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.
With thanks to Raksha
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 1922-86
Aragorn grew steadily stronger in the days that followed, as did his newfound friendship with Faramir and Éowyn.
At the King’s suggestion, Faramir and Éowyn took a daily walk in the gardens. He could see them from his chair by the window, strolling hand in hand, smiling and looking lovingly at each other.
The young couple had discussed their future with Aragorn. They both decided that once their new home in Ithilien was complete, Éowyn would dwell there most of the time. 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.
Growing up in the Riddermark, Éowyn has assumed she would wed a Rider, who would often be away, giving her considerable freedom as mistress of the home. Faramir was happy to be able to please his wife as well as continue serving Aragorn. He secretly hoped that Éowyn would become less averse to Minas Tirith as time progressed, but her contentment was his primary concern.
Aragorn, too, was pleased with this arrangement. He hoped that in future he could enjoy Faramir’s companionship when they worked together to help Gondor regain her former glory. It gladdened him to see Éowyn finally free of the cage 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.
“When our new home is complete, I hope that you and Arwen will often visit us with your child,” said Éowyn one evening.
“We should like that very much,” said Aragorn. “Both my wife and I often long for woods and fields as well as convivial company. We hope, too, that you will dine with us often when you are in Minas Tirith. There will always be a place at my table for you both.”
As soon as Aragorn was well enough, Faramir helped him dress and escorted him for short walks in the gardens. It was unusually pleasant weather for March and the King would sit on a bench thinking fondly of Arwen and their eagerly awaited child when too weary to walk further. The evenings were spent sitting round the fire as the three deepened their bonds of friendship.
After a week of such gentle activities had passed, Aragorn decided he felt strong enough to accompany his friends 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 the three feared they had come too late. Nevertheless, Aragorn called in a loud voice. “Come forth, woman, 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, hoping she would not notice that his hand shook slightly. ”I arrest you on charge of conspiring against the life of the King and his Steward,” he said sternly. ”I demand that you surrender yourself and the child.”
The crone’s only reply was to spit in his direction. “And what makes you think I would obey the likes of you?” she snarled. “You, who have slaughtered my kin! Where is my daughter, the only child of my body yet left to me?”
“She is in my custody after attempting to murder me,” Aragorn replied coldly. “Your daughter has not been harmed. Now surrender yourself and the child. You have my word your granddaughter will be well cared for.”
“Never!” snarled the crone.
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 back inside the hut. Before they could seize 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 threw 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!”
Hastening inside, Faramir tried to make out 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 went 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 Faramir!” 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 a small figure huddled against the far wall. Seizing the child by her clothing, with a supreme effort of will she fought her way back towards the doorway,
As soon as she reached the blessedly sweet air outside, she tore off her makeshift mask and gulped fresh air 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. With a mighty effort he threw his cloak over Faramir, and smothered the smouldering patches on the Steward’s clothing.
The sickly odour of burning flesh assailed their nostrils while acrid smoke billowed from the burning hut.
“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 hand 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. Éowyn held her close and comforted her as best she could. The child continued to struggle briefly, but was too distressed by recent events to put up much of a fight.
Éowyn 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?” Éowyn 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, and 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, the old crone; 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, fearful the sudden bounty would be withdrawn again if they lingered.
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. They 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. Éowyn aided first him, and then Aragorn to their feet.
Éowyn lifted the little girl onto Windfola’s back, mounting up behind her, while Faramir aided Aragorn onto Roheryn’s saddle before he climbed into Iavas’ saddle.
They slowly returned to the Hunting Lodge, relieved to leave the nightmarish scenes and scents behind them.
Éowyn led the way while Aragorn and Faramir rode a little 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 do just then,” the King said quietly.
“But I failed!” Faramir protested.
“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. Remember, Faramir, those who love and respect you, surround you now.”
“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, bringing Windfola to drop back alongside them, but she was smiling as she spoke.