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The die is cast. - Julius Caesar

Every decision is liberating, even if it leads to disaster. Otherwise, why do so many people walk upright and with open eyes into their misfortune? - Elias Canetti

The days passed. Slowly, Aragorn’s wounds healed. He gradually grew stronger in body, helped considerably by all the care Arwen and his friends lavished upon him. They watched over him day and night, coaxing him to eat and drink to build up his strength. They tended his hurts and tried to cheer him. However, he remained withdrawn and morose and revealed nothing of what he intended to do once he recovered. When he did speak, it was often to lament that he had been too trusting and lenient a ruler and that he should have had any who even spoke against him thrown into prison.

Faramir had discovered that Elbeth could neither read nor write and set out to teach her. Once Aragorn was able to use his right hand properly again, he suggested that the King take over the task, hoping that it would distract him and raise his spirits. Elbeth proved an apt pupil. Her enthusiasm for learning, served to somewhat distract Aragorn from his troubles, though he remained melancholy.

Ever since the night, when he had inadvertently struck Arwen and allowed his Steward to comfort him; Aragorn had developed an uneasy rapport with Faramir, though he still could not bring himself to wholly trust him. There were just too many questions, to which Faramir seemed either unwilling, or unable to provide an answer. The Steward had neither attempted to justify himself, nor made any plea for pardon, despite having expressed what seemed to be sincere contrition. A change had come over Faramir, and whether it was as result of his actions, or regret at not having seized power for himself and his brother’s offspring, Aragorn dared not probe further.

The King’s love for Eldarion was immense, yet he found it hard to spend time with his son, knowing he had most likely lost the child his birthright of ruling the Reunited Kingdom. Neither did he feel at ease with Elestelle, although he loved the child. She seemed to look at him with her father’s eyes, as they once had been, so full of love and innocence.

Faramir worked tirelessly, aiding the King and helping the women. He said little. His back still pained him at times, but he concealed his discomfort, having no wish to be tended again by Arwen. Not only did he find it acutely embarrassing, being seen half naked by his Queen, but it had served to remind him all too painfully of the treatments Aragorn had given him in the past. He was well aware that Aragorn had used his Elvish skills on him for bonding, as much as healing, and also used a special touch meant only for a dear friends or kin. The warmth that Aragorn’s hands once held was itself a healing touch. Now, those same hands were cold and devoid of healing power, and never again would Aragorn tend him as a beloved son.

Arwen had concentrated every healing art she knew, including her Elven healing skills on her husband. Aragorn found himself almost as uncomfortable as Faramir had been, albeit for very different reasons. Although, as always he rejoiced in his wife’s touch, he could take only comfort from it. A thrill no longer coursed through his body at her nearness. She could almost have been his sister or his mother. Arwen had not chosen mortality for some scarred and disfigured invalid, but a fit and healthy man in his prime. He felt he had cheated her out of what was her right. The King hated her to see the frailty and ugliness that was now his mortal body. Worse still, was to feel her fingertips against his skin, roughened from weeks of kitchen chores in the winter. He had only been granted Arwen’s hand in marriage on the condition that she would be the Queen of both Gondor and Arnor, given every luxury that the world of men could offer. Yet, he had succeeded in reducing the beautiful Evenstar to the status of a kitchen maid! How he despised himself for so doing.

Aragorn’s wounds had closed and the stitches had been removed, leaving his body healed but hideously scarred. Unless he could return to either Minas Tirith or Rivendell, it would remain so, for only an Elven mud bath could heal him completely. Now his bruises had faded, the brand bearing Dervorin’s insignia, stood out more lividly than ever, a shameful reminder of what Faramir had done.

Aragorn had found some cause for cheer when Éowyn had examined his left hand and pronounced it was healing well and that he should soon regain the full use of it. She had removed the splints and he was slowly regaining the use of his fingers.

***

One morning, after Elbeth had gone out to play, the adults were all sitting around the kitchen table finishing breakfast. They were startled by a sudden knock on the door. “Hide!” snapped Éowyn, bundling the men into the bedroom. The fear in her eyes was all too obvious. Had they remained hidden all these weeks only to be discovered now?

Faramir snatched up his sword. Pushing the King behind him, he stood poised behind the door ready to repel intruders. The prospect that the rebels had discovered their whereabouts was terrifying, with Aragorn still not fully recovered and their wives and children to protect.

“All is well, it is only Damrod!” Arwen called, while ushering the young Captain into the living room.

Heaving a collective sigh of relief, Aragorn and Faramir joined her.

On seeing the King, Damrod dropped on one knee and kissed his uninjured hand. “My Lord King!” he exclaimed reverentially.

Aragorn clasped the young man’s shoulder and bent forward to kiss him on the brow much to Damrod’s surprise. “Do not kneel, my friend!” he said, “I owe you a debt I can never repay for protecting my wife and child and Lord Faramir’s family!”

Damrod flushed shyly. “It was my pleasure to help, sire,” he replied.

“It is good to see you, Damrod!” Faramir greeted him, looking at him somewhat wistfully.

“Sit down and tell me what is happening in the City,” Aragorn ordered.

Éowyn went to fetch him some refreshments.

“There is a great deal of confusion and uncertainty, sire,” Damrod replied. “Prince Imrahil is still in charge of the Council, but some of the other Nobles, most noticeably the Lords of Ringlo Vale and Lebennin oppose his rule. The Lord of Lamedon did so too, but he was found murdered near Lord Dervorin’s Hunting Lodge. They are all vying to become Regent when Prince Eldarion is found, or to seize absolute power if he and the Queen fail to return. They are demanding repressive laws limiting free speech and repressing the poor, overturning all the reforms you have made, sire. So far, Prince Imrahil has resisted them, but the people are terrified.”

“My poor people!” Aragorn lamented. “I wanted so much to bring them peace and security.”

“What has been said of my disappearance?” Faramir enquired, a trifle hesitantly.

Damrod took a gulp from the mug of ale that Éowyn had brought him. “It is said Prince Imrahil believes that you took your own life out of shame for betraying the King, Lord Faramir, if you will pardon me repeating, what I have heard?” he said, shifting uncomfortably on his chair.

“Please, speak freely, I am not angry and would know the truth,” Faramir reassured him. His eyes showed his inner distress.

“The common folk say various things,” Damrod continued. “Some say you have been murdered, some that you have run off to join the rebels, while others hope that you will come and save them, if the King’s laws to protect them are repealed. Most of the people accuse you of abandoning your Lord and Land, though.” Damrod was unable to meet Faramir’s eyes and stared miserably at the floor.

The Steward sighed deeply but said nothing.

“What of the soldiers?” Aragorn asked, “Where do their loyalties lie?”

“They still support you, sire, or rather your son, since they believe you to be dead. Now the fever has abated, they are planning to hold your funeral in three days time. I strongly suspect that if there is still no sign of Prince Eldarion by then, one of the Rebels will declare himself Ruling Steward.”

“The gall of it!” Faramir cried. “Unfortunately, they are all distantly related to my family in some way. Most of the noble families have intermarried with each other over the centuries.”

“Some say the Rebels are less confident than they were, and there is less talk of Lady Elbeth than before. However, it is likely they will try to seize power on some pretext or other.”

“I have a feeling they could find a substitute for Elbeth if they looked hard enough,” Faramir mused.

“How could that be?” Aragorn asked.

“Much as I loved Boromir and dislike speaking any ill of his memory, I was not blind to his faults,” Faramir said thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, he considered our people’s ideals of chastity and fidelity outmoded. Therefore, it would not surprise me, if more than a few serving maids and tavern wenches had surrendered their virtue to him. He would never have forced a woman, but with his good looks and high standing in society, he would doubtless have found willing women a plenty, of a certain kind; especially with no many having lost their men folk during the years we fought to keep Mordor at bay.”

“Alas for Boromir that he prized his virtue so little!” Aragorn sighed. “It is well worth waiting for the right mate.”

“Boromir never wanted to be tied down by marriage. Soldiering was his life,” Faramir said. “However, he liked women and lacked the strength to resist temptation.”

“One of my comrades, who used to work for the Lord of Ringlo Vale, told me that his lordship was very interested in any children born on his lands with grey eyes and dark hair,” Damrod added.

“At least, we now have Elbeth and the rebels will find it much harder without her,” Faramir said. “She was meant to make their seizure of power appear as merely uniting two great Houses.”

“You have the child then, my lord?” Damrod enquired.

“I would have had to kill her otherwise. She posed too great a threat to the King.” Faramir said bleakly. “Though, I very much doubt a marriage ever took place, I am convinced she is Boromir’s daughter.”

Aragorn raised his eyebrows at this latest revelation. The Faramir, he once knew, would never even have contemplated killing an innocent child. Yet, this was also the man who would once never have lied. Could such a man have really carried off the elaborate pretext that he claimed?

Faramir hastily changed the subject to what they should do now. It was something that they had all been thinking of, but none had dared voice aloud until Aragorn’s health and spirits were restored.

“We should send a message to Rohan and ask my brother for help to restore you to your throne,” Éowyn suggested.

Aragorn shook his head, “I know Éomer would aid me gladly, but I would not plunge Gondor into civil war,” he said firmly. “Already, I am resented for ruling with too much foreign influence, coming as I do from the North and not being married to a lady of Gondor. Also, when I first returned to Gondor, the Rohirrim supported me. The people must want me back if I am to regain my throne!”

“You have your soldiers behind you and the love of your people, sire,” Damrod said. “The common folk love you for your many kindnesses towards them.”

Aragorn suddenly rose to his feet, a new light of resolve in his eyes. “The way before me now is clear at last,” he said firmly. “ I shall ride out on the day of my supposed funeral and see if my people will acclaim me again as their King. I desire no bloodshed, so I shall go alone. Either I regain my throne, or die in the attempt!”