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

What dreams may come- Shakespeare – Hamlet.

The housekeeper had been told of their plans to bring Hanna’s child to the Lodge before they set out. She was waiting for them at the door when they returned. The woman gasped in horror at their bedraggled and blackened appearance. Éowyn briefly explained what had happened, then handed the child to her.

The little girl stared at Faramir with keen grey eyes. She seemed oddly familiar, yet he was certain he had never set eyes on her before today. “What is your name, child?” he asked her gently.

The child trembled slightly in the Housekeeper’s arms, overawed by her new surroundings. “I am called Elbeth.” she replied, shyly sucking her thumb.

“I very much doubt that!” the housekeeper commented. “Far too grand a name for such a little ragamuffin!”

”It suits her, so let that be the name she is called by,” Faramir replied. He felt oddly drawn towards the little girl.  “If she is not happy with your sister, send me word, and I will take her into my own household.”

Éowyn looked taken aback. Although, she pitied the little girl, she was wary of taking a strange child of dubious mental stability into her home. She had hardly had time even to get to know her husband properly, and hoped to soon have her own children, not a ready-made family. 

Faramir caught her gaze. “I am sorry, my love, I should first have spoken to you,” he said.

“We must see the child is well cared for,” Éowyn said firmly, hating herself for her lack of goodwill. “Of course, she can come to us if she is unhappy, but we need to be settled properly in our own home first.”

“Thank you,” said Faramir. ”I expect Elbeth will happier, though, amongst humble people rather than subjected to the strictures of court life. It is hard enough when you are born to it.”

“I am certain my sister will love her as her own flesh and blood,” said the housekeeper. “She has always wanted a little girl.”

Faramir nodded, a wistful look in his eyes.

“I shall give you many children,” Éowyn promised her husband. “Our home will be filled with the fruits of our love!”

Faramir flushed crimson at such outspokenness.

Aragorn developed a sudden fit of coughing.

“Come!” the housekeeper said briskly. “This child needs a good bath. I will send hot water for you my lady, my lords.” she added, “I knew the child would need a good scrubbing, coming from those hovels, so I had the maid boil water ready.”

“Treat her gently, she has endured a good deal.” Faramir instructed. “ Elbeth is lucky to be alive! As the Valar saw fit to spare her, so we must cherish her.”

***
Returning from stabling the horses a few minutes later, Éowyn found Faramir and Aragorn still standing in the hallway looking slightly dazed, Faramir especially so. They presented such a bedraggled spectacle, she hardly knew whether to laugh or cry, though she imagined could she but see herself; she would appear equally dishevelled. Faramir’s tunic was torn and he had a cut across his face. His eyebrows were singed, as was a large chunk of his hair. As for the King, his beard was singed, his clothing torn, and his hands were bleeding. Both had blackened faces and clothes.

“I wonder when we will have a peaceful ride?” Aragorn mused, her entrance jerking him out of his near stupor. “After all, we did come here to find rest and quiet!”

“When return to Minas Tirith, it will seem a haven of tranquillity after all that has happened here,” Faramir replied

“A pity we don’t have the large baths here like we do in the city,” Éowyn commented, “You two could bathe together. It would be much quicker and less trouble for the servants.”

“What?” Faramir looked horrified at the very thought. Aragorn stared at the floor.

 “I have never known men as shy as Gondorians!” Éowyn teased. “My brother would laugh at you both! And what of Elvish custom?” she enquired of Aragorn.

“We bathe alone.”

Éowyn looked sceptical. “I thought you had communal heated springs? I am sure your wife mentioned them.”

“They are purely for medicinal purposes,” Aragorn replied in a somewhat evasive tone, obviously not wanting to discuss the matter further.

Éowyn suddenly sneezed. She rubbed a blackened palm across her face, which had been protected from the smoke by her makeshift mask, leaving a comical looking black smudge across her nose and cheeks.

“Soot does not suit you!” Aragorn quipped.

Éowyn laughed, but Faramir remained grim and silent. Apart from expressing concern over Elbeth’s welfare, he had hardly spoken since their return. “Are you well, my love?” Éowyn enquired, putting her arms round him.

“I just need to bathe and rest,” he answered. ”I will see if the water is ready.”

He was gone before they could press him further; Aragorn and Éowyn exchanged anxious glances.

“I fear he is suffering from shock,” Aragorn said worriedly. “Although, he was unconscious when his father tried to kill him, encountering fire must be very difficult even for such a brave man as he.”

“Can you use some of your Elvish treatments on him?” Éowyn asked. “Or should I mix some herbs to help him sleep?”

“I can easily induce sleep using Elvish healing techniques.” Aragorn informed her.

Éowyn raised her eyebrows. “What can you not do? Raise the dead?”

“Only the oath breakers who betrayed my ancestor, I fear,” Aragorn informed her with perfect seriousness.

Éowyn felt suddenly uncomfortable; it was easy to forget the magnitude of the King’s powers at times. She gave an involuntary shudder.

“That was a once only occurrence.” Aragorn smiled, putting her at her ease again. “Your ancestors are safe in their graves, I assure you! So do not fear me, Éowyn, I seek only to help Faramir.”

“Then it will be your turn, I need to see that your wounds have not been inflamed by riding then rushing into a burning building!” Éowyn informed him, her usual self-confidence returning.

Aragorn paled beneath the layers of soot. “There is no need, Eowyn, I will tend my own wounds when I bathe,” he said firmly.

Éowyn snorted. “Despite your many and varied abilities, even you lack eyes in the back of your head! Faramir is in no fit state to care for you today,” she told him, “I need to see if your back is healing, and there is no soot left clinging to your wounds.”

Aragorn hastened to his room before she could offer to scrub him.

**

An hour later, Faramir sat by the fire with Éowyn and Aragorn looking far more presentable. He was now bathed and clad in his nightshirt. Éowyn had tended the cut on his face as soon as he emerged from the bathing chamber. Apart from thanking her, he remained silent and withdrawn. Two pairs of anxious eyes watched him as he shivered despite the warmth of the fire.

“I am well,” Faramir replied to their enquires concerning his health.

Knowing his wisdom and experience was far superior to hers, Éowyn decided to let Aragorn take charge. She nodded to him, signalling that it was time he used his Elvish skills on her husband.

The King moved across to take Faramir’s hand, noting with alarm his cold flesh and racing pulse. “Come and lie down, mellon nín, you have had a shock,” Aragorn said gently but firmly. Together with Éowyn, he shepherded Faramir towards the bed and they tucked the blankets round him. “Lie back and close your eyes,” Aragorn told him.

“I want to rest but I cannot!” Faramir whispered, “I keep thinking of how my father must have died. When I close my eyes I see flames and hear screaming. I have been told of his death but could not picture it until now. His death that should have been mine too!”

“Maybe a hot drink would help you sleep?” Éowyn suggested, clasping his cold hand.

Faramir shook his head miserably. “I fear what dreams may come if I sleep now.”

“Do you trust me, Faramir?” Aragorn suddenly asked bluntly.

“Yes of course, sire,” Faramir replied without hesitation.

“Close your eyes and take deep breaths.” Aragorn sat down on the bed and bent over his Steward. He gently started to trace circles across Faramir’s forehead with his fingertips.  “Be at peace!” The King intoned, his voice deep and compelling. “Easy now, all is well.”

Faramir visibly relaxed and closed his eyes, allowing Aragorn to lightly brush his fingertips across his eyelids. The Steward started to breathe deeply. His whole demeanour changed from distress to calm tranquillity. Within moments, Faramir was in a deep peaceful sleep. Aragorn smiled reassuringly at Éowyn, all the while continuing the motion of his fingertips across Faramir’s forehead and eyelids.

Aragorn then felt his Steward’s heartbeat. Once satisfied it had returned to normal, he straightened up. “When he awakens in a few hours time, his mind should be at peace,” he told Éowyn.

“Thank you, Aragorn.” Éowyn sighed with relief. “You look exhausted now. You are very good to us both. Faramir has sore need of your skills this day, I fear.” She studied her sleeping husband, her eyes full of love and concern. The Steward looked vulnerable and far younger than his years as he slept, the scorched eyebrows highlighting his long eyelashes. “Poor Faramir! I believe he always felt unwanted.” Éowyn said sadly. “He was just the ‘spare’ son, always living in his brother’s shadow, Although, Boromir loved him a great deal.  I doubt, though, Denethor ever realised his worth, little wonder his father haunts him still. I fear my husband never knew true paternal love.”

“I would be the loving father to him that Denethor was not,” Aragorn said softly. “Or maybe, he is the little brother fate denied me. We have much in common, Faramir and I; my early manhood was troubled too. No sooner had I learned who I truly was than I fell in love with Master Elrond’s daughter! I went out to be a Ranger in the wilderness, much like Faramir was. I know in my position it may sound foolish, but I hope I will only have one son, lest I should treat the younger less favourably than the elder. I wish to love all the children I may be granted equally.”

“I am sure you will,” Éowyn reassured him. “Faramir worships you as the saviour of his people. You should tell him all you have just told me.”

“It is Frodo, he should revere, not me,” Aragorn replied modestly.

“But you played a major part by embracing almost certain death to distract Sauron,” Éowyn argued. “Without you, the Dark Lord would have surely triumphed!”

Aragorn smiled at her rare praise. “One worshipper in your family is enough!” he teased. “We all played our part in the victory, including the slayer of the Witch King!” He yawned; exhausted from the day’s events, and the energy he had expended treating Faramir. ”I think I will rest now.”

“Not before I see your wounds. You are not escaping that easily!” Éowyn said firmly, going over to the table where she kept the healing supplies and picking up a jar of salve.

“There is no need!” Aragorn protested.

“Yes, there is,” Éowyn insisted, “Just look at your hands for a start! I noticed them while you were tending Faramir. However did you handle your horse on the way home?”

“Roheryn is well schooled and needs little guiding. I shall be able to ride home. They are mere scratches from clawing at the rubble.”

Éowyn applied the salve liberally to Aragorn’s hands. Somehow, it struck her as deeply poignant; that hands such as his, so full of healing power, should be bruised, swollen, and covered in deep scratches.

Aragorn flinched slightly as the salve stung. Éowyn found herself blinking away a tear.

“What are a few scratches compared to the life of Faramir and the little girl? Nothing at all!” Aragorn said, sensing her distress.

Éowyn retreated behind her usual no nonsense facade. “Off with your shirt now!” she ordered. “I need to see your back.” Sighing deeply, Aragorn complied. Much to her amusement, she noticed he immediately crossed his arms defensively across his chest, much as Faramir had done. She found Númenoreans curious compared with the uninhibited Rohirrim.

Much to her relief, Aragorn’s wounds were clean and healing well. They could safely be left unbandaged until he rode home. She had not seen them since the day after Hanna’s attack, having left Faramir to care for the King. Most distressing now for her to behold, was the ugly pattern of scar tissue forming across his back, especially where she had torn off the bandage. Éowyn placed the salve on the bedside table where they could both reach it. “You rub it on your chest, I’ll do your back.” she said, trying to choke back the tears, while she rubbed the salve into the deep wound she had inflicted upon him.

Aragorn turned round to face her, his defensive posture forgotten at her obvious distress.

“What is it, Éowyn?” he asked gently, taking her hand.

TBC