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

But sad as angels for the good man’s sin,
Weep to record, and blush to give it in. - Thomas Campbell (1777–1844)

With special thanks to Raksha for all her help with this chapter.

Dedicated to Julia

My lady,” Faramir began hesitantly, “there is something I must tell you.”

Arwen looked puzzled at his troubled tone.

Faramir cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “I have committed most cruel deeds against your husband!” he finally blurted out.

Arwen’s clear grey eyes reflected a mixture of shock and disbelief. Yet her voice remained calm.  “How can that be, Faramir? You have restored him to me.”

Éowyn, who had been hovering by the door, came in and put a comforting hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“I cannot imagine you ever harming Aragorn,” she exclaimed. “You love him too much to harm a single hair of his head!”

Faramir swallowed hard. “I joined with those who were tormenting him! To maintain my traitor's guise, I raised my hand against the King. Later, I was challenged to show my loyalty by dealing an even fouler blow. I did as Fosco bid me. I branded the King myself with a red-hot iron. And by that deed, I became what I most abhor, a traitor! Deal with me as you will, my lady, for I betrayed and hurt my liege lord!” The words poured from Faramir’s lips. It was a relief to confess all. Finally, he raised his eyes to look at the Queen.

Arwen’s eyes darkened and the Steward could hardly endure her gaze. She rose to her feet. There was something about her demeanour that was truly terrifying. He was forcibly reminded yet again that this was not just his Queen, but also the daughter of Elrond and granddaughter of Galadriel, the inheritor of their power and wisdom. She had lived longer than the mightiest oak. He shivered and braced himself for the expected assault on his mind when she raised her hands to his face.

“He did but follow the plan you gave him! Is that not enough to prove his loyalty?” Éowyn interrupted. “I once raised Aragorn’s own sword against him and he pardoned me. Surely, Faramir can be forgiven for doing what saved both their lives?”

Arwen sat down again, ashamed at her own willingness to violate Faramir’s mind. “I cannot bear to think of anyone hurting Estel,” she whispered. “After all, it was I, who told you to join with those who conspired against my husband, though I hardly expected you to torture him!”

Faramir buried his face in his hands. Éowyn’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “Nor did I, my lady, I am truly sorry,” he murmured.

Arwen looked at him dispassionately for a long moment. Then her gaze softened “I do not believe you are a traitor in your heart,” she said gently. “I know that my husband almost died. Estel's survival bears witness to your loyalty towards him. I forgive your deeds as you have restored him to my side. Now, I must go and see how he fares.” With that, she left the room.

“Come now and sit on the couch,” said Éowyn briskly, “I want to have a look at your back.”

Hardly aware of what she was saying, Faramir merely looked at her sadly.

“It is no good brooding over what is past,” she advised. ”We must concentrate on restoring Aragorn to health and putting him back on his throne where he rightfully belongs. Brooding will not help, neither will neglecting your own health.”

Faramir pulled her close. Only then did he notice that her hair and clothing were damp.

“Your niece is quite a spirited child,” Éowyn remarked wryly, observing his reaction. “She was most reluctant to have a bath.”

Faramir managed a wan smile as he sat down. “I could hear her protests while I was sitting with Aragorn,” he told her. “Then, she suddenly seemed to change her mind. However did you manage that?”

“It was Arwen with her Elven touch,” Éowyn explained. “I shall have to learn more about using such skills on children of her age, seeing as we are to take the child in, I assume?”

“Thank you! I hoped you would agree that we should. Where our home will be, though, I have no idea,” Faramir replied. “Elbeth is a remarkable girl. Aragorn would never have survived without her. They have developed quite a bond.”

“Aragorn would never have survived without you,” Éowyn said emphatically. “Now, where does your back hurt?”

“Just there.” Faramir pulled up his tunic and shirt a few inches and indicated the painful spot.

“I cannot see like that!” Éowyn protested, “Take your tunic and shirt off so that I can have a proper look.”

“Aragorn let me keep them on when he had a look,” Faramir protested. “What if the Queen returns? Or Elbeth wakes up, or Damrod’s sister comes in?”

“Aragorn indulges you overmuch!” Éowyn said with mock severity, “Now take off your shirt and tunic and stop fretting!”

Sighing, Faramir did as he was bidden, grimacing with pain, as he stretched to pull the garments over his head. “It is just here that it is painful,” he told her, gesturing towards where his back hurt the most. “Aragorn thought it was a pulled muscle. I first felt it when I carried him outside to look at the sky.” He winched as she prodded the sore place, all the while hoping that the Queen would remain safely preoccupied with her husband.

“You and Aragorn indulge each other’s whims overmuch!” Éowyn said severely, expertly feeling along the length of her husband’s spine. “It seems to be a muscle strain,” she pronounced. “I have some comfrey salve in the bedroom, which should help. Stay there and lie down while I fetch it.”

Faramir stretched out on the couch. The warmth from the fire felt comforting against his bare skin and he allowed himself to relax a little. He had succeeded in reuniting the King with his wife, whatever they thought of him. At least he had not forfeited Éowyn’s love as well. She was right; all they could afford to think about now was restoring Aragorn ‘s health and rightful status. He was too weary to think any longer and could have fallen asleep in front of the fire, had the door not opened and Éowyn entered. Much to his horror, the Queen was with her.

Immediately wide-awake, Faramir blushed scarlet and crossed his arms defensively across his chest, trying to cover himself. He sought vainly to snatch up his shirt but found it was no longer on the couch beside him.

“I um, thought you were sitting with the King, my lady!” he stammered.

“He is sleeping,” Arwen replied, acting as if the Steward appeared before her half naked every day.

“I told Arwen about your damaged back muscles. She is skilled at easing backache with her Elven healing skills,” Éowyn said cheerfully. “You are very fortunate she is here to help you!”

“I do not really think…” Faramir protested. Being without a shirt in front of his Queen was quite unthinkable! “It is not that bad,” he protested. “There is no need for you to trouble yourself on my account, my lady, I am certain that a good night’s rest will cure me.”

“I still think you would benefit from Arwen’s skills,” Éowyn said firmly, a wicked gleam in her eye. Faramir had a nasty suspicion that she and the Queen had planned this and his wife was rather enjoying herself. Arwen’s expression was unreadable.

“I will sit with Aragorn while you treat my stubborn husband,” Éowyn said sweetly.

Faramir observed then that his tunic and shirt were in her hand.

Left alone with the Queen, and now the same colour as a beetroot from sheer embarrassment, Faramir wished the ground would open and swallow him. Gondorian etiquette strictly prohibited a man removing his shirt in front of any woman except his wife. In front of as high ranking a lady, such as the Queen, even removing the outer tunic was considered an outrage, never mind appearing bare to the waist front of her.

Arwen sat on the couch beside him. “Give me your hands!” she ordered unexpectedly.

Reluctantly, Faramir uncrossed his arms and mutely held out his hands towards her, palms facing upwards.

Grasping his wrists, she studied his hands from palm to fingertip, her eyes full of silent reproach. Her scrutiny lasted only a moment, but to Faramir, it felt like eternity. He knew that she was thinking that those same hands had tortured her husband. He almost wished that she had probed his thoughts, painful though it would be. At least then, she would have known exactly what had driven him to commit such evil deeds.

Abruptly she released him, apparently having reached a decision. “You can either lie on your front or your side,” she said in a detached tone of voice. “I assure you that I am skilled in doing this. I often treat your wife’s back. I know you are familiar with the benefits of Elven massage from Estel’s treatments.”

Faramir realised he was trapped, as Éowyn had taken his clothes. He could hardly wander around the farmhouse like this and risk encountering Elbeth and Damrod’s sister as well. The Steward conceded defeat. He dared not insult the Queen, Faramir obediently turned on his side, even though, to turn his back towards her constituted yet another breach of etiquette. He was amazed at the Elf’s audacity combined with that of his wife. Even Dame Ioreth would not have dared do such a thing!

He became aware of cool fingers probing the contours of his back, followed by a gentle pressure, which seemed to be almost remoulding the painful muscle.

“Just relax, I shall not harm you,” Arwen said with a musical laugh. “I am a married woman who has been doing this for my brothers for almost three thousand year.

“Is this quite proper, my lady?” Faramir finally found his voice to utter a feeble protest. “What would the King say?”

“He told me that you were in pain, so I promised I would help you. After all, you are needed to lift him until he is sufficiently recovered to walk,” Arwen said sweetly, calmly continuing her ministrations. “And what could there possibly be to object to? Elven massage is one of the most chaste forms of touch there is.”

Faramir wondered if this was some clever ruse of Arwen’s to punish him for his misdeeds, before dismissing the notion as unworthy. He realised he had no choice but to submit, as he could not lie injured while his lord had need of his help.

“Stop wriggling!” Arwen commanded, “However Estel ever managed to treat your hurts in the past I have no idea!”

Faramir had no answer to that. For one thing, her touch was very different, much more impersonal than Aragorn’s, yet extremely effective. Already the damaged muscle had stopped hurting for the first time since he pulled it.

“Thank you, I feel much better now,” Faramir told her, hoping his ordeal was now over.

“I have not finished yet,” Arwen replied firmly, her hands expertly moving up to his shoulders. “Uncross your arms, you need to relax for this to work. I fear I do not have healing power in my hands like Estel, but this should ease you.”

Faramir had no choice but to obey. He rolled over to lie on his belly to feel a little less exposed.

Despite his embarrassment, Faramir realised that the experience was certainly not unpleasant. Her touch lacked the tenderness and comfort that he experienced when Aragorn had treated him with Elven massage, but she was very, very skilful. He remembered Aragorn telling him once that he was a mere novice at the technique compared to his wife. Yet, he would gladly have exchanged all her expertise for the warmth and skill to be restored to the King’s hands and to again be worthy to receive his ministrations.