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Pain and compassion
Warning - Faramir suffers a great deal of pain in this chapter, which may upset sensitive readers.
“I will begin by treating your arm,” Aragorn told him, picking up a pot of brightly coloured orange salve, made from rosehips together with ingredients known only to the Elves. He gently applied a thin layer to where Éomer’s sword had cut into the muscle.
Faramir tensed as the ointment stung and then relaxed again as Aragorn used his healing abilities to ease it.
The King then applied a thin layer of salve over Faramir’s scars caused by the sword cuts, damaged ribs and sprained ankle to help repair any injury inside.
“If you need any applying lower down, I will leave you to do it and spare your blushes, such as with that scar on your hip!” Aragorn said, grinning as he handed his Steward the jar.
“Damrod pointed it out, I suppose, I will kill him!” Faramir retorted his good humour belying his threat.
Aragorn busied himself fetching a jar of rosehip oil from his cupboard of healing supplies while Faramir dealt with the old scar, and then wound his towel back in place.
“What troubles you, mellon nîn? Is it this?” he asked, sensing Aragorn’s unease and gesturing towards the very visible swelling just beneath his ribs, where the skin was mottled and disfigured.
Aragorn nodded, finding it hard to meet Faramir’s trusting gaze. “The scar tissue could in the future attach itself to some vital organ which could kill you,” he explained bluntly, thinking Faramir deserved to know the truth. “I have tried to heal it, but the methods I use encourage the flesh to knit together. I could eventually cut it out, but that would be a very dangerous procedure likely to cause infection and more scarring. I could, though, try to treat it with this rosehip oil, which combined with the mud bath, has a good chance of curing you.”
“That sounds a good idea.” Faramir had initially blanched at the mention of being cut, but now seemed very calm.” But why do you look so worried?”
“The oil needs to be massaged vigorously into the scar tissue and I fear that is going to hurt you a great deal,” Aragorn told him. “I will try to ease the pain but it will still hurt, I fear. If I send you to sleep, you would not wake for a good many hours, which would not be wise so soon after a mud bath.”
Faramir nodded, albeit apprehensively.
Aragorn tentatively felt the knot of scar tissue causing Faramir to give a squeak of pain. He held his hands over it attempting to ease him. “Will you permit me to try this?” the King asked, looking Faramir straight in the eye.
“Please do it. I want to be healed.” Faramir said resolutely, trying to hide his fear. He knew all too well what pain the lightest touch caused. He could not even wash the swollen area properly. “I trust you, melon nîn.”
“You must tell me if the pain is too much and you want me to stop,” Aragorn replied, first checking Faramir’s heartbeat and then pouring some of the oil onto his belly and smearing his hands liberally with more. “I need you to lie flat and try to keep as still as you can.”
“Do it quickly, please!” Faramir begged, tensing in grim anticipation of what was to come. He lay flat on the bed and took a deep breath.
Ideally for a procedure like this, the patient needed restraining. Aragorn could not bring himself to summon some burly assistant to hold Faramir down and witness his discomfort. It was just too great a humiliation for a man who had endured so much already. He preferred to take the risk that Faramir might reflexively strike out at him.
Aragorn swallowed hard, took a deep breath, then started to vigorously massage the rosehip oil into Faramir’s belly, kneading it deep into the scar tissue and the surrounding areas.
Faramir clawed at the mattress, curbing the instinctive urge to lash out to protect himself from such pain. He bit his lips trying not to scream but his low moans soon gave way to cries of sheer agony at the unrelenting pressure on the damaged nerve.
Aragorn forced himself to continue, working as quickly as he could, steeling himself not to respond to his friend’s distress. He could only hope and pray that this was going to work.
After what must have been only a few minutes but felt like hours, Faramir had drawn up his knees and silent tears of distress were running down his cheeks.
“It is nearly over now,” Aragorn soothed, applying some of the salve and winding a bandage just beneath Faramir’s ribs to trap the oil against the skin. He then held his hand over the place and Faramir felt the pain slowly subsiding.
Aragorn wiped the oil from his hands then mopped his brow. The whole procedure had been almost as much of an ordeal for him as for Faramir.
He placed his hand on his Steward’s chest. As he had feared Faramir's heart raced wildly while sweat poured from his body, which was shaking as result of the ordeal. He had writhed so much that his towel had fallen to the floor. So great was his pain, that he had not even noticed. Quickly Aragorn picked it up and replaced it before its loss added to his distress.
“I am so sorry, ion nîn, I did not want to hurt you,” he murmured, bending over him. He expected Faramir to berate him soundly. The younger man’s only response was to bury his head against Aragorn’s shoulder.
The King held Faramir for a few moments, both comforting him and recovering from his own distress at having to hurt him thus. His fury against those who had inflicted the original injuries was intense. “I have had word that the drunkard who did this to you has been captured,” he told Faramir, aiming to distract him.
“Good!” Faramir finally pulled away and turned over on his side, prior to having the ointment applied to his back.” I am sorry to react like this. I am a coward!”
Aragorn shook his head,” No, pressure on a nerve is one of the worse kinds of pain there is,” he reassured him, “A coward would have begged me to stop. You steadfastly endured it.”
The King checked his Steward’s heart once more and frowned, for it was still beating too rapidly. It worried him. Faramir was still so frail that he feared a relapse. Impulsively he tucked the bed covers around his Steward, no longer caring if the orange ointment stained them. Despite the fire blazing in the hearth, Faramir would most likely feel chilled once he stopped sweating. “We still have some time left to apply the salve, before the effect of mud bath wears off, so I am going to massage your neck and shoulders,” he told Faramir, “It should ease you.”
“Thank you!” Faramir buried his face in the pillow and relaxed once Aragorn’s skilled fingers began to work their magic. A few minutes later he was calmed, limp and sleepy. When Aragorn next checked his heartbeat, it was normal.
“I will apply the rosehip salve to your back now if you are ready, “ the King said.
Faramir nodded, ”I am ready,” he said.
Aragorn now arranged the covers around his Steward so as to leave just his back uncovered. It would take some time to undo all the damage that Mahrod had caused during the vicious beating. Despite his long years of healing experience, he still could not look at Faramir’s back without an involuntary shudder, especially as his actions had indirectly led to the damage being inflicted.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Aragorn began applying the salve. Faramir remained relaxed and comfortable for the wounds were sufficiently healed for the ointment only to sting slightly. He was soon on the verge of sleep.
A sudden tap on the door startled both men.
“Who is it?” Aragorn called. He had ordered the servants not to disturb them and was certain that Arwen and Éowyn would be too preoccupied with the babies to appear. As for Éomer, he had made it clear he was determined to keep his scars.
“It is, I, Éomer. May I come in?”
Aragorn looked at Faramir who nodded. He told the King of Rohan to enter.
“I changed my mind,” Éomer admitted, a trifle sheepishly, ”I have been talking to Aedred and he says you are the only one who knows how use Elvish treatments properly. I was foolish to jump to conclusions about my sister without giving you both a chance to speak and I regret forcing you to fight so I …” His voice trailed away as he moved round the bed and saw his brother in law’s back clearly for the first time. He gasped in horror. “Whatever has happened to you, Faramir? I don’t understand! I only dealt a blow with my sword! I would never strike at a man from the back!”
Faramir sat up quickly; self consciously hugging the covers closely around himself.
“He has suffered a great deal.” Aragorn said sadly, “More at my hands than he ever did at yours!”
Éomer’s eyes flashed. “You lords of Gondor call us unlearned, but we do not practise such cruelty!"
“Peace!” Faramir pleaded, “This was not Aragorn’s fault. He had me taken into custody for my own safety and I was beaten in the prison by an old enemy.”
“Why was I never told?” Éomer demanded.
“First you were too unwell and then too angry to listen.” Aragorn said quietly.
“Brother, I would see your wounds.” Éomer towered over Faramir who still sat clutching the blankets.
Faramir sat up and reluctantly pulled the covers down. Éomer circled the bed, an unreadable expression in his eyes.
“I am so sorry, I had no idea,” he said at last. Had Faramir not known him better, he could have sworn a tear was glittering in his brother in law’s eye. “I will kill the curs who did this to you!”
“The Elven treatment will remove the scars on my body, which will in turn help heal those in my soul,” Faramir said, reassuring his contrite brother in law. “The miscreants will be punished according to the law.”
Éomer turned his attention back to Aragorn, asking almost shyly “I came to see if you could treat the scar Faramir inflicted on me. That is one scar I am not proud of, as I should never have forced him to fight me! What must I do?”
Aragorn gestured to the pot of salve, which lay open on the bedside table. “It just requires the scar to be rubbed with that salve. I will apply some for you as soon as I have finished treating Faramir.”
Éomer sat on the side of the bed fingering the jar of ointment. He casually pulled off his shirt and tunic and flexed his finely muscled body, delighting in being able to move his arm again. His back was turned to Aragorn and Faramir, apparently to give Faramir some privacy as the King finished applying the salve and helped him dress in underwear and a loose robe.
Suddenly the King of Rohan gave an ear splitting shriek and leapt to his feet.
TBC