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gondor treason conspiracy


Chapter Notes:

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

Was I not born in this Realm? Were my parents born in any foreign country?... Is not my Kingdom here? Whom have I oppressed? Whom have I enriched to other’s harm? What turmoil have I made to this Commonwealth that I should be suspected to have no regard of the same?Elizabeth I (1533–1603)

With thanks to Raksha

The two friends sat side by side on the rug in front of the fire eating their supper.

Between mouthfuls, Aragorn told the long, sad tale to Éomer:  how the fever epidemic had ravaged Gondor and sapped his strength from endless hours spent in healing, how he had been abducted as he walked home, stripped of his clothing, and dressed in rags, his own raiment put on the body of a murdered man to spread the lie of the King's death.   He spoke of long weeks chained, in the cellar, then of the traitor lords' attempts to torture and starve him into signing the marriage contract that would have bound Eldarion to Elbeth.  Aragorn's voice lifted as he told how Elbeth had succoured him, bringing comfort and even the small amount of food and drink she could steal for him.  And then, his voice halting, he told Éomer of his increasing despair and his fall to the fever. 

Éomer listened intently, saying little, but his dismay and compassion were obvious from his expression. “What of Faramir?” he asked at last. “According to my father in law and many others, he joined the rebels and betrayed you. Yet, he was at your side today and probably saved your life by taking the arrow meant for you.”

“I do not know what to make of him,” Aragorn said, after a moment’s thought. “My wife tells me that she suggested he join the rebels to discover my whereabouts. Yet, he appeared to have truly thrown in his lot with them when I next saw him. Even when were alone, he gave no sign that he was other than a traitor. Faramir is not skilled in dissembling. That I do know.”

“Faramir is no Wormtongue,” said Éomer. ”I would not have permitted any man who resembled that snake to wed with my sister. How did you escape?”

“I remember little, for Faramir drugged me to feign death. The next thing I knew, I was in a cave with him and Elbeth. We stayed there until I was fit to travel to a farmhouse, where my wife and son were hiding, together with your sister and Elestelle. We remained there to regain my strength until now. Damrod brought me tidings that my funeral was to be held today and it seemed a good opportunity to regain my throne and unmask the rebels. I shall put them to trial within the next few days and punish them according to their just desserts. Though, what I should do with Faramir, I do not know.”

“I can only advise you to follow your heart,” Éomer said gravely. “Rest assured though, that whatever you decide, I will care for my sister and her child.”

Aragorn sighed, much as it pained him to tell his story; it was a relief to have confided. He could not help but be pleased to note how much Éomer had matured recently. “Tell me now, how you are faring,” he said, ”I would hear happier tidings.”

Éomer smiled; “I have wonderful news,” he said, ”Lothiriel is with child! It happened almost as soon as I returned home at the turn of year. Until then, I do not think we had realised just how deeply we cared about each other. Our reunion was a joyous one with the result that we hope to welcome our child in the autumn. I am to be a father and Rohan will have an heir!”

Congratulations!” Aragorn beamed; clapping his friend on the back, “Those are indeed tidings to gladden my heart!” He put down his goblet and went towards his bathing chamber to prepare for the night. “Would you like to borrow a nightshirt?” he asked Éomer. ”I hope you do not mind if we leave a candle burning.”

“You will need light after being held captive in the darkness,“ Éomer replied understandingly. “No nightshirt, thank you, I have quite enough of those at home, being as my wife insists on me wearing one. Much as I desire to please her, I would rather sleep in my clothes or nothing! You Men of Gondor are obsessed with covering yourselves!” Thus saying, he pulled off his boots and outer tunic then, laying his sword within reach, he settled in the vast bed, lying closest to the door. Aragorn joined him a few minutes later, and exhausted by the day’s events, he quickly fell asleep.

Éomer was awakened a few hours later by Aragorn thrashing around in his sleep and crying out repeatedly “Faramir, no, no!”

“Wake up! Come, Aragorn, you must awaken!” Éomer grabbed Aragorn’s shoulders and gently shook him.

The King awoke and for a moment stared blankly at Éomer.

“Easy, my friend, you were having a nightmare,“ the King of Rohan soothed. “You appeared to be having dark dreams of Faramir.” He lit another candle as he spoke, hoping more light would calm his friend.

“I saw him yet again coming at me with the brand,” Aragorn whispered, sitting up as he spoke. He was sweating profusely and trembling. Éomer rather awkwardly patted his back as a gesture of comfort.

“The brand?” Éomer sounded bewildered.

“Faramir wielded it.” Aragorn finally admitted the dreadful truth he had sought to conceal. “The rebels challenged him to brand me to prove his loyalty to them. He did so.”

Too shocked to reply, the King of Rohan could only put his arm around his friend and hold him against his shoulder. Aragorn was trembling still and was so painfully thin that Éomer could easily feel his bones beneath the linen garment he wore.

Éomer did not know, which he found the more disturbing; that his brother in law was capable of such a cruel act, or that his friend and brother king was so broken in body and spirit.

“I am sorry, you should see me thus,” Aragorn whispered at last.” In my dreams, I am back in that cellar and it overwhelms me.”

“Be easy, my brother,” Éomer soothed, patting his back, “I am glad to be beside you when you have need of me. I am certain I would be troubled by nightmares too, if such vile treatment had been meted out to me. On the morrow, I will fetch your lady and my sister. You will rest easier then. The City is secured now and it will be safe for them to return.”

“Thank you, that would ease my heart greatly,” Aragorn replied. “There is no man that I trust more to protect them.”

“Rest now, I am here beside you,” Éomer soothed. “All will soon be well again.”

Aragorn gradually relaxed and settled back against the pillows. Éomer tucked the covers around his friend and kept his hand resting lightly upon his shoulder until he was snoring softly.

The King of Rohan only wished he could believe his own assurances. Never before had he seen Aragorn thus. How he wished he could deal out his own justice to those that had so abused him! He could hardly believe what he had just heard about Faramir, though he knew it must be true. He was not especially close to his brother in law but had always believed him to be an honourable man and above all gentle of demeanour, apart from the time when he had received Éowyn’s ill conceived letter and believed it without proper investigation.

That had shocked him even more, because he considered Faramir incapable of harming or ill-treating any, save an enemy in the heat of battle. That was why he had permitted the match, wishing his sister to have a kindly husband. Éowyn had only recently assured him that Faramir was the most gentle and considerate of men who had never raised his hand against her or taken her by force. It was a mystery, how such a man could have disfigured Aragorn’s shoulder with that cruel brand. Still trying to make sense of it all, Éomer finally fell asleep again.

The next morning, Aragorn awoke soon after cockcrow and breakfasted with Éomer.

The King of Rohan then left together with some of his own men and a contingent of Swan Knights to escort the Arwen, Éowyn and the babies back to Minas Tirith.

Aragorn was eager to have the Elven scar treatment that morning, but decided to first walk to the Houses of Healing to ask Aedred to assist him and enquire how Faramir fared.

“How is Lord Faramir today?” he enquired when the Rohirric Healer greeted him.

“He is free of fever but seems to have developed a cough,” Aedred replied. “As you said you wished to tend him, I was awaiting your instructions.”

Aragorn sighed. ”I had come to ask you to assist me later today with an Elven treatment for my own injuries, as well as see how Lord Faramir was. His wife is returning today and I thought he could return to his own rooms to be cared for by her.”

“Gladly, I will assist you, my lord,” said Aedred. “ Lord Faramir should benefit greatly from his wife’s care. However, I would like you to first examine him.”

“I will see him, but after today, I shall no longer be involved in the healing arts,” said Aragorn. “I cannot be both King and Healer!”

Aedred raised his eyebrows but said only, “You will be much missed here, my lord.”

Faramir lay propped against a mound of pillows on his bed. His breathing was slightly laboured and he kept trying to cough, which caused him to clutch at his chest and grimace with pain.

“Does your wound pain you?” Aragorn asked, as he entered the room.

“A little,” Faramir replied, his sad eyes briefly lighting up at the sight of his King.

“Let me see,” said Aragorn, nodding to Aedred to fetch supplies of salves and bandages. The Healer placed them on the bedside table together with a bowl of hot water and a towel.

“You may leave us now,” said Aragorn,” I should like a tea prepared of dandelion, coltsfoot and rosehips for Lord Faramir.”

”Very well, my lord.” Aedred bowed and left.

“How is the City faring?” Faramir asked, still fingering the laces of his nightshirt.

“All is well. The rebels are under lock and key. Éomer is going to fetch your wife home today. I have asked Fontos about Anborn and his men but he can shed no light on the matter. Now let me see you wound. I need you to sit up straight.”

Faramir sighed and dejectedly slid the nightshirt from his upper body.

Aragorn carefully unwrapped the bandages. He frowned at the sight of Faramir’s now bared chest, which was completely black and blue down one side, though his wound was clean and already starting to heal.

Pressing his ear to his Steward’s chest, he was relieved to find the lung was sound, albeit slightly congested. Faramir’s heart beat more rapidly than the night before, though Aragorn suspected that it was because he was uneasy rather than due to his injury. He pulled the covers aside to see if Faramir’s ankles were swollen. To his relief, they were not, which reassured him his heart was sound.

“What will happen to me now?” Faramir asked.

“I am trying to decide that, but for the present I wish you to concentrate on recovering,” Aragorn replied, rubbing marigold and comfrey salve on Faramir’s chest. “I shall release you into your wife’s care when she returns. You may then return to your own rooms. Guards will be outside the door at all times.”

“I will not attempt to run away,” Faramir said firmly.

“I know that. They are for your own protection,” the King replied, frowning as he further examined his Steward and detected some slight swelling around the wound. Fluid retention was common after such injuries and the conventional treatment was herbs and a vigorous pummelling of the patient by a Healer. However, Elven massage treatments were far more gentle and effective in strengthening the heart and stimulating the kidneys to drain away the surplus fluid. Faramir was already bruised and in pain and looked so vulnerable and exposed. Little though he felt inclined to use Elven treatments on him, Aragorn felt it would be wrong to refuse to.

Faramir coughed again, his body contorting with pain.

“Lie down,” Aragorn instructed him, “You require the Elven treatments to ease you.”

Faramir almost immediately relaxed. He had come to regard Aragorn’s  treatments as a soothing experience.

As Aragorn began, a sharp pain flared in his branded shoulder. It seemed almost unnatural, to be treating the very man who had inflicted the hurt, with a remedy carefully created over vast ages to succour loved ones. Try as he might, Aragorn could only bring himself to treat Faramir as one might a servant or slight acquaintance, rather than as a son or brother, and he found, even treating him in such an impersonal manner, was very difficult.

Faramir felt the difference almost immediately, subtle though it was. How could it be otherwise though, as he had forfeited the right to be treated as a beloved son? A single tear rolled down his cheek for all he had lost. The treatment was painless, yet he felt as if a knife were piercing his heart.

“Why did you act as you did and join in torturing me?” Aragorn asked suddenly.

“I had no choice. I did so because of the love I bear you,” Faramir replied brokenly.

“A strange sort of love indeed! You had a knife to my throat. Did you intend to kill me?” Aragorn enquired, without looking up from his reluctant ministrations.

“Yes,” Faramir replied simply. It was painful for him to even think of what he had almost done.

“The man I once knew could not have contemplated such an act.” Aragorn was shocked at the unadorned reply.

“Nor, did I know that I was capable of such, “ Faramir said bleakly.

“Do I have your word you will never again raise your hand against me?” Aragorn demanded.

Faramir hesitated for a moment then shook his head slightly. “How could I make such a vow, for what if the need arose again?” he said.

“Turn over!” Aragorn said brusquely, hardly able to endure looking at him. He said not another word as he treated Faramir’s back. A part of him yearned to reach out and comfort the one he had loved as a son, but how could he when he had just openly proclaimed his readiness to kill him? “I have finished. Aedred is bringing you herbs, which you must drink. From now on, Éowyn will give you what treatments you need. I will see you again when you have recovered to tell you what I have decided to do with you. You do, though, have my gratitude for saving my life.”

“I accept whatever punishment you bestow,” said Faramir bleakly, thankfully pulling his nightshirt up over his shoulders. “I know that my acts cannot be justified.”

“Farewell, then. I have much to do this day.”

Aragorn hesitated for a moment, again wanting to bestow a kiss of blessing but finding himself unable to do so. He abruptly turned and left the room.

Aedred was already waiting outside with the herbal tea which he instructed Faramir to drink every drop of. The Steward was then left alone with his thoughts.

He had know from the moment he had promised to do Arwen’s bidding what his fate would be and freely accepted it. He could not help but shudder, though, at the thought of the agonising death that awaited traitors. Aragorn had been appalled, when he had believed that awaited him for attacking Éomer. Yet, then, he had not raised his hand against his lord nor openly slandered him. Aragorn was not a man, though, who relished cruelty, maybe a simple hanging or beheading would be his fate, or if he were especially, merciful; exile. Even that would be torment to him, for he loved his country with the ardour of a true son of Gondor.

He hoped whatever fate Aragorn decided for him; he would meet it bravely. It hardly mattered what the King decided, as he was certain so honourable a man would not harm Éowyn or Elestelle. He had already lost what he held most dear, his honour and Aragorn’s trust and friendship. It would have been better by far had the arrow pierced his heart.

TBC

 

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