Chapter Eleven – Healing and reconciliation.

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

Faramir began the by now familiar ritual of seeing to the King’s needs. He handed Aragorn the cloth to wash himself. Aragorn’s hands were shaking so much after his latest ordeal that the Steward had to bathe him. The King 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 towards her. Without doubt, his father would have had Éowyn 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 indignities 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? You know how to read men’s hearts, but Éowyn is no man! Neither is she 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 both 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 hard for a woman such as Lady Éowyn,” 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.”

 “I am honoured you regard me as a friend,” said Faramir, his eyes lighting up.

“I had always hoped that we might be,” Aragorn replied. Grimacing, he shifted against the pillows.

“Are you in pain, Aragorn?” Faramir asked anxiously, picking up a cloth to wipe the King’s face.

Aragorn shook his head. “ Only a little. I awoke from dark dreams to find Éowyn standing over me, aiming my own sword at my heart! My heart, though, is heavy, helpless as I am. Even in my days in the wild, I never felt quite so vulnerable. 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?” Faramir asked. He took the cups from his wife and balanced them on the bed, leaving her to light the candles.

Éowyn 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 to use a sword, but not why. When I was a young lass of little more than fourteen summers; a strange man 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. Years later, when Wormtongue held my uncle in thrall 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 Grima could carry out his threats, Gandalf restored my uncle’s health and Wormtongue 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.

“A man who takes a woman by force deserves death,” said Aragorn trying to stifle a yawn, as his eyes grew suddenly heavy.

“Quite so, my lord,” Éowyn replied, taking the cup from his hand and rearranging the pillows so he could lie down. Aragorn instinctively wanted to recoil from her, but was too weary to protest at her being so close. He tried to speak again, but was asleep before he could get the words out.

“I put poppy juice in his tea.” Éowyn explained, feeling Aragorn’s pulse and frowning. “His heart still beats too rapidly. I fear 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 regarded his wife, his grey eyes full of sorrow. “I shall never know how you could even think of harming the King. 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 sore weary, but he would neither rest nor 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 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.”

Éowyn said nothing, but wept quietly. She settled beside Faramir in the vast bed. She mutely held out her hand to him and he clasped it tightly. Thus, they too fell asleep, too exhausted for further thought or conversation.

000

The next morning Aragorn was still drained from his ordeal of the previous night, but mercifully, his fever had not returned. Faramir changed his bandages and applied salves to his wounds under Éowyn’s supervision. As 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 truly be as good 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. Faramir and Éowyn promised each other to try to learn more of each other’s cultures the better to understand and respect them.

Éowyn shyly told her husband how she had always dreamed of a large family of children while Faramir confided that had always been his wish too. He longed to become a father so that he could try to give his children the happy and carefree childhood that he had been denied.

That evening, they retired early, 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 arose and mixed 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 even allowed Éowyn to tend his wounds. She was much more gentle and made a great effort neither to aggravate his hurts 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 Númenorean bloodlines before. “I think you could get up and sit in a chair by the fire if you wish, sire,” she pronounced securing 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 defenceless once he was on his feet again.

After Faramir had helped the King bathe and don a clean nightshirt and a warm robe, the Steward and his lady prepared to escort Aragorn to the comfortable armchair by the fire.

Aragorn tentatively eased his feet on the floor and tried to stand. He would have fallen, had not Faramir and Éowyn supported him. He was like a babe newly learning to walk when 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 resuming his seat in the chair. This time, his legs felt stronger and though he still needed assistance, Faramir and Éowyn no longer had to almost carry him. Aragorn was well on the way to recovery.

TBC