Chapter Sixteen – Chapter Sixteen – Transparency

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Chapter Sixteen – Transparency

Éowyn started to unwrap the bloodstained bandages from around Aragorn’s upper body. The task now seemed surprisingly difficult. No longer did she hate him, nor could she regard him almost as an inanimate object. Now he was a friend, a man with feelings, who could feel pain were she not careful. She looked in dismay as three bleeding wounds were revealed; the place where the arrow had struck, the gash below Aragorn’s ribs, and worst of all, where her rough handling had torn the skin from his back.

“I am so sorry!” she whispered, fighting to hold back the tears. She gently bathed the hurts.

“You did not flog me,” Aragorn said, trying to be tactful. He gritted his teeth. Éowyn was trying to be gentle but her distress was making her clumsy.

“Should I stitch the hurts closed?” Éowyn pondered aloud.

Aragorn repressed a shudder; the thought of a needle in the lady’s ungentle hands piercing his very tender skin was well nigh unbearable. He studied the wounds he could see, trying to eye them dispassionately.

“They are partially healed,” he pronounced, “I think bandages and salves should suffice. There is a greater risk of infection from stitching.”

Éowyn looked relieved at these tidings.

“Which salves should we use?” Faramir asked, deliberately not directly addressing either his wife or the King.

“The one in the green jar,” Aragorn said from between clenched teeth. “It fights infection and promotes healing.”

Éowyn briskly applied the ointment. “I had better check you for broken bones,” she said after the wounds were bandaged. ”It is quite a drop from the bed to the floor.”

Aragorn reluctantly nodded his consent, knowing it was necessary but not looking forward to the experience. He bit his lip as she started to prod him firmly. Faramir gripped his lord’s hand comfortingly. Aragorn groaned when she touched one especially painful spot.

“Your ribs are badly bruised,” Éowyn pronounced.

“It feels like it,” Aragorn said wryly.

Faramir discreetly arranged the discarded nightshirt around Aragorn for modesty as Éowyn continued her examination, discovering a bruised hip and knee. She applied a salve of comfrey and arnica as instructed by her reluctant patient.

“You have had a lucky escape!” Éowyn announced at last. “You could have easily broken your leg or worse, rolling off the bed like that. I hope you won’t do it again!”

“I have no intention of doing so, I assure you,” Aragorn replied. He could laugh with relief at his escape now.

Faramir helped the King don a fresh nightshirt. Only as he was smoothing it down, did he notice that his wife was wearing an almost transparent nightgown, made worse by damp splashes of water and blood, which made it cling revealingly to her figure. “Éowyn!” he exclaimed.

“Whatever is the matter?” Éowyn looked startled.

“Your nightgown! It is rather…” The Steward flushed scarlet.

Éowyn glanced down at the offending garment. ”Oh, this: it is rather stained and wet, I should change,” she replied unperturbedly. “Your nightshirt doesn’t look much better! I will go and get dressed while you should change into dry clothing here. We are not leaving the King again until he is recovered.”

“Bring me all my clothes, please,” Faramir replied, not trusting himself now near his wife without the barrier of plenty of clothing.

Aragorn felt obliged to mildly protest. “Would you two not rather be alone?”

Éowyn smiled broadly, looking like a cat with a saucer of cream. “We had sufficient time together for me to become a true wife,” she announced. “There will be plenty of time in the future for further pleasures!”

It was hard to tell which of the two men blushed deeper at her outspokenness. Before either could speak, she had left the room.

Alone with the King, Faramir looked anxiously at Aragorn, worried how he would withstand the shock of this latest attack. He felt overwhelmed with guilt that he had not been there to prevent it happening.

To his surprise a faint smile hovered on the King’s lips. ”Do not look so troubled, Faramir,” he said. ”We defended ourselves, did we not? I know it was only against a madwoman, but after being so helpless, I am starting to feel much better!”

Faramir still looked unconvinced. “I should have stayed with you, it is my fault you have been injured again!”

“You needed the chance to make Éowyn your ‘true’ wife,” Aragorn replied, smiling at his Steward.

“Um, yes,” Faramir was now the colour of a beetroot.

“The first time is somewhat daunting,” Aragorn’s tone was grave, but his eyes sparkled. Tempting though it was tease his Steward, he resisted. The poor man had endured enough.

Faramir gazed at him shocked.

“Yes, even for Kings - and Stewards,” Aragorn confided. “I may be old enough to be your father, but I am a recent enough bridegroom to remember my apprehensions. Believe me, marriage is like wine that grows richer as time passes. I fear your wedding night was somewhat rudely interrupted.”

“That crazed woman…” Faramir gave a shudder. “Her words and deeds will forever haunt me!”

“Do not let the ramblings of a madwoman disturb you, they are not worth a second thought!” Aragorn advised. “It was I, who badeÉowyn to leave me alone, not you. It all turned out well in the end. We have had a chance once more to prove ourselves as warriors, have we not, mellon nín?”

Faramir hesitated for a moment before smiling and grasping the King’s forearm in a warrior’s clasp,” So we did, Aragorn,” he replied. “I feel better for it too!”

Éowyn, now fully dressed, returned at that moment, bringing a pain-killing draught for Aragorn and some clothes for her husband.

After giving the drink to the King, Faramir pulled on his drawers and breeches under his nightshirt, before pulling the blood-spattered garment over his head. He did his best to ignore his wife’s presence and the effect it had upon him.

“Whatever must the Housekeeper have thought?” he said, looking uncomfortable as he inspected his discarded nightshirt.

“It was perfectly decent before we tended to Aragorn,” Éowyn assured him.

“And voluminous to fit both of us!” Aragorn added with a grin. “Rest assured you were properly covered from head to toe in front of the good lady!”

Although Faramir’s shoulders were still slightly sore, he had been able to dress without feeling pain, much to his delight. He started to tell Aragorn how amazing his Elven treatment was, only to realise the exhausted King was already fast asleep, as the poppy juice had quickly taken effect. Aragorn slept peacefully after the night’s events, his dark hair spilling over the pillow.

Faramir arranged the pillows more comfortably for the King, and then absently brushed back a lock of unruly hair from Aragorn’s brow. He gave a sharp intake of breath as he sensed their minds briefly touching. He knew it needed an exceptionally strong bond between two individuals of Númenorean lineage for such a link to form. He sensed Aragorn’s love and gratitude towards him before seeing a fleeting image of two children. The vision vanished before he could understand its meaning.

The Steward was fey tonight, and knew not whether the heightened emotions renewing his vows and consummating his marriage had caused it. Or was it perhaps, the Elven treatments and the King’s touch? Maybe, the danger of the madwoman’s attack had given him heightened perception, or was it was a mixture of all these factors.

Wondering what it all might mean, Faramir climbed into the bed between Aragorn and Éowyn. It was a curious conclusion to a wedding night, but the Steward felt more content than he had been for a long time. He quickly fell into a dreamless slumber.