as soon as she had left the room.

“I would, sire, I thought, though only the King were allowed to touch it on pain of death?”

“That is indeed the law. However, I permit you to sheathe it tonight. I am, alas too weak to get out of bed, so I must make an exception whatever the custom dictates. As Lady Éowyn is a woman, she is at least exempt from that rule! Aragorn said wearily. ” We cannot leave a naked blade lying on the floor or there will be more mischief this night!”

Faramir knelt and reverently picked up Andúril. “I can hardly believe I am holding the sword of Elendil!” he whispered. He studied the inscription, framed by stylised symbols of the Sun and the Moon interspersed by seven stars representing Elendil. He knew the Sun and Moon symbols represented the King’s ancestor Elendil’s sons Anárion and Isildur respectively.

With great reverence, he sheathed the sword and went to replace it in the corner.

“Put it where I can reach it, please!” begged Aragorn. ”Not that I could wield it a present. I would just feel reassured to have it nearby.”

Faramir had just propped it beside the bed when Éowyn returned with the water and placed it on the bedside table. Too ashamed of her actions to speak, she hastened back to the kitchen.

TBC

A/N I quoted "The Desert Song" from memory, if I have it wrong and anyone knows the correct words,do please let me know.



The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate, no profit has been nor will be made from this story.

Faramir began the embarrassing, but by now familiar ritual of seeing to the King’s needs. He handed Aragorn the cloth to wash himself but the King’s hands shook so much, that the Steward had to bathe him.

Aragorn moaned in frustration. “I had thought I was improving, but now I cannot even wash myself. I have almost forgotten what it feels like to feed myself, walk, or even answer nature’s call in private!”

”Please do not fret, sire, you will be well soon. You have had a dreadful shock tonight,” Faramir soothed. He gulped at the sudden realisation that he could so easily have entered the room and found both his King and his wife dead. Almost as overwhelming was Aragorn’s magnanimity. Without doubt, his father would have had Eowyn executed for any attempt on his life, however half hearted. He turned his head away as he concentrated on bathing Aragorn.

“As have you, Faramir,” Aragorn said gently. ”I should not have spoken thus. You treat me with great kindness and respect, which makes the indignity far easier to endure. I did not mean to sound ungrateful. My heart is heavy tonight.”

Not able to think of a suitable reply, Faramir silently squeezed Aragorn’s hand in a gesture of wordless compassion. “I am so very sorry about my wife’s behaviour!” the Steward murmured. “I could never have imagined she harboured such fury. How could she even think of committing such a deed?”

Aragorn smiled wanly. “How could you have known, Faramir? She is not of our people that you might share her thoughts! You are not to blame for her troubled mind. I fear the shadow of the past still hangs over her and clouds her spirits.”

Faramir nodded. “I should have seen it. We fell into the same darkness from which you called us back. Why ever did I not press her to tell me what was wrong? I came to believe I was but a poor substitute for the husband of her dreams. The distance between us grew ever more difficult to overcome as the months passed without us talking to each other.”

“Life can be harder for a woman,” Aragorn replied. “You have had many duties of state to occupy your mind. Éowyn has had more time to brood. Then she loved me once; love and hate are close kindred of each other.”

“Indeed so. sire,” Faramir replied deferentially.

“Please, no formality!” Aragorn begged, wiping his brow with the back of his other hand and sighing deeply. ”It would be sad indeed if tonight’s misadventures should mar the friendship we have forged.”

“Are you in pain, Aragorn?” Faramir asked anxiously, picking up a cloth to wipe the King’s face. “I am honoured you regard me as a friend.”

Aragorn shook his head. “ Only a little. My heart though is heavy, helpless, as I am. Even in my days in the wild, I never felt quite so vulnerable. I awoke from dark dreams to find Éowyn standing over me, aiming my own sword at my heart! Will you stay here with me tonight, please?”

“Of course, I will!” Faramir was alarmed by the almost childlike plea from one he had seen as almost superhuman, even after their ordeal at the hands of Fennas and Calardan. He shuddered at the thought of another near tragedy so narrowly averted.

“I am accustomed to relying on the strength of my sword arm rather than being at the mercy of others,” Aragorn replied. “It is not easy.”

Just then, Éowyn entered carrying three steaming cups. “You have discovered the fear women always live with,” she said dryly.

“How so, my lady?” Aragorn asked. He took the cups from his wife and balanced them on the bed, leaving her to light the candles.

Eowyn moved to sit on the bed beside her husband. She stared at the cup for a few moments before replying, “When we first met, my lord, you remarked on my skill with a blade,” she said at last. “I told you my brother had taught me but not why. When I was a young lass; Grima came upon me alone in the stables. He tried to force me to lie with him. Had it not been for my mare, he would have succeeded, but she lashed out with her hooves and almost broke his leg .I went that night to Éomer and pleaded with him to teach me how to use a sword, though I told him I feared lest Orcs came to Edoras. I learned quickly and men became wary of me. Wormtongue continued to grow in power and influence, though. One night he came to me and threatened to kill my uncle if I would not yield to his desires.”

“Éowyn!” Faramir exclaimed in horror. His knuckles tightened round the cup he held.

“Have no fear, my husband, I am still a maid!” Éowyn said bitingly. “Before he could carry out his threats, Gandalf restored my uncle’s health and Grima was banished.” She looked Aragorn straight in the eye. “Your arrival could hardly have been more opportune!”

The King smiled at her compassionately. He could understand now why she had become so infatuated with him.

“It would make no difference to me what had happened in the past, “ Faramir protested, “I would still love you.”

Éowyn said nothing but planted a kiss on his cheek. Shyly he returned her gesture.

“As King, I can ensure that men who molest women are punished severely. Maybe you can help me decide what is appropriate, my lady?” Aragorn suggested, trying to stifle a yawn, as his eyes grew suddenly heavy.

“I would be pleased to.” she replied, taking the cup from his hand and rearranging the pillows so he could lie down. He instinctively wanted to recoil from her, but was too weary to protest at her being so close.

Aragorn tried to say something but was asleep before he could get the words out.

“I put poppy juice in his tea.” Éowyn explained, feeling his pulse and frowning. “His heart still beats too rapidly. I fear now that I caused him great distress. Tonight it is best we should both stay with him.” Her tone was full of guilt and remorse.

Faramir’s grey eyes were full of sorrow, as he regarded his wife. “I shall never know how you could even think of harming the King. After all he has done for us, we neither of us would be alive were it not for him, have you forgotten that?” He asked her.

Éowyn hung her head in shame.

“Your brother told me Aragorn was exhausted after the battle but would not rest or eat until he had brought us back from the brink of death. Then he honoured me with lands and titles, and above all his trust and friendship. I only hope he was right that you could not have harmed him! I love you very much, but you frighten me at times!” Faramir told her. “As Aragorn has forgiven you, so shall I. Tomorrow we will think about making a new start and woo each other afresh.”

Eowyn said nothing, but wept quietly as she settled beside Faramir in the vast bed. She mutely held out her hand to him and he clasped it without hesitation. Thus, they too fell asleep, too exhausted for further thought or conversation.

The next morning Aragorn was still exhausted from his ordeal of the previous night but mercifully, his fever had not returned.

Éowyn was about to tend his wounds. Unsurprisingly, the King was very ill at ease in her presence; therefore she left it to Faramir. The King’s trust in his Steward was obvious, as he felt asleep again while Faramir changed his bandages.

When the day progressed, Aragorn gradually regained some of his strength. By late afternoon, he was again able to bathe himself and hold a spoon to feed himself some broth.

The more she thought about it, the more amazed Éowyn was by his mercy and kindness. She realised she could never have made him a suitable Queen; he was immeasurably above her in nobility and lineage.

Her folly had been; failing to believe anyone could be as noble as Aragorn. He had proved himself nobler by far than she ever could have imagined.

She spent the day sitting with Faramir by the King’s bedside. They talked quietly about the many matters they had avoided over the past months.

They realised that many of their problems stemmed from cultural differences, the culture of Gondor being far more reserved and setting a far higher value on abstract learning than that of Rohan did.

They promised each other to try and understand each other societies better and to learn more of each other’s cultures the better to understand and respect them.

The revelation which most surprised and gladdened Faramir; was that Éowyn desired a large family of children. That had always been his wish too, he longed for his own children so that he could try to give them the happy and carefree childhood that he had been denied.

They all retired early that evening, weary still from the previous night’s events. Deciding it was best they should stay together, they all three settled down in the huge bed with Faramir next to the King and Éowyn beside her husband.

The King was again troubled by nightmares, so Éowyn gave him poppy juice, thinking restful sleep was now what he needed above all else to help him recover.

The next morning Aragorn seemed to have recovered from his ordeal, and again Éowyn offered to change his bandages.

This time Aragorn allowed her, much to his apprehension. He felt, however, he must if they were ever to trust each other again.

To his surprise and great relief, she was much more gentle and made a great effort neither to aggravate his wounds nor injure his dignity.

She was amazed at how quickly the injuries were healing, not having encountered the recuperative powers of one of the Northern Numenorean bloodlines before. Faramir’s people had intermarried far more and had lost many of their former gifts.

“I think you could get up and sit in a chair by the fire if you wish, sire,” she pronounced as she secured the final bandage round Aragorn’s shoulder.

“That is good news indeed! I am weary of this bed!” Aragorn replied, hoping that he would feel a little less vulnerable once he was on his feet again.

She left Faramir to help the King bathe and don a clean nightshirt and a warm robe. Then together they escorted Aragorn to the comfortable armchair by the fire.

Aragorn tentatively eased his feet on the floor and tried to stand. He was so unsteady, though; he would have fallen, had not Faramir and Éowyn supported him.

He felt like a babe newly learning to walk as they steered him the few yards across the room and settled him in the chair, then cocooned him in pillows and blankets.

He stayed sitting there until after the midday meal, then on Éowyn’s insistence returned to bed for a nap, but later insisted on returning to the chair.

This time, his legs felt stronger and though he still needed assistance, Faramir and Éowyn no longer had to virtually carry him. Aragorn was well on the way to recovery.

TBC


The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been or will be made from this story.

With grateful thanks to Raksha for her help with Faramir and Éowyn's vows


Later that day, Éowyn sat staring thoughtfully into the fire. Faramir stood by the window watching the sun sink behind the trees outside. It promised to be a glorious sunset.

“My lord, you have travelled far and know of the ways of many peoples?” Éowyn asked rather hesitantly, turning her gaze towards the King.

“I have visited most of the lands during my travels,” he replied, smiling at her encouragingly. “What would you like to know?”

“Is there any way I could pledge myself to Faramir again?” she asked, screwing up her courage to come to the point. “I made such a dreadful mistake in believing he considered our marriage nothing but a loveless political union. I know I cannot undo the past, but I should like to make a fresh start, if only I could!” She struggled to keep back her tears.

Faramir hastened to her side and placed a comforting arm around her. He was both surprised and touched at her words.

“I should like that too. I bear much of the blame as well,” he said. “I fear I do not find it easy to express my feelings.”

“The Elves have a ritual to bind them together.” Aragorn informed them gravely. “Arwen and I pledged ourselves thus on our wedding night.” He held up his right hand, so they could see the slender band of gold on his index finger. “My wife and I exchanged these rings when we made our private vows. The official ceremony seemed to be far more for public show than about the love we bear each other. The Elven vow is even more solemn than the marriage vow as it binds a couple not only till death; but until the ending of the world. Are you certain you wish to do that?” He sounded somewhat doubtful, having witnessed their earlier coldness towards each other

“I do,” Éowyn replied without hesitation. “I truly understand my husband’s true worth and love him far more now than I did on my wedding day!”

“I too would bind myself completely to Éowyn. I love her despite everything that has happened. We both made mistakes. I realise now how cold and unloving I must have seemed to her,” Faramir added, equally unhesitatingly. “What must we do?”

“You wish to pledge yourselves anew, then?” Aragorn asked.

“The sooner we put the past behind us the better!” Faramir replied.

“We need to start again after these unhappy months of mutual misunderstandings! ”Éowyn insisted.

“Would you like to do it now then?” the King enquired.

“Yes, if you will show us how, my lord,” Éowyn said resolutely. Beside her, Faramir nodded.


“You must kneel, then facing each other.” Aragorn told them, realising that they were determined. “The ritual is very simple, yet very profound.”


The young couple knelt before the fire, their faces illuminated both by the firelight and the crimson glow of setting sun, which streamed through the window.

“You must both say the words together. Repeat them after me,” Aragorn said solemnly. ”They are a pledge of eternal love and fidelity.”

Faramir and Éowyn nodded.

"I swear by my forefathers and foremothers, by my own word, and with the Valar to witness," Aragorn began in Elvish.

Eowyn understood not a word; the words were Quenya rather than the Sindarin that the children of the House of Thengel had been reared to speak. She trustingly repeated the beautiful phrases, so strong was her desire to redeem herself in Faramir's eyes. And since they both repeated the same pledge, the vows would bind them equally.

"That I take thee in marriage," Aragorn continued.

Faramir smiled reassuringly as Eowyn stumbled over the Quenya, touched that she was trying hard to speak precisely in an unknown language.

“And that I will bear love and faith only to thee for all time. So do I plight thee my troth.”

Aragorn beckoned them to their feet, they clasped hands, and then Faramir drew Eowyn close and they kissed.

“Be thou blessed and fruitful!” Aragorn concluded in Rohirric.

They knelt again for the King’s blessing as the sun’s dying rays bathed the room in a beautiful crimson light.

“I am wearing my oldest gown,” Eowyn lamented once the rites were concluded.

“You do not need finery with such beauty as yours!” Faramir assured her. “When we return to Minas Tirith, we will exchange the Elven rings and you shall have a new gown then if you wish. Let us send for wine to toast our union!”

They summoned a servant and told the girl to fetch the best wine from the cellar.

When she returned, Faramir poured the ruby red liquid into three goblets.

“May you be granted long life and abundant blessings!” Aragorn lifted his glass in a toast to his friends, truly thankful to see them in accord at last.

“We are blessed indeed to live in these times!” Faramir replied, lifting his glass and wincing as the pain coursed through his shoulder. The near constant throbbing seemed to grow worse with every movement this evening. Maybe, helping the King to the chair earlier had aggravated his injuries. Despite his attempts to disguise his pain, Aragorn’s keen eyes noticed.

“You are in pain, Faramir!” the King exclaimed in concern.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Éowyn fretted. “ I will fetch some salve and mix some poppy juice for you.”

“ Let me try to ease you,” Aragorn said.” I know many Elven techniques that would help you.”

“Would it not overtax your strength?” Faramir asked, looking anxiously at his King. “After all, today is only the first time you have been able to get up.”


Aragorn shook his head. “It takes very little energy to use the Elven massage techniques. It is usually mutually relaxing for both healer and patient. I fear that as yet, though, I lack the strength to heal you completely.”


“Is it fitting the King should tend me?” Faramir asked, uncertain whether or not he should finally accept help from Aragorn.

“Please, no more of that! Have you learned nothing these last days?” Aragorn chided. “Can I not offer you help as a friend?”

“I am sorry, Aragorn. It is just hard to unlearn all that I have been taught.” Faramir said sheepishly.” I will be honoured to accept your help as long as it does not overburden your strength.”

“Come then, sit by me and I will see what I can do for you,” Aragorn said, smiling encouragingly at his Steward.


Bringing a low stool from the other side of the fireplace Faramir seated himself on it, directly in front of the chair the King was sitting on. He hesitantly fingered the laces of his clothing. Now the moment had come, he was as uncomfortable as ever at the prospect of the King beholding his shameful scars and puny frame. He could hear his father’s mocking tones still, comparing him unfavourably to the much more sturdily built Boromir. “Maybe I should bathe first?” he suggested desperately.

Aragorn shook his head” Come, you look perfectly clean to me! It would be best if you took off your tunic, but you can just unlace your shirt if you wish to keep it on.”

With some difficulty, given the pain in his shoulders and arms, the Steward removed his heavy outer garment. He already felt half naked. Court etiquette decreed everyone must be correctly dressed at all times in the presence of the King or Steward. Faramir was about to simply loosen his shirt, then realised that insisting on retaining it, gave the impression that he feared the King meant to harm him. It would be an insult when being offered kindness and healing. Aragorn had been trying to persuade him to allow him to examine his wounds for the past two years. He had always managed to make excuses until tonight.

“Be at ease, I would neither distress nor hurt you!” Aragorn said gently. ”Remember, I now most likely bear as many scars as you do. You have never recoiled from me having beheld them neither does your lady.”

Realising the wisdom of Aragorn’s words and somewhat shamed by his own nervousness, Faramir took a deep breath and pulled his shirt over his head, baring his heavily scarred body to Aragorn’s gaze.

He sat bolt upright on the stool, eyes downcast, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. Despite the warmth of the fire, he shivered, conscious of two pairs of eyes scrutinising him in the red glow of the firelight.

It had felt different when Éowyn had tended his wounds, as then he could not see her face and she had always carried out the task with merciful speed.

Aragorn waited a few moments, allowing Faramir to compose himself before scrutinizing his Steward’s injuries.

“May I?” he asked gently, reaching out his hand towards Faramir’s injured shoulder.

Faramir nodded reluctantly and submitted to the by now familiar discomfort of the injury being probed. He had to admit the King was very gentle, much more so than the healers in the city, or even Éowyn, who despite her best intentions, lacked a natural healing touch. Aragorn’s hands were surprisingly warm, so that his very touch seemed to immediately ease the pain.

“The whip caught your old injury and the muscles and ligaments was torn further when your arms were forced over your head. Then the muscles in both arms and shoulders have been damaged,” Aragorn pronounced. ”You must be in great pain, not only these last days, but ever since your shoulder was first injured during the war! However did you cope with all your duties as Steward? You have always fulfilled them in an exemplary manner. I should have seen you were in pain and helped you long ago, I am sorry!”

“Do not blame yourself, sire. You had a country to rule, rebellions from the South and East to quell and a new bride to occupy your time. And you did offer me your help many times, but I foolishly refused.” Faramir replied, again lapsing into formality.

Too ill at ease to watch, he could feel Aragorn’s fingertips warm on his cold flesh, ghosting over his racing heartbeat before starting to gently massage his shoulder.

“You need to relax. Take deep breaths with the rhythm of my hands and allow yourself to be eased.” Aragorn advised him. “I am not going to hurt you.”

Faramir dared to look up and realised Éowyn was watching the King’s hands with intense fascination rather than casting a critical eye over is imperfect body.

Long years in the wilderness had taught Aragorn patience. Unlike others who had treated Faramir in the past; he made no attempt to prise his arms away from his chest. The Steward shook slightly beneath his touch, further emphasising his discomfort.

Could I learn to do that?” Éowyn asked, while Aragorn’s nimble fingertips expertly kneaded Faramir’s aching shoulder, though somewhat hampered by the Steward’s defensive pose.

“Yes, I could teach you if you like, though Arwen is far more skilled at it than I am, having had centuries of practise,” Aragorn replied.

“I thought salves or oils were required for massage?” Éowyn remarked.

“The Elves prefer to use just their fingertips.” Aragorn explained. “The secret is applying just the right amount of pressure. It is quite easy to learn.”

Much to his surprise, Faramir found he was enjoying the experience. His tense frame slowly relaxed. He gave a sigh of contentment as the pain eased and gradually uncrossed his arms; letting his hands fall limply on his lap, thus allowing Aragorn to properly massage his arms and shoulders, followed by his chest and the upper part of his belly.

The Steward realised he was experiencing something very different than the impersonal touch generally associated with healing; or even the technique Aragorn had used on the day they were attacked, this had a much more caring and intimate feel and awakened long buried memories of his mother’s loving touch.

He had always craved affection but been starved of it for most of his life since the premature death of Finduilas. Subsequently he found it very hard to either give or receive affection. He had briefly shed his reserve in the days when Middle- earth had seemed doomed to fall to Sauron. During the last few days too, his formality had relaxed when he had tried to comfort the King, but after so many years of Denethor’s disapproval, he had not found it at all easy.

His father had considered any display of tenderness to be a weakness and his nurse, fearful of the Steward’s wrath, had followed his edict. Although, Boromir had loved his brother dearly he had been well schooled to follow his father’s example. Therefore, he could offer no more than the occasional awkward hug to his younger brother when he was certain Denethor was not looking.

It seemed to Faramir that he was at last getting the fatherly tenderness which had always been denied him and that in itself was as healing as any easing of his muscles.

Much to his shame, tears started to roll down his cheeks.

“You have been denied much of the love which was rightfully yours.” Aragorn said, with his uncanny ability to read his thoughts as wiped away the teardrops with his thumb. ”

The King’s voice was as soothing as his fingertips and Faramir gave a great sigh as he felt the past slipping away. If he were a cat, he would have been purring.

Still Aragorn continued, totally engrossed in his task; his fingertips kneading the sore muscles and unknotting the tension in slow circular movements.

The firelight softly illuminated Aragorn’s features. When Faramir raised his eyes at last, he felt almost overwhelmed by the depths of love and compassion in his lord’s eyes. A flame seemed to dance upon the King’s brow, highlighting the nobility, which had never diminished even during the darkest of the past few days.

The Steward realised he was truly blessed to know his man and feel the power of his touch, and the look of reverence on Éowyn’s face, suggested she shared his awe.

TBC


These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

Warning - this chapter contains content of a sexual nature

With grateful thanks to Raksha for her help with this chapter

Immersed in his task Aragorn continued to massage his now willing patient, his long sensitive fingers kneading Faramir’s sore muscles in slow circular movements.

It gradually grew dark until the room was illuminated only by the dancing firelight. Éowyn’s golden hair shimmered in the reflection of the flames making it appear to be spun from burnished gold. Faramir shivered as he looked at her. This time neither cold nor apprehension caused his reaction.

Éowyn became aware her husband was watching her. She turned her attention away from the King’s hands to look him straight in the eye. Her gaze was filled with hungry desire.

Afraid of the intensity of the feelings she kindled within him, Faramir looked away and resumed staring shyly at his hands.

“Does it take a lot of study, this Elven massage?” Éowyn suddenly asked Aragorn.

“Not for the simplest way of doing it, but there are many complex variations,” the King explained. “There are different techniques used, depending on whether a servant, an acquaintance, a close friend or one as dear as a brother is being treated. Then it varies whether you are using it for healing, bonding or comforting. It does not work very well for lovers though, as there is nothing erotic about it.”

“And which sort are you using now?” Éowyn enquired with her usual outspokenness.

“This is how I would ease my foster brothers when they were in pain or distress,” Aragorn answered with a smile.

Faramir felt a warm glow suffuse his entire being. He had been certain he would only merit the treatment reserved for a servant, though the tenderness of Aragorn’s touch felt like how he imagined a loving father would treat his child.

Seeing Faramir was obviously enjoying the Elven treatment, Aragorn started to massage the dark head. The King suddenly paused in his ministrations and stared unseeingly straight ahead.

“Aragorn, do you feel unwell?” Faramir asked alarmed. “This must be too tiring for you!”

The vision surprised Aragorn in its suddenness and clarity. First, he saw a battlefield with two armies engaged in bitter conflict. To his horror, they were those of Gondor and Rohan, each trying to destroy the other. Then the scene changed and he could see two children of about the same age, a dark haired boy whom he somehow knew to be his son, and a blonde grey eyed girl who was clearly Faramir and Éowyn’s daughter.

He saw them laughing and playing together as children and then hand in hand as adults. He knew then that he saw two possible futures, the happier one of which contained their future children united in wedlock and the friendship between the two realms maintained, if only Éowyn and Faramir could overcome their inhibitions sufficiently to produce offspring.

“I am well.” Aragorn smiled at Faramir reassuringly and continued massaging his head. “Sometimes, I see things if I touch your head.”

Faramir started in astonishment for the same thing had happened to him too a few days before.

“It is our shared Numenorean lineage,” Aragorn explained, cupping Faramir’s face in his hands. ”Accept it as part of what you are. I am descended in direct line from Elendil while by some chance the blood of Númenor runs true in you as well. There is so need to shy away from me because of it.” He released Faramir, leaving the younger man somewhat disturbed at how easily he could perceive his thoughts.

Éowyn shuddered. Such feyness made her uneasy and yet it explained why her husband and the King were so uncannily alike. She wondered if that meant any child Faramir might give her would have the same unnerving abilities.

“Turn around and I will ease your back now, “ Aragorn told Faramir.

“It breaks all the rules to turn my back on the King!” the Steward protested.

Knowing what was really troubling the younger man, Aragorn placed both hands on Faramir’s shoulders. His eyes were full of tenderness and compassion.

“We are far from the Court here,” he said gently. “We are both now scarred like criminals, but there is no shame in such for innocent men.”

“My father lost his wits towards the end as much as our assailants,” Faramir said so softly that the King scarcely heard. “My house is dishonoured!” He bowed his head as he spoke.

“Sauron destroyed your father’s mind. There is no taint upon you,” Aragorn said gently, “Now turn around!” He began tenderly kneading the worse damaged areas with his skilled fingertips. Faramir relaxed again and raised his head. “Does that feel better?” Aragorn asked, when finally convinced he had done all he could to ease his Steward.

Faramir turned his head for a moment to face Aragorn again and cautiously moved his arms .To his amazement found he move freely without pain. He felt like embracing the King, but decided that would be highly inappropriate and exercised his usual restraint, somewhat to Aragorn’s disappointment.

“The pain is gone! Thank you!” the Steward smiled shyly.” And the treatment was very pleasant, I should not have feared it.”

“You are welcome. It troubles me to see you hurting so much.” Aragorn replied, tracing his finger tenderly down Faramir’s scarred back. “I only wish I could have spared you such cruel injuries. I swear you will never be harmed at my hands.”

Faramir slid to the floor and knelt in front of his King, clasping both his hands and looking straight into the compassionate grey eyes, before impulsively kissing the hands that had eased his pain. He was surprised at his boldness and flushed slightly.

Aragorn was secretly delighted. His treatment was obviously starting to work. He hoped that one day Faramir would embrace him as freely as a brother. “I will do this again for you soon and heal your hurts when my strength returns,” the King said. “I hope you will permit me to give the Elven treatment to fade your scars too, once we return to the City. I know they pain you and you have suffered with them too long, mellon nin.” Aragorn deliberately did not say what the treatment entailed as he was certain Faramir would refuse.

“Thank you. I will do that.” Faramir said without hesitation. He suddenly felt very sleepy and had to fight not yawn while replaced his shirt, and helped Aragorn back to bed.

“Go and rest now, undress and lie down in your own bed,” Aragorn told his Steward after he finished settling him for the night. “It will help the scar tissue to heal if you just wear your nightshirt. The kind of massage treatment I have been using tonight should make you sleep for an hour or so then wake feeling refreshed.”

“Goodnight and thank you again,” Faramir hesitated then kissed his lord lightly on the brow just as Éowyn returned from seeing to the horses.

Éowyn now found herself alone with Aragorn for the first time since she had contemplated using his own sword against him. She sat in the large chair by the fire, nervously twisting her hands together. “Thank you for helping Faramir. I hate to see him in pain” she said at last, breaking the tense silence that had developed between them.

“So do I, my lady,” Aragorn replied. Much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, he still felt rather uneasy with her, even though his forgiveness was genuine.

Éowyn took a deep breath, knowing she must speak if matters were to be made right between them. “I am truly sorry for all the pain and distress I have caused you, these last days. I know I was not gentle and it shames me now to think of it!” She blushed as she blurted out the words.

“You saved my life and Faramir’s, which is all that matters.” Aragorn tactfully avoided a direct reply. He could still remember the pain when she had torn his skin away with the bandage and that was just one of many unpleasant moments.

“I was so blind, I could not believe that you and Faramir could be as noble as you seemed! Even though that was why I first fell in love with you and then with him.”

It was Aragorn’s turn to blush slightly. “Love and hate can be mirror images of each other,” He said gently. “I hope now we can love as brother and sister. If I had spent years living under the shadow of Wormtongue, I too, would hesitate to trust easily.”

“I should like another brother!” Éowyn shuddered to recall those dark days when it seemed that Wormtongue’s will would prevail over everything, including her body. She focussed instead on her brief happiness with Faramir followed by the months of bitterness and uncertainty. Her temples throbbed, as memories of past fears and present guilt threatened to overwhelm her. She buried her head in her hands.

“Will you permit me to ease you now, my lady?” Aragorn asked quietly.

Éowyn lifted her head to meet the King’s gaze.

Aragorn’s kindly yet searching eyes seemed to see deep into her very soul. She hesitated to accept comfort from the hands of one whom she had wronged so much. However, she knew if she refused now, she might never repair the trust and friendship they had briefly enjoyed in the year before her wedding.

She moved across the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “Thank you, sire. I will be honoured to accept your help.” She tensed herself, wondering what was coming next. Unlike Faramir, she had no recollection of feeling the King’s healing touch before.

Aragorn’s gentle fingers brushed lightly across her forehead and massaged her tense brow in small circular movements.

Now she had reconciled herself to accepting his help, she found it oddly, even blissfully soothing. She found her mind recalling almost forgotten memories of her mother’s tender caresses, the only other experience she had known of a touch so innocent, warm and loving. She could understand now why Faramir had looked like a contented cat earlier.

“I have a favour to ask of you, concerning Arwen.” Aragorn suddenly broke the companionable silence that had developed between them.

“If it is within my power, I would gladly grant it.” Éowyn stiffened anxiously, wondering if after her attempt on Aragorn’s life, she would still be allowed to spend time with her friend and Queen.

She had grown attached to Arwen. Although the two had very different personalities, they had formed a bond. Both were strangers to Gondor, married to its greatest lords and both much preferred trees and grass and flowers to stone walls. Éowyn had until yesterday believed that she and the Queen were both victims of Aragorn’s deviousness. She now realised that the beautiful and sweet natured Elf had a husband worthy of her.

“I ask this for both Arwen and myself.” Aragorn said.” We are to be blessed with a child soon. Arwen has requested that you attend her both as a friend and as a healer to assist Ioreth when the baby is born. I know how much you dislike being in the city, but it would mean a good deal to us if you would consent to be there for the birth. “Given his own recent experiences at Éowyn’s none too gentle hands, he could only hope his wife knew what she was doing.

Éowyn glowed with pleasure at this unexpected turn of events.

“You would trust me to do this after all that has happened?” she exclaimed in amazement.

“You have the Queen’s trust and mine too,” Aragorn assured her, hoping fervently she would treat Arwen more gently than she had treated him. He was certain, though the formidable Dame Ioreth would prevent any harm from occurring.

“I will gladly stay in Minas Tirith as long as the Queen needs me,” Éowyn assured him. “I am so happy that you are to have a child and heir! When is it due to be born?”

Aragorn smiled somewhat shyly at her. “Even Ioreth does not know if she will carry it for twelve months like an Elf or nine months like a human, so I fear you could have a long wait in the city.”

Eowyn smiled back.” Then it will be interesting to find out!”

“I only hope the child looks like his or her mother!” Aragorn mused wryly.

“You are not that ugly!” Éowyn retorted teasingly. “If I had not seen you beside Faramir, I would even say you were quite handsome!”

Aragorn grinned at her before changing the subject. “Does your arm ever pain you?” he asked unexpectedly.

“You, mean the one the Nazgûl injured? No, why do you ask? It is two years ago now, since it happened. Sometimes it feels a little cold, but it is not painful.”

“I fear I may have neglected your injury as I was too much of a coward to face you once you were awake. I made sure that Merry was recovering but I was afraid of having to face you, for I knew you were in love with me at the time. ” The King flushed, looking rather sheepish as he spoke.

Eowyn laughed. “I could and have done, called you many things, sire, but coward is not one of them!” Without prompting, she rolled up her sleeve, rather to Aragorn's surprise. “See there is nothing!”

She now felt so at ease with Aragorn that she wondered however she could have considered his touch so repulsive. He gently felt her bared arm.

His hands were unusually warm and she felt a sudden sensation of the last vestiges of darkness being melted from her heart. With it came the lifting of a burden, which she had hardly known she carried yet without it her heart felt immeasurably lightened.

Aragorn finally removed his hands, trying to conceal his weariness. She laughed, a sound of pure joy.

“Whatever did you do then?” she enquired. “I felt as if the sun had suddenly shone into a dark room bringing spring after a long winter!”

“You were touched by darkness. It should be but a fading memory.” Aragorn said gently. “The heirs of Elendil have the gift of healing such ills.”

“I would know more of your people!” Éowyn begged her interest aroused. “Tell me of the Kings of Old!”

Aragorn willingly complied and so they talked, as they never had done before, first of Númenor then of Gondor and Rohan, of loved ones long gone, of travels and of horses. Éowyn began to realise how much she had missed in refusing to see Aragorn as a friend. She wanted to tell Faramir that she understood now, why he found the King so special. “I know now why Faramir loves and respects you so much.” She said at last.

“The feeling is mutual.” Aragorn assured her with a smile” Though there have been times I have feared he thought I would bite him!”

“He was afraid you might treat him as his father had done. I believe you look somewhat alike,” Eowyn confided. ”I hope he is not dreaming again of Lord Denethor, he still has nightmares about him, he told me!”

“Why not go and see? I am ready to sleep now.” Aragorn suggested. ”There is no need for you to sit up with me.”

“I don’t like to leave you, sire” Eowyn said torn between two men she now loved, albeit in very different ways. ”What if you need something?”

“I am no longer in pain and can reach for a drink myself now and I am able to get out of bed if I need to.” he assured her. ”I will sleep comfortably alone.I am well used to it from my Ranger days. And my lady, you have no need to be so formal. You may use my given name!”

“So too may you, Aragorn bid you a peaceful night. I shall look in on you again soon or Faramir will. Sleep well!” Éowyn bent to kiss his hand in farewell.

Clutching her candle, she hurried away before she could change her mind over what she planned to do.

**

Going to her own chamber she undressed there, shedding her everyday garments in favour of a silken nightgown from the lands of the Easterlings.

Donning a robe over the gossamer-light material, she took the candle and swiftly walked through the corridor to Faramir’s room. Turning the knob quietly, she crept inside. Then she put the candle on the table near the window, and approached the bed.

The man she had and still loved, her wedded lord, lay asleep. Eowyn stood still, wanting to hold this moment in her heart. She had never before looked long at him while he slept, and yet, he seemed most fair. She gazed down at her husband’s face, which seemed to possess an especial beauty in repose. Most men looked foolish when they slept; like her brother or her uncle. But Faramir's features, his long eyelashes and the high cheekbones framed by raven hair, were strangely compelling, with a touch of Elven mystery.

For the first time, she wanted to be completely possessed by the man she had once misunderstood and scorned. Her desire had been rekindled the night they had lain holding the King. And now it blazed. The feeling she had cherished for Aragorn seemed a pale, weak shadow indeed compared to this flame that rose within her, driving her to the one man she had ever truly desired.

She shed her robe and climbed into bed beside him.

“Éowyn, is that you?” Faramir asked sleepily.” Is it time for me to sit with Aragorn? I feel rested now.”

“He said he wished to be alone.” Éowyn told him.” One of us can see how he is later.” She took a deep breath and planted a passionate kiss on Faramir’s lips.

Her heart pounded wildly while she awaited his response. Would he think her too bold?

When his lips hungrily met hers, there was no doubt in her mind that he wanted her too.

Faramir drew her close, caressing her first with his eyes, then with strong yet slender hands that made her quiver with delight. "You are so beautiful!" he exclaimed, as he traced her features with eager fingertips . "May I?" he asked shyly. "Or should we wait until we have the Elven pledge rings?"

This was the moment for which he had long prayed. Yet, he wondered if he could give her all the pleasure she deserved as his beloved, his lady. He had never known the pleasure of bodily union before. Like most of his race, he had always shunned casual couplings, preferring to contain his desires until married. Was it the right time to do this? He never would have thought to take such a step in this unexpected and sudden fashion. But his body seemed to be outracing his mind, tensing, tightening, yearning to join with the woman beside him. In fact, it was taking some effort on his part not to seize her shoulders and press her down beneath him, make her his wife in deed as well as word.

Éowyn’s lips met his again, giving their own reply before she nibbled his ear and whispered. “ We have waited long enough! I want you body and soul! I would be your wife in more than name!”

Faramir was pleased that she felt this need as well. But did Éowyn know that there would be pain? He had heard that much from the talk of other men who boasted of awakening desire in their innocent young brides. "And so I would have it, beloved. But I fear I might hurt you."

“You would only hurt me by denying me, dear one,” she answered with certainty. "I am a strong woman of the North who has spent her life astride a horse, not a statue made of glass.”

Having uttered such bold words, Éowyn felt a sliver of fear as Faramir took her into his arms and she felt his mounting desire. “Am I to lose myself too, Man of Gondor?” she whispered, tensing in his embrace “Will I no longer be the proud shieldmaiden of Rohan?”

“You will always be my fair warrior maid!” Faramir reassured her, “It is I who will lose myself wholly in you, if you will but unite with me!”

He rolled away from her, holding himself back while he whispered words of love in her ear and slowly stroked her beautiful throat, shoulders and perfect breasts. If he could increase her desire to match his own, perhaps the consummation of their union would prove easier for her.

Suddenly Éowyn felt a certainty that almost chilled her with its power, that this night would yield more than the fulfilment of their marriage vows. She had never been given to foresight, but she knew that they had to come together now, that their love would have consequence other than pleasure. For one fleeting moment, she had a sense of destiny, and what it required of them, for her, for him. And her own vision matched the demand of fate. She wanted this!

“Give me your child, Faramir!” Éowyn pleaded. “Sow the seeds of new life within me!”

Warmed as she was by Faramir's attempt to hold back his desire for her sake, she would have done with caution! Eowyn smiled up at him, only a little nervously, and lay down on her back. She nodded her assent, suddenly tired of words. Faramir's eyes brightened as he leaned over her. She willingly spread herself beneath him.

When they finally joined, she felt only a brief stab of pain. Then Faramir looked at her, his eyes so full of love and joy that something seemed to melt within her. The pain was gone, replaced by warmth and heat. She was amazed at how their bodies fitted together, as if out of all the world, she were made for him and he for her. They belonged to each other now. they were explorers in a new world of their own, their tenderness and ardour more than compensated for their lack of experience in such matters.

Finally they disengaged, but remained clasped in a close embrace.

“Why was I foolish and fearful enough to deny myself this happiness?” Éowyn sighed.

“I should have told you before, my beautiful wife, how much I loved and wanted you.” Faramir lamented. “Why was I so afraid?”

Éowyn kissed him again, with renewed desire. “I made things very difficult for you before. Don’t you now fear this wild and lustful woman even more?”

“I have a confession to make.” Faramir said shyly.

“You do have a mistress then?” Eowyn teased.

“No, I would never betray our marriage vow,” Faramir said aghast.” I just wanted to tell you that on our wedding night, I was so very nervous, I doubt that I would have been capable of fully making you my wife. I was almost relieved at first that you did not appear to desire me. It was only later, when we returned to Gondor without all the jests and ribaldry, that I wanted you so much that it hurt. Yet I feared to approach you in case you rejected me.”

“We have found each other now and I will never let you go!” she pledged, sealing her vow with a tender kiss.

She could say no more as Faramir was smothering her willing lips with kisses of his own. And then, oh then...

Something new happened this time, as he took her. There were strange flutters inside her, tingling like the froth in a cup of mead. The flutters grew stronger; until she moaned with a pleasure so great it was almost painful. She heard Faramir cry out her name in a joy that surely equalled her own.

'Lustful' and 'wild' were only words to her now, not sufficient to describe the delightful shudders that racked her body. She clawed Faramir's back in ecstasy, begging him to take her again.

No longer a Shieldmaiden with a heart of ice, Eowyn rejoiced in yielding to womanly passion at last.

Their desire sated at last, they still held each other, wanting the moment of bliss to last forever. Éowyn was almost surprised at how suddenly drowsy she felt, but it mattered not, for she would fall asleep the happiest woman in all Middle-earth.

Exhausted now from exercising his husbandly duties, Faramir desired nothing more than to sleep in his wife’s arms. She slept now herself, with a soft, sweet look on her flushed face. Faramir hoped then that they would one day have a daughter. For, as much as he needed a son and heir, he would adore a little girl with that same fair face and proud spirit as Éowyn.

However, the call of nature and his inborn sense of duty told him to rise. He only hoped that Aragorn was sleeping peacefully.

Pulling on his robe over his crumpled nightshirt, Faramir made his way to the privy. When he emerged, a sudden feeling of dread assailed him. He raced towards Aragorn’s room.


TBC


These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

Warning – this chapter contains violence and may distress sensitive readers.

Aragorn tossed uneasily in the vast bed. Despite his assurances to Eowyn, he still felt vulnerable when left alone. Every time he closed his eyes, he was relieving the attack upon him and his Steward.

The sounds from the next room suggested that Faramir and Éowyn were finally exploring the intimacies of marriage. He felt delighted that the troubled young couple appeared to have finally found happiness.

He hoped they had overcome their inhibitions sufficiently to beget a child this night. He felt that somehow, the very future of both Gondor and Rohan might depend on whether or not their marriage was now fruitful. Foresight was not an easy gift to possess; often the images were vague, clouded, and full of foreboding.

Trying hard not to eavesdrop, Aragorn pulled the covers over his head and tried to concentrate on other matters. He thought of Arwen and their own child, wondering what he or she might look like and trying to imagine the bliss of finally holding a child of his own in his arms.

His thoughts then returned to Faramir. He hoped fervently that his newfound friendship with his Steward would last. Being king was a lonely position, especially now his friends were scattered far and wide. If only he could have wed Arwen soon after their troth plighting. He could have hoped by now to have a grown son who might have been a boon companion to his father.

Aragorn began to wish that he had asked Éowyn for some poppy juice. His body ached everywhere after sitting up and using his healing gift and the Elven massage techniques. It had taken more energy than he had allowed Faramir and Éowyn to realise. He knew they both were in grave need of what help he could offer, these two troubled souls both scarred by the past. He was certain his Elven remedies could eventually cure Faramir completely, if only the Steward would permit him to use them. They could be somewhat of an ordeal for a modest man like Faramir.

The sounds in the next room ceased. Aragorn was torn between hoping the Steward and his wife would spend their wedding night contentedly asleep in each other’s arms and a wish that they might come and see how he fared. When it seemed that they had decided on the former, he shifted against his pillows trying to get comfortable. He was finally on the verge of sleep when he suddenly heard the door open.

He tensed at the unfamiliar footfalls. By now, he had become accustomed to Faramir’s still stealthily and Ranger- like tread and Éowyn’s light footsteps.

A serving maid entered the room, trying to move soundlessly but sounding like a young Oliphaunt as she moved clumsily across the creaking floorboards. He knew that Faramir and Éowyn had forbidden the servants to enter without permission and was baffled. Maybe, as they were otherwise engaged, she had been told to make up the fire, though the middle of the night seemed a strange time.

She advanced towards the bed. He could see now that she carried something in her hand, which glinted in the dim light. To his dismay, he realised it was a carving knife.

Before Aragorn could gather his wits to cry out, a hand was clamped over his mouth.

“You will pay now, upstart!” the woman hissed.” You killed my brother! I found his body in the forest. He should have killed you. He promised me he would! It’s not fair!” She gave a keening wail and then surprisingly started to giggle. “They wouldn’t let me come and help them being as I’m a woman but I’ll going to kill you, when they couldn’t! Just wait and see. Then it will be the turn of the one they killed my father to save his useless hide! I know how to kill pigs so I’ve had plenty of practise!”

She lunged at Aragorn with the knife, aiming for his heart.

The King desperately summoned all his meagre reserves of strength and managed somehow to grab her by the wrist.

She immediately tried to wrench free, fighting like a wild animal in her struggle.

Aragorn grimly hung on as she cruelly twisted his hand, trying break away from his grasp.

In desperation, he dug his teeth into her palm. She cried out indignantly and jerked her hand away.

Aragorn screamed at the top of his voice for help. He was determined to fight for his life whatever the odds. He could not leave Arwen and their child, nor Faramir and Éowyn now he had won their friendship, nor Gondor and her people.

These thoughts gave him renewed strength. He managed to roll away from his attacker, and move across the bed. There was nowhere to go then other than fall to the floor. It would be a painful and undignified strategy, but it seemed to offer the only chance of survival, slender though it might be. Trying to brace himself for the impact, he slid from the bed.

He landed on the thick pelt serving as a rug, which cushioned his fall a little. He was unable to suppress a yelp of pain when the stone floor jarred his many injuries.

The woman flew at him again.

He somehow found the strength to kick out. He caught her ankle, which threw her off balance.

She lost her footing and the knife slid from her grasp.

He rolled towards her and caught hold of her, trying frantically to prevent her from regaining the knife and attacking him again.

She struggled wildly, kicking him in a particularly raw region of his still tender back. He wondered how long could he continue to hold her at bay.

Aragorn was sweating heavily now. His breath came in ragged gasps from the exertion. The woman’s struggles increased as she punched him in the ribs.

Summoning his final reserves of strength, he lunged towards Andúril, kicking desperately at the woman to hold her at bay.

His bare feet made little impact on her crazed struggles, until he caught her across the face, which gave him sufficient time to draw the sword from its sheath and hold it to her throat.

The blade felt like lead and he wondered how long he could manage to hold it in his trembling hand.

“Stop struggling or I will kill you!” he ordered, hoping his voice was firmer than his hand.

“Aragorn! Hold on, I am coming!”

Faramir raced through the doorway and was beside him in an instant, grabbing his assailant and dragging her away from him.

The woman stopped struggling and began to sing incoherently in a high keening voice.

Éowyn then rushed into the room, seeming oblivious to the fact she was clad only in a diaphanous silk nightgown. The housekeeper closely followed her.

Grabbed a roll of bandage from the table, Éowyn bound the attacker’s wrists before she could start struggling again.

Aragorn sighed with relief then sank back on the floor with a groan. He feebly tried to pull down his nightshirt, which had ridden up to his knees.

The woman’s mood changed again when she cackled “Nearly killed you, what a pity, you slew my family from the city!”

“Who are you?” Éowyn demanded of her.

The woman fell silent, scowling at her captors.

“That’s Hanna.” The housekeeper interrupted the tense silence. “Not quite right in the head, that one, since her father died during the war, if you ask me. A few days ago, she found her brother and brother in law dead in the forest. They were all a bit strange, that family, always on about revenge, as if forgetting, we all lost loved ones during that time. My husband never came back for one and I don’t go around trying to stab honest folk in their beds! Not that he was any great loss, mind you, when all’s said and done!”

“Could you lock her up, please, “ Faramir asked. “We will take her away when we leave.” The Steward leaned heavily against the wall, panting with exertion and casting anxious looks towards Aragorn. The King appeared to be bleeding; red stains were spreading across the white nightshirt he wore.

“I’ll lock her in her room, my lord,” the housekeeper replied. ”Come on, you!” She was a large woman, who towered over Hanna.

“Can you return please to make up the fire and bring us hot water and towels?” Éowyn requested, busying herself lighting the candles to augment the waning moonlight.

Now there was sufficient illumination, Faramir recognised the attacker as the woman who had asked him if Aragorn still lived and who had stood watching him in the gardens. He realised now why she looked familiar, for she closely resembled Fennas, who was obviously the dead brother she spoke of.

As the housekeeper led her away, Hanna spat in his direction.” You should not be in your brother’s shoes, you’re not half the man that he was!” she jeered.” You should have been left to burn with your father!”

Faramir flinched at her words, but quickly turned his attention to his King, who now lay crumpled on the floor covered in blood. Éowyn was already at his side, anxiously feeling for a pulse. “I think he has swooned,” she said worriedly.” Let us get him back to bed. Can you help me to lift him?”

At the sound of their voices, Aragorn groaned and his eyes flickered open. He tried vainly to sit up.

“Stay still, Aragorn,” Faramir pleaded as he knelt at the King’s side. Hanna’s words swirled round his head, reawakening old demons. He should never have left Aragorn alone, he thought. Boromir would never have been so thoughtless.

“Did she stab you?” Éowyn noticed to her horror, that the red stains on the King’s nightshirt seemed to be getting larger.

“No, I think not. I believe my wounds have reopened,” he told her, his head gradually clearing “I rolled of the bed to escape my attacker and jarred them.”

Faramir winched in sympathy as he helped ease the King upright. They wanted to lift him, but he insisted on slowly walking the few steps back to bed, albeit heavily supported and grimacing in pain.

He had just collapsed back on the bed when the Housekeeper arrived with the towels, hot water and firewood.

Faramir tucked a blanket round Aragorn as she entered, both to keep him warm and maintain his dignity in front of the servants.

“You are fortunate the kitchen fire hadn’t yet burned low!” the Housekeeper said, explaining her speed while she knelt to make up the fire.

Loth to begin tending Aragorn while she was there, Faramir asked if she knew anything else about Hanna.

“She lives with her old mother, who is every bit as crazy as her daughter, in a charcoal burner’s hut near here,” the woman told them. ”She has a child, a girl of about five or six summers. I’ve no idea who the father was, Hanna said he was dead.”

Everything that was previously unexplained about the attack, now fell into place. Hanna had obviously told her mother and brother when she had learned that the King and his Steward were coming to the house. As the charcoal burner’s huts were on the only track to the Hunting Lodge, it was all too easy to trap the unsuspecting travellers.

“I will see the little girl is provided for.” Faramir said. Deprived of his own mother at a similar age, made him pity the unfortunate little one. “Can you think of anyone to care for her?”

“My sister lost her child to the Black Breath.” said the Housekeeper.” She would take her, but won’t the girl be as mad as the rest of her family?”

“Unlikely, if as you say they only lost their wits after their losses in the war,” Faramir answered. ”I know only too well what grief can do to its victims. With love and care, the child should be able to have a happier future.”


“I will send a message to my sister then,” the Housekeeper replied.” Do you need anything else now?”


“We shall manage now, thank you. You may retire to bed.” Éowyn said, dismissing the woman. She hurried to Aragorn’s side and pulled back the blanket, fearful that he might go into to shock again. To her surprise, apart from a racing pulse, he seemed quite calm.

“Can you sit up?” she asked.” I need to see how badly you are hurt.”

Aragorn nodded, wondering apprehensively if she were going to cause him worse pain than his attacker. He was no coward, but even when trying to be gentle, Éowyn was somewhat heavy handed, though this morning she had been somewhat gentler.

“Would you like me to fetch you some poppy juice first?” Éowyn asked.

Aragorn was sorely tempted, but knew it would be better if he were alert while his wounds were tended.” I will wait until I wish to sleep,” he replied stoically.

Faramir helped the King to sit up, surprised that his arms and shoulders no longer ached very much. The Elven massage was obviously highly effective, he thought, as he unfastened Aragorn’s nightshirt and gently slid it down his body.

TBC



The chararacters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.No profit has been,nor will be made from this story.

Éowyn started to unwrap the bloodstained bandages from around Aragorn’s upper body.

The task now seemed surprisingly difficult. No longer could she regard him almost as an inanimate object. Now he was a friend, a man with feelings, who could feel pain were not careful.

She looked in dismay as three bleeding wounds were revealed; the place where the arrow had struck, the gash below Aragorn’s ribs, and, where her rough handling had torn the skin from his back.

“I am so sorry!” she whispered, fighting to hold back the tears while she gently bathed the hurts.

“You did not flog me.” Aragorn said, trying to be tactful. He gritted his teeth. She was trying to be gentle but her distress was making her clumsy.

“Should I stitch the hurts closed?” Éowyn pondered aloud.

Aragorn repressed a shudder; the thought of a needle in Éowyn’s ungentle hands piercing his very tender back was well nigh unbearable. He studied the wounds he could see, trying to eye them dispassionately.

“They are partially healed,” he pronounced, “I think bandages and salves should suffice. There is a greater risk of infection from stitching.”

Éowyn looked relieved at these tidings. She carefully bathed the hurts.

“Which salves should we use?” Faramir asked, deliberately not directly addressing either his wife or the King.

“The one in the green jar.” Aragorn said from between clenched teeth. “It fights infection and promotes healing.”

Éowyn briskly applied the ointment. ”I had better check you for broken bones,” she said after the wounds were bandaged. ”It is quite a drop from the bed to the floor.”

Aragorn reluctantly nodded his consent, knowing it was necessary but not looking forward to the experience.

He bit his lip as she started to prod him firmly. Faramir gripped his lord’s hand comfortingly. Aragorn groaned when she touched one especially painful spot.

“Your ribs are badly bruised,” Éowyn pronounced.

“It feels like it,” Aragorn said wryly.

Faramir discreetly arranged the discarded nightshirt for modesty as Éowyn uncovered a bruised hip and knee. She applied a salve of comfrey and arnica as instructed by her reluctant patient.

“You have had a lucky escape!” Éowyn announced at last.” You could have easily broken your leg or worse, rolling off the bed like that, I hope you won’t do it again!”

“I have no intention of doing so, I can assure you!” Aragorn replied. He could laugh with relief at his escape now.

Faramir helped his King don a fresh nightshirt. Only as he was smoothing it down, did he notice that is wife was wearing an almost transparent nightgown, made worse by damp splashes of water and blood, which made it cling revealingly to her figure. “Éowyn!” he exclaimed.

“Whatever is the matter?”


“Your nightgown! It is rather…”The Steward flushed scarlet.

She glanced down at the offending garment. ”Oh, this, it is rather wet, maybe I should change,” she answered unperturbedly. “ Your nightshirt doesn’t look much better! I will go and dress and you should change too into dry clothing! We are not leaving the King again until he is recovered.”

“Bring me my tunic, drawers and breeches, please.” Faramir replied, not trusting himself now near his wife without the barrier of plenty of clothing.

Aragorn was secretly glad of their decision, though he felt obliged to protest. ” Would you not rather be alone?”

Éowyn smiled broadly, looking like a cat with a saucer of cream. “We had sufficient time together for me to become a true wife,” she announced.” There will be plenty of time in the future for further pleasures!”

It was hard to tell which of the two men blushed deeper at her outspokenness. Before either could speak, she had left.

Alone with his King, a dejected Faramir looked anxiously at Aragorn, worried how he would be reacting to this latest attack now that it had time to sink in. He felt overwhelmed with guilt that he had not been there to prevent it happening.

To his surprise a faint smile hovered on the King’s lips. ”Do not look so troubled, Faramir.” he said. ”We defended ourselves, did we not? I know it was only against a madwoman, but after being so helpless, I am starting to feel much better!”

Faramir still looked unconvinced. “I should have stayed with you, it is my fault you have been injured again!”

“You needed the chance to make Eowyn your ‘true’ wife.” Aragorn replied.

“Um, yes,” Faramir was now the colour of a beetroot.

“The first time as a bridegroom is always somewhat daunting,” Aragorn’s tone was grave but his eyes were smiling, tempting though it was tease his Steward, he resisted. The poor man had endured enough.

Faramir gazed at him shocked.

“Yes, even for Kings - and Stewards. I may be old enough to be your father but I am a recent enough bridegroom to remember my apprehensions. Believe me, marriage is like wine that grows richer as time passes. I fear your wedding night was somewhat rudely interrupted.”

“That crazed woman…”Faramir gave a shudder. “Her words and deeds will forever haunt me!”

“Do not let the crazed ramblings of a madwoman disturb you, they are not worth a second thought!” Aragorn advised. “Ibade Éowyn to leave me alone. It all turned out well in the end. We have had a chance once more to prove ourselves as warriors.”

Faramir hesitated for a moment and then smiled back, grasping the King’s forearms in a warrior’s clasp,” So we did, Aragorn,” he replied. “I feel better for it too!”

Éowyn, now fully dressed, returned just then bringing a pain killing draught for Aragorn and some clothes for her husband.

After giving the drink to the King, Faramir pulled on his drawers and breeches under his nightshirt, trying to ignore the way his wife was watching him while he changed.

“Whatever must the Housekeeper have thought?” he said, blushing again as he inspected his discarded nightshirt.

“It was perfectly decent before we tended to Aragorn,” Éowyn assured him.

“And voluminous to fit both of us!” Aragorn added with a grin. “Rest assured you were properly covered from head to toe!”

Although Faramir’s shoulders were still sore, he had been able to dress without assistance, much to his delight.

“Your Elven treatment is quite amazing!” he told Aragorn, only to realise the exhausted King was already fast asleep, as the poppy juice had quickly taken effect.

Aragorn slept peacefully after the night’s events, his dark hair spilling over the pillow.

Faramir arranged the pillows more comfortably for his King, then absently brushed back a lock of unruly hair from Aragorn’s brow.

He gave a sharp intake of breath as he sensed their minds briefly touching. He knew it needed an exceptionally strong bond between two individuals of Númenorean lineage for such a link to form. He first sensed Aragorn’s love and gratitude towards him. He then saw a fleeting vision of two children, vanished before he could understand its meaning.

He was fey tonight and knew not whether the heightened emotions of the vows and consummating his marriage had caused it. Or was it perhaps, the Elven massage and the contact with the King that entailed? Maybe, the attack had given him heightened perception, or it was a mixture of all these factors.

Wondering what it might mean, he climbed into the bed between Aragorn and Éowyn. It was a curious conclusion to a wedding night but the Steward felt more content than he had been for a long time. He quickly fell into a dreamless slumber.

TBC



The characters are the Property of the Tolkien estate. No profit has been nor will be made from this story

Warning - This chapter may distress sensitive readers.

Kick up the fire, and let the flames break loose
To drive the shadows back;
Prolong the talk on this or that excuse....


Philip Larkin (1922–1986)


Aragorn grew steadily stronger in the days that followed, as did his new found friendship with Faramir and Éowyn

The King suggested that his friends should walk in the gardens. He observed them through the window, strolling hand in hand, smiling and looking lovingly at each other.

The young couple discussed their future with Aragorn. They decided that once their new home in Ithilien was complete, Éowyn would dwell there most of the time. She knew she would be happier, free from the confines of the city, in charge of her household, and able to ride her beloved horses. Faramir intended to divide his time between Ithilien and Minas Tirith. He had spacious apartments in the Citadel, adjoining the King and Queen’s, from where he could carry out his many duties as Steward.

Éowyn was honest in her opinion that she would be a more contented wife, if she were able to enjoy a considerable measure of freedom.

Faramir was happy to be able to please his wife as well as continue serving Aragorn. His duties would be far less onerous, now his love for his lord was not mingled with constant apprehension.

Aragorn was pleased that he would be able to enjoy his Steward’s future companionship while they worked together and delighted that Éowyn would finally be free of the caged existence she had once told him she dreaded.

He knew that his Steward and the White Lady of Rohan were complete opposites in character. However, as they were now prepared to understand and meet each other’s needs, he was certain their love would deepen and flourish.

As soon as Aragorn was well enough, Faramir helped him dress and he would sit outside in the garden. It was unusually pleasant weather for March and the King would sit thinking of Arwen and their eagerly awaited child.

The evenings were spent sitting round the fire as the three deepened their bonds of friendship. Aragorn discussed books and Elves and ancient Lore with Faramir and methods of healing and his travels with Éowyn. They also spoke of their childhoods, being were united in their sorrow of loosing one or both parents at an early age.

After a week had passed, Aragorn decided he felt strong enough to ride out to fetch Hanna’s child.

King and Steward could not help but feel apprehensive when they approached the dilapidated cluster of cottages. Aragorn wished fervently that he were still not so weakened from his injuries. One crazed old woman would not pose a threat, but he had no idea whether her neighbours might be as deranged as she. This time, both men carried their swords, as did Éowyn, who had insisted on joining them. Secretly they were glad of her presence, as neither had much experience with children.

They both told themselves it was foolish to fear an old woman, but what sort of old woman, however crazed would drug them, so they could be slowly tortured to death?

“Maybe we should have waited until the guards returned?” Faramir remarked.

“Every day we delay puts the child’s life in greater danger,” Aragorn replied. ”I think too, that the less that is known about what happened here by any but ourselves, the better! They would try to keep me a prisoner in the City, if the Council should discover that we had been attacked. One day, after our child is born, I shall tell Arwen the whole story, but no one else.”

The huts appeared deserted when they arrived and they feared they had come too late Nevertheless, Aragorn called in a loud voice. “Come forth in the name of the King!”

The old woman who had given Aragorn and Faramir the drugged wine, appeared in the doorway, carrying what on first sight appeared to be a large bundle of rags. When the rags started to wriggle and scream, they realised they had found Hanna’s daughter.

Aragorn drew Andúril somewhat more slowly than usual, but only one, who knew him well, would realise it, or notice that his hand shook slightly. ”I arrest you on charge of conspiring against the life of the King,” he said sternly. ”I demand that you surrender yourself and the child.”

The crone’s only reply was to try to spit in his face.

“And what makes you think I would obey the likes of you?” she snarled. “You, who have destroyed all my kinsfolk. Where is my daughter, the only child of my body yet left to me?”

“She tried to attack me and is in my custody,” Aragorn replied coldly.” Your daughter has not been touched in any way. Now surrender, if you care for the safety of your granddaughter!”

Faramir and Éowyn also drew their swords. Together, they advanced upon the old woman, planning to seize her and the child.

With surprising speed for one so frail looking, she retreated inside the hut. Before they could stop her, she had overturned an oil lamp from its stand on the mantelshelf and snatched a blazing faggot from the fire.

“I will die as the old Steward’s spawn should have died!” she screamed. ”The last of my house will depart on the flames of the wind!”

She cast the brand onto the spilled oil. Within seconds, the hut was ablaze. The little girl’s piercing screams rent the air.

“The child must be saved!” Aragorn cried, making to go inside the burning building.

“No, sire!” Faramir held him back.” It is my place to protect the King, I will save her!”

He dashed inside and tried to distinguish through the thick smoke where the child’s screams were coming from. The old woman laughed dementedly as the flames leapt higher. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of burning.

Faramir momentarily hesitated, remembering what he had been told of his father’s dreadful death, a fate he had almost shared.

In that brief instant, one of the beams supporting the roof collapsed.

Thinking quickly, Éowyn tore the sleeve from her gown. Covering her face with it, she dived in after her husband.

Aragorn followed close behind. Espying Faramir pinned beneath the remains of the beam, Éowyn grabbed hold of his legs and struggled to free him before the smouldering thatch caught fire. Another pair of hands reached out and caught hold of Faramir’s ankles. She heard coughing as Aragorn helped her pull her husband away from the rubble.

“I have him!” Aragorn cried. “Save the child!”

Éowyn could hardly breathe or see. The smoke filled her eyes and lungs. Through the gloom, she could dimly perceive small figure huddled against the far wall. Seizing the child by her clothing, with a supreme effort of will she fought her way towards the doorway,

She reached the blessedly sweet air outside, and tearing off her makeshift mask gulped it into her burning lungs.

The old woman cried out in her death throes while the rest of the building went up in flames.

Aragorn slumped on the ground gasping for breath. He managed, however to throw his cloak over Faramir and smother the smouldering patches on the Steward’s clothing.

Even outside the air soon became acrid with smoke and the sickly odour of burning flesh assailed their nostrils

“Are either of you hurt?” Éowyn enquired anxiously, once she had sufficient breath to ask. She clasped the frightened little girl in her arms still.

Faramir was already struggling to sit up. He was shaking. “I am unhurt,” he coughed. ”What of Aragorn and the child?”

“I will be well once I get my breath back,” Aragorn replied, struggling into a sitting position.

The fire burned higher, tongues of flame shooting upwards as the stench intensified.

Faramir started to retch and his shaking grew worse.

Aragorn crawled closer to him and placed a comforting arm round his shoulders, while with the other arm he rubbed his Steward’s back.

“My father!” Faramir whispered. “To die in such a fashion!”

“Easy now,” Aragorn soothed. “You are safe, I have you, it is over now!”

Éowyn moved to Faramir’s other side, realising he must be reliving the horror of Denethor’s death and his own narrow escape from sharing it. It was a subject, which so far, Faramir had been loath to discuss.

All she knew of the tragedy was what she had learned from Merry, who had told her of Pippin’s heroic rescue of Faramir together with Gandalf the Grey, She realised in that moment, she still had much to learn about the man she had married and the demons that haunted him.

The little girl started to cry loudly and tried to struggle free.

“Easy, child, no harm will come to you now,” Éowyn soothed.

The little girl was small, hardly larger than a toddler. She was dressed in rags, which had been filthy enough, before they were blackened by soot and ash. Underneath the grime, she looked as if she might be a pretty child with jet-black hair and beautiful grey eyes.

Eowyn held her close and comforted her as best she could. The child continued to struggle briefly but was too traumatised by recent events to put up much of a fight.

She returned her attention to Faramir and Aragorn. Faramir had stopped choking and shaking, much to her relief. However, he sat silently weeping, the tears streaking his soot-blackened face. Aragorn still sat with his arms around him, clasping him in a comforting paternal embrace.

“Are you able to ride?” Eowyn asked the men briskly. “We should leave this place.”

People had now emerged from the other huts. Fortunately, the old woman’s dwelling was some distance apart, so the fire seemed unlikely to spread.

“An oil lamp was overturned, the old woman was unfortunately trapped. We were able to save the child are taking her to a place of safety. “ Aragorn told them, pressing Faramir’s tear stained face against his still painful shoulder to hide the man’s tears from public view.

A man who looked like a charcoal burner, shook his head, “She was crazy, was old Ivriniel, we always feared something like this would happen. Are any of you hurt?”

“We are well, thank you,” the King replied. “Take this to pay for any damage.” He handed three gold coins to the dumbstruck man, who had never seen so much money in his life before. “See that the others are safe,” he said, dismissing him. The small group quickly dispersed, as if fearful the sudden bounty would be withdrawn again.

The fire was already dying down, having all but consumed the flimsy hut. Some of the charcoal burners had fetched water from a nearby stream and were keeping a watchful eye on their own properties in case the wind fanned the dying flames towards their homes, but it seemed very unlikely.

Éowyn left the little girl with Aragorn and went to lead the horses to where the men were sitting. “Can you mount Iavas?” she asked Faramir.

He nodded mutely as she aided first him and then Aragorn to their feet.

Éowyn lifted the little girl onto Windfola’s back and then mounted behind her while Faramir aided Aragorn onto Roheryn’s saddle before he mounted Iavas.

They slowly returned to the Hunting Lodge, glad to leave the nightmarish scene behind them and escape the hideous stench of burning flesh.

Eowyn led the way while Aragorn and Faramir rode a little way behind.

Now the first shock was over, Faramir felt deeply despondent over his show of emotion. The Steward felt a gentle touch on his shoulder as Aragorn brought his horse alongside Iavas.

“That was a very brave thing you tried to just then,” the King said quietly.

“But I failed miserably!” Faramir whispered. ”I hesitated inside the hut, causing you to risk your life!”

“After all that has happened to you in the past, a lesser man would have fled from a fire, rather than attempting to save a child,” Aragorn replied firmly. ”A wounded soul is slow to heal. What you tried to do took a great deal of courage.”

“My father always said I was a failure compared with Boromir,” Faramir’s words were almost inaudible.

“Your father was wrong and you will not hesitate again if confronted by fire.” Aragorn assured him. “Remember, Faramir, you are surrounded now by those who love and respect you. You have no need to face your fears alone.”

“Thank you, sire,” Faramir said with a catch in his voice as he heard the warmth in Aragorn’s tone.” I owe you my life yet again. I would have died without you and Éowyn.”

“I think we should both thank your lady.” Aragorn said more loudly as they approached the house. ”She was magnificent!”

“I happen to be used to wooden buildings, unlike you men from your city of stone!!” Éowyn said haughtily. overhearing them, but she was smiling as she spoke.

TBC


These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

To sleep, perchance to dream.” Shakespeare – Hamlet.

The Housekeeper had been told of their plans to bring Hanna’s child to the Lodge. She was waiting for them at the door when they returned.

The woman gasped in horror at their bedraggled and blackened appearance. Éowyn briefly explained what had happened, then handed the child to her.

The little girl stared at Faramir with keen grey eyes. She seemed oddly familiar, yet he was certain he had never set eyes on her before today. “What is your name, child?” he asked her gently.

The child trembled slightly in the Housekeeper’s arms, overawed by her new surroundings. “I am called Elbeth.” she replied, shyly sucking her thumb.

“I very much doubt that!” the Housekeeper commented.” Far too grand a name for a little ragamuffin like her!”


”It suits her, so let that be her name, whatever her mother called her!” Faramir replied.” He felt oddly drawn towards the little girl. “If she is not happy with your sister, send me word, and I will take her into my own household.”


Éowyn looked taken aback. Although, she pitied the little girl, she was wary of taking a strange child of dubious mental stability into her home. She had hardly had time to get to know her husband properly yet and hoped to soon have her own children, not a ready-made family.

Faramir caught her gaze. “I am sorry, my love, I should first have spoken to you,” he said.

“We must see the child is well cared for,” Éowyn said firmly, hating herself for her lack of goodwill. “Of course, she can come to us if she is unhappy, but we need to be settled properly in our own home first.”

“Thank you,” said Faramir.” I expect she will happier amongst humble people rather than subjected to the strictures of court life. It is hard enough when you are born to it.”

“I am certain my sister will love her as her own flesh and blood,” said the Housekeeper. ”She has always wanted a little girl.”

Faramir nodded, a wistful look in his eyes.

“I shall give you many children,” Éowyn told her husband. ”Our home will be filled with the fruits of our love! I am going now to stable the horses.”

Faramir flushed crimson at such outspokenness.

Aragorn developed a sudden fit of coughing.

“Come!” The Housekeeper said briskly, “This child needs bathing. I will send hot water for you my lady, my lords.” she added, “I knew the child would need a good scrubbing coming from those hovels so I had the maid boil water ready.”

“Treat her gently, she has endured a good deal.” Faramir instructed. “ Elbeth is lucky to be alive! As the Valar saw fit to spare her, so we must cherish her.”

***
Returning from the stables a few minutes later, Éowyn found Faramir and Aragorn still standing in the hallway looking slightly dazed, Faramir especially so. They presented such a bedraggled spectacle, she hardly knew whether to laugh or cry, though she imagined could she but see herself, she would appear as dishevelled.

Faramir’s tunic was torn and he had a cut across his face. His eyebrows were singed, as was a large chunk of his hair. As for the King, his beard was singed, his clothing torn and his hands were bleeding. Both had blackened faces and clothes.

“I wonder when we will have a peaceful ride?” Aragorn mused, her entrance jerking him out of his near stupor. “After all, we did come here to find rest and quiet!”

“When return to Minas Tirith it will seem a haven of tranquillity after all that has happened here,” Faramir replied

“A pity we don’t have the large baths here like we do in the city,” Éowyn commented, “You two could bathe together. It would be much quicker and less trouble for the servants.”

“What?” Faramir looked horrified at the very thought. Aragorn appeared uncomfortable and stared at the floor.

“I have never known men as shy as Gondorians!” Éowyn teased, “My brother would laugh at you both! And what of Elvish custom?” she asked Aragorn.

“We bathe alone.”

Éowyn looked sceptical. “I thought you had communal heated springs? I am sure your wife mentioned them.”

“They are purely for medicinal purposes.” Aragorn replied in a somewhat evasive tone, obviously not wanting to discuss the matter further.

Éowyn suddenly sneezed. She rubbed a blackened palm across her face, which had been protected from the smoke by her makeshift mask, leaving a comical looking black smudge across her nose and cheeks.

“Soot does not suit you!” Aragorn quipped. She laughed but Faramir remained grim and silent.

Apart from expressing concern over Elbeth’s welfare, he had hardly spoken since their return.

“Are you well, my love?” Éowyn enquired, putting her arms round him.

“I just need to bathe and rest,” he answered, ”I will see if the water is ready.”

He was gone before they could press him further; Aragorn and Éowyn exchanged anxious glances.

“I fear he is suffering from shock.” Aragorn said worriedly. “Although, he was unconscious when his father tried to kill him, encountering fire must be very difficult even for such a brave man as he.”

“Can you use some of your Elvish relaxation treatments for him?” Éowyn asked, “Or should I mix some herbs to help him rest?”

“I can easily induce sleep using Elvish techniques.” Aragorn informed her.

Éowyn raised her eyebrows, “What can you not do? Raise the dead?”

“Only the oath breakers who betrayed my ancestor, I fear.” Aragorn informed her with perfect seriousness.

Éowyn felt suddenly uncomfortable, as it was easy to forget the magnitude of the King’s powers. She gave an involuntary shudder.

“That was a once only occurrence.” He suddenly smiled, putting her at her ease again. “Your ancestors are safe in their graves, I assure you! So not fear me, Éowyn, I see only to help Faramir.”

“Then it will be your turn, I need to see that your wounds have not been inflamed by riding and diving into a burning building!” Éowyn grinned, her usual self-confidence returning.

Aragorn paled beneath the layers of soot. “There is no need, I will tend my own wounds when I bathe,” he said firmly.

Éowyn snorted. “Despite your many and varied abilities, even you lack eyes in the back of your head! Faramir is in no fit state to care for you today!” she informed him, “I need to see if your back is healing and there is no soot left clinging to your wounds.”

Aragorn hastened to his room before she could offer to scrub him.

**

An hour later, Faramir sat by the fire with Éowyn and Aragorn. He was now bathed and clad in his nightshirt and looked far more presentable

Éowyn had tended the cut on his face as soon as he emerged from the bathing chamber. Apart from thanking her, he remained silent and withdrawn.

Two pairs of anxious eyes watched him as he shivered despite the warmth of the fire.

“I am well,” he replied to their enquires concerning his health.

Knowing his wisdom and experience was far superior to hers, Éowyn decided to let Aragorn take charge. She nodded to him, signalling that it was time he used his Elvish skills on her husband.

The King moved across to take Faramir’s hand, noting with alarm his cold flesh and racing pulse.

“Come and lie down, mellon nîn, you have had a shock,” Aragorn said gently but firmly. Together with Éowyn, he shepherded Faramir towards the bed and they tucked the blankets round him.

“Lie back and close your eyes,” Aragorn told him.

“I want to rest but I cannot!” Faramir whispered, “I keep thinking of how my father must have died. When I close my eyes I see flames and hear screaming. I have been told of his death but could not picture it until now. His death that should have been mine too!”

“Maybe a hot drink would help you sleep?” Éowyn suggested, clasping his cold hand.

Faramir shook his head miserably. “I dare not sleep, I fear what dreams may come.”

“Do you trust me, Faramir?” Aragorn suddenly asked bluntly.

“Yes of course, sire,” Faramir replied without hesitation.

“Close your eyes and take deep breaths.” Aragorn sat down on the bed and bent over his Steward. He gently started to trace circles across Faramir’s forehead with his fingertips.

“Please, I cannot!” Faramir whispered.

“Be at peace!” The King intoned, his voice deep and compelling.

Faramir visibly relaxed and closed his eyes, allowing Aragorn to lightly brush his fingertips across his eyelids.

“Easy now, all is well.”

Faramir started to breathe deeply and his whole demeanour changed from distress to calm tranquillity. Within moments, the Steward was in a deep peaceful sleep. Aragorn smiled reassuringly at Éowyn, all the while continuing the motion of his fingertips across Faramir’s forehead and eyelids.

Aragorn then felt his Steward’s heartbeat and once satisfied it had returned to normal, straightened up. “When he awakens in a few hours time, his mind should be at peace,” he told Éowyn.

“Thank you.” Eowyn sighed with relief. “You look exhausted now. You are very good to us both. Faramir has sore need of your skills this day, I fear.” She studied her sleeping husband.

The Steward looked vulnerable and far younger than his years as he slept, the scorched eyebrows highlighting his long eyelashes.

“Poor Faramir! I believe he always felt unwanted.” Éowyn said sadly. “He was just the ‘spare’ son, always living in his brother’s shadow, Boromir loved him a great deal. I doubt, though, Denethor ever realised his worth, little wonder he haunts him still. I fear my husband never knew true paternal love.”

“I love him, I would be the father to him that Denethor was not,” Aragorn said softly. “Or maybe, he is the little brother fate denied me. We have much in common Faramir and I, as early manhood was far from happy either. My world fell apart when I was told I was the heir of Elendil, supposed to succeed, where many others had failed. Then to make things worse, I fell in love with Lord Elrond’s daughter! I was sent out to be a Ranger in the wilderness, much like Faramir was. I know in my position it may sound foolish, but I hope I will only have one son, lest I should treat the younger less favourably than the elder. I wish to love all the children I may be granted equally.”

“I am sure you will,” Éowyn reassured him. “Faramir worships you as the saviour of his people. You should tell him all you have just told me.”

“It is Frodo, he should revere, not me,” Aragorn replied modestly.

“But you played a major part by embracing almost certain death to distract Sauron,” Éowyn argued. “Without you, the Dark Lord would have surely triumphed!”

Aragorn smiled at her rare praise. “One worshipper in your family is enough!” he teased, “We all played our part in the victory, including the slayer of the Witch King!”

He yawned; exhausted from the day’s events and the energy he had expended treating Faramir. ”I think I will rest now.”

“Not before I see your wounds. You are not escaping that easily!” Éowyn said firmly, going over to the table where she kept the healing supplies and picking up a jar of salve.

“There is no need!” Aragorn protested.

“Yes, there is.” Éowyn insisted, “Just look at your hands for a start! I noticed them while you were tending Faramir. However did you handle your horse on the way home?”

“Roheryn is well schooled and needs little guiding. I shall be able to ride home. They are mere scratches from clawing at the rubble.”

Éowyn applied the salve liberally to Aragorn’s hands. Somehow, it struck her as deeply poignant that hands such as his, so full of healing power, should be bruised and swollen and covered in deep scratches.

He flinched slightly as the salve stung. Éowyn found herself blinking away a tear.

“What are a few scratches compared to the life of Faramir and the little girl? Nothing at all!” Aragorn said, sensing her distress.

Éowyn retreated behind her usual tough facade.” Off with your shirt now!” she ordered. ”I need to see your back.” Sighing deeply, Aragorn complied. Much to her amusement, she noticed he immediately crossed his arms defensively across his chest, much as Faramir had done. She found Númenoreans curious compared with the uninhibited Rohirrim.

Much to her relief, Aragorn’s wounds were clean and healing well and could safely be left unbandaged until he rode home. She had not seen them since the day after Hanna’s attack. Faramir had cared for the King and changed the bandages and applied the salves. Most distressing now for her to behold, was the ugly pattern of scar tissue forming across his back, especially where she had torn off the bandage.

She placed the salve on the bedside table where they could both reach it. “You rub it on your chest, I’ll do your back.” she said, trying to choke back the tears, while she rubbed the salve into the deep wound she had inflicted upon him.

He turned round to face her, his defensive posture forgotten at her obvious distress.

“What is it, Éowyn?” he asked gently, taking her hand.

TBC


The characters are the Property of the Tolkien estate.No profit will be made from this story

What child is this?

Éowyn shook her head, impatient at her own weakness. “ It is nothing - just after all that has happened today… and now the sight of your scars!”

Aragorn gently squeezed her fingers before releasing her. “Do not trouble yourself, Éowyn, I must have inadvertently caused you a great deal of distress too over these last two weeks. It cannot have been pleasant for you sleeping here. I cannot even remember what happened when I was very ill.” He gestured towards the bed.

She shook her head, ”It did not trouble me, sleeping arrangements in Edoras are not very much different; everyone is together in the Hall, with the men one side, the women the other. My brother might not understand, he has always been very protective of me. He will never find out, though.”

Éowyn made a mental note to destroy the letter she had written to Éomer, as soon as she could retrieve it from Faramir’s study in Minas Tirith. She inwardly vowed never to tell Aragorn, either about the night they had held him; it would most certainly embarrass him greatly. It seemed strange now, that so recently she had been blind to the King’s goodness and nobility. She was determined to make up for her earlier conduct.

“Faramir protected your dignity well, Aragorn. He kept the servants away and even I never saw you completely uncovered. I do so regret the brutal way I treated you now, now.”

The King smiled at her reassuringly. “It is all in the past now. Faramir and I can both be fully healed, I assure you. Just one thing I ask of you, to persuade Faramir to have my Elvish treatments if he tries to change his mind again?”

“I will do my best,” she said, briskly resuming rubbing in the salve.

Much to Aragorn's relief, she was too preoccupied to question him about the exact nature of the treatment. Although she was far from gentle, the King was sufficiently healed not to find the experience too painful, though it could hardly be termed pleasant. He was so weary; he struggled not to fall asleep before Eowyn finished her ministrations, despite her less than gentle touch.

“I should see how the little girl is now.” He yawned, replacing his shirt. “I will take one of my shirts for her, it should be softer than anything the servants have for her. We must order proper clothes to be made. Give them some money for suitable materials and tell them to purchase some toys for her to play with too.”

“I will go, you ought to rest now,” Éowyn replied, kneeling to help him pull off his boots. Then much to his surprise, she kissed his hand.

Deeply moved, he responded by placing his hand on her head in blessing. He had told Faramir the truth, when he said he loved her as his sister. Now it seemed, she did indeed treat him as a brother with her bossy and down to earth attitude. He knew he in the years ahead she would help him combat all the fawning he was likely to encounter.

Éowyn made her way to the kitchens were she found Elbeth freshly scrubbed and roughly clad in a flour sack. Underneath the grime, she turned out to be an attractive child with long black hair and soulful grey eyes, framed by long lashes. With proper nourishment to fill out her stick like limbs, she could grow up to be very beautiful.

Éowyn noticed with great relief that the little girl seemed recovered from her ordeal and was sitting by the housekeeper who was feeding her bread and milk. The stern woman seemed to have softened in the face of the child’s charm.

“How is she?” Éowyn asked.

“She wasn’t very happy about being bathed, but hasn’t she scrubbed up well!” The Housekeeper replied, “Amazing what soap and water can do! My sister will love her, that’s for certain! She’s a good appetite and she likes a child who will appreciate her cooking!”

“Come here, Elbeth!” Éowyn said, moving in front of the fire, “I have a gift from the King himself!”

Elbeth cautiously approached as Éowyn held up the shirt.

“Let me look at you, child, let’s get this off you!”

“Why? I don’t like this sack, it itches!”

“I am a Healer. I need to see if you are hurt. Then you can put this on, which is nice and soft.”

“What’s a Healer?”

“Someone who makes sick people better.” Éowyn lifted the sack over the inquisitive child’s head.

“I’m not sick!” Elbeth protested.

To Éowyn’s dismay, the small body was covered by a colourful variety of bruises. She also had minor burns from the fire she had so narrowly escaped.

“Who hurt you, child?” Éowyn asked gently.

“Mummy usually or the men she was friends with. They said I was a nuisance. Granny sometimes, but only when I didn’t do what she said.”

Éowyn’s heart went out to the unfortunate little girl. She applied the same salve, she had been using earlier on Aragorn to the hurts, though with considerably more tenderness. Elbeth wriggled beneath her touch.

“Please keep still!” Eowyn pleaded.

“I don’t like that cold stuff and your fingers tickle!” Elbeth complained.

“All over now, you can put this on,” Éowyn said briskly. She slipped the King’s shirt over Elbeth’s head and rolled up the far too long sleeves.

Although much to big, the shirt fitted better than the flour sack and was infinitely more comfortable, being made of soft red linen embroidered with the white tree of Gondor.

“That feels nice!” Elbeth smiled, stroking the soft material with her small fingers.

“It belongs to the King himself, so you must take care of it,” said Éowyn.

“I though a king wore gold and silver clothes.” The child sounded disappointed.

Éowyn laughed. “Don’t you think he would itch if he did?” she said. ”It would be worse than that flour sack!”

“Nothing could itch worse than that!” Elbeth said firmly.

Eowyn smiled at the child then gave the Housekeeper the money and told her the King’s instructions. “Be certain, your sister spends all of it on the child, or she with feel the King’s wrath!” she said as she handed over the money, “He is a most stern lord!”

“I will do as you say,” the woman promised, smiling. ”Though, I hardly think my Lord King can be as harsh as you say, he appears to have a soft heart!”

Éowyn smiled enigmatically. After bidding Elbeth to be good, she returned to her husband and Aragorn. They were both sleeping soundly. Rather to her surprise, Faramir was smiling in his sleep and murmuring her name. Satisfied all was well, she settled down beside him to rest before the evening meal.

000

The next day, Faramir awoke feeling refreshed seemingly fully recovered from his ordeal of the day before.

Éowyn had no idea exactly how Aragorn had calmed Faramir, but was extremely grateful to his skill. By now, she realised the King had abilities far beyond her comprehension, but it no longer troubled her as she appreciated he used them only to do good.

When Éowyn went to exercise her horse, Aragorn decided to treat Faramir’s shoulder again to help him endure the rigours of the long ride ahead on the morrow.

Though less nervous than before, Faramir still felt a little apprehensive. He settled himself on the footstool by Aragorn’s chair at the King’s bidding. Reluctantly, he prepared to remove his shirt. He would never be comfortable having the scars on display, and tensed at the very thought.

To Faramir’s consternation, Aragorn slid from the chair and settled himself on the pelts, which served as a hearthrug, stretching his long legs out by the fire.

“Sire, you should not be lower than I!” Faramir protested, moving to sit on the floor beside him.

“Nor should I be higher and please do not be so formal in private!” Aragorn replied. ”The more comfortable you are for this, the better. You feel too disadvantaged sitting at my feet. This house does not have a couch and the bed is too high, so the floor will have to suffice. I want you to relax, reach out with your mind and accept what healing I can give. Elven healing is unique as it only works if both want it to.”

Faramir nodded and slowly unlaced his shirt. Aragorn was right; he was indeed more comfortable like this.

“Leave your shirt on if you, wish.” Aragorn told him, “Ideally, I should massage your shoulders, but alas, my fingers are too painful today, so I will do that another time for you.”

Faramir tried to pull his shirt aside to simply bare his shoulder before realising he was acting foolishly. Aragorn had after all, seen his scarred body before. Rather to his own surprise and greatly to the King’s, he pulled the shirt over his head.

Aragorn was both touched and pleased that Faramir was learning to trust him, though he still wondered how he would react once he discovered exactly what the Elven treatment for scars would require him to do.

Faramir sat beside the King and tried to relax and open his mind reaching out to receive as Aragorn’s hands hovered over his injury.

He felt the warmth and energy flowing from the King’s hands into his damaged shoulder and felt the pain and stiffness flow away.

“You do not receive my pain when you take it away, do you?” Faramir asked in sudden consternation.

Aragorn laughed, “I fear I am not that noble! Healing should not harm the healer, though it is less taxing for Elves!”

Faramir realised that the King was almost fully recovered when he felt the full strength of his healing power.

Aragorn then moved behind him and placed his hands a few inches over the raw welts on Faramir’s back.

“That feels so much better!” Faramir sighed.

“No honest man should be beaten. I have ordered flogging be reserved for the very worse criminals,” said Aragorn.

“Only once when I was a Captain, did I order a man to be flogged,” Faramir said, shuddering at the memory. “It still pains me to think of it.

“I am sure you had good cause,” Aragorn replied.

“He committed rape,” Faramir said.

“A heinous crime indeed!” Seeing the younger man was troubled by the memory, Aragorn changed the subject. “It will be good to be home,” he said, “I miss Arwen so much!”

“You must greatly regret coming here,” Faramir replied, donning his shirt and then offering his hand to help Aragorn up from the floor.

“I very much regret the pain we both suffered,” Aragorn replied, “Yet, apart from that, have not these weeks been special? We will return with some memories to cherish.”

Faramir looked at the man he had once loved and feared in equal measure. Over the last weeks had come to look him almost as the father he would have liked to have. His thoughts turned to his weddding night with Éowyn and flushed slightly.

“Yes,” he agreed,” they were very special.”

Aragorn patted his shoulder and to his amazement he found himself returning the gesture. So much had changed, all for the better.

Later that day Faramir sought out Elbeth. Much to his relief he found she was adapting to her new surroundings with surprising speed.

He found himself wondering who her father might be. Boromir had been a frequent visitor to the Hunting Lodge. Although not inclined towards the ties of marriage, his brother had always had a keen eye for the fairer sex. Maybe Hanna had been attractive before so many misfortunes had befallen her and addled her wits? He chided himself inwardly for such wishful thinking, all too well aware how much he yearned for some part of his brother to remain.

He was determined, however to ensure she was well looked after. He had almost made up his mind to take her back with them, but when he entered the kitchens, he found her contentedly cuddled on the lap of a plump motherly woman, whom the Housekeeper introduced as her sister. He reluctantly concluded she would be happier with her, rather than a completely strange environment where she would have to conform to the rigours of Court life and endless speculation about her origins.

He told the woman to send him regular reports of how the child was progressing and to treat her kindly.

He handed Elbeth a sweet honey cake; the cook had baked that morning together with some ribbons Éowyn had given him for her.

Elbeth smiled at him, the oddly familiar grey eyes now sparkling and happy. Faramir stole one last wistful look at her and consoled himself that now he had reached a proper understanding with Éowyn that maybe soon they would have children of their own as a fruit of their love.

TBC


The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.no profit has been,nor will be made from this story.

Homecoming

As expected, two days later the guards returned to escort them back to Minas Tirith.

Aragorn was undecided what to do with the Hunting Lodge. He had known much suffering there, but also friendship that he had been yearning for. He assured the servants whatever was decided, they would be provided for.

The King had ordered that Elbeth be kept well away as they departed. He had no wish for her to be distressed by the sight of her mother being bound and fastened to a horse in the custody of a burly guard.

Aragorn had ordered that she be taken to the asylum just outside the city, where she would be kept secured and cared for until she regained her sanity.

Because Aragorn and Faramir were still recovering from their injuries, they travelled slowly and stopped frequently. If the Captain was surprised at the leisurely pace, he was too well disciplined to remark upon it.

Hanna ranted and screamed wild accusations, which grew ever more preposterous as the journey progressed.

They were glad when they reached their destination and she could be given over to the care of the Chief Warden of the Asylum.

Aragorn instructed him to keep her under careful watch. He added her desired that she be treated kindly and well fed and housed.

As they turned to depart, she screamed at them, “I curse you, false King of Gondor! I curse you and your worthless Steward! May you know only pain and sorrow!”

Her mood then changed again and she laughed wildly as the doors shut behind her.

Faramir shuddered.

“Pay no heed to her ravings, the poor woman has lost her wits!” Aragorn said reasuringly. “Hopefully she will recover with proper care.”

By late afternoon, they came in sight of the White City and Faramir’s heart leapt to see it again. However many times he returned to the city of his birth, he always felt the same thrill on the first sight of the White Tower.

“As soon as we have rested, join me in your father’s old apartments and we shall treat our scars.” Aragorn told Faramir as they arrived in the Fountain Courtyard, where the White Tree was already covered with fresh green leaves.

Faramir hesitated slightly and then looked at the tree. The sturdy sapling alive with new growth marked a new beginning. Faramir realised that he too had the chance to heal the scars of his past.

He smiled his acceptance to the King.

“Yes, sire, I will await your summons.” Faramir reverted back to formality now they were in a public place.

Éowyn took her husbands arm and they prepared to go their separate ways.

“My Lord Steward!” Aragorn caught Faramir’s arm before he could go, “Thank you for everything!” He drew the younger man close and embraced him, before repeating the gesture with Éowyn , “I will see you again very soon, my friends.”

“It almost feels strange without him!” Éowyn mused as they reached their own rooms and voicing Faramir’s unspoken thoughts as well.

“I never thought I would hear you say that!” Faramir replied, “I am so glad everything is now well between us all.”

Éowyn's reply was to kiss him passionately. Faramir joyfully responded.

Arwen was eagerly awaiting her husband’s return, and watched him arrive from her window before hurrying down to greet him.

She welcomed Aragorn home with a warm smile. Both were far too well controlled to show the true depth of their emotions in public.

Aragorn was delighted to see how well and happy Arwen appeared. A slight fullness of her figure proclaimed her impending motherhood to a keen observer such as her husband.

“Are you well, my love?” Aragorn asked her rather unnecessarily as soon as they were in their private apartments. He kissed her warmly, before enfolding her in a close embrace.

“I have never felt better,” Arwen smiled at him happily. “I have such wonderful news to tell you. My brothers and grandfather are not sailing yet. They have decided to stay at Rivendell! They are out exploring the countryside at the moment but should be back in time for dinner. Did you find what you sought while you were away?”

”Faramir and Éowyn are now my good friends.” Aragorn told her. ”Our plans went awry when some ruffians attacked us, but it all served to bring us together in friendship.”

Arwen looked alarmed and studied him more closely. “Were you badly hurt, my beloved? You do look rather pale. And your poor hands! Whatever has happened to them?”

“I took an arrow wound, but I am fully recovered now. I also helped rescue a child from a fire, which is a long story.” Aragorn assured her. ”There is nothing to worry about. I just need to rest and bathe.” He intended to tell her the whole story one day but not until after their child was born. Usually, she could sense his thoughts, but being with child had blunted her ability to read his mind. He missed their mental closeness, but was glad now that he need not distress her while she carried his child. It was maybe nature’s way of protecting the unborn child by keeping the mother calm.

“I must change from these travel stained clothes!” he told her, “I must reek as foul as in my days as a Ranger!”

He retired to his dressing room, leaving Arwen to summon a servant to bring light refreshments. He shed his travelling clothes, at the same time discarding the thick bandaging that Éowyn had insisted he wear for the journey home to protect his freshly healed wounds. They were sore from being chafed when he rode, but none had reopened, much to his relief.

Once Aragorn and Arwen seated together enjoying a light meal, she proceeded to tell him delightedly about her brothers’ plans for their future at Rivendell.

“We must go and visit them there,” she concluded. “We could invite Faramir and Éowyn too. So you have finally managed to befriend them? I thought the hunting lodge was just the place! I hope you all huddled together on one of those huge beds and talked well into the night by the fire!”

Although Aragorn was loath to tell her much until after the baby was born, he wanted to confess immediately about Éowyn’s presence in the same bed to prevent any possible future misunderstanding. He flushed slightly.

“Yes, we did spend our nights together. When I was wounded, Éowyn had to stay close by me lest her healing skills were needed. Faramir was next to me while she slept the other side of him,” admitted. “How did you guess? I swear nothing improper occurred.”

“You have no need to tell me that, beloved, I know you would never be unfaithful to me, “Arwen replied, tenderly kissing his lips. “My ladies have told me about the men’s traditions when on hunting trips. I assumed Éowyn, as a daughter of the Mark, would be untroubled. I was very much hoping Faramir would have the chance to hear you snoring. I knew he would not be so in awe of you afterwards!"

“I do not snore! “ Aragorn protested.

“You do! But I still missed you!” Arwen replied.

“I missed you too!” His lips met hers in a passionate kiss. They drew together in a close embrace. He flinched very slightly as his wounds were still tender.

“Your wound!” she exclaimed, tears filling her gentle eyes, “Let me see!”

He smiled at her reassuringly. Already prepared for this eventuality, he pulled the shirt, he was wearing, aside just enough for her to see the almost healed arrow wound, while keeping the other scars covered.

“See, it is almost mended!” he reassured her, “Éowyn treated it most skilfully. It was worth being wounded since it caused her to soften towards me, while Faramir lost his fear when he saw that I am just a Man like he! Some ruffians, who bore a grudge against us from the war, attacked us. They were soon despatched, though. I thought when I had rested and eaten, to treat Faramir’s old battle scars and my own at he same time with your people’s remedy!”

Aragorn held his breath as his Queen traced cool fingers across the scar on his chest, hoping she would not investigate further. To his great relief, she seemed satisfied and allowed him to pull his shirt back in place.

“My silk undershirt saved me from serious injury,” he explained, “We must see about equipping all our soldiers with silk shirts to protect them in battle.”

“A wise idea!” Arwen conceded and then to Aragorn’s bewilderment suddenly laughed.

“I was thinking about Faramir.” she explained, “I should love to see his face when you have the treatment for your scars together. He is so reserved and shy, quite unlike Elves!”

They ate their light meal and then simply sat together, his head resting on her shoulder. There had been times during the last weeks when Aragorn had feared he would never see her again in this life. He savoured her nearness and her scent even more than usual.

The restlessness that had plagued him had disappeared and he felt whole. He had not only his beloved wife, but would soon be a father too and now had good friends to experience the many different facets of human love with. Arwen had been right when she had told him that love was like a rainbow, which needed all the colours to complete it.

***

Faramir began to feel slightly apprehensive while he rested. He knew it was time he joined Aragorn. He very much wished he had asked the King what he planned to do to treat his scars.

Éowyn grabbed his hands and pulled up him from the couch where they had been resting, in a mock show of strength. “Go!” she ordered, “ accept the King’s help. I know how much those scars pain you.”

“I would gladly be rid of them.” he replied. “But I have no idea what this treatment entails!”

“Some sort of salve, I would surmise.” she replied, “What else could it be? It probably stings somewhat or smells unpleasant. Now go to him, before he thinks you have changed your mind!”

**

Aragorn was waiting in the rooms, which had been occupied in the past by the Ruling Steward. He had ordered the huge sunken bath to be filled with hot water.

The King now used these rooms and he would sometimes sleep here when he craved solitude. It was customary for high-ranking couples, each to have their own apartments. Much as Aragorn loved his wife, there were times he needed to be alone, as did she.

The King moved rather stiffly. His wounds still pained him and he was not greatly looking forward to what was to come, especially Faramir’s expected reaction. He supposed he should have told him what the treatment entailed. He knew, though if he had done, his Steward would most likely have firmly refused unless ordered. He would never have abused his authority to forced him to be treated.

He had felt drawn to Faramir from their first meeting, seeing him as a little brother, or the son a man of his age might hope to blessed with. He had hoped for his friendship, but had gradually grown to love the younger man as a father would and wanted to see him well and happy,

He instructed the page outside the rooms to direct Faramir to the bathing chamber once he arrived.

Going to the chest in the bedroom, where he kept his healing supplies, Aragorn took out a jar of a brownish green power, which he sprinkled liberally into the bath water. While waiting for it to dissolve, he selected a jar of salve and placed it on the bedside table.

At his request, the servants had brought large quantities of towels, some of which he spread over the bed.

He then returned to the bathing chamber together with two bathing robes, which he placed, folded, on the top of the steps. The bath was now ready. Still moving a little stiffly, he undressed and climbed into the tub, gritting his teeth against the stinging sensation he knew he would feel.

After a few moments, he heard footsteps, followed by a tentative knock on the door.

“I am here Faramir, come in!”

Faramir obeyed, feeling somewhat puzzled. He had expected the King to be waiting with a salve or a potion of some sort, not that he knew much about Elven healing techniques.

He slowly entered the bathing chamber and stood at the top of the steps, gaping with astonishment at the sight that greeted him.

TBC


Mud! Mud! Glorious mud

The characters ae the property of the Tolkien Eastate

Mud! Mud! Glorious mud!
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood.
So, follow me, follow, down to the hollow,
And there let us wallow in glorious mud. - Michael Flanders -The Hippopotamus Song.

~~~


Apart from his head, Aragorn lay totally submerged in the tub, which seemed to be filled with a thick gooey substance that looked as unpleasant as mud scraped from the bottom of the Anduin!

“After our recent experiences, I probably have as many scars as you do, so it seemed sensible we should both be treated at the same time.” Aragorn explained, looking somewhat embarrassed at the strange spectacle he knew he must be presenting to his Steward.

Faramir eyed the tub doubtfully, suddenly wishing he were elsewhere. He felt sorely tempted to flee. He knew, though, it was no way to behave when offered help by his friend and King. He had never been tempted to run from a battlefield. This was an entirely different matter!

“Hurry up and undress, the water will get cold.” Aragorn said, trying to sound as if this were an everyday situation for them both.” The bath is plenty big enough for three or four, never mind two.”

“I know, Boromir and I would be allowed to bathe together here sometimes, when were both very young. I remember how we liked to play with our toy boats in the water.” Faramir said, starting to ramble to cover his discomfort. “It was such hard work for the servants to carry the buckets, we would save them the trouble of doing it twice.”

“Come on then, or the mud will congeal. You will have to undress or it will not work. You would have your clothes stuck hard to your skin!” Aragorn lifted a mud-encrusted arm from the depths, to emphasise the point.

“What is that stuff?” Faramir protested, looking dismayed at the prospect, both of disrobing before his sovereign and being covered in the ghastly looking mixture.

“It is a special mixture of salts distilled from the hot springs at Rivendell, quite harmless and clean, despite appearances. Whatever would Éowyn say if you changed your mind now? ”

Aragorn’s tone was more teasing than commanding but the Steward knew better than to disobey.

Flushing with embarrassment, Faramir slowly started to pull off his outer layers of clothing, chiding himself for being foolish to feel so ill at ease, for had not Aragorn now even more unsightly scars disfiguring his body than he had himself? A painful memory resurfaced of his father coming into the bathing chamber and taunting him over his slight fame. It must have been well over twenty years ago, but the humiliation had haunted him ever since. Now, another lord stood in his father’s place in this same room and Faramir was loth to be shamed before him.

He undressed down to his drawers and stood shivering at the top of the steps, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Can I not keep my drawers on?” he pleaded, “The scars are on my chest and back after all.”

Aragorn shook his head, though his eyes were compassionate, “I fear not; for if you did, when you eventually removed them, your skin would come away with the cloth. That would be far more unpleasant for you. Just think of all the salves either Éowyn or myself would have to apply! You have no need to worry; I have been a healer since long before you were born. These tiles are interesting are they not?” He tactfully studied them intently.

Faramir still hesitated, fingering the waistband of his drawers.

“Come on!” Aragorn coaxed, “I thought you would be more comfortable if we did this together. I would still need to be with you if we went in separately, since you have no knowledge of the Elven treatments. I assure you there is nothing to fear, it will sting a little at first, but after that feel quite pleasant. I am sorry to spring it on you like this but feared if I told you what the treatment entailed, you would never agree. I will not order you, but it grieves me to see you in constant pain when this would heal you."

Faramir looked down at his heavily scarred chest and shoulder and sighed deeply. “Very well then,” he conceded, “I know I am being foolish.” Mentally, he berated himself. Aragorn had always treated his Steward’s scrawny, scarred body with kindness and compassion.

Aragorn turned his head away and discreetly studied the stylised pattern depicting the White Tree surrounded by stars.

Faramir reluctantly let his final garment slip to the floor. Taking a deep breath, he slid into the bath and crouched down in the mud. To his surprise, Aragorn was correct, the mixture felt quite pleasant.

“Good, you have joined me!” Aragorn smiled encouragingly, only looking at his Steward once he was partially submerged in the mud. “ Sit on the bottom of the tub and lean back, you need to be completely submerged apart from your head. I fear it will sting somewhat. You may feel a drawing sensation, which will soon pass. Take deep breaths and try to relax.”

Faramir obediently leaned back. The scarred areas of his flesh felt as if salt were being rubbed into a raw wound. He gasped and felt the King’s comforting hand placed on his shoulder, until the pain subsided.

After a few moments had elapsed, he suddenly thought how odd they must look, almost like two disembodied heads. Rather to his surprise, he burst out laughing.

“What is so funny?” Aragorn enquired. Faramir rarely laughed and he had not expected him too in a situation, which even he found somewhat embarrassing.

“We must look like two pig’s heads in a cooking pot!” Faramir chortled.

Aragorn suddenly saw the image clearly in his mind’s eye and burst out laughing too, the sound echoed merrily around the tiled chamber.

They lapsed into companionable silence. Faramir discovered once the stinging sensation subsided, he actually felt quite comfortable. The mineral rich mud was warm and soothing. They could hardly have been more covered, were they swathed in blankets!

Once the mixture started to cool, Aragorn said, “We must get out before it goes cold and sets with us in it!”

“I was enjoying it!” Faramir sighed, much to the King’s amusement.

I told you it was not as bad as it looked did I not?” he grinned.

“As always, my King was correct!” Faramir teased.

“I will get out first.” Aragorn said. “This was just the first part of the treatment. There is a robe for you to put on, so when you are ready, join me in the other room.”

Clothed in clinging mud, Aragorn exited the bath.

Faramir reluctantly climbed out of the relaxing bath, donned his robe and followed Aragorn into the adjoining bedchamber.

“What do we do now?” Faramir asked, when Aragorn settled himself on the vast bed. ”Will this robe not stick to my skin?” He looked at it doubtfully.

“You have no need to worry, it is on top of the mud now,” the King explained, gesturing Faramir to sit beside him. “Just try to relax, while the servants clean away the mud and fill the bath with fresh water. You may feel rather light headed, which is to be expected, but it will pass before the clean water is ready.”

Aragorn lay back and closed his eyes. This was probably the most uncomfortable part of the treatment. The mixture now felt tight as it dried against his skin. His head had already started to spin. Faramir was faring no better.

This will soon pass,” Aragorn reassured his Steward, “As soon as you feel steady enough, drink some water. This treatment drains away impurities from the body.”

Faramir slowly reached for a cup of water, which had been placed conveniently on a table near the bedside.

“How long will it take?” he asked.

Another hour or so,” Aragorn replied “Elvish treatments tend to be rather slow as Elves have an eternity to carry them out in! ”

Faramir pulled his robe closer as the servants bustled to and fro carrying buckets.

The tub was laboriously emptied and cleaned before being refilled with clean water.

“I think our bath is ready now.” Aragorn said as he sat up, stretching his long limbs as luxuriously as a cat. He helped Faramir to his feet. After ascertained they were both free of any light-headedness, they returned to the bathing chamber.

“Just plunge straight in now and rinse off the mud,” the King told him. He demonstrated by pulling off his robe and climbing thankfully into the clean water.

Faramir followed, this time forgetting his shyness at the weird spectacle he and his equally mud covered sovereign presented. “I wonder what my father would have said if he could see us now? We look like a pair of Uruk Hai in his bath!” Faramir laughed.

“Not for much longer!” Aragorn chortled, ducking his Steward under the water. Faramir emerged spluttering and promptly dunked the King in return. They guffawed like two schoolboys at the absurdity of it all.

As soon as the mud was washed off, they sobered, both feeling somewhat exposed without it.

Aragorn climbed out first, swiftly wrapping himself in some of the towels left by the servants for that purpose.

Faramir then left the tub, did likewise and followed the King into the next room.

Faramir’s towel slipped a few inches. He glanced down at his chest only to be disappointed to see that the scars remained.

“It has not worked!” he lamented sadly. “The scars look no different.”

“You would not make a good Elf, you are in such a hurry!” Aragorn teased. ”We need to apply a special salve made from rosehips next. It will take about three days to fade the scars. They will not disappear completely, as we lack the healing ability of the Eldar, but they should fade eventually to near nothingness and will not pain you any longer.”

He slipped on a fresh bathing robe on over his towel and picked up the jar of salve. “Lie on the bed and let me see the scars. This may sting a little!”

Faramir did as he was told and lay down on his back, discarding one towel, while draping the second round his hips. Aragorn smeared his fingertips with a strange smelling, orange hued ointment and rubbed it sparingly into the scars across Faramir’s chest and shoulders.

The old wounds suddenly felt very raw and Faramir had to grit his teeth at the stinging sensation the ointment produced. He then felt a soothing warmth from Aragorn’s fingertips, which lessened the discomfort considerably.

” Now turn over and let me treat your back,” Aragorn said.

Faramir gritted his teeth again and took deep breaths until Aragorn announced.” You can dress now. I have left some suitable garments on the chair for you. Be careful not to bathe the scars for the next few days. You might itch or feel slightly unwell but that means the treatment is working.”

Faramir found loose undergarments of softest linen and a loose fitting velvet robe laid out for him. While he was dressing, Aragorn started applying the salve to the almost healed wounds across his chest, legs and belly. “These would only upset Arwen if she saw them.” he said.” I cannot say I have any wish to be reminded of Fennas and Calardan for the rest of my days.”

Faramir could only marvel at how well the King endured the stinging ointment.

Aragorn rolled over to lie face downwards. “Will you apply the salve to my back, please?” he asked.

Faramir hesitated. “I am no Healer,” he said doubtfully. “I might hurt you.”

“I chose you to do this rather than someone from the Houses of Healing as I trust you to do it well,” Aragorn assured him.

“I would never let you down, mellon nîn,” Faramir replied picking up the jar to do his friend and Lord’s bidding, thinking as he did so that this was all Aragorn had needed him here to do. It had been yet another act of kindness to undergo the treatment alongside his Steward, rather than merely administering it.

As the salve stung, Aragorn instinctively wriggled away.

“Keep still!” Faramir ordered in mock indignation, “Or do I have to fetch Éowyn to do it!”

Aragorn laughed, pondering on just how much things had changed over the past weeks. His original plan may have gone almost fatally awry, but it had succeeded very well in loosing his Steward’s fear of him.

“Stop wriggling!” Faramir ordered sternly. “You are making this very difficult!”

Aragorn grinned; he was enjoying seeing a different side to his Steward and discovering the essence of the young man who was becoming like a son to him.

~~~

To be concluded


The characters ae the property of the Tolkien Eastate


A Happy New Year

***

Three days later

“The King is here to see you my lady,” the servant announced, showing Aragorn into Éowyn and Faramir’s apartments in the Citadel.

Although it was still early, Éowyn was already up and dressed. Smiling, she rose to her feet to greet Aragorn.

“How is Faramir feeling this morning? I hope he has found my treatment worked?” Aragorn enquired of her after exchanging greetings.

“I don’t know yet.” she replied. “He would not allow me to look.”

Aragorn thought how happy and contented she looked now, and she almost glowed with well-being. “I wish I could have seen you both in the mud!” she said laughing.

“Not a pretty sight at all, I assure you!” Aragorn grinned back. “Now where can I find Faramir? I should like to see him before I join Arwen for breakfast.”

Faramir was in his dressing room. As was his custom, he had donned his drawers and breeches under his nightshirt.

Today he was loth to shed the garment. He took a deep breath, trying to summon up the courage to see whether or not his body was still heavily scarred. Could the promised miracle have taken place? The lack of the constant pain, which had plagued him for so long, suggested that it might well have done.

Suddenly, there was a tap on the door, which opened before he could say anything. His wife entered, closely followed by Aragorn.

“I have come to see how you are faring, my friend.” Aragorn said.

“I feel well, thank you” Faramir replied.

Grinning, Eowyn turned to the King “Did the mud bath work for you?” she asked in her usual outspoken fashion. ” Let us see!”

Faramir found himself holding his breath while Aragorn good-naturedly, albeit rather shyly, removed his tunic and shirt. The ugly red marks of three days ago were now so faint that had they not known, Faramir and Éowyn would not have noticed them.

Éowyn circled him, gazing intently at his now unblemished back. To her great relief, even the scar caused when she had so roughly tugged away the bandages had faded to near nothingness. “That is amazing!” she exclaimed, “You can get dressed again now!”

Aragorn struggled to refrain from bursting out laughing; no one else, save maybe the garrulous Ioreth ever spoke to him like that now he was King. He found it oddly refreshing and hoped she would never change. Although he expected to be treated with the respect due to his Office, he often grew weary of fawning courtiers. It was good to have friends who would treat him as one of them, rather than as Elessar Telcontar, High King of Gondor and Arnor.

“Now it is your turn!” Aragorn said, smiling at Faramir.

The Steward’s fingers were suddenly all thumbs as he tried to unlace his nightshirt.

Éowyn went to assist him and before he could protest, she had whisked the garment over his head.

“That has worked very well, just as I knew it would!” Aragorn exclaimed delightedly

Faramir finally dared to look down at his chest and shoulders. He gasped with delight when he realised the painful scars, which had plagued him for so long, had faded to almost nothing.

Aragorn moved behind him. “The scars on your back have faded, you no longer bear any disfigurements, mellon nîn,” he said gently.” And I give you my word, I will never let anyone lay a finger on you again!”

“Thank you so much,” Faramir impulsively embraced his King.

“You are even more handsome than before now, I shall have to watch you with all the court beauties!” Eowyn teased, as she too embraced Aragorn.

The King smiled, and returned their embraces, he had found the rainbow he sought, and it was filled now with all the colours of love and friendship.

“It is a pleasure to see you healed, my friend.” Aragorn replied. ”I had also come to invite you both to a New Year supper with Arwen, her brothers, and myself.

“We gladly accept.” Éowyn replied while Faramir smiled agreement.

***

That evening, Aragorn sat at the head of the dining table, with Arwen and Faramir seated either side of him.

“Your happiness for the coming year, my friends!” he said, proposing a toast.

“Your happiness too!” they replied, raising their glasses.

Faramir smiled happily, secure in the love of his wife and his King. For the first time in his life, he had cast off the shadow of his father’s disapproval.

Éowyn looked into the eyes of her handsome husband and rejoiced that he loved her for herself. She was so thankful that she had never sent that letter to her brother, or by now she would be back in Edoras, living off Éomer’s charity, rather than enjoying her husband’s love and basking in the favour of the King and Queen.

Aragorn looked round the table at his beloved and beautiful wife, her brothers, his dear friends from childhood, his Steward, whom he had grown to love as dearly as a son, and Eowyn who had become as a sister to him.

This New Year he had so much to celebrate. Gondor was at peace; he was surrounded by the love of family and friends and could hope to be a father before the year ended.

They clasped hands and wished each other a Happy New Year.

The End.