These Characters are the property of the Estate of J. R. R Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This story has been written for pleasure and no profit has or will be made from it.

O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword; Shakespeare- Hamlet 3.1

The Steward took a deep breath.” I am afraid that…” He swallowed hard, wondering how to approach such a shameful subject. Not for the first time, he wondered if there were any way in what really happened could be discovered, but even the contemplation of such a humiliating examination was beyond endurance.

Faramir thought of how lovingly the King had held him a few moments ago. After all the crimes he had committed, it bewildered him that he still would show affection towards him. But if Aragorn knew everything, he would surely shrink from him in disgust, unable any longer to maintain his façade of trying to be kind such a tainted creature as he. He would always treasure that memory of being held for the last time by the one he loved as a father, but he could never allow it to happen again. He had been shamefully weak to accept the comfort he so craved.

“What are you afraid of?” Aragorn prompted gently, his eyes full of compassion.

“That if my arm should ever heal I might use it to harm someone again,” Faramir replied, compelled by the King’s insistence to voice at least one of his fears aloud. The other could never be spoken of, for there was Éowyn to consider as well. ”I am afraid that I will only hurt someone else if I ever wield a sword again,” Faramir confided, “It is better that my arm should not heal!”

“You might need to defend yourself again,” Aragorn said firmly, continuing to apply the salve, “Gondor might have need of your sword arm too!”

“I would rather be struck down than take such a risk again.” Faramir replied firmly, knowing it was time to tell Aragorn of the decision he had reached. ”I know I should be ready to wield a sword to defend you as your Steward, so I beg your leave to render up my Office and retire from public life. I am a liability.  Éomer is crippled for life and will never forgive me and Rohan is Gondor’s most valuable ally.”

Aragorn put down the pot of salve and gripped Faramir’s cold hands.  “Faramir, my friend, I beg you to reconsider. What should I do without you, what would Gondor do? Your family have served well as Stewards for over a thousand years.”

“I, the last of the  House of Hurin, have failed as my father always said I would,” the Steward replied bleakly.

The King cupped Faramir’s face in his hands and raised his head. “Faramir, look at me, do not turn away! “ he said earnestly. ”You have never let me down, you were the victim in all this, not the aggressor.”

“There could still be war with Rohan. Eowyn is torn between Éomer and myself. I see it affecting her health,” Faramir said sadly, trying to break free. “It is my fault that Éowyn was so unhappy that she felt the need to write to her brother to complain!”

“I love Éomer and he is my friend, but am not blind to his faults. I am certain that deep down, he knows this was mostly his fault, but is far too stubborn to admit it,” Aragorn said firmly “Éowyn understands that too and is loyal to you. You both had problems early in your marriage, but that is hardly a crime. You never ill-treated your wife. War is most unlikely, for Éomer would have to fight me, his sworn friend!”

“I no longer wish to be your Steward. Do you accept my resignation, my lord?” Faramir persisted.

“This is not the time to make such an important decision. We will discuss it again when you are fully recovered and after your child is born. A son might make you think differently, for if you resign your office he would forfeit it too,” Aragorn replied firmly. “You suffered a dreadful ordeal in prison that even the lowliest of my subjects should never have had to endure and it will take time for you to heal. I promise you, eventually the pain will fade.”

Faramir looked unconvinced, and more distressed than ever at the mention of his time in prison.

“Is there anything else that troubles you? I would have you tell me.” Aragorn said gently. It seemed that Faramir was repressing the understandable anger he must feel against him. If only he would just strike him as Éowyn had done! It would be well worth the pain to see Faramir shed this dreadful lethargy.

“I thought I heard the Queen’s voice. When did she come in? Did she see me unclothed?” was all Faramir felt he could say.

“Soon after you fainted. We had undressed you, but you were swathed in blankets by then. She is looking after Éowyn now.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Aragorn struggled to suppress a smile that his suspicious were correct, as to when Faramir came round. It was typical of Faramir that he should be so troubled at the prospect of an almost three thousand year old Elf seeing him shirtless, though it would be considered insulting to a lady, given the custom of Gondor.

“She did not touch me?” Faramir sounded agitated.

“Why would that trouble you?” Aragorn was perplexed, for Arwen was entirely innocent of any part in Faramir’s ordeal unlike Éowyn and himself.

“I might still have some contagion from the prison,” Faramir mumbled.

“That is impossible, put such thoughts from your mind! I understand how your ordeal must haunt you. I am truly sorry you had to endure all these distressing experiences, my friend,” Aragorn said with great sincerity grasping his Steward’s hands again. ”Your Uncle and I were glad to tend you and would do so again, yet it was one of the hardest tasks I ever faced. Can you ever forgive me for my thoughtlessness?”

“You did what you must as King. It is I who must crave pardon.” Faramir replied, tensing as if he wanted to pull away.

His eyes held great depths of pain. Aragorn feared unless he could think of some remedy, his Steward’s mind would give way completely.

“No one here holds anything against you, Faramir. There is nothing for me to forgive.” Aragorn said firmly. ” Éowyn understands too ; she too has made mistakes in the past. You shall put all this behind you eventually, when you are in less pain. I shall come daily to ease your hurts and you can have the Elven remedy to heal your scars. Even Éomer will come to his senses soon, I am certain, stubborn though he is, and you will become closer than you were before this happened.”

“He will never forgive me and the Elven treatment would be wasted!” Faramir said, totally unconvinced by Aragorn’s kind words. “You healed all my scars but it seems I cannot go for long without being flogged again!”

“The miscreant who did it will pay as dearly at his trial as if I had felt the lash myself!” Aragorn promised. “I shall do all I can to make things right, you have my word as your friend and as your King!”

“I know you mean well but I am so weary!” Faramir whispered. ”I cannot serve you as I ought, I am not the man you believed me to be. My father was right after all!”

“Stop speaking like this!” Aragorn said firmly, “What would your brother say to see you, thus? He died believing it was to help create a better world, one in which you could live in peace and happiness.”

“I wish I had died with him.” was Faramir’s only reply, leaving even Aragorn at a loss for words in the face of such despair.

The King was filled with both pity and a growing sense of alarm. Faramir’s family seemed to have a predisposition towards madness; Boromir was driven mad by the ring, while Denethor had succumbed to the palantír.

Was Faramir about to suffer the same fate from the burden of his own conscience? The situation was made worse by the fact that everyone close to him, was also close to Éomer in some way too. He looked again at the skeletal frame and blue tinged complexion of his Steward and feared he might not even live long enough for his mental stability to cause concern.

Aragorn suspected that years of being told he was unworthy and second best, were finally taking their toll. He felt exasperated at Faramir’s despair and frustrated by Éomer’s stubbornness. The young King of Rohan was obdurate and probably felt that to forgive his brother in law and accept Elven remedies would seem like weakness.

“Can you walk if I aid you to bed?” Aragorn said, finally at a loss for anything else to suggest. He could only hope that Faramir would think over what he said once left alone. ”I will tend you again tomorrow.”

Faramir nodded and managed to struggle to his feet. Slowly and painfully, he pulled his shirt over his head, refusing Aragorn’s offer of help.

The King escorted to his bedchamber and mixed up the medicinal herbs he needed while Faramir prepared for bed, undressing under his nightshirt.

“Drink this!” Aragorn told him, handing him the cup, once he was settled in bed.

“No, thank you,” Faramir said firmly but politely.

Aragorn finally lost patience with him. “As your King, I order you to drink it! It should not taste too bad!” he said in a stern tone, which Faramir dared not disobey.

Obediently, Faramir drained the cup, gazing reproachfully at the King. Aragorn sighed; hating himself and concerned he was abusing his authority over a totally broken man. Yet, he despaired for his life if nothing was done to strengthen Faramir’s heart. Even with the help of the hawthorn and foxglove tinctures, he could still die.

Aragorn brushed his Steward’s eyelids with his fingertips, sending him into a light healing sleep.

The lines of strain eased from the Steward’s face in sleep but he still looked very frail and vulnerable.

Aragorn stood looking at him sadly, remembering all the times they had shared, both good and bad over the last two and a half years, He yearned to see Faramir contented and happy, eagerly awaiting the birth of his first child, using his formidable diplomatic and debating skills and most of all to see him healthy and relaxed, not shying away from his loved ones. Selfishly, he supposed, he wanted to enjoy Faramir’s friendship again, though he supposed that was too much to hope for; given the way Faramir shrunk away from his touch and addressed him with such cold formality. He so missed enjoying their shared interests together, the lively discussions and the loving, brotherly companionship of one so intelligent and sweet natured. He needed Faramir as someone who would put rank aside, call him to task when needed and engage him in mock fights and teasing which eased the burden of kingship.

An anxious frown disfiguring his noble features, Aragorn went in search of his wife and Éowyn. There was much to discuss if Faramir were to be saved and he was determined that he would be. He was certain that his Steward had not yet told him everything that troubled him nor did he believe the reassurances he had given him. Only once both these obstacles were overcome would he have any hope of recovery.

An idea was forming in his mind but first he must discuss it with Arwen and Éowyn. Then there was also the problem of getting Faramir to agree to the ‘gift’ he had in mind. If only he would though, they could both maybe find peace.

Arwen was enjoying far greater success in getting Éowyn to accept her help, than her husband was with his Steward. As soon as they reached the Queen’s apartments, she instructed her servants to fill the sunken bath with warm water, to which she added a selection of herbs, left over from her own pregnancy and known to the Elves to be beneficial to mothers to be. “That should begin to ease your aching back, ” she told Éowyn. ”Then when you have bathed you can experience Elven massage from the hands of an Elf! I know you prefer the remedies of your own people, but let me use mine on you today!”

“That sounds very tempting.” Éowyn smiled wanly. ”But should I not be with Faramir?”

“You had hardly any sleep last night and both Estel and I are concerned about you too. We can see you are in pain. Leave Estel to help your husband!” Arwen told her firmly. “You are too near your time not to take care of yourself! Now can you get in the bath by yourself or would you like me to help you?”

“I usually can manage but not while my back aches so,” Éowyn replied, readily accepting the Queen’s assistance, much to her surprise. Éowyn was fiercely independent and rarely accepted any offer of help.

Arwen could have summoned her maids it seemed better to give her personal attention to a friend in need. Eldarion was safely in the nursery with his nursemaid so she could tend to Éowyn with a clear conscience.

Éowyn had already shed all her clothing, somewhat to Arwen’s amusement. Unlike the ladies of Gondor, some of whom even bathed in their shifts, if others were present, Éowyn had no inhibitions at all and was perfectly content for Arwen to aid her into the bath and then lave her back and shoulders.

To the Queen’s relief, Éowyn’s haggardness seemed confined to her face, as her body appeared healthy and well nourished. It seemed she was sensible enough not to let her fears for husband endanger her or the unborn child.

Once the water cooled, Éowyn reluctantly left the bath and clad in a towel, went with Arwen to the adjoining bedchamber, where the Queen covered the bed with towels and assorted jars of remedies for tight skin, soreness and stretch marks.

A cheerful fire blazed in the grate and the entire room radiated an air of warmth and comfort much like the Queen herself.

Éowyn was eager to experience them all after having used them on her friend, though she had used Rohirric treatments until today for her own ills.

“I understand that the oil of primroses can ease the skin, but cactus juice?” She marvelled anew at the depth of Elven knowledge while Arwen sat beside her and applied the mixtures. The tightness across her belly was already easing.

“The Elves have had thousands of years to experiment with plants and learn their properties.” Arwen explained. ”I hope you will remember our lore and tell your children. Our time here has ended and we must try to pass on our knowledge.”

“I will,” Éowyn promised, rolling on to her side so Arwen could ease her aching back. She felt an almost indescribable sensation peace, tenderness and warmth as the pain ebbed away. “Whatever is that?” she asked, puzzled.

“Elven massage. You are familiar with it, I believe.” There was suppressed laughed in the Queen’s voice.

“Aragorn did tell me you were the expert. I thought he was skilled but compared with you he…I did not know you were a healer…”Éowyn’s voice drifted away as she fell into a deep state of relaxation.

“The more skilled you are, the more uses the massage has.” Arwen explained, “It can be used for bonding, healing, relaxation, a diagnostic technique for skilled healers or even as a beauty treatment! I have had over two thousand years to perfect the techniques.” The Queen grinned, continuing until Éowyn was sound asleep.

TBC

A/N

 I expect many of you want to throw something at Faramir (and at me) after this chapter but I hope as the plot progresses you will understand why I am writing it this way. One of my reasons is a desire to involve Arwen and Éowyn more.