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Web of Treason  by Linda Hoyland

These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain

With thanks to Susan W for her advice about how much Zachus could carry.

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago. - Christina Rossetti

Dismounting from Zachus, Faramir turned to Elbeth and tried to explain the situation as best he could to her. “Your friend Strider is in this sack,” he told her. “He is my friend as well and I am trying to rescue him. I gave him some special medicine to make him go to sleep.”

“I thought you weren’t friends any more and he died because you wouldn’t help him.” Elbeth unsurprisingly sounded bewildered.

“I was playing a pretending game,” Faramir told her. “I did give him some medicine after all. It made him look as if he were dead so I could help him escape.”

“Good!” Elbeth replied. “They were hurting him and he needed rescuing! Will Strider get better now?”

“I hope so,” Faramir replied gravely. ”I shall do everything I can for him.”

“I can help you look after him as he’s my friend too,” Elbeth replied.

Faramir very much doubted that she could, but had neither the time nor inclination to argue with her. To his relief, she asked no further questions.

Swiftly, the Steward cut the ropes securing the sack and lifted it gently down from the packhorse. Unfastening it, he pulled aside the sackcloth as carefully as he could to free the King’s head from its confines. He laid Aragorn on the ground. The King remained motionless and seemingly lifeless. There was no way Faramir could tell whether his lord still lived or not. He left the rest of Aragorn’s body shrouded by the sack for warmth.

The Steward was determined not to tie his lord on to the packhorse again. Fortunately, Zachus was a large, strong horse, bred to easily carry a heavy man in full armour.

Elbeth ran to Aragorn’s side and shook him. “Wake up Strider!” she called, ”Uncle Faramir has rescued you!”

Aragorn neither moved nor spoke.

“Why won’t he wake up?” Elbeth demanded.

“Because of the medicine I gave him, “ Faramir explained, hoping fervently that was the truth. “He is very ill indeed, Elbeth.”

“You should have given him some medicine sooner!” Elbeth said accusingly. “Is he going to die?”

“I do not know, but we cannot leave him here on the cold ground,” Faramir replied. He suppressed the urge to weep at the pitiful condition of his beloved friend and King. He decided to slit the sack to release Aragorn’s legs and place him in front of him on Zachus. He then told Elbeth to cling on behind him. He doubted that she would be capable of riding the packhorse bareback. He could only hope the animal would follow them.

Carefully, he lifted Aragorn up on to his horse, noting with alarm how very light he was. He sagged limply over the horse’s neck while Faramir reached up for Elbeth. “Put your arms around my waist and hold on tightly,” he told her. He secured the King with one hand and grasped the reins with the other, urged Zachus onwards towards the hidden caves.

The next hour felt like a waking nightmare. Faramir struggled to keep his precious burden from falling. Aragorn neither moved nor made any sound. The Steward wondered if all he would be able to do for him was to ensure he was entombed in the Rath Dinen with honour. Even if Aragorn yet lived, he would be seriously ill both from fever and whatever wounds his filthy clothing concealed. Faramir enfolded his cloak protectively round his lord; glad that many years of soldiering had accustomed him to the stench of a man who has not been able to wash for weeks combined with that of festering wounds. Alive or dead, he would give his King a bath once they reached their destination. He was determined to at least restore some dignity to the one he loved so dearly. After what he had done, he knew that Aragorn would never again regard him as a friend, tend his hurts or share the Thought Bond with him. However, if he could only restore him to his wife, his child and his throne, Faramir be content, however bereft he felt.

“Elbeth, wake up!” he cried, jolted out of his musings, as he felt the small arms slacken their grip.

Jolted into wakefulness, she gripped him so tightly for a moment, he could hardly breathe. “Where are we going? Will we be there soon?” she demanded.

“We are heading for a cave on the other side of the forest,” he told her.

“That sounds fun! I hope there are lots of bats,” Elbeth responded cheerfully, reminding Faramir very much of his brother who had been fascinated by the creatures flitting to and fro from the White Tower.

It was a clear frosty night and the stars shone brightly overhead. Elbeth shivered and nestled closer to Faramir. He was grateful for the warmth of her small body at his back but felt guilty that he was subjecting the child to the freezing night air. The icy wind moaned and seemed to go through them despite their thick layers of warm clothing.

Zachus had managed a brisk trot until now, but the Steward had to slow him to a walk once they reached the forest canopy. They had to pick their way along a narrow, twisting track, which wound between the trees. Faramir could see very little. The thick branches obscured the moon. He had to trust his mount to find his way and not stumble on exposed roots. It was fortunate indeed, that long years with his master in the wilds had accustomed the bay to be sure footed in such conditions. Zachus even waded through the stream without complaint or faltering. Faramir vowed that, if by some miracle, they returned to Minas Tirith alive, he would see that Zachus was provided with the best hay and most comfortable stable for the rest of his days.

When they left the shelter of the trees, Faramir realised that it was not only the branches obscuring the moon but also thick clouds. The air felt heavy with snow and a few flakes were already starting to fall.

“Why is the rain funny?” Elbeth asked in bewilderment, when a snowflake hit her on the nose.

“It is not rain but snow,” Faramir explained, realising that she must be too young to remember the last time it had snowed in Gondor, which usually had mild winters. He was now glad of her chatter to help to keep him alert. He was starting to fear that he would never find the cave in the darkness and they would all freeze to death. Then, suddenly he recognised the terrain and realised they were travelling in the right direction.

“Oh.” Elbeth lapsed into silence as she tried to digest this new information.

Faramir’s arms ached with the struggle to support Aragorn and control his horse as well as keep Elbeth awake. The bleak journey seemed endless.

It felt as if they had been travelling for hours. Already he feared that he was too late to save the King. Then, when they rounded a bend, the hill he sought rose out of the ground almost in front of them. He circled round until he found the thorn bush. “We are here,” he told Elbeth, reining Zachus to a halt. Stiffly, he dismounted and first lifted Aragorn down, briefly laying him on the cold ground and then Elbeth, who immediately tried to rouse the seemingly lifeless man.

“Wait here!” Faramir told her. He lit a torch he had brought with him and went inside the cave to light the candles he had left there. Going back outside, he scooped up Aragorn in his arms and bade Elbeth to follow him. The child gasped in wonder as he led her into the larger cave. He gently laid Aragorn down on one of the pelts he had stored there, covering him with his cloak.

“I am going to light a fire and then need to fetch some water. Can you look after the King?” he asked Elbeth.

“Is he really King?” she asked bemused, while Faramir busied himself with the kindling,” Mummy said he was ‘Lesser the Zerper’ but he said I was to call him Strider.”

“Yes, he is King Elessar and he is not a usurper,” Faramir said firmly as the fire burst into life. For a few moments, the cave was filled with smoke. It made them cough and splutter. Faramir caught hold of Elbeth; afraid she would take fright, remembering the death of her grandmother. Elbeth mercifully seemed untroubled by any memories of the past.“You will be safe here,” Faramir assured her before he went outside. He unharnessed Zachus and let him wander off in search of grazing. Faramir then went down to the stream and filled two buckets with water. The snow was starting to come down harder now. It seemed that they had only just reached their destination in time.

When he returned he found Elbeth had maintained a patient vigil but was almost asleep.

“Well done! You can rest now. I will look after the King,” he said, giving her one of the blankets he had brought, “Wrap that round you and curl up by the fire.”

She obediently did as she was told while he put water in a pan to heat and laid out the healing supplies and bedding, putting it near the fire to air. By the time he was ready to begin tending to Aragorn, she was fast asleep, much to his relief. He did not wish her either to see the King uncovered or whatever wounds he might reveal.

Faramir moved Aragorn on to one of the bedrolls and steeled himself to remove the King’s filthy clothing. He dreaded what hurts he might uncover, yet knew it had to be done and he was the only person available to carry out the task. If only a healer were here, someone with the knowledge and experience not to fear what they might find!

Aragorn’s gaunt features and the fact that clumps had been torn from his hair and beard all bore testament to weeks of severe hardship and ill treatment.

Faramir unbuttoned the curiously designed shirt, only to find it stuck to the skin in places, which necessitated soaking it off. When Aragorn’s hurts were finally revealed, the Steward  exclaimed in horror and rage.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





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