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

Chapter Thirty-Eight – Too much suspicion

An indiscriminate distrust of human nature is the worst consequence of a miserable condition, whether brought about by innocence or guilt. And though want of suspicion more than want of sense, sometimes leads a man into harm; yet too much suspicion is as bad as too little sense. -Herman Melville.

Faramir repressed a cry of dismay. Aragorn had obviously lost all the power that his touch had previously held.

Aragorn did his best to ease Faramir’s pain with the Elven massage techniques he was so skilled in. His fingers though, remained cold and totally devoid of their former healing warmth and energy. The Steward momentarily wondered if it were revulsion towards the one who had betrayed him that made Aragorn unable to ease him. In his heart he knew that were Eldarion here in his place, Aragorn’s hands would still lack their customary warmth

Faramir felt Aragorn’s hand gradually cease moving across his back. The Steward finally turned to face the King. Aragorn was sitting in a crumpled heap with his head in his hands; tears silently pouring down his cheeks.

“I have lost my healing power,” he whispered. “What am I now? For should not the King have the hands of a healer?”

Despite strongly suspecting that Aragorn found his touch loathsome, Faramir impulsively placed his arms around the thin shoulders. “You suffered a dreadful ordeal,” he soothed. “It will take time for you to heal. Recall how it took me many months to recover from beating, and I was only imprisoned for a few hours.”

“I do not even know if I still wear the crown!” Aragorn lamented. “Maybe, that is why my power has left me? They might have usurped the throne by now. What will I have left to offer my wife and son? I was only permitted to marry Arwen on condition that I was King of both Gondor and Arnor!”

“You will regain your throne, sire,” Faramir said firmly. “And even if the very worse befell, though I am certain it will not, you still hold Arnor where your subjects are loyal. You have Arwen and your son who care for you, far more than for Gondor’s crown. And you have my love and loyalty and Éowyn’s too.” Faramir immediately bit his lip, realising his ill chosen words had shattered the fragile rapport between them. Aragorn immediately recoiled.

“Love? Loyalty?” Aragorn asked bitterly, shrugging off Faramir’s comforting gestures. “You would have done better to kill me, if you had any shreds of decency left, rather than have me reduced to this!”

Long years of bitter experience with Denethor, had taught Faramir to hide his feelings beneath an expressionless mask. Concealing his hurt he said, “I beg you not to think like that, my lord. Remember your Queen and your son! They are waiting for your return.”

Aragorn said nothing, seemingly exhausted from his outburst.

“The rebels cannot win!” Faramir continued, seeking to distract him. “We have the major advantage now, for if they stage a coup, whom do they have to replace you with without Elbeth? While she was with them, she was the most dangerous person in Gondor, but now she is with us, she is simply my niece!”

“She is dangerous enough as that,” Aragorn said morosely, though he smiled weakly in the child’s direction.

“I shall leave you to decide whether or not, she should be acknowledged as such,” Faramir said meekly. “I would accept her as part of my family, since she is all that remains to me of my brother, but I leave it you to decide her fate.” He felt no need to plead for her life, knowing Aragorn as he did. He shuddered to recall how he had contemplated killing the helpless little girl.

“Strange that one so innocent could pose such a threat,” Aragorn mused.

“She will not unwittingly endanger you again,” Faramir vowed. “Now rest, you are weary.” He eased Aragorn down onto his pillows and held a cup to his lips containing poppy juice.

“I have grown fond of the child,” the King murmured sleepily, already exhausted by his brief exertions.

Faramir tucked the blankets round him. He sat for a while sadly regarding his King. It broke his heart to see him like this, so frail and listless, and to know too, that he had forever forfeited his friendship and esteem.

Their conversation about Elbeth only served to remind him that the rebels would be looking for her. She was too valuable for them to let go easily. They could not linger here much longer .He would have to see if Aragorn could mount Roheryn tomorrow. If he succeeded they could leave the day after, even if they had to ride double, with him holding the King on the horse. Elbeth was confident enough to ride alone if need be, which was one less worry to be concerned with.

After a while, Faramir built up the fire, then settled himself beside the now snoring Aragorn and fell asleep.

The next day, Faramir awoke with a new resolve. He realised his dreams of the night before had unsettled him. He determined now to concentrate solely on restoring his lord to his rightful place. The memories of having known his love and esteem, from henceforth would have to sustain him. He would count himself blessed having known the love his father had denied him. Before knowing Aragorn, he had not even had the comfort of pleasant dreams of fatherly tenderness.

He dared hope too, that he had no need to fear a traitor’s cruel death from Aragorn, as his King had sworn to protect him. He accepted that the blissful life that he had known was over now. He would lose his position, his home and his reputation and maybe his life, if they escaped the rebels’ clutches.

However, he still had Éowyn and his daughter and hoped they could build a new life somewhere should Aragorn be merciful. Hardest of all though, would be the loss of Aragorn’s friendship. He had always known, though that would be the price he must pay. Faramir realised that he had held out a sliver of hope that once he had explained his actions to Aragorn the King might forgive him. That had been the hope of an over optimistic fool. Now he was without hope for himself, he could concentrate solely on his mission of restoring Aragorn to his wife and throne. He doubted Arwen for have anything to say in his favour; her instructions had not included torturing her beloved husband. He accepted his fate now and was resigned to it.

Aragorn seemed in a better mood when he awoke. He seemed to enjoy Elbeth’s chatter while she helped him with his breakfast. There was a wistful look in his eye through, when she recounted a dream about a puppy and a kitten playing together, as if he recalled some happy dream of his own.

Faramir sent Elbeth outside to play while he bathed Aragorn, tended his wounds and helped him dress, this time in breeches and tunic over the loose shirt and drawers he had worn until now.

The Steward had feared the heavy clothing would chafe the King’s wounds, but Aragorn was now so thin, they hung on him very loosely. He explained to the King what he planned to do and to his great relief, Aragorn made no protest.

The King’s beard had started to grow back where Hanna had so cruelly tugged out handfuls, but it looked decidedly odd and would immediately catch the eye of anyone out looking for them. Faramir cleared his throat nervously. “I think I had better shave you, sire, before we leave,” he said.

“What?” Aragorn looked aghast at the suggestion.

“If any of the rebels’ retainers are out looking for you, they will have been told of your appearance,” Faramir explained. “The patches of varying length in your beard are very noticeable.”

“I have worn a beard since I came to manhood!” Aragorn protested. “To shave it would be an affront to my masculinity!”

”I know,” Faramir replied sadly. “It makes you far too conspicuous, though. I am sorry. We can discuss it again tomorrow.”

Too weak to argue, Aragorn said nothing, though the misery in eyes spoke louder than any protest.

Faramir went outside and saddled and bridled Roheryn and led him to the mouth of the cave, He called Elbeth and asked her to hold Roheryn’s head and wait with him.

He went and fetched the King, who was still almost too weak to walk. By leaning heavily on Faramir, Aragorn reached the horse and while Elbeth held the reins, Faramir lifted Aragorn into the saddle. Roheryn whinnied joyfully, delighted to be reunited with his master.

Aragorn tried riding along the path and seemed happy to be seated on his beloved stallion once more in the open air. Soon though, his weakness overcame him and he swayed alarmingly in the saddle.

Trying to ignore the pain in his back, Faramir lifted the King down again, hardly able to endure the look of despair in the usually vibrant grey eyes.

“No matter!” he said, trying to sound cheerful. “We can both ride one horse and the other can take Elbeth and what baggage we need.”

“I am a burden to you,” Aragorn said sadly. “You should take Elbeth and leave me here. You can return later with some of Imrahil’s men to fetch me, if you truly mean to take me to my wife and child.”

“I will never leave you nor betray you again!” Faramir said firmly. “We are all leaving here together.”

“I should like to see Arwen and Eldarion again so very much,” Aragorn said wistfully, grimacing with pain as he spoke. He gripped Faramir’s arm tightly to prevent himself from falling. How he hoped it was true and that Faramir were truly taking him to his wife and not merely some cruel trick!

The Steward hated to drive his ailing King thus, but with every day the risk of discovery increased. Then, perceiving Aragorn’s despairing mood, he felt that he needed to be reunited with Arwen as soon as possible. He very much doubted his aptitude for offering any comfort at all to the King, after all the pain he had caused him. Éowyn could ease his bodily hurts too, with her healing skills.

Faramir spent much of the rest of the day debating what they should take with him. After discussing it with Aragorn, they decided it was best they should ride Roheryn together and let Zachus carry Elbeth and the baggage, which had to be limited to the bare essentials.

They would need to take bedrolls and blankets, for the pace would have to be slow so as not to overtax Aragorn or the horses, which meant they would have to rest overnight. Faramir was not exactly sure of their final destination, though he assumed it was near where Elestelle was born. Since the War, the area around Osgiliath had quickly been repopulated as people flocked out of the City to return to their country roots.

The next morning, Faramir rose early. He had reached a decision, which although painful to his pride he hoped would help Aragorn.

Before he could change his mind, he took his razor, and putting it to his own face, shaved off his neatly trimmed beard, the proud symbol of his manhood. He remembered Boromir telling him that he had become a man, when it first sprouted, and the new respect in the eyes of his comrades. Then, more recently, there were those nights he had lain in Éowyn’s arms and she had giggled delightedly when it tickled her soft flesh. He felt as if he were removing part of himself.

He then woke Aragorn and Elbeth.

Aragorn looked at him in astonishment. “I thought it would serve as a disguise if I shaved,” he said quietly.

“Your face looks all bare, Uncle Faramir!” Elbeth giggled.

“I will soon look the same, “Aragorn told her solemnly. “Will you help your Uncle Faramir shave me?”  He did not understand why his Steward should shave; the excuse was a feeble one. Yet, suspicious of him though he was, the gesture touched him and resigned him to his own fate. Faramir looked so very young minus his beard!

“Yes, please!” Elbeth was already draping a towel around Aragorn’s shoulders.

The Steward picked up the razor and felt Aragorn stiffen the instant he touched him with it. Being shaved were humiliation enough, without having the razor wielded by someone he mistrusted. It was obviously an ordeal for Aragorn, not knowing, whether by accident or design, if the blade would cut into his already painful flesh.

Faramir’s hand trembled slightly, but somehow he managed not to cut the King. It broke his heart to see him so reluctant, yet submitting so meekly to the blade. At last, it was done, and Faramir stood back to survey his handiwork.

The bruises on Aragorn’s face looked all the more livid now. Yet, more than that, a shiver ran down Faramir’s spine at how like Denethor, Aragorn now looked.

“You look funny without your beard, Strider,” Elbeth said critically, “Almost as funny as Uncle Faramir.”

“Our beards will soon grow back,” was all that Faramir could think of to say. He sent Elbeth out to play, while he washed Aragorn, tended his wounds and dressed him.

“Why did you shave?” Aragorn asked when she was gone. “I do not believe that you wish to disguise yourself.”

“I hoped this way you would feel less uncomfortable.” Faramir said simply.

Puzzled, Aragorn shook his head slightly as the now familiar but still painfully embarrassing routine proceeded of being undressed, covered with a blanket and then bathed under it.

Today was different, though, as it was the last time they would be within the shelter of the cave.