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

O Master, grant that I may never seek
So much to be consoled as to console,
To be understood as to understand,
To be loved as to love with all my soul –

Prayer of Saint Francis

From that day on, Faramir had stayed awake until Aragorn returned to ensure that he was properly cared for. The Steward now insisted that a supply of the restorative Elven cordial, miruvor, was always kept in the room.

He ordered the servants to keep a supply of nourishing broth and warm water constantly at hand, as well as laying out a nightshirt and clean underwear for their lord.

Aragorn suffered from nightmares, in which he would awaken in a state of obvious distress, recalling the faces of children he could not save. Faramir soothed his lord as best he could, telling him that no one could have done more.

Last night had been especially distressing. Aragorn had returned in the small hours exhausted and distraught over the death of a baby boy of about Eldarion's age. He had arrived just two or three minutes before the infant had breathed his last in his mother’s arms.

“I could do nothing to help him. He looked so like my son,” the King sighed, slumping dejectedly across the vast bed.

“You need to rest,” Faramir soothed. “You cannot save everyone, alas. Think of the hundreds you have cured these past weeks! Come, have some broth! Food will make you feel better.”

“I cannot eat,” Aragorn protested. “Let me be!”

“Come on now,” coaxed Faramir. “You need to keep your strength up. I can see you are losing weight. You must eat or I shall spoon feed you!”

“You sound just like Éowyn!” Aragorn replied, managing a weak smile.

Faramir eventually cajoled him to eat him the nourishing broth of venison and vegetables, which the kitchens had sent up. Aragorn just lay there limp and drained, making no move to help himself, when Faramir unlaced his boots and outer tunic.

“Come on,” the Steward coaxed. “I promised your lady that I would not let you fall asleep before you had bathed and changed into your nightshirt. She was most insistent that you should not revert to your ranger ways.” 

He had hoped that mentioning the Queen would cheer his lord, but it proved to no avail.

“I am so weary,” Aragorn whispered. He kicked off his boots, but made no move to finish undressing. Instead, he sat with his face buried in his hands.

Faramir had impulsively reached out and drawn his friend close, knowing he was in need of comfort but would never ask for any. Aragorn considered that he should always be the one to offer solace and never seek to ask for any in return. Tonight, he welcomed Faramir’s comforting presence.

“I failed,” Aragorn murmured, burying his head against the Steward's shoulder. “It could have been my son lying there dying, I should have tried harder and I…” Completely exhausted, he could say no more.

“You have not failed! You are the noblest of men, who does your best and cares for your people deeply, sometimes so much so that you neglect yourself. You miss Arwen and your child, but you were unselfish enough to send them out of danger. That you tried to save that baby is proof enough of just how much you care! You cannot, must not risk yourself, when all your people have need of you,” Faramir said, all the while rubbing soothing circles across Aragorn’s back, wishing as he did so, that he had his King’s healing powers. Nevertheless, his touch seemed to soothe his friend.

“What would I do without you?” Aragorn mused, slowly starting to relax. “If you had not already had the fever, I should have had to send you away too. You are such a solace to me! I have neglected you, I fear. I cannot even remember when I last treated your arm.”

“I am glad that I had the contagion. Not that you would have persuaded me to go.  I am not the heir and I am needed here!” Faramir replied, raising a glass of the restorative cordial, miruvor, to the King’s lips. “As for my arm, it is better. I only continued with the treatments as I enjoyed the elven treatments so much!”

“You would inherit were Eldarion and I to die,” Aragorn reminded him, smiling faintly at Faramir’s confession, although he had guessed the truth already.

“I hope you live a very long time and have many more children. A few weeks as ruling Steward were quite enough for me,” Faramir said firmly.

He sat silently with his arm still around his friend’s shoulders. Aragorn laid his head against his Steward’s, allowing their thoughts to mingle. Their similar Númenorean lineage and strong friendship greatly enhanced the mental gifts they both possessed. Both found their Thought Bond a great source of comfort through which they could strengthen and support each other. The strong spiritual connection they shared, had grown even closer during these weeks spent together.

What had begun as a desperate final attempt on Aragorn’s part to save Faramir’s life, had now become mutually beneficial and the more they shared thoughts, the deeper the bond became. Sometimes, Faramir could sense Aragorn’s thoughts when he was in another room, or even another part of the City. He had more than once surprised the King, by meeting him, clutching the very document he was returning to collect.

Faramir could clearly perceive the sorrow and despondency that Aragorn felt, while the King could sense the genuine compassion and concern emanating from Faramir. It was deeply comforting to be so close to another in thought; that was, until Faramir started to sense some sort of danger surrounding the King. He tried to dismiss his fears as no more than his concern over Aragorn’s despondent mood.

“I sense such darkness!” Aragorn sighed, uncertain whether the visions came from his own mind or Faramir’s.

“Try to rest. I am here beside you. You should go out into the countryside for a few days to refresh yourself, maybe visit Arwen and Eldarion?” Faramir counselled, smoothing back the King’s mane of unruly dark hair. He tried to contain his own sense of foreboding. He told himself that it was just the shadow of the epidemic hanging over the City. This winter had been the coldest and harshest he could ever remember.

“Maybe I will ride outside the City gates for a while tomorrow. I dare not go near my wife and child lest I carry the contagion on my clothing, much as I yearn to see them.”

“I miss Éowyn and Elestelle too. She was just starting to smile at me when they said goodbye,” Faramir sighed, while all the time trying to share encouraging thoughts with Aragorn. The King had driven himself relentlessly for weeks now, spending hours every day engaged in draining healing sessions.

Even one of his Númenorean lineage did not have unlimited reserves of energy. Faramir tried to help him by taking on double his share of paperwork, poring for hours over State documents until his head ached.  

He knew from personal experience, that every time Aragorn gave of himself when healing, it left him weakened and drained. Such a gift was never meant to be used day after day without rest. Maybe that was what was alarming him so, the terrible fear that Aragorn would go too far in trying to help others, to the extent of sacrificing his own life. Faramir shuddered, recalling how near the King had come to death in saving his own life but a few months ago.

“I would only go that far to save you, Arwen or my son,” Aragorn reassured him, reading his thoughts.

“A king’s life is worth more than a steward’s!” Faramir chided gently. Aragorn’s self sacrificing goodness never failed to overwhelm him.

“A loyal friend’s life is a prize beyond all measure,” Aragorn replied.

“You have my loyalty without needing to take such risks!” the Steward protested.

“I know and that knowledge that makes any risk worthwhile,” Aragorn replied. “If only the rest of my Council were as trustworthy as you!”

“They dislike change, but I am certain they will come to love and respect you in time,” Faramir replied. “They feared my father and that guaranteed their obedience, though at what cost, I know not. Now we should both try to rest, it will be dawn soon.”

He blew out the candle and lay back against the pillows, his hand still resting on Aragorn’s shoulder.

Faramir forced himself to stay awake until he could hear Aragorn snoring. For once, the sound did not annoy him.

The Steward had once thought Aragorn invulnerable until their ordeal at the Hunting Lodge had shown him that he was not. It pained him to see such a strong man drained by total exhaustion.

**

The next morning Aragorn had attended the Council Meeting, the fact his features were grey with weariness the only sign that anything was amiss. Otherwise, he appeared to be his kingly, confident self.

Faramir insisted that the King rest afterwards. After only a few hours, though the Warden had summoned him again to help the severely ill in the Houses of Healing.

The King’s spirits seemed much restored. He had parted from Faramir with a smile on his face, determined that today he would succour more of his people.

When night fell, Faramir prepared for bed as usual, shedding his formal clothing in favour of a linen nightshirt and drawers. He sat up, reading State documents by candlelight, determined to stay awake until Aragorn returned.

The events of the day ran through his mind, while he debated how best the insolent lords could be disciplined. Unfortunately, they were cunning enough, to stop short of speaking outright treason. It was outrageous enough that any should dare suggest marrying Eldarion to Elbeth. How Faramir wished that he had adopted his niece when he had had the chance! On that thought, the rigours of the day, preceded by a near sleepless night overcame him, and he knew no more.

The Steward’s slumber was restless and filled with dark dreams. He awoke just before dawn, chiding himself angrily for sleeping when he should be ensuring the King had was provided with food and drink and whatever support he could offer.

To his alarm, when he glanced across the bed, Aragorn was not there.  Faramir immediately checked the dressing room, thinking that rather than risk disturbing his Steward, the King had slept there, but the room was empty.

Immediately, he sent a message to Tarostar, the Warden of the Houses of Healing.

Tarostar sent a messenger with the reply that Aragorn had left at about two o’clock in the morning after a prolonged and successful battle to save the life of a young brother and sister.

Faramir was by now greatly alarmed. He feared that Aragorn had collapsed with exhaustion and was lying unconscious in some alleyway. The King had always refused his Steward’s pleas to take a guard with him, saying he was perfectly safe in his own City. He believed it was unreasonable to expect the guard to wait around for him, maybe all night long, when he could be better employed elsewhere.

Immediately, Faramir sent out the guard to carry out a through search of the City. The King was nowhere to be found.

After spending hours organising a Search, Faramir summoned the Council to inform them of Aragorn’s disappearance. Power automatically reverted to the Steward at such times.

He watched the faces of the lords carefully when he made the announcement. Apart from a look of concern flitting across his Uncle Imrahil's face, the nobles remained impassive.

Faramir spent the evening signing a pile of official documents. When he finally went to bed, he was certain he would be unable to sleep, being so anxious for his lord’s safety.

Instead, he immediately fell into an exhausted slumber, where he dreamed vividly of Aragorn calling out to him for help.

Faramir sat up, drenched in a cold sweat and wincing at the pain in his back, which had not hurt so much since he had been flogged.

This was most strange, as thanks to the elven treatments that Aragorn had persuaded him to undergo, his stripes were completely healed, with not even any painful scar tissue remaining.

Puzzled, he pulled down his nightshirt and felt the painful area carefully only to discover his skin was smooth and unblemished. Within minutes, the throbbing had gone.

Faramir found himself reaching for the miruvor and taking a large gulp.  Eventually he fell asleep again, hoping that the dawn would bring some tidings of his friend.