These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain
Break a vase, and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than that love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole.
Derek Walcott (b. 1930),
With grateful thanks to Raksha for her help with this chapter.
Warning – This chapter contains material that may upset sensitive readers.
Éowyn sighed resignedly. She gave a reluctant nod. “Very well, I will do as you ask,” she said. “You must tell me, though, if the pain is too great to bear. I will go and mix some poppy juice for you.”
“You are planning to do it?” Faramir asked in horror, as his wife made to leave the room.
“I don’t want to, but it seems that I have no choice. Aragorn could lose the use of his hand if it is not set properly,” Éowyn replied sadly.
“I need you here too, Faramir,” Aragorn said after Éowyn had left. “Someone must hold me down and I would not have Arwen witness this.”
“I will not leave you,” was all Faramir could bring himself to say. The prospect of seeing the King hurt again was almost more than he could bear.
Éowyn swiftly returned with a cup containing the opiate. She raised it to Aragorn’s lips for him to swallow. She then rummaged in a cupboard and brought out one of Faramir’s nightshirts. “I think you will be more comfortable wearing this,” she said, somewhat surprising both men. Usually Éowyn found their insistence on wearing the garments at all times in bed somewhat hilarious and was wont to tease her husband mercilessly. Offering a nightshirt to Aragorn now, was her way of trying to comfort to the King whom she had come to care for as a dear brother.
“You must wear nothing but this while your wounds heal. You will have stay quietly in bed to recover your strength for a while,” Éowyn said briskly. “I am going now to ask Arwen to stay in the garden to care for Elbeth and the babies while I set your hand.”
As soon as she had left, Faramir helped Aragorn don the nightshirt. He then pulled the covers over him. The King already looked pale and exhausted. The Steward feared that the bone setting would prove a cruel ordeal. Apart from a brief word of thanks, Aragorn said nothing. Desperate for something to do to distract himself, Faramir carefully folded up the towels the King had been lying upon.
Aragorn lay back against the pillows, trying to calm himself while waiting for the poppy juice to take effect. He knew that setting the bones would be a very painful ordeal, especially since Éowyn had very little experience in the procedure. He was no coward, but these past weeks had already had more pain inflicted upon his body than he had ever believed he could endure.
Faramir, unable to find anything else to occupy himself with, sat beside him in silence. He felt woefully inadequate. He would gladly bear Aragorn’s pain for him, yet he could not even comfort him. The King had tended his wounds many times, and had always displayed great skill combined with compassion, tenderness and reassurance. Now Faramir could do nothing save hope his wife’s skills would prove equal to the task and assist her as best he could. Instinctively, he reached for Aragorn’s good hand in a gesture of comfort. Too wretched to pull away, the King accepted the gesture, albeit reluctantly.
Éowyn returned a few minutes later to check the pupils of her patient’s eyes. They were dilated, a sign that the poppy juice was working as it should.
Her features set determinedly, she gathered together the bandages and splints she would need, together with a supply of rather sad looking comfrey leaves she had garnered freshly from the herb garden.
“Are you ready?” she asked, “I shall set all three now together. I think that easiest for us all.”
“I am,” Aragorn’s resolute tone was belied by his pallor and the beads of sweat glistening on his brow.
Éowyn checked his pulse. She nodded to Faramir to hold Aragorn securely so that the King could not jerk away involuntarily if the pain became too great.
Sweat dripping from his own brow, Faramir sat on the side of the bed and pinioned Aragorn’s arms against the mattress. He felt as if he were back in that dreadful cellar, preparing to torture his King; even though it was entirely for his own good this time.
Éowyn took a deep breath and firmly grasped the first and most grotesquely angled of the damaged fingers. It was still tender. Aragorn flinched when she probed it, feeling for the exact location of the fracture. Forcing herself to imagine that she was about to snap a twig rather than a finger, Éowyn braced herself. “Are you ready?” she asked.
“Yes,” Aragorn replied determinedly.
“You are certain you want me to do this?” There was a hint of pleading in Éowyn’s tone.
“I am certain. Do it quickly, I beg of you not to stop however I react!”
Faramir looked at his wife, trying to will her the strength to do what she must. Éowyn gritted her teeth, and with all her might, snapped the King's finger. Aragorn gave a strangled cry, but made no attempt to break free of Faramir’s restraining grasp. The Steward had to look away, unable to bear the contortions of pain in his lord’s features. Éowyn took another deep breath and then turned her attention to the second finger. It proved much harder to set; and she had to make several attempts before she succeeded. Aragorn could no longer now bite back his cries of pain.
The third finger caused even more woe, as it was broken in more than one place. Éowyn had the training and skill for the task, but lacked the experience needed and struggled to snap the bone. She wished the King would faint to make the task easier for them both. By now, Aragorn was screaming in agony. Éowyn was only able to continue by thinking of what she would like to do to the man who had originally crushed his fingers.
“All done!” she said last in a choked tone. “There is just the splinting now.”
Faramir released Aragorn, who fell back limply against the pillows. He had passed the limits of his endurance. The King of Gondor and Arnor burst into tears and his frail body heaved with convulsive sobbing. Faramir gathered his lord in his arms and held him, gently rubbing his back and murmuring words of comfort while Éowyn pressed the bones back into place, then wrapped comfrey leaves around the fractures. Finally, she carefully splinted and bandaged each finger, forcing herself to concentrate and maintain her composure.
Eventually, the almost unconscious King went limp. Faramir gently lowered him onto the pillows before taking a cloth and wiping Aragorn’s sweat and tear stained face. He then tenderly kissed his forehead.
When he straightened up and moved away from the bedside, Éowyn could see that her husband had been weeping. “I will fetch Arwen now,” she said quietly, “You need to rest, we both do.” She bent and kissed Aragorn’s uninjured hand, whispering, “I am sorry!”
Éowyn’s stomach rebelled before she could fetch the Queen. A wave of uncontrollable nausea hit her; forcing her to make a detour to the privy, where she lost the breakfast she had eaten earlier.
Faramir busied himself tidying up the room and straightening the covers while he waited for the Queen. He could only hope fervently that Éowyn’s intervention had not come too late and Aragorn ‘s pain would not be for nothing. The King moaned softly and shifted uneasily in the bed as he regained consciousness. “Is the pain very bad, my lord?” Faramir asked anxiously.
“A little… it will pass…glad it is over…” Aragorn whispered. “Arwen?”
“Éowyn has gone for the Queen,” Faramir reassured him. “You should have allowed your lady to stay.”
“I did not want her to be distressed, or angered at Éowyn. Arwen is used to seeing only the best, the most skilful of healers, at work. It had to be done. You understand?” Aragorn said after a pause to compose himself. “Alas, that I am such a coward!”
“You are the bravest man I know!” Faramir reassured him He wondered how anyone could endure weeks of such torment without being driven completely insane. Spending a few hours in prison had almost destroyed him a few months before. “Rest now,” he soothed.
A few minutes later, an anxious Arwen re-entered the room, clutching Eldarion in her arms.
Faramir immediately rose to his feet.
“How is Estel?” she demanded, “Éowyn told me that resetting his hand was a great ordeal for him.”
“It was, but it is over now, my lady. I will take my leave,” Faramir said, casting one last anxious glance at the King before he left the room. Aragorn appeared to finally have fallen asleep.
After settling her sleeping child in the cradle at the foot of the bed, Arwen sat beside her husband, lovingly stroking his face and using all her Elven skills to soothe the pain she sensed in his body and soul. ‘How could my strong, handsome Estel have been reduced to this broken shell of his former self?’ she wondered sadly, trying to pour some of the strength of the Eldar into his frail mortal body.
“Arwen?” His grey eyes flickered open.
“I am here, beloved.”
“Stay with me, please!” he whispered.
“I will never leave you.” Arwen unbound her hair, then unfastened her outer gown and stepped out of it, leaving her clad only in her thin shift. She draped the gown over the bedside chair then climbed into bed beside her husband, careful not to aggravate his wounds. Gently she kissed his face and stroked his pitifully thin body. Éowyn had warned her that he was seriously ill, weeks of starvation and ill treatment having taken their toll. Only time would tell, whether or not there was any damage inside and how well he would heal. It was a miracle that Faramir had managed to bring him back here alive.
“I love you so much!” she whispered.
“I love you too; but what manner of a husband now can I be to you?” Aragorn lamented.
“You are still the man I love, the man to whom I have given my heart!” Arwen assured him, tenderly kissing his lips. Her soft tresses brushed across his face and her perfume had never smelled sweeter.
Reassured by her nearness and tender caresses, Aragorn slept, his pain and distress soothed by his wife’s loving hands.
**
Faramir found Éowyn stretched out upon the sofa, her head buried in a cushion to stifle her sobs. He sat down beside her and drew her close.
“Oh, Faramir, it was so hideous having to hurt him so much, and after all I could see he already endured!” she sobbed.
“You understand now,.” Faramir said sadly, “When I had to brand him, or betray my true loyalties, I felt my heart breaking! If you could but have seen the look in his eyes, the hurt and betrayal!”
They clung to each other for mutual comfort. Éowyn knew now just how much it had cost Faramir to raise his hand against the King.
They had just started to exchange some tender kisses when Elbeth interrupted them. Hastily, they pulled apart.
“The kittens won’t play any more and are hiding from me!” she complained.
“That is because they are young and need plenty of sleep just like a baby does,” Faramir explained, gesturing towards Elestelle’s cradle.
“Where is Strider?” Elbeth asked.
“He is resting now with the Queen,” Éowyn told her.
“Why couldn’t I stay with him and Uncle Faramir last night?” Elbeth demanded. “I didn’t like being alone in the kitchen!”
“You are not camping in the woods any longer. You must remember now that you are a Lady of Gondor, a daughter of the House of Húrin,” Éowyn told her. “Tonight, you can stay with me and the Queen if she agrees.”
“I don’t like being a Lady of Gondor,” Elbeth pouted, “I’m bored!”
“You can help me with the washing, then!” Éowyn said, getting to her feet, hastily wiping her face with her apron.
“I will see to the horses,” Faramir volunteered.
“I have fed them but they need grooming and exercising,” Éowyn replied.
“That sounds more fun than washing clothes!” Elbeth protested.
“Washing can be fun, let me show you!” Éowyn said firmly, sensing that Faramir needed to be alone for a while.
The Steward made his way to the stables and entered Zachus’ stall. He picked up a brush, but instead of grooming the large bay, he buried his head against his massive neck, overwhelmed with his fears for Aragorn. Could the King ever recover from such an ordeal and be whole again? His own future was bleak whatever happened. However, his beloved Gondor might yet flourish, but that could only happen if her rightful King ruled her.