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Web of Treason  by Linda Hoyland

These characters (with the exception of those of my own creation) . This story has been written purely for pleasure and no profit has or will me made from it.

Love all, trust a few,
Do wrong to none.
- William Shakespeare (1564–1616), All’s Well That Ends Well, act 1, sc. 1.

“And what is that to you?” Faramir sounded both harsh and defensive. In his heart, though, he yearned to share the truth with someone who could be trusted. Tarostar was close kin to his family and might have been expected to support any move to return them to power. Yet, it had been obvious that the healer had struggled to maintain a professional calm on seeing the mutilated corpse, which suggested he had cared deeply for Aragorn too.

“The good of Gondor is any loyal subject’s concern. And how can Gondor thrive if her King is dead and her Steward has lost his wits, when Prince Eldarion is but a babe in arms?”

“I am as sane as you, Master Tarostar,” Faramir replied firmly. ”Surely you can see that? Alas, that the Prince is not yet of age!” They had reached a holly bush and the thorny leaves snagged Faramir’s cloak, imprisoning him in its web of branches. Tarostar helped him free himself and then caught the Steward’s wrist. “Does a sane man denounce one who treated him with great honour and kindness?”

“He stole my birthright!” Faramir protested, not looking the Healer in the eye.

“Repeat after me then, - King Elessar was a tyrant who brought misfortune to Gondor - The Return of the King was a blessing from the Valar!”

Unsure why Tarostar was asking this of him, Faramir impatiently repeated the words.

“You did not hate him,” Tarostar pronounced triumphantly, releasing his hand. “You will never convince me otherwise.”

“You dare to accuse me of speaking falsehoods?” Faramir’s fury was against his own inability to convince, rather than over what was an acute observation.

“I told you that the heart cannot lie,” Tarostar said gravely, ”I noticed how your pulse raced when you spoke against the late King, yet remained steady, when I told you to say that which you truly believed. Much as it grieves me to say so, Lord Faramir, King Elessar treated me far better than your House ever did! My father died in prison for no greater crime than that of having fallen in love. I was pronounced illegitimate and raised by the Warden of the Houses rather than my kin. King Elessar became a friend to me, through his helping to care for the sick here. He never treated me with other than respect.”

They had reached the end of the path. Faramir paced the lawn while he debated, whether or not to confide in Tarostar. He was sorely tempted to. Nevertheless, could he dare to take such a risk? Yet, the Healer was bound by an oath of confidentiality in his dealings with his patients. Never once, had he been known to break it. In addition, he was not involved in the complicated politics of the Council. It would affect him very little who ruled Gondor. Healers would always be needed, whether kings or stewards ruled. Tarostar had welcomed Aragorn’s healing abilities as a blessing and never resented being eclipsed by him.

“Tell me,” asked Faramir, "Are the Lords of Lamedon, Lossarnach and Ringlo Vale amongst your patients?”

Tarostar shook his head, “No, I know of them only by sight. Men such as they, despise me for my birth.”

“If I were to tell you what I believe, do I have your sworn vow that you will tell no other, including my uncle?”

“I swear it and may I be forever accursed, should I break my word!”

Faramir reached a decision. “Then tell me, would you think it proof that I had lost my wits, if I were to say that I believe our King might yet live?”

Tarostar started slightly, then collected himself and thoughtfully stroked his grey beard. “You saw the body and the tokens it bore, one of which, I see you now wearing,” he replied, looking meaningfully at the ring on Faramir’s finger. “Yet, had it not been for those same tokens, it could have been any poor wretch that had been dragged from the river; so no, I would not think you mad. Grief though, can make us believe what we want to, rather than what is actually true, much as we would both like to believe that he yet lives.”

Faramir took a deep breath and decided to trust his companion. “King Elessar shared a Thought Bond with both his Queen and with me,” he began, “I did not know what would happen if that were broken, but the Queen told me I would feel as if my soul were torn asunder. As that has happened to neither of us, she believes and I dare hope that the King still lives. Also, we both dream nightly that he is calling for help.”

Tarostar listened intently, his head cocked to one side, “That is indeed a consequence of Thought Bonds, as I have experienced them personally,” he told Faramir, somewhat to the Steward’s surprise. “However, it does not always affect the survivors too badly, it depends on the closeness they had before death. If their friendship had waned and they had not seen each other for some time they would suffer few ill effects.”

“Our friendship had grown closer over the past months and we shared thoughts the night before he disappeared.I was holding him, for he was distressed over the death of a baby boy,” Faramir admitted, reluctant to let any other than Arwen know how distraught Aragorn had been.

Tarostar’s eyes widened, “Then your bond would be strong indeed, you could be right!” he conceded. “I remember that night all too well. I had hesitated to summon the King sooner, for I could see how much the healing drained him. Afterwards, I wished I had done so, for maybe then the baby would have survived. So what do you propose to do about your suspicions?”

“I plan to infiltrate the traitors then go and seek my King!” Faramir replied, his voice now afire with conviction. “I fear I have upset my uncle greatly these past weeks. I have been pretending to be in sympathy those I believe may be holding him. One of them has now invited me to visit him. I go in the hope of finding the King’s whereabouts and bringing him safe home. I am planning to ride out tonight to store supplies in a nearby cave in case Aragorn is wounded and we need to take shelter for a time. If only I can slip out undetected!”

Tarostar regarded the Steward with a mixture of alarm and awe. “You are taking great risks, Lord Faramir,” he said. “I suppose I should counsel you against such a reckless action. Yet, for such an exceptional man as the King, I understand why you must. As for slipping out undetected, I believe I can help you. It is my professional advice that you be admitted to the Houses of Healing at once to treat your earache!” He now raised his voice and spoke in a tone loud enough to be heard by any in the vicinity.

“What?” Faramir exclaimed, alarmed that he had misjudged his ability to see into the hearts of men. “I am not ill, I told you there is nothing wrong with my ears!”

“But your walls may have many ears that ache to catch you unawares! You can leave the Houses of Healing undetected much more easily than your apartments, especially if I am watching over you!” Tarostar now spoke in a whisper and smiled, “Now go and pack what clothing you need. I can provide bedding and healing supplies.”

Faramir found himself blinking back tears of gratitude. It was good no longer to be alone in his undertaking.

***

An hour later, Faramir left his apartments accompanied by Tarostar. He rubbed his ear and groaned softly as he leaned against the Healer’s arm for support. A servant from the Houses of Healing had been summoned to carry his bulging bags, which contained a mixture of his own, and Aragorn’s clothing.

“Does your lordship require me to cancel the invitation from the Lord of Lamedon?” Delos enquired a trifle too anxiously, when they reached the door.

“You should have more faith in me, my good man!” Tarostar said breezily, “After a day of rest and treatments, I am certain Lord Faramir will be quite recovered. I have only suggested he brings plenty of clothing just in case he requires surgery and a lengthy stay, but do not cancel the invitation just yet!”

***

Faramir soon found himself clad in a nightshirt and tucked up in bed in the Houses of Healing. He was housed in the same comfortable private room that he had been taken to on the day the body was discovered.

A bandage was wound round his head, to emphasise his supposed ear complaint. A variety of Healers buzzed in and out, asking endless questions. Apart from one taking his pulse, none had attempted to examine him since he was under the Warden’s personal care.

Being in this position, make Faramir all the more painfully aware of just how fortunate he had been to have had the gentle and considerate Aragorn to take care of him. The endless questions made him certain his earache, or a headache at the least, would soon no longer be a charade. After a while, Tarostar came to him and told him he needed to get some sleep.

“But I am not ill!” Faramir protested.

“No, but you soon will be, if you intend to undertake a gruelling journey without rest!” Tarostar said firmly. “I shall pack all the bedding and healing supplies you need; bandages, herbs, salves, splints, a needle with which to stitch wounds and a small, sharp knife. I have labelled all the herbs and salves with their dosage and what they should be used for.”

“Thank you, that will help greatly,” Faramir replied courteously, groaning inwardly at the mention of some of these items, hoping fervently he would not need to use them.

Tarostar added gently, “He could be badly injured. I fear to confine a man of King Elessar’s strength would take considerable force. How much knowledge of tending the sick and wounded do you have?”

“Only a little alas, though I have observed both my wife and Damrod treating a variety of hurts and occasionally assisted them.”

“I fear that will have to suffice, for I dare not send a Healer with you. They would quickly be missed and it would also place them in grave danger,” Tarostar said regretfully.

“Will you give me your word, you will tell none of my plan, unless I have not returned in three months time to the City after I set out to visit Fosco of Lamedon? I would not endanger my uncle nor risk my scheme being uncovered should I be lost.”

“Three months is too long!” Tarostar protested, “What if you are captured and in need of help?”

“It could take a while to win the Lord of Lamedon’s trust. Then, I will need time to escape with the King and take him to a place of safety. Those I suspect, have far reaching tentacles. They must not know they are suspected, until I have found a means to uproot them. Should I not return, or the Queen and Prince Eldarion be brought to Minas Tirith by force, I beg you to send word to King Éomer of Rohan.”

“Very well,” said Tarostar reluctantly.

“There is one more thing, I must ask you, Master Tarostar, before I leave. How much poppy juice would it take to kill a man?”

 

 





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