The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been or will be made from this story.

Chapter Seven – Three’s Company

Faramir hastened back to Aragorn’s bedside closely followed by his wife

Éowyn felt the King’s forehead, before pulling back the covers to check his heartbeat.  It was dangerously weak and rapid. This was the last thing she needed: the King of Arnor and Gondor to die in her care, much as she detested the man. Aragorn’s skin felt like ice to her touch. She quickly pulled the covers back over him.

“What ails him?” Faramir asked.

“He is suffering from shock,” Éowyn replied. “The pain and shock are proving too much for his body to endure.”

“Is it dangerous?” Faramir could not hide the fear in his voice.

“Very, in his weakened condition he could easily die,” Éowyn replied gravely.

“No!” Faramir cried, his voice filled with anguish “Surely you can do something to save the King?”

“He needs to be warmed and calmed, but I know not how. The fire is blazing and he has plenty of blankets.” Éowyn replied grimly.

Faramir stood looking down on Aragorn, his eyes moist with tears. This was the long awaited King, for whom Gondor had waited almost a thousand years. And to his Steward, Aragorn was even more than that. Aragorn was the man who had saved his life. A maelstrom of emotions; fear, compassion, and a burning anger overcame Faramir. He felt somehow responsible for the men who had brought his King to such a plight and his helplessness in the face of their evil.

Why ever had he had feared his new liege lord as much as the old? He understood now why he had loved the King from the moment he first beheld him. In Aragorn, Faramir had perceived not only a liege lord, but also the father he had always wanted and the brother he had lost. It had been his grievous mistake to fear that Aragorn would treat him as his father had done. He should have embraced Aragorn’s frequent offers of friendship and healing, instead of rejecting the King’s kindness for fear of incurring his scorn and wrath. Was it now too late?

Faramir forced himself to concentrate. Inwardly, he asked himself what would he do, were it Boromir and not the King lying close to death on this bed. Suddenly he realised there was something he could try. He bent to try and pull off his boots, only to be foiled by the pain that coursed through his arms and shoulders.

“Whatever are you doing?”  exclaimed Éowyn.

“What you suggested earlier!” he replied. “Help me remove my boots and tunic and shirt, please!” He was too agitated now to feel uncomfortable.

Once divested of his upper clothing, Faramir started to remove his bandages. Luckily they did not adhere to his flesh.

“You need those bandages to protect your wounds! You are risking your own health now!” Éowyn protested.

“I must do what is needed to save the King, whatever the cost,” Faramir said simply. He carefully eased himself up beside Aragorn and turned on his side to face the badly injured man. He gripped the King’s arms with his warm hands. Aragorn’s flesh felt even colder now than before. Faramir tried to remain hopeful, despite the unlikelihood of his plan succeeding. He spoke soothingly. “My lord, you are safe, no other shall harm you, be easy now!”

“You would be better using his given name; you sound as if you are at a Council Meeting!”  Éowyn retorted.

Faramir realised the sense behind her words. “Aragorn!” It sounded so strange to address the King so informally. He had to push aside years of carefully taught court etiquette to so. “Aragorn, you are safe now. I am here beside you.”

The King gave no sign that he was even aware of his Steward’s presence.

“He grows ever colder cold!” Faramir exclaimed after a few moments. ”Éowyn, please help him! He is dying, I think!”

“How?” she asked, trying to conceal her rising panic. “This is beyond any healing arts I know.”

“Help keep him warm!” her husband pleaded. “Come the other side, you must hold him too!”

“What?” Éowyn gasped in an outraged tone. Was it not bad enough that her husband shunned her bed; let alone demand she share it with another, no matter how chastely? “You ask too much! Whatever would the Queen think?”

“She would understand that nothing improper was taking place and ask us to do all we could to save her husband! Faramir replied. “I have seen you comforting others when they had need of you. Go and find a servant to help if you will not? Why do you hate the King so much?”

Éowyn did not reply. Once she would have shared Aragorn’s bed gladly, even as his mistress, so great had been her desire for him.  Nothing remained now save hatred and bitterness.

Aragorn’s shaking suddenly became worse. Faramir struggled in vain to gently restrain him. He slid from the Steward’s grasp and landed on his flayed back, moaning in agony.

Éowyn felt a sudden stab of compassion mixed with guilt. She knew Aragorn’s condition was caused either by severe loss of blood or extreme pain. She doubted he had lost sufficient blood to cause him to go into shock, so pain was the most likely explanation, some of which he had suffered at her hands. Hastily, she slipped off her robe and climbed in the bed beside her husband. Together they managed to move Aragorn back onto his side. She then moved to lie behind Aragorn, helping her husband to hold him.

Much to her surprise, Éowyn found herself feeling pity for the shivering man she held. He was far too ill even to realise she was there. Strangely though, she found she was far more disturbed by the close proximity of Faramir, whose fingers brushed against hers as they clasped Aragorn’s arms. It seemed apt that Aragorn should now lie between them literally. He had always come between them. He was her first love, to whom she had offered her all, only to meet with rejection. When she had met Faramir, she had believed that here was a man who could love her as Aragorn had not. When Éowyn had learned his love had been no more than a shadow and a thought, either; a mere guise to ensure she complied with the King’s will; her heart had then turned to stone.

Faramir guessed nothing of Éowyn’s thoughts. Night after night he had longed for his wife to lie close beside him. Now, he was simply grateful that she had agreed to help him try and save the King. He still felt angry with her for her earlier cruelty, wondering if she had handled the King more gently, that there would no need for this desperate attempt to save him.

Aragorn continued to shake convulsively. His laboured, ragged breathing was the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. Faramir impulsively guided the King’s restless head against his own shoulder and gently smoothed the sweat soaked hair off his lord’s forehead. He could now feel the dangerously weak and rapid heartbeat vibrating against his own stronger one, as Aragorn’s chest rose and fell against his own body. ‘You cannot die!’ he thought, ‘I could not bear it and what of Arwen and your unborn child? What of Gondor and her people?’

Aragorn’s eyes were open, staring, yet unseeing; his mind locked in some dark horror.

Searching his mind for any remedy, however far fetched, Faramir started to sing an Elvish melody,an old lullaby, which he recalled the King mentioning he had known since childhood. He hoped that the familiar tune might soothe him and reach him on some level that speech could not. How Faramir wished that he had Aragorn’s power to give his strength to another! Gladly would he give his last ounce of strength to save his King. He knew he was not gifted with such abilities, yet did not the blood of Númenor flow in his veins too? Maybe if he willed it hard enough, he could share his life energy to another?  Faramir continued the lullaby, all the while focussing his strength into the man beside him, remembering when they had first met. How much care and kindness the King had shown to him, even though he was a stranger and possible rival to him at the time! Aragorn had given him everything; friendship, kindness, lands, titles, his very life.  The Steward was determined now to try and repay him.

***

Aragorn felt cold; so very cold that he trembled. He could hardly breathe now. The pain seemed to intensify with every passing moment, driving him into some dark realm, from where there was no escape, lest it be in merciful release of death. He could still see his attackers’ faces, their features contorted with hate as they tormented him.  He was trapped; helpless to escape the pain and humiliation.  He was sorely tempted to use his people’s ability to return the Gift. Where was Arwen? Why could he not sense her spirit? Carrying a human child had taken that from her. He was alone, imprisoned by darkness. His mother was no longer there, neither was Halbarad.

Suddenly something reached out to him in the darkness, like a star piercing the blackness of the night sky. Dimly, Aragorn became aware of someone holding him, cradling him in comforting arms and singing a familiar melody he remembered from his childhood.   Was he dying? Surely the pain would fade if he were passing beyond the circles of the world? The agony in his tormented body was almost unbearable; yet, somehow the warm arms and familiar words brought comfort. He fought against the encroaching darkness with renewed resolve, remembering his Queen and their unborn child.

***

Faramir continued to sing, fighting grief and exhaustion. He started to shiver, while Aragorn gradually grew warmer. Éowyn had not heard her husband sing before. The beauty and richness of his voice took her by surprise. Together, they cocooned the King in their arms through the long hours of the night.

Cramped, uncomfortable and now more that a little amazed at his own boldness, Faramir continued to fight for the life of his King, however hopeless it seemed. His injured arms and back throbbed painfully. However, he determined not to move until he was sure his King had no further need of his aid. Faramir planted a gentle kiss on Aragorn’s brow, willing him to live. Often the King had greeted him thus, but never until tonight, had he felt emboldened enough to bestow a similar blessing. He noticed that Aragorn had now closed his eyes, though whether that was good or ill, he knew not.

As the long hours passed, Aragorn stopped shaking and lay quietly. His breathing became less ragged. Slowly warmth returned to his body.

“How is he faring?” Faramir whispered to Éowyn.

She reached to feel Aragorn’s heartbeat. It felt stronger and steadier to her touch. Slowly, she sat up, taking care not to jar the King’s injuries. “I think he is a little better,” she said. “I’ll try rousing him and giving him a hot drink. That should further ease him.” She slid from the bed and pulled on her robe, then lit another candle and made her way to the kitchens.

Faramir waited anxiously. He wished Aragorn would come round, while at the same time, wondering however such a dignified man would react to finding himself being held like a child by his Steward.

Éowyn reappeared a few minutes’ later, clutching three steaming cups; one of which she placed on the small table by the bed, the other two by the fire. “Can you sit up with him?” she asked.

The Steward was so stiff he could scarcely move. He slowly eased himself into a sitting position, still holding Aragorn.  Éowyn took some of the weight from him.

Aragorn slowly opened his eyes and groaned. He looked at Faramir, an expression of bewilderment on his face. “What is happening?” he whispered. “I had such dreams of pain and darkness!”

“You were attacked in the forest, but you are safe now,” Faramir said reassuringly.

Éowyn held out the mug. “Try to drink this, it should help you,” she coaxed. “It is the tea the Hobbits drink. Merry sent some from the Shire, which I brought it here with me.”

Faramir moved his position slightly, allowing his wife to hold the cup to the King’s parched lips.

Aragorn took a sip and swallowed. “Warm, tastes good” he murmured. To their great relief he kept drinking until the cup was empty.

Faramir and Éowyn gently eased the King back onto the bed, this time on his other side. Overcome with pain and exhaustion, he fell asleep at once. Éowyn felt his brow. “I think the crisis has passed,” she said quietly.

“The Valar be praised!” Faramir gave an audible sigh of relief. “Thank you for helping him.”

“For some inexplicable reason my brother dotes on him as much as you do, so disagreeable man though he is, I would prefer him to live, if only to spare the tears of you both!” Éowyn said dryly.

“Why do you hate him so much?” Faramir demanded.

“The reason is too obvious to speak of, especially he wronged you too!” she retorted; going over to the fire and collecting the two cups she had left there.

“I have no idea what you mean, The King has never wronged me. I could not wish for a kinder lord!” Faramir replied.

“You men are all the same, the way you refuse to see each other’s faults!” Éowyn said sharply. “Do not think that I have forgiven him, despite what happened tonight. We will not speak of it again.”

Faramir felt too exhausted to press the matter further. He had started to shiver. The pain in his back and shoulders had grown well nigh unbearable.

Éowyn pressed a cup of lukewarm tea into his hands. “Drink this, you look as if you need it!” she ordered. Picking up a spare blanket, she draped it round his bare shoulders.

Faramir pulled it close across his chest and gratefully sipped the tea. It was strong and liberally sweetened with honey.

Éowyn took up her own cup and stood sipping the drink by the fire. Her golden hair gleamed like burnished copper in the warm glow.

Faramir gazed at her, unable to conceal the yearning in his eyes. He quickly looked away, before she could guess his feelings.

“Drink your tea,” she coaxed. “You have had a shock too, and need it. Then you must have your bandages replaced.”

Faramir’s eyes grew heavy as he drained the cup. He was only dimly aware of his wife taking it from him. He struggled to keep upright as she smeared his back with honey and re-bandaged the painful welts, before helping him back to bed beside Aragorn.

After a moment’s hesitation, Éowyn climbed into the bed beside her husband. She lay wakeful, gazing at his face, the handsome features now marred with fresh lines of grief and pain.  ‘If only he could be honest with me, she thought, ‘Maybe our marriage would have a chance.’ She glared at the sleeping King, the other side of Faramir, annoyed with herself for softening towards him earlier. She was, however, relieved he still lived. Whatever had possessed her to hold him in her arms? The man deserved to suffer, though, just as he had made her suffer!