These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain
Chapter Twenty-Four - If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well It were done quickly-
If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well It were done quickly-
Macbeth - Shakespeare
But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue - Hamlet - Shakespeare.
Faramir prepared to thrust the dagger deep into Aragorn’s heart. He wavered, his hand trembling so much that he almost dropped the blade. However could he pierce the noblest heart ever to beat in any man? Maybe it would be easier to cut his throat instead?
Again, he levelled the dagger and this time pressed it against the King’s neck. The bitter irony of it all; that he who had so ardently desired the return of the King, would be the only Steward in Gondor’s long history to murder his lord. He, Faramir, reviled by his father as ‘the wizard’s pupil’, was about to kill the very King that Mithrandir had crowned! Whatever would Gandalf thought or even his father? He gave a bitter laugh. If he truly were the wizard’s pupil, he could think of a way to save Aragorn!
The King now resembled Denethor more closely than ever. He had aged greatly and his features were so worn and haggard. Whether that made killing him harder or easier, Faramir dared not question.
Yet again, Faramir prepared to strike. A drop of crimson blood marked where he had placed the sharp point before. All he had to do was to plunge it in deeply. Thereby he could kill his friend swiftly and painlessly.
Faramir was verging on hysteria now. In his agitation, he clutched at the fabric of his tunic with his free hand. He felt the vial of spider venom that Tarostar had given him in his pocket. A sudden flash of inspiration struck him. The stirrings of a plan by which he had a slender hope of saving Aragorn began to form in his agitated brain.
Aragorn moaned softly. Faramir longed to comfort him but resolutely hardened his heart. He knew he must maintain his façade of hatred if his plan was to succeed. If he once relented, he would not have the strength to maintain his deception. If he reached out to the stricken King, he would not want to ever let him go again.
Reluctantly, he left Aragorn in his squalid surroundings and crept back up the steps and along the long stone corridor, which led to the kitchens. What he needed to put his plan into action would most surely be found there.
**
Alone again in his prison, Aragorn sank deeper into despair. He could feel himself fast growing weaker from his wounds, cold, fever and starvation. The feel of cold steel against his throat had awakened him. He sensed Faramir’s presence in the room He had managed to remain motionless, lacking the strength to confront his treacherous Steward. Just how low had Faramir fallen? Not only to have branded him but to come to gloat over his misery and torture him with a knife! Until yesterday, he had still hoped to somehow survive this ordeal. That, though, was before the heartbreak of Faramir’s treachery. Aragorn knew he was dying.
**
To Faramir’s dismay, despite the earliness of the hour, there were already several servants bustling around in the kitchens.
“You should still be in bed, Lady Elbeth!” he heard a voice saying.
“I’m used to getting up at dawn,” Elbeth’s voice replied. “Besides, I’m bored and it’s fun watching you bake the bread.”
“You can come back later, after breakfast, my lady,” the voice replied. “You could get hurt while we’re boiling the water and what would your mother say?”
“She’s wouldn’t care!” Elbeth retorted. “She minds only if Lord Dervorin thinks she looks pretty in her new dresses!”
“Well, I’d be in trouble if you were hurt, so please go away and play now my lady!”
“Will you give me a honey cake if I do?”
“Here you are, Lady Elbeth. Now please let us get on with our work or we will be in trouble!”
Elbeth scampered away with her prize, almost colliding with Faramir on her way out. “Hello, Lord Faramir!” she said brightly, pleased to see someone she liked. “Would you like some cake? It tastes good!” Breaking the cake in two, she offered him half of it.
Not wanting to upset her, he took a small bite and handed it back. “You can call me, ‘Uncle Faramir’,” he told her. “Did they not tell you that your father was my brother?”
“I think they may have done but I forgot,” Elbeth replied. “They all say they’re my uncles, though I don’t believe them. Are you my real uncle then? What about Lesser the Zerper? He told me to call him ‘Strider’ but is he my Uncle too? I don’t think he is very well, as they have hurt him. You’re his friend, aren’t you? Can’t you help him as you’re a grown up?”
Elbeth’s innocent prattle tore at Faramir’s heart. There was no doubt in his heart now that this was his niece. She had obviously inherited a kind heart from his mother and from Boromir. To think that she had somehow found and befriended Aragorn! He felt more ashamed than ever of his own actions. He had a sudden idea, as Elbeth was obviously familiar with the kitchen staff. “Did the cook give you the cake or did you take it?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.
“She gave it me, but I can take anything I want,” Elbeth boasted,” They give me horrid things to eat like venison and syllabub, so I take something nicer like bread and jam. They didn’t bring my nurse here so no one tells me what to do now!”
“I should like an onion,” said Faramir. ”Could you get me one without them catching you?”
“Of course I could!” Elbeth boasted cheerfully. “Just you see! Why do you want a nasty onion though? A cake would be much nicer.”
“I like onions and I want to play a game with it,” Faramir told her. “Do they let you play outside?”
“Of course I can go anywhere I want. I’m going to be the Queen!” Elbeth replied proudly.
“Bring it to me by the stables,” Faramir told her, “and remember it is a secret! That is an important part of the game.”
Elbeth put a finger to her lips. She then giggled and ran back to the kitchens.
**
Faramir wandered outside into the cold early morning air. There was a slight frost, which the rising sun had not yet had time to melt He shivered while he waited for Elbeth to appear. He hoped she would arrive before the rest of the household were abroad.
He slipped into the stables and patted Zachus. The gelding was watching him from over the door of his stall. Faramir then strolled carelessly around the stable yard until he came to where the sacks of oats were stored. Glancing around to see that no one was looking, he cut a piece of coarse sackcloth, which he pocketed.
As soon as he saw Elbeth coming, he sauntered towards her and was rewarded by the feel of an onion being slipped into his hand.
“Told you so!” she said triumphantly. “I got a nice juicy apple too! Wouldn’t you like that better than a horrid old onion?”
“This game specially requires an onion,” explained Faramir. “Thank you, Elbeth.”
I’d better go back now before Mummy leaves Lord Dervorin’s room. I’m not calling him uncle, I hate him!” Elbeth said fiercely. She skipped away while Faramir, secreted his prize in his pocket.
The Steward made his way back to the cellar, walking as casually as he could. Once he was inside Aragorn’s prison, he sat down beside the motionless King and started to peel the onion in front of his face, while keeping his own head turned away.
Soon Aragorn’s eyes began to smart and run. Blinking, he opened them and gazed sadly at Faramir through streaming eyes.
Faramir forced himself not to reveal his rescue plan. As well as the danger of being distracted by his yearning to comfort his friend, someone could walk in at any moment. He hoped if they did, it would appear he had thought up a new method of torture to inflict on the helpless man.
Relentlessly, the Steward took the sackcloth from his pocket and ignoring Aragorn’s feeble struggles, rubbed it round the King’s nose until it was raw and reddened.
“Why are you doing this?” Aragorn reproached him; “I loved you as my own son!”
Not daring to reply, lest he betrayed himself, Faramir said nothing. He kept his head turned away. He could hear them moving around on the floor above now. The household was starting to go about its morning business. There was just no time to explain to the confused and feverish King. It was just too dangerous; especially now he had devised a plan of rescue.
“Where is Arwen? What have you done to her, you traitor?” Aragorn asked accusingly.
With a final vigorous rub of the sackcloth, Faramir rose to his feet, pocketed the onion skins and without a backward glance, made his way quietly back to his room.
**
A few hours later, Faramir was eating luncheon with his host and fellow guests. The burly servant, who had assisted with torturing Aragorn the previous night, entered and spoke quietly in Dervorin’s ear.
The Lord of Ringlo Vale paled and then addressed the others. “I have reason to believe that Elessar has contracted the fever,” he said grimly.“ We must stay away from him for fear of contagion. I doubt he will last long in his weakened condition. Curse the man! I was determined to get him to sign the document today.”
"How do you know it is the contagion?" Fosco enquired. “It is more likely to be wound fever that ails him."
"I am told his eyes and nose are red and watering, which is a sure sign of contagion," Dervorin replied grimly.
“Trust the stubborn idiot to cheat us!” Faramir said harshly, “I have had the infection, so if you wish, I could go and see if he still lives later today. Maybe, if we leave him to suffer for a while, he will sign in desperation!”
“I doubt it,” said Dervorin.” If you are you are certain you cannot catch the fever you could be our last hope of persuading him .We dare not even risk the servants for fear they pass on the contagion to us.”
Faramir struggled to repress his feelings of elation. His plan was working even better than he dared hope. “If Elessar dies without authorising the marriage, I shall do everything in my power to see that Lady Elbeth receives all that is due to her,” he told them earnestly. “The Elven witch will have no one other than myself to turn to for advice.”
“You are wise, Lord Faramir,” Dervorin replied with a smile which did not reach his eyes, leaving the Steward with no illusions to his eventual fate at the hands of these ruthless men.
Elbeth stared at Faramir accusingly for his failure to help her friend. “Lesser the Zerper is nice!” she exclaimed, “If he is ill, you should get him some medicine to make him better!”
“You do not understand that he is wicked and stole your rightful inheritance,” Dervorin said patting her on the head condescendingly.
Elbeth scowled.
“You should have done as I suggested to begin with!” Hanna complained. ”You men were far too soft with Elessar. Now he threatens us all with his contagion!”
After breakfast, Fosco remained at the table drinking to console himself after the setback to his plans, while Dervorin flirted with Hanna even more outrageously than the day before. The tenant farmers were all muttering anxiously amongst themselves about the risks of catching the fever. They were all terrified of it, as one had lost a brother in Minas Tirith to the infection. He blamed Aragorn for his loss because the King had been occupied tending a sick child at the time.
“If you will excuse me, I should like to exercise my horse,” Faramir told them when he left the room. Elbeth followed him.
“Why don’t you help Strider?” she asked the Steward.
“I cannot,” Faramir replied, unable to bring himself to look at her.
“Why not?” she persisted, tugging at his sleeve.
“He…he was unkind to me. He rules Gondor when I was meant to. He made me walk through the streets wearing a sack and sent me to prison,” Faramir replied, knowing he was within earshot of the others.
Elbeth frowned, trying to digest the information. “That wasn’t fair,” she pronounced. “I still think him nice though and you are being unkind!” With those parting words, she left, her imperious manner reminding Faramir very much of his late brother.
Faramir saddled Zachus and rode him around the grounds, all the time watching to see if he were being observed. It seemed though, that after yesterday’s events, he was trusted. He could still scarcely believe how he had managed to commit such a wicked act. Now, even they escaped from here would most certainly forfeit Aragorn’s friendship forever and with it his life. Yet, he could die happy just to know that his King were alive and well, and Gondor again under his wise and just rule.
Returning to his room, Faramir retrieved Arwen’s tapestry needle from where he had secreted it inside his tunic and dipped it in water. Then carefully, uncorking the vial of spider venom, he dipped the point of the needle in it, and then carefully put it aside to dry.
**
Several hours later, after another vast meal, Dervorin and his guests sat in the dining room carousing. When they became sufficiently intoxicated not to notice his absence, Faramir made his way back to the cellar where Aragorn lay.
The King was tossing and moaning with pain and fever, unable to find a comfortable place to lie because of his wounds and the shackles securing him. He was vainly trying to moisten his parched lips with his tongue.
Even human instinct that Faramir possessed cried out for him to comfort his friend and ease him by at least giving him a drink. Yet, he had no water with him and dared neither fetch any, nor offer a single word of comfort. How he wished he had been able to ask Éowyn to wait for him in the cave. He could see that Aragorn badly needed a skilled healer. He doubted his ability to save the King now, even if he could release him from his prison.