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.

Every path to a new understanding begins in confusion. Mason Cooley (b. 1927),

In the greatest confusion there is still an open channel to the soul. - Saul Bellow 1915 -

“What is truth?” The Bible

With grateful thanks to Raksha without whose help I would still be tearing my hair out!

The King stirred and moaned slightly, but did not open his eyes.

Faramir began to question the wisdom of awakening him. He knew, though, it was important that he had a drink. Would have been better to rouse Elbeth first and ask her to give it to him? The child was sleeping so peacefully however, he had not the heart to disturb her yet. She had sat up for most of the night with only a single blanket to protect her from the bitter cold singing for the unconscious Aragorn.

“Aragorn, wake up!” Faramir called again. As the King stirred slightly, he went to where the clothing was stored and took out a clean shirt and placed it by the fire to warm.

Aragorn fought against the return of consciousness and the associated pain. He had felt himself floating towards a glorious light while a wondrous sense of peace had enfolded him. He could hear his mother and Halbarad calling to him. Just as he was about to embrace them, he had been pulled back through what seemed like a long dark tunnel.

Arwen had been at the other side, pleading with him to stay with her. He had seen his son there together with Elestelle. Then he had been cold, so very cold, that he felt he would still most surely die. Loving arms had then enfolded him, their warmth seeping into his own frozen body. He had heard singing in a child's clear innocent tones. He had heard another voice, one that sounded oddly like Faramir's, but could not have been that traitor’s. This voice was cracked with emotion telling him how much he was loved and needed. That same voice was calling him now, but he had no desire to respond to it. He yearned only to escape from the pain, which ravaged almost every inch of his suffering body. His wounds throbbed painfully, as did some new hurts in his hands and feet. Had he been tortured again while he slept?

Without opening his eyes, Aragorn tried to take stock of his surroundings. He realised he was no longer in the cellar and appeared to be lying on soft bedding. The single moth-eaten blanket had been replaced by layers of warm covers, with the soft fur of a pelt next to his skin.

With a start, he realised that he was almost naked and wearing nothing but a pair of drawers, which were blessedly clean, as was his skin. He remembered Hanna demanding that he be stripped. Why then, had they left him anything to protect his modesty, if they planned to utterly humiliate him? Most surprisingly, his wounds had been bandaged, albeit very inexpertly and his hands and feet were no longer fettered. He felt dreadfully thirsty.  Unable to prevent himself from whimpering with pain, Aragorn finally opened his eyes. He saw that Faramir was kneeling beside him, with a cup in his hand.

Faramir held his breath, wondering how the King would react. Aragorn was looking at him with a bewildered rather than fearful expression. He held out the cup, preparing to rouse Elbeth if he would not take it.

“Drink this, my liege. It will help you,” he said gently. ”See, it is not poisoned!” To prove his words, Faramir took a sip and swallowed it. He then supported Aragorn's head and held the cup to his lips.

In too much pain and too thirsty to resist, Aragorn drank; sipping the soothing drink eagerly, until the cup was drained.

Faramir settled his King’s head back on the pillow. Even this slight movement made Aragorn moan with pain. “I will fetch you some poppy juice in a moment,” the Steward said, his eyes showing his distress at his lord's obvious agony. Faramir reached out to feel the King's brow. It was cool; the fever had broken! He made to move away before Aragorn could become agitated at the sight of him. However, a faltering hand reached out towards him and took his. The fingers looked red and raw, the snow had made the chilblains much worse.

“Faramir?” Aragorn whispered in a cracked voice.

“I am here, my lord, be easy!” Faramir replied, his voice choked with emotion. He held his breath. Aragorn appeared to be in his right mind again.

The King looked at him with a puzzled expression as if trying to recall something. He groaned again at the increasingly painful sensations returning to his hands and feet.

Faramir reached for the now warmed shirt. “Let me help you put this on,” he said. “You must not get cold.”

Aragorn allowed the garment to be slipped over his head without trying to struggle.

“You were out in the snow,” Faramir explained, pulling the shirt down and tucking the covers round snugly around the King again. “Your fingers and toes need tending. They look to be covered in chilblains, as do your ears.”

Aragorn breathed deeply and looked down at his reddened fingers. “Good idea - red not black - does not look too bad - not severe frostbite,” he mumbled, conceding that Faramir was correct.

The Steward mixed some poppy juice and offered it his lord. “Drink this, it should ease your pain,” he said, again taking a small sip to prove the potion was safe to swallow.

Aragorn wanted to refuse but when another groan involuntarily rose to his lips, he swallowed, ashamed of his own weakness.

Faramir fetched bandages and a salve of black bryony, which he knew would help to keep Aragorn’s damaged skin supple and ease him. It was a remedy popular amongst his men during their time in Ithilien. He worked in silence, noting how Aragorn was whimpering and biting his already raw lips. The King’s usually lively grey eyes were dull and clouded. The Ring of Barahir now dug painfully into his swollen finger, too tight now to remove.

The Steward then pulled the covers away from the King’s feet and painstakingly repeated the process with each reddened and swollen toe.

Aragorn bore the pain stoically, all the while feeling ever more bewildered at Faramir’s strange behaviour. This was his Faramir, his loyal friend and Steward, whom he loved as a son, trying to tend him as gently as he could. Yet, this same man was also the traitor who had tortured him so cruelly.

Bewildered, he wondered if it were some sort of trick to make him sign the marriage contract by lulling him into a false sense of security. Fragments of memory from when he was drifting in and out of consciousness flitted through his brain. He was sure that he remembered Faramir weeping and telling him how much he loved him and wanted to restore him to his wife and son. He could not understand his behaviour at all.

“There, my lord, are you more comfortable? Would you like another drink?” Faramir asked after applying the salve to Aragorn’s ears. He tucked the covers round the King’s chin and started to move away.

“Why did you betray me?” Aragorn demanded, a little strength returning to him as the poppy juice eased his pain.

“I am sorry, my lord, I meant it only as a deception that I might rescue you,” Faramir replied, unable to look Aragorn in the eye. He whispered, ”I never desired to harm you.”

“How can I believe you?” Aragorn replied, “You swore fealty to me and assured me of your love once. You have broken those vows! You even stole my ring!”

“Never in my heart, was I false, sire!” Faramir protested. “I sought only to save you. When your Queen suggested that I pretend to join the rebels, I agreed to do so. See your ring is back on your finger! If I had truly sought to betray you, I could have told them I knew how to operate your seal, but I did not!

“You branded me!” Aragorn accused. He wanted to trust Faramir but could not. The image of him advancing, red-hot iron in hand, would be forever seared in his brain.

“If I had refused to do so, I would have been unmasked,” Faramir replied desparately. “I had to do it. As soon as I could, I drugged you to make them believe you were dead and escaped with you. Ask Elbeth, when she awakens. She is asleep the other side of you.” He helped the King turn his head so that he could see her blanket- covered form.

“Must know!” Aragorn feebly reached out with his hand, trying to touch Faramir’s head and sense his thoughts before remembering that he had broken the bond.

“You severed our Thought Bond,” Faramir said sadly, “I understand why, but I feel my soul is torn asunder!”

Aragorn hesitated. He had no desire to bond with a traitor; yet, if Faramir were telling the truth, it would most likely kill him, were the link not at least partially restored. He distrusted him, yet the love he had once borne him, still lingered sufficiently for him not to want to risk destroying the younger man.

“A Bond can be remade. Place your head against mine,” Aragorn tried to sound commanding but his voice emerged as a feeble croak.

Faramir gulped; he had not dared to hope that he would ever again share the Thought Bond with his King. He was eager to do so, albeit this would surely be for the last time.

He lay down beside Aragorn so that their heads could easily touch; only to find their carven Númenorean noses were in the way. He could not help but smile at the memory of the first time that had happened and noticed there was an answering hint of a smile in Aragorn’s pain filled eyes.

Helping the King to a sitting position propped against the pillows, Faramir pressed his forehead against his King’s. It surprised him how quickly the bond was re –established. Almost immediately the dreadful emptiness within him was healed. Yet Faramir found it impossible to sense anything other than cruel images of pain and suffering within the King's mind. Whether it was because it was too much to endure, or that they lacked sufficient accord, he did not know. What he could sense was overwhelming in its horror.

From what he had witnessed, and the cruel marks on the King’s tortured body, Faramir already had some idea of how much his friend had suffered. Only now could he truly envisage what Aragorn had endured, the pain, the humiliation, the hunger, thirst,cold and loneliness that he had known, and worse still; the anguish and despair he had felt when Faramir had betrayed him.

For his part, Aragorn could sense even less. He could not bring himself to fully form a Thought Bond with one he trusted so little. He could sense guilt, pity and regret, but could not decide whether Faramir regretted betraying him, or those he had chosen to join forces with. Exhausted at the effort, Aragorn fell back against the pillows.

Faramir sat slumped, his head in his hands, increasingly alarmed for his lord. Never before had he seen Aragorn in such despair. He could sense how much he was missing Arwen but it went far deeper than that. He sensed an inner brokenness, which he could only hope; she would be able to mend.

“Arwen and my son?” Aragorn whispered.

“They are both safe. Damrod has taken them into hiding together with Éowyn and Elestelle,” Faramir reassured him.

Aragorn sighed with relief and settled more easily. He could not trust Faramir, but at present he was too weak to refuse his aid. He could sense no deception in him. For the moment, that would have to suffice. He could no longer resist the urge to sleep and escape the pain. He surrendered to the poppy juice and knew no more.