The characters are the property of the Tolkien estate

Chapter Three

Comfort and Conversation

A small detachment of Royal Guards, resplendent in their livery of the White Tree, had already assembled the next morning when Faramir and Éowyn joined them in the sixth circle.

There was no sign yet of the King and Queen. The horses were beginning to get restive by the time Aragorn finally appeared on his own. “Greetings, my friends!” he said.” It gladdens my heart you are coming with me today. The Queen sends her regrets that she is indisposed and cannot accompany us.”

“Can’t we wait until she is better?” Éowyn challenged rudely.

Ignoring her tone, Aragorn replied. ”She bids us go and enjoy ourselves in her absence. Come, my friends, let us be on our way!”

”I’m sure she is very happy about her husband leaving her for weeks while he goes off in the middle of nowhere!” Éowyn said sarcastically, supposedly under her breath, but loudly enough to be heard.

“Be careful what you say!” Faramir hissed, pulling his mount up beside his wife’s. “Remember to whom you are speaking, my lady!”

Éowyn tossed her head defiantly, but said no more.

The company passed through cheering crowds, as they descended through the circles of the City. Several people presented flowers to their King and Steward.

Once they had left Minas Tirith behind, they passed through several villages. The houses gave way to farmland, which continued until they reached the forest. They rode through the trees, along winding woodland paths for several hours. The scenery was pretty enough, but the travellers found the journey somewhat tedious. They rested briefly and partook of refreshment when the sun was directly overhead,then continued on their way.

Aragorn initially made pleasant, albeit somewhat stilted conversation with Faramir. He tried to include Éowyn, but her sullen replies were monosyllabic. Eventually, he abandoned the attempt. They rode on in uncomfortable silence.

It was late afternoon before they reached their destination, a large house, standing in a forest clearing. It was built of grey stone and had a slightly dilapidated appearance, though the small garden was tidy and the courtyard had been recently swept, no doubt in anticipation of their arrival.

“Will we be expected, sire?” Faramir enquired of the King.

“Duilin of Morthond kept this Hunting Lodge in constant readiness for visitors,” Aragorn replied, “There should be sufficient servants to keep the house running in good order. I sent a messenger to inform them of our coming.”

A middle-aged woman, who appeared to be the housekeeper, suddenly appeared on the threshold, no doubt alerted by the clatter of hoof beats on the stones. The woman curtsied, and after introductions were made, led them inside. She despatched the guards to the kitchens for refreshments and showed the King and his companions to the main apartments.

The Housekeeper threw open a door to reveal a chamber dominated by a huge bed. The walls were covered by heavy tapestries showing hunting scenes. A few uncomfortable looking chairs and a table completed the furnishings. A log fire, blazing in the hearth, softened the somewhat austere surroundings. “The rooms are all like this,” the woman explained. “I’m afraid they are few, and somewhat lacking in elegance, sire, but when the late master came here with his companions, they would hunt all day and then feast and retire, to sleep six or eight to a bed. They would rise again at dawn for the chase. We have not had a lady here in a long time.”

“The rooms will suffice, for our needs, mistress. We too, plan to be out riding most of the time.” Aragorn replied.

“Dinner will be served when you are ready, sire,” she informed him. Curtsying again, she look her leave.

Aragorn took the first of the chambers and then left Éowyn and Faramir to choose where they wanted to sleep. Arwen had teased him before he had set out that morning that it would be a good thing if he were to share a room with Faramir. She was certain the sound of her husband’s snoring would convince the nervous Steward that his King was human. Aragorn wondered if maybe they could go hunting overnight together to put Arwen’s suggestion into practise, though he was certain his snoring could not be that loud. How he wished his Queen were with them! Even the prickly Éowyn liked her and she had the power to calm even the most anxious individuals, such as his Steward.

Faramir chose the room next to Aragorn’s, which was almost identical. He asked Éowyn to make her choice from amongst the three remaining rooms.

It was on the tip of her tongue to retort. ‘Can you stand my company so little, you would not even share a bed as vast as this with me?’ but she remained silent sullen. Little did she know, that nothing would have pleased Faramir more than to have her sleep at his side, but her grim demeanour made him certain she would instantly refute any such suggestion.

Dinner was a gloomy affair for them all. Aragorn again struggled to make conversation, Faramir was too ill at ease to make other than polite replies, while Éowyn sat in glowering silence. Had she not been so hungry after a hard day’s riding, she would have stayed in her room and refused to attend the meal at all.

000

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, and even Éowyn felt in a better mood when she came down to breakfast. After they had eaten, the Captain of the King’s Escort came to inform Aragorn that the men and horses were rested and ask for further instructions.

“Take your men and return to Minas Tirith. You may then take leave before returning to escort us home for New Year celebrations,” Aragorn replied.

“May I speak freely, sire?” the Captain asked.

Aragorn nodded his consent.

“I thank you, my lord, but surely some of us should stay to guard you and the Lord Steward and Lady Éowyn?” the Captain protested.

“I know you mean well, Captain, but the purpose of this trip was that we could be alone,” Aragorn replied. “The Orcs are no longer a threat after Sauron’s defeat, and there are few wild beasts in these parts. I have lived in the wild before we enjoyed this safety and peace. I came to no harm, and Lord Faramir is an experienced Ranger too, so you need have no fear. Go now, and enjoy your leave!”

The Captain bowed and departed, still looking worried.

Aragorn then sought out Faramir and Éowyn. “I have been greatly looking forward to returning to my old Ranger days and casting off the demands of kingship for a little while. Shall we enjoy our freedom and go out riding this morning, my friends?”

“Yes, my Lord King, I will see that the horses are saddled,” Faramir replied.

Aragorn sighed inwardly at the formality but hoped matters would improve over the coming days.

“I have a headache. I would be excused,” Éowyn said coldly.

“Maybe some fresh air would do you good, my lady? I could give you herbs to ease it,” Aragorn told her.

Éowyn realised her mistake and wished she had pleaded some female malady instead, which she knew the men would consider too delicate a matter to question. “Rest and solitude are the best remedies, my lord. I have need of neither your herbs nor your company,” Her snub was coldly intentional.

Aragorn looked at her, the hurt obvious in his eyes. “I wish you a speedy recovery, my lady,” he said, bending to kiss her hand and brushing his fingers lightly across her forehead.

“Leave me alone!” she snapped. “I do not want your help. You think you can solve everything, but you are not omnipotent, my lord!”

Aragorn’s grey eyes flashed with sudden anger. “You forget to whom you speak, my lady!” he said coldly.

“You pretend you want us to be your friends and forget about protocol, yet you don’t hesitate to remind us of who you are if we speak freely!” she retorted, her eyes flashing.

Faramir wished the ground would open and swallow him. He pretended to be occupied in adjusting Iavas’ bridle. The fine chestnut mare had been a wedding gift to him from Éomer. She was Faramir’s pride and joy. Never before had he owned such a magnificent horse.

Aragorn and Éowyn stood glaring at each other, for what must have been but a few seconds, but felt like hours to Faramir. He watched apprehensively out of the corner of his eye.

The King inclined his head slightly. “You speak the truth, my lady. I ask your pardon. I would ask you to treat me with neither more nor less courtesy, than any other man you encounter in future.” He suddenly looked her straight in the eye again.

“I will endeavour to remember that, my lord,” Éowyn retorted icily.

“We will leave you to rest then, Éowyn.” Faramir said, anxious to depart before Éowyn further annoyed the King. “If you feel well enough to ride out later, take care in these wild places.”

“You, my lords, are not armed, so why should I fear?” Éowyn replied, blushing slightly, embarrassed that Faramir had so obviously guessed her intention of taking Windfola out once they were gone.

“A woman needs to protect herself more carefully than a man does,” Faramir replied, bending to kiss her cold cheek.

“Farewell!” said Éowyn. Without a second glance, she went back inside the house.

“I must apologise for Éowyn’s behaviour, sire.” Faramir said ruefully, as they rode away side by side.

“It is not your fault, Faramir. She did, I fear, speak the truth, albeit somewhat bluntly. Obviously something makes the lady unhappy,” Aragorn said calmly. “I hope her health and spirits will soon improve.”

“I do not know what ails her, even less how to aid her,” Faramir replied gloomily.

“She is usually happy on horseback,” Aragorn replied soothingly. ”Maybe, we will eventually see her smile. Now let us forget the lady’s troubles for a little while and enjoy our ride!”

King and Steward let their mounts choose their own pace on a winding path that led uphill. Both were excellent horsemen. Faramir always felt more confident when astride a horse, that being one of the few areas in which he had openly outclassed both his father and his brother. The wind blew on their faces, carrying the scent of early spring blossoms.

They halted upon reaching the brow of the hill and admired the view in silence for a few moments. Faramir was the first to break the silence. “I used to ride out here with Boromir on the rare occasions we both had leave,” he told the King. “It was one of the few places where we could enjoy ourselves away from our father’s strictures. I believe Boromir visited the Hunting Lodge too. He knew Duilin of Morthond well.”

“I did not know you came here with your brother,” Aragorn said. “I did not wish you to have sad memories today.”

“The memories are happy ones,” Faramir replied. “Our father never knew we came to this place. We felt free for a while.”

“Shall we dismount for a while and let the horses graze? It is a pleasant spot to sit and admire the view,” Aragorn said. He swung easily from the saddle. Faramir followed, but jarred his shoulder as his feet touched the ground. He visibly winched from the pain.

“Does your shoulder pain you still?” Aragorn’s voice was full of concern.

“I just feel occasional discomfort, sire,” Faramir replied, inwardly cursed himself. Just as he was managing to acquit himself well for once with his King, he had to show some weakness again!

Aragorn seated himself on a fallen tree trunk and gestured for Faramir to sit beside him. They sat in silence for a few minutes looking towards the White City, which was just visible on the horizon, her towers gleaming in the sunlight.

The King studied his Steward unobtrusively; his keen healer’s eye noticing the younger man was in obvious pain. “The arrow damaged your shoulder muscles and tendons, if I recall rightly. Let me ease it for you.” Aragorn said, his voice gentle but firm.

Faramir immediately recoiled. “It is nothing, sire, just a slight ache which has passed. It has been a while since I have ridden so far in one day. It would not be fitting for the King to tend his subject.”

Aragorn sighed. “It is surely fitting that one friend should aid another,” he said. “There is no need for you to be so formal, Faramir. We are not in the Council Chamber. You may call me by my given name when we are alone.”

“You do me great honour, sire, but it would scarcely be appropriate, sire if…” Faramir shifted uneasily on the only to jar his shoulder again, which caused him to hiss with pain.

“It is hard to watch another suffer when you have the means to give them ease. Come; let me give you what aid I may! ” Aragorn’s tone was kindly and almost pleading, to Faramir’s surprise. “There is no need to remove your shirt, just let me see your shoulder.”

Realising if he continued to refuse, his behaviour would be as ungracious as Éowyn’s; Faramir nodded, and then reluctantly loosened the lacings on his shirt and tunic. He slowly pulled his clothing away from the injured shoulder and bared the heavily scarred flesh, repressing an inward shudder as he did so. He so hated having any part of his body exposed. He could not bear Aragorn to regard his puny frame with the same contempt, as his father had shown in his eyes for the son who failed to match Boromir in build and strength. He supposed he should be thankful that his back was still covered, as the scars left by Denethor’s madness distressed him far more than honourable battle wounds. It still shamed him to remember that Aragorn had seen them in the Houses of Healing, despite the King’s kindness to him then.

Aragorn moved closer to him and Faramir looked away, not wanting the King to see his pain and discomfiture.  The Steward became aware of warm fingers gently probing the old wound in his shoulder. He tensed in anticipation of the pain that would follow. To his surprise, instead of agony, he felt a great sense of warmth and comfort enveloping the injured joint. He recalled the sensation from when Aragorn had tended him before, but afterwards had wondered if he had dreamt it. Faramir stole a furtive glance at the King. Aragorn appeared to be almost in a trance, his eyes closed. After a few moments, the King opened his eyes and blinked in the bright sunlight. He looked strangely weary.

“That should have eased the pain,” he said, looking at Faramir, his grey eyes full of compassion.

Faramir gingerly flexed the joint and smiled. “How did you do that?” he asked, curiosity overcoming his embarrassment.

Aragorn shrugged. “I scarcely know. It is a gift those of Elendil’s line possess. You should have told me long ago your wound still pained you. I can see now that it has not healed well. I can sense that the nerves are damaged, while the muscle is badly scarred.”

“You have too many affairs of state to concern you, my lord, to be troubled over me,” Faramir replied, knowing full well he had disobeyed his King’s instructions.

“The health of my Steward is a primary concern. Obviously you do not know me very well!” Aragorn replied in a somewhat irate tone, which he immediately regretted, when Faramir reacted as if struck. “Peace! I am not angry, Faramir, just saddened that you seem unable to approach me. I might be your lord, but that does not mean you should fear me.”

“I am unused to such kindness from my liege. You have always been most gracious to me, my lord. I am your most humble servant.” Faramir replied with downcast eyes.

Aragorn inwardly cursed Denethor for having raised his younger son to have such fear of his lord. At times, he felt like shaking his Steward. Yet, he sensed under the nervous exterior, was a man of great courage and honour, whose trust he could win over the coming weeks if he but tried. Ever since Aragorn had taken the crown, he had tried to reach out to Faramir, but apart from a few occasions when they had briefly seemed more at ease with one another, Faramir had remained aloof. “I do not eat my Stewards for breakfast, and though I lose my temper at times, I do not bite! You are quite welcome to reprove me when I merit it!” Aragorn said, grinning at Faramir. ”Now let me massage your shoulder. It should ease it further.”

“Yes, my lord.” Faramir said obediently.

Aragorn controlled his rising exasperation when his Steward looked at him a way reminiscent of a trapped mouse waiting to be devoured by a cat. The pulse in the younger man’s neck throbbed far too rapidly.

 “I am not going to hurt you,” the King said gently, as he started to work on the damaged shoulder.

“I know that, sire “ Faramir replied. “It is just that …” His voice trailed off. He could hardly tell the King, that now he stood in Denethor’s place, he kept expecting him to treat him as his father did, that sounded so irrational.

“This will work far better if you relax.” Aragorn instructed. “Close your eyes and breathe deeply. Remember, I was a healer, long before I became a king!”

Faramir strove to do as he was bidden, all the while remembering the attentions of the Healers from the Houses and the pain they had caused him in the past. To his surprise, the King’s touch was so gentle he felt no pain, even though it felt as if the damaged joint were somehow being remoulded. He relaxed, finding the soothing movement of Aragorn’s exceptionally warm fingertips oddly comforting. He even started to feel drowsy and only forced himself back to full wakefulness by thinking how embarrassing it would be to fall asleep with his head on the King’s shoulder!

“Is this another gift Elendil’s line possesses?” he asked in a bid to stay awake.

Aragorn laughed. ”No, it is a simple Elven art that any could learn. Arwen is far more skilled at it than I am.”

Faramir remembered the Queen was unwell. “I hope your lady’s indisposition is not serious,” he said.

To his surprise, Aragorn smiled. “No, not at all! I will take you into my confidence, Faramir, I can trust you not to tell anyone else yet, Arwen is expecting our child!”

Any lingering doubts Aragorn might have felt about Faramir, resenting being supplanted as ruler, vanished at the other’s immediate and delighted reaction.

“That is wonderful news! I am so happy for you both.” Faramir turned and beamed delightedly at his King.

“Thank you, Faramir. We are keeping the news private for some weeks yet, but I wanted to share such glad tidings with you. I have waited so long to be a father!”

“You will make a most excellent one, I am certain. You are truly blessed!“ Faramir exclaimed rather wistfully.

“I am sure you and Lady Éowyn will soon become parents too,” Aragorn replied.

 “I don’t know, Éowyn and I, we haven’t …” his voice trailed away in embarrassment at the turn the conversation had taken.

“Does she not desire to be a mother?” Aragorn asked. “Many women are nervous at first.”

“I do not know.” Faramir replied “I would not have her think me a brute by forcing my wish for children upon her! I love her far too much.” He blushed scarlet and wished the ground would swallow him, realising the implications of what he had said. Why did he always say and do the wrong thing when he was with the King?

“My lord, I am so sorry, I did not mean …”

Aragorn said nothing for a few moments, calmly continuing to ease Faramir’s damaged shoulder. He was beginning to understand now much of what had puzzled him before.

“I know you meant no insult,” he said reassuringly. “I am also certain that you know Elves only bear children when they wish to. Though, it is not my place to tell you how to conduct your marriage, I do suggest that you talk to your lady. It is better not to surmise what others think, especially women. Arwen never fails to surprise me even though I have known her for seventy years now. Remember that women easily feel rejected, and then blame men for not knowing the reasons why!”

“I will take your advice, sire, though sometimes I fear Éowyn does not love me. I wonder if…” His voice trailed away, too embarrassed to voice his suspicions.

“Well she certainly has no love for me. I see only hatred in her eyes.” Aragorn replied, as if reading his thoughts. “That saddens me, as I have always loved her since our first meeting.”

Faramir stared at the King shocked.

“As I would a sister, naturally. Arwen is the only woman I have ever been in love with and always will be.” Aragorn said calmly. “However, I would not lie by pretending I shared Éowyn's hatred for me. Put your mind at rest on that count, for I doubt she would have become close friends with Arwen, were she still in love with me!”

“I apologise, my lord for speaking thus.” Faramir said awkwardly.

“I hope you will continue to speak your mind,” Aragorn replied, hopeful that he was finally putting his Steward at his ease. “If you wish for a friend to confide in, I would be honoured to listen.”

Faramir rewarded his King with a shy smile then remained silent while Aragorn continued massaging his shoulder.

 “Your wound should pain you less for now,” Aragorn said at last. “This is all I can do for this morning.”

Faramir stirred reluctantly, he had actually been enjoying the King’s ministrations much to his amazement. ‘Pleasant’ was not a word one associated with Healer’s treatments usually.

“I was trained by Elrond to use Elven techniques,” Aragorn explained again with that uncanny ability to sense what he was thinking. “I can treat you further during the coming weeks if you wish, but I would need to examine you more thoroughly. But there is no need to decide that now.”

"Thank you, sire. It already feels so much better.” Faramir said as he re-laced his shirt, relieved Aragorn was not pressing him.

Hoping fervently that Faramir was finally going to accept his offer of friendship and healing, Aragorn impulsively laid a hand in blessing on the younger man’s head.

To the Steward’s horror, a dreadful vision came into his mind just like it had happened two years before. This time he saw Aragorn sprawled across a bed; his naked flesh bloodied and torn. The vision could not have lasted more than a few seconds, but its intensity left Faramir feeling faint and dizzy. He would have fallen from the log had not the King caught him.