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

What is our innocence,
what is our guilt? All are
naked, none is safe. - Marianne Moore (1887–1972)

To the Steward’s relief, Elbeth was in a deep and peaceful sleep, most likely dreaming of kittens still.

Faramir put on his cloak. He needed to answer nature’s call and to see how Zachus was faring. Stepping outside the cave, he was almost dazzled by a thick, pristine carpet of virgin snow, a rarity in Gondor. He stared at it in wonder. Initially, he was dismayed at the sight of his footprints, fearing their hiding place would be easily discovered. He then concluded that the forest would be impassable under such conditions and when the snow melted, it would wash away their tracks. The Valar appeared to be smiling on them at last. He could even spot some bewildered looking rabbits amongst the trees, which might provide fresh meat. He had just emerged from behind a tree when he was startled by a loud whinny. To his delight, Roheryn was cautiously approaching. “I have brought your master!” he told him, patting the stallion. By way of reply, Roheryn nuzzled him, no doubt in hope of some tasty morsel.

As quickly as he could, Faramir cleared a patch of snow to allow both horses to graze before going to fetch water from the stream. He then went back inside the cave to fetch his bow, hoping he could make a kill before Elbeth was abroad.

Stealthily, Faramir crept up on his prey; an ill-fated buck rabbit, tempted by the patch of snow free grass. He quickly strung the arrow, releasing it with deadly accuracy. He was pleased to find that even after several years without practise and injuries to his arm and shoulder, he had retained his old skills with the bow.

The Steward took no joy in killing; but fresh meat was more appetising and nourishing than dried. It would help too, to eke out the limited supplies he had been able to carry on a single packhorse. Picking up the dead rabbit, he took it back inside in order to prepare it for the pot.

Aragorn had awoken during his absence. The King stared at him with glassy eyes devoid of recognition. “Water!” he cried.

Faramir poured some from the bubbling pot into a cup and waited for it to cool sufficiently to drink.

“So very hot!” Aragorn whispered, his voice week and rasping. “Hurts, everywhere hurts!”

Faramir hurried back outside, grabbed a handful of snow and wrapped it in a cloth. He gently brushed back the sweat- soaked hair from the King’s brow and applied the cold compress. He held the now cooled water to the King’s lips.

“So kind.” Aragorn smiled at him weakly, reaching out to clasp Faramir’s hand, almost breaking his Steward’s heart in so doing. How could he be thought kind after what he had done? The bruise from his blow was still visible on the King’s cheek and he knew all too well that beneath his shirt, the hideous brand proclaimed his cruelty towards this man who had given him everything.

Faramir consoled himself that he had at least rescued his friend from a cruel death at the hands of his tormentors. He gave Aragorn another cup of water and then mixed up the medicines for him, which the King swallowed obediently. Aragorn clung to Faramir's hand, whimpering in pain until the poppy juice took effect.

Faramir then gently disentangled his hand and prepared to bathe his King and change his clothing and bandages, only to realise that Elbeth was awake and watching him in that disconcerting way of hers, her solemn grey eyes so like Boromir’s. “Did you sleep well?” he enquired as she climbed out of her cocoon of bedding.

“Yes, it was fun being curled up like a kitten,” she replied, jumping up and down on the spot while she spoke.

“I need you to turn and look the other way now,” he told her.

“Why?” she demanded.

“I have to change the King’s clothes,” he explained. “Men without clothes on are not nice to look at.”

She giggled all too knowingly, making Faramir wonder what horrors her life with Hanna had contained.

“They look very funny, just like skinned rabbits! Girls are made much better,” she informed him solemnly, “And kittens! Why can’t men be dressed all over in nice fur like kittens?”

“I do not know,“ Faramir told her, privately agreeing on the greater beauty of the female form. He wondered how many more questions she would ask, of which he had no idea of the correct answers, if indeed there were any? “Now will you turn around, please? You must not see the King uncovered.”

“Why?” she asked again, “I’ve seen mummy's men friends with no clothes on.”

Faramir racked his brains disparately seeking an answer, which would satisfy her. “Because he is the King and kings are special men,” he said at last.

“Oh,” Elbeth digested the information then fidgeted uncomfortably. ”I need to go,” she announced.

Faramir could only assume she meant a call of nature beckoned and felt it indelicate to enquire further. “You will have to go outside, but be careful not to slip in the snow,” he cautioned her, “ Put your cloak on as it is cold.”

“What is snow?” Elbeth asked bewildered. “I thought it was just funny rain that hits you on the nose.”

“I will show you, “ Faramir sighed, wondering how long it was going to be before he could tend Aragorn. “Come!” he said, taking her hand in one of his and holding a candle to guide them through the outer cave with the other.

When they emerged from the mouth of the cave, Elbeth gazed entranced. “Is it magic?” she asked. “It is so pretty! What is it made of?”

“It is frozen water and it comes down from the clouds when it is very cold.” Faramir told her patiently.

“What is for then?” she asked.

Faramir was about to reply that he did not know, then he remembered a day when he must have been about her age and had seen snow himself for the first time. His tutor, a wise and kindly man, had excused him from his studies that morning; informing Denethor that learning about snow would be a valuable lesson. The tutor had shown him how to build a snowman and make snowballs, which he had enjoyed throwing at his surprised brother when Boromir had emerged from his morning lessons. Smiling at the memory, he scooped up a handful of snow and threw it towards the nearest tree, hitting it with a resounding splat. “Snow is for playing with,” he told Elbeth. “Now do not go any further than those trees over there. I will call you in a few minutes and you can show me the snowballs you have made.”

He hastened back to Aragorn’s side. The King was frantically begging for more water and trying vainly to reach the cup Faramir had set to one side. Faramir dared to hope that despite the raging fever, his stronger movements and desire to drink suggested that his lord was a little stronger. He was greatly relieved that Aragorn was moving his limbs freely, which showed the spider venom had not caused any lasting damage. Not wanting to keep Elbeth out in the cold, he swiftly tried to remove Aragorn’s clothing.

“No!” the King protested, clutching at his garments feverishly. ”Water!”

“You shall have more when your wounds have been tended,” Faramir said firmly, steeling himself to ignore the feeble protests and concentrating on his task. He threw a blanket over the King and bathed him under it as much as possible trying to protect him from the biting cold and protect his dignity, remembering how Aragorn had done he same for him. He feared that Elbeth might return at any moment if she grew bored with her game. Faramir liberally applied salves and re-bandaged the raw wounds on the King's ankles. He dressed him in clean drawers, noticing how his hand immediately felt for the embroidered white tree emblem.

“Arwen!” the King whispered with tears in his eyes. ”Arwen, where are you my love? Please do not leave me!”

“You shall see her soon.” Faramir soothed, hoping fervently he could keep his promise.

Tucking the blanket snugly around Aragorn, he went in search of Elbeth, only to be greeted by a snowball hitting him on the chest.

“I’ve learned how to make snowballs!” she announced, emerging from behind the tree where she had been hiding.

“I see that!” Faramir said grimly, resisting the temptation to scold her for following what after all had been his suggestion. “Come inside now, or you will get cold.”

“But I’m having fun!” she protested, pouting.

“You can play again when you have had something to eat,” he promised her.

“I’m hungry!” The snowballs forgotten, she followed him inside.

Mixing some oatmeal with water, Faramir put it on the fire to warm, telling Elbeth to watch that it did not boil over and not on any account to turn around.

Returning to Aragorn, he unwrapped the bandages and bathed his face, arms and upper body. To his dismay, the wounds were still oozing their evil contents, though he did not know whether that was a bad thing or not. He began to cleanse them thoroughly, which caused Aragorn to writhe and moan.

“Stop! No!” the King begged, as the raw wound below his ribs was cleansed. “Where is Faramir? He would save me. No, I remember now, he betrayed me! You look like him, but you cannot be that traitor! ”

Faramir felt almost as distressed as his patient. He truly hated causing pain to any. It was torment indeed to see Aragorn in such a pitiful condition. Even at the Hunting Lodge, most of the time Aragorn had been aware of who he was and what needed to be done. Most importantly, he had trusted his Steward then. When Faramir applied the honey, he ardently wished he could stop his ears against the injured man’s screams.

Elbeth left her place by the fire and grabbed his arm. “Why are you making Strider cry again?” she demanded accusingly.

Faramir sighed in dismay, ”I told you to stay by the fire!” he scolded, horrified both that she should see Aragorn's injuries and that the King should suffer the added humiliation of having a young child see him wounded and half naked.

“I won't stay there while you hurt Strider!” she replied furiously.

“The honey stings but it should help him get better,” Faramir replied, quickly bandaging the wounds.

“Honey tastes nice to eat, but why were you rubbing it on?” she asked, seemingly untroubled by the gruesome injuries.

“It cleans a nasty wound better than water does,” was the best explanation Faramir could think of, hoping she would not now want to eat his precious supply of honey.

Her attention was already elsewhere, as her eyes were drawn to wards the brand mark, which Faramir was now bathing. “I thought they put those marks on cows, not people.” she commented.

“They do, it was very wrong that this was put here,” Faramir said, almost to himself.

“Then the bad person should be punished as it must have hurt Strider a lot!” Elbeth said sternly.

“It did and so he should be!” Faramir whispered.