These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema . This story was written purely for pleasure and not for profit.

A crisis and divers conversations

A few minutes later Imrahil returned. He persuaded Aragorn to lie down while he watched over his nephew.

Despite wishing to remain awake, the King was soon overcome by exhaustion and fell deeply asleep. Faramir crying out roused him after little more than an hour. Most of the words were incomprehensible gibberish, although the King could make out “ Let you down,” and “please, no, forgive me!” amongst his feverish ramblings.

Aragorn quickly realised that his Steward’s fever had worsened. His whole body seemed to be burning now. Aragorn and Imrahil took away the blankets, so only a linen sheet covered Faramir. They constantly bathed his face, neck and limbs attempting to cool him. Their efforts appeared futile. Still the fever raged and Faramir's heartbeat and breathing grew ever more erratic.

At sunrise, Aragorn examined Faramir’s wounds to try and discover the source of the infection. The stripes on his back, although hideous to behold, were clean; however, when his arm was unwrapped, the wound looked swollen, red and angry.

Aragorn sighed. He knew the stitches would have to be removed and the wound drained and cleaned, which involved yet more pain for the hapless Steward. It seemed only the sheer force of the King’s will kept him clinging on to life, though some inner despair appeared to be making Aragorn’s healing powers less effective than usual. The only hopeful sign was, that it now seemed unlikely that Faramir was bleeding inside.

He decided to summon Aedred to assist him for Imrahil looked ready to drop from exhaustion. Aragorn sent the Prince to lie down in a neighbouring room.

He then sent a messenger to tell Éowyn that Faramir’s condition worsened.  After her outburst of the day before, she appeared calm and resolute while Aragorn told her what was happening, though a tear glinting in her eye betrayed her inner turmoil. “Why ever did I write that letter?” she groaned.

“You could not have imagined anything like this would happen.” Aragorn reassured her. “It is I who must bear the greater blame!”

She stood looking down at Faramir sadly, hardly able to endure the pitiful sight. Then as much to herself as to the King said; “You never realise quite how much you love someone unless something dreadful like this happens, do you?”

“I fear that is true,” Aragorn replied sadly, “I know I now have a son of my own body but I look on Faramir as my own son too.”

Éowyn suddenly grasped Faramir’s hand between both of her own and said sternly, “Fight to live, Faramir, fight for your wife and your unborn child!”

After a few moments she felt a larger hand on top of her own.

“Fight Faramir, live, your King commands it!” Aragorn said. Together they willed the Steward to recover.

“I dare not risk carrying infection to the Queen and your son,” she said at last, as Aedred hovered ready to drain the wound, ”I will return later.”

Aragorn nodded agreement, “How are they both this morning?” he asked, somewhat belatedly.

“Both doing well, and Arwen is being very kind,” she replied, “ She wants to know exactly what is going on, though, I have been careful not to upset her by telling her too much.”

“Tell her I will explain everything later today.” Aragorn replied, squeezing Éowyn’s hand as she left. She returned the gesture, all too aware that he was as much in need of comfort too.

Aragorn had taken to the Rohirric healer, finding him a caring and competent man of few words, with the added advantaged of not seeming at all overawed by his presence as many of the Gondorians were.

Aedred had already prepared a sharp knife by passing it through a flame, and laid ready clean bandages, a basin of water with salt added, and an infection killing mixture of honey, garlic and vinegar.

He then held Faramir’s arm steady, as Aragorn prepared to remove the stitches and drain the infection.

To his horror, the King found his hand was trembling and he could not bring himself to cut into the infected flesh.

“You hold him and I will do it!” Aedred said calmly.

“Why can I not do it?” Aragorn asked, “ I have done this many times before!”

“You are exhausted and I can see that Lord Faramir is as dear as a son to you. “ Aedred replied matter of factly, as they changed places.

Swiftly and expertly, he removed the stitches, and drained and cleaned the wound before coating it thickly with the salve.

Faramir flinched and cried out, but no more so than when his other wounds had been tended.

Aedred then left Aragorn to bandage Faramir’s arm before saying, “Rest now, my lord” “

“Much as I would like to, I cannot, “Aragorn replied.

“You can while am here with Lord Faramir. Master Tarostar is caring for Éomer King and most importantly; what would your Lady or Lord Faramir’s wife say if you collapsed?” Aedred spoke firmly but had a slight twinkle in his eye. “Also, my lord, what if Lord Faramir needed some procedure that you alone could carry out, unlike a wound drained?”

Reluctantly, Aragorn conceded defeat and lay down on the far side of the bed. By the time Aedred had picked up a blanket to cover him with, he was already asleep.

It was gone noon when he woke again, feeling somewhat refreshed. Aedred was patiently sitting beside Faramir bathing his face, while Éowyn sat holding the Steward’s hand.

“How is he?” he asked anxiously, slowly sitting up and throwing off the blanket.

“A little better, I believe,” Aedred smiled, ”The fever is less than before and he is breathing more easily. I have taken the liberty of asking for some refreshments to be sent up from the kitchens for you.”

Éowyn rose to her feet, “ And be sure you eat it all or I shall spoon feed you!” she threatened.

“There is no need for that.” Aragorn sighed, conceding defeat, though not feeling at all hungry. Yet, when Aedred handed him a large bowl of broth followed by stewed fruit and strong tea, he found he cleared the dishes and felt stronger as result.

Éowyn satisfied herself that he was eating, then tenderly kissed her husband before returning to Arwen.

Aragorn then examined Faramir for himself and contented the Steward was a little better, went to visit Éomer to see how he was faring.

The King of Rohan was much improved in health but not so in temper. “I want to get up!” he demanded.

“You have been badly injured and need to rest for a while yet,” Aragorn replied firmly, unwrapping the bandages. To his relief, the wounds were clean and Éomer showed no sign of infection or fever.

“Curse that Steward of yours for doing this to me!” Éomer fumed, looking down at his useless arm and the livid scar across his chest.

Aragorn bit his tongue, not wishing to agitate the injured man. “He did not seek you out to fight with,” he said mildly, “ Faramir is badly injured too.”

“And so he should be for what he did to my sister!” Éomer snapped.

”If you could see him, you would think differently!” Aragorn remonstrated, the images of Faramir’s wounds all too vividly imprinted in his mind.

“I never want to see that scoundrel again!” Éomer retorted.

“He never harmed your sister.” Aragorn replied, “ Éowyn told me last night that she wrote the letter to you when she was in a bad mood and never intended to send it.”

“He must have ill treated her or she would never have written it!” Éomer insisted, “Besides, he admitted it himself that he profaned her honour by making her lie with one of his friends!”

Aragorn was somewhat taken aback by this information and wondered whatever Faramir had meant. Granted, when he had been seriously ill, Éowyn had slept in the same huge bed, but at the far side of it, with Faramir between them and from what he could recall she had always been fully clothed and beside her husband rather than he.

“Your sister will tell you herself that Faramir never abused her in any way,” Aragorn said firmly, as he secured the bandage around Éomer’s broad chest, “Now, let me massage your arm and use my healing abilities on it. When the wound is closed I can treat you to remove the scarring.”

“I told you, I want no Elvish tricks!” Éomer protested stubbornly.

“I only want to help you recover, my friend. I respect your wishes, but there is plenty of time for you to change your mind.” Aragorn replied, fearing that Éomer’s head injury had affected his judgement, as he had never known his brother King so unreasonable, ill tempered and unwilling to listen to him before. “I will return later.”

“I want to get up and be able to move my arm!” Éomer told him, “When will that be? I cannot lie abed when I have a kingdom to govern!”

“I fear I do not know.” Aragorn told him frankly, “ But I will do all I can to help you. Now I must go to others who need me!”

“I suppose you mean my sister’s worthless husband?” Éomer snarled but Aragorn had already left.

When Imrahil returned, he brought tidings that the Council was in uproar and demanding immediate retaliation against Rohan

Aragorn hastened to the Chamber while they were still in session and tried to placate them, making it quite clear that he had no intention of starting a war. This provoked a sullen response and barbed comments, some questioning if the King regarded the Steward as no longer of any worth in Gondor.

Angrily refuting them, Aragorn stormed out, only to be met by a secretary carrying a pile of state documents, which needed his signature, the situation being made far worse by Faramir not being able to share the load.

The King decided to order the curfew to be lifted as Éomer’s men were now under constant surveillance. He also issued a statement saying, that both The Steward and the King of Rohan had been injured due to a disagreement and were being cared for in an attempt to try to stem the tide of rumours, which were sweeping the city.

That evening when Aragorn visited Arwen, he faced the unpleasant task of telling her the full story of just how badly he had been injured six months previously when he had stayed at the Hunting Lodge with Faramir and Éowyn. He had always meant to enlighten her, but not a mere day after the birth of their son, when she should have been basking in the joy of new motherhood.

“Why did you not tell me before?” she asked, the colour draining from her face, while he told her that he had been too badly injured even to clearly remember all that had happened

“I feared for your safety and that of our unborn child.” he replied. “Coming so close to death made me realise just how badly Gondor needed an heir and I needed my wife. I sought only to protect you and our baby.”

She looked at him sadly, “I understand, but I still wish that you had told me. I wondered why ever you had such nightmares for months afterwards and thought more than an arrow wound was to blame. What else happened to make Faramir and Éowyn change so much?”

He poured out the whole complicated story of Éowyn’s misdirected fury, and how Faramir’s loyalty and devotion and Éowyn’s contrition had forged the bond, which had grown between them since then. He concluded the narration with a plea to her to forgive Éowyn.

“How could I not, as you obviously did so sufficiently to allow her to care for me?” she replied, “ Éowyn has become very dear to me and I could not have managed without her these past days. Estel, I ask you one thing only, to promise me never to keep anything like this from me again.”

“I promise.” he said, kissing her tenderly, just as Eldarion started crying to be fed.

“But that does not explain why Éomer should attack Faramir.” Arwen said in bewilderment, as she put the babe to her breast.

“She wrote a letter when she was angry with Faramir after he told her that they were invited to visit the Hunting Lodge with me.” Aragorn explained, “ However, it was sent to Éomer by mistake, months later.”

“How I wish I had never suggested that trip!” Arwen lamented.

“If you had not, I am certain Faramir would still be ill at ease with me and Éowyn would still be consumed with hatred.” Aragorn reassured her, “If I had not ordered Faramir to be arrested, he would not now be badly injured!”

“You should blame those who beat him, not yourself, Estel!” Arwen remonstrated, “Now go and use your healing skills on your good friend!”

Although unconvinced by her reassurances, Aragorn tenderly kissed her and his baby son, lovingly running his fingers through the infant’s fuzz of dark curly hair, murmuring how much he loved them both.

Returning to Faramir’s side, he sat mopping his Steward’s brow while the fever gradually abated and Faramir fell into an uneasy sleep. His heartbeat was stronger now and the swelling disfiguring his belly had started to go down.

Aragorn finally dared to believe that Faramir would live. It had taken all his strength to wrest Faramir from the clutches of death and healing would be a painfully slow process.

The King struggled to stay alert until his Steward awoke, wondering if he would see accusation and betrayal in the grey eyes which once had held only love and trust towards him.

TBC