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

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls:

Faramir finished his herbal tea and placed the cup on the bedside table. The Elven massage had already greatly eased his cough and he would have liked to seek forgetfulness in sleep, yet his heart was too heavy Instead,he sat staring at the stone walls of the small chamber.

He wondered how many hours would pass before Éowyn arrived. He was grateful for Aragorn’s mercy in allowing them to reunite, even if it were only for a short time before his probable execution. He was glad that Éomer was here, for surely he would care for Éowyn and their daughter, together with Elestelle. Even if Aragorn spared his Steward’s life, he would be forced to rely upon the King of Rohan’s charity. Aragorn would most surely confiscate all his wealth and take back his estates in Ithilien to divert their revenues to the crown.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of raised voices outside. The door opened to admit his uncle, with Tarostar following close behind him.

“I am surprised that he,” Imrahil gestured towards Faramir, “is here rather than in one of the rooms reserved for prisoners.”

“The King himself permitted Lord Faramir to be brought here,” Tarostar said firmly. “He is no traitor.”

“How can you know that?” Imrahil demanded.

“Because your nephew took me into his confidence regarding his plans,” Tarostar replied.

Imrahil’s gaze darkened. “You may leave us, Master Tarostar,” he said curtly.

“Very well, but I shall return in five minutes. I would ask you not to disturb my patient, my lord.” With that, Tarostar swept from the room.

“I have come to see what account you have to give of yourself,” Imrahil said.

“I thought only to save the King,” Faramir replied simply.

“By slandering him in Council and dishonouring the good name of your House?” Imrahil retorted.

“The Queen and I devised it as a strategy,” Faramir explained. "I needed to draw out the true traitors, and cozen them into trusting me so they would lead me to the King."

“Why could you not have include me in these plans?" Imrahil asked tightly. "Obviously, you confined in the Warden here yet could not confide in me! Why, Faramir, why?” Imrahil’s visage remained stern, yet he was unable to veil the hurt in his eyes. “You go off with out a word, apparently at the invitation of the Lord of Lamedon. Then nothing is heard of you for weeks on end. You left me in sole charge of Gondor when the realm sorely needed you! What would have happened had I succumbed to the fever?”

“I am sorry, my lord,” said Faramir. ”I believed I had no choice but to incite your wrath. Your anger against me had to be genuine and I dared not put us all at risk by disclosing my plans. Remember how you sent the Warden to enquire about my state of health? When he examined me, he realised that when I slandered the King, I spoke falsely. I deemed the help of a Healer might prove useful, so I chose to tell Tarostar of my plans to find and help my liege lord. I thought it unlikely that the rebels would suspect him. I did ask Tarostar to inform you, had I not returned by the start of summer. I trusted in the valour of your sons, should the fever strike you.”

“However did my sister bear such a foolhardy son?” Imrahil said, more to himself than Faramir. “ Together, we could have taken troops and searched until we found the King. How did you even know that he was alive? It was after all, you, who identified his body!”

“We are thought bonded,” Faramir said quietly, thinking sadly that he would never again know the bliss of sharing thoughts with Aragorn. ”The Queen shares a similar bond with him, so together we could sense that the King yet lived. I promised her that I would restore her husband to her.”

“Maybe the saving of the King will yet redeem you, though I like not the manner in which it was done,” Imrahil replied in a softer tone. “I came to hear what explanation, if any, you had to offer and tell you that whatever fate the King decrees for you, I will accept that decision.”

“As do I, my lord,” said Faramir.

“How are you faring?” Imrahil enquired in an abrupt change of subject. He studied Faramir’s pallid features and drawn expression with concern in his eyes.

“I am well,” Faramir replied. “The King himself tended my wound and pronounced it but slight. I hope to return to my chambers later today.”

The door opened and Tarostar re-entered the room, carrying a cup.” I am sorry, but you must leave now, my lord, “ he told Imrahil.” Lord Faramir needs to rest.”

“Farewell!” said Imrahil turning to leave.

“Farewell, uncle, um, my lord, “ Faramir replied.

Imrahil left the room, his expression once more closed and unreadable.

Tarostar fussed over Faramir, checking his pulse and his forehead for signs of fever, then bade him drain the contents of the cup, which contained a sleeping draught. He hovered at the bedside until the Steward slumbered peacefully.

“They will realise your true quality one day. I only hope it will not be too late,” Tarostar murmured to the sleeper, before leaving to carry out his other duties.

**

In his apartments, Aragorn paced impatiently while he waited for the servants to prepare his bath.

“I am most intrigued how this treatment words, my lord,” said Aedred, who was examining a tapestry on the wall depicting the oath of Eorl.

“It is an age old remedy known only to the Elves,” Aragorn explained. “It causes scar tissue to be broken down and replaced with healthy flesh, when combined with a special rosehip salve, which I shall require you to apply to my back.”

“Most curious!” Aedred exclaimed, then turned and doubtfully studied Aragorn’s haggard features. “Are you sure you are strong enough for what sounds like a gruelling procedure, my lord?” he enquired.

“I wish to be free of these disfigurements as swiftly as I may,” Aragorn replied, thinking especially of the brand on his shoulder and wishing fervently that the Rohirric healer did not need to see it. “I would not have my Queen wedded to a maimed husband!”

“Never have I seen a lady look on her lord more devotedly that the way Queen Arwen regards you,” said Aedred with the outspokenness typical of his race. “She would love you still, even if you were hideous to behold! My wife would do the same.”

Aragorn regarded him for a long moment as if debating whether or not to reprimand him. He merely shook his head slightly and said,” You are not the King.”

“For which I am thankful!” Aedred retorted.

Just then, a servant entered to inform Aragorn that his bath was ready.

“Do you wish me to accompany you, my lord?” asked Aedred.

“No, thank you, I wish to wait in the bedroom and remain within earshot,” Aragorn instructed him. ”I will call, should I require assistance.”

The King swiftly added the Elven salts to the bath water and allowed them to dissolve. He then undressed and climbed into the bath .He found himself having to struggle to repress the urge to scream when the mixture penetrated his still healing wounds. He found his thoughts constantly returning to the occasions when he had shared a mud bath with Faramir. Had the Steward been in this much pain a few months ago? Was it because of all he had suffered that caused him to side with the rebels?

Or had he been loyal in his heart all the time? His wound meant that Aragorn could postpone deciding whether he should be brought to trial or not over his actions. He could not delay the decision for more than a few days, though. Most likely, a trial would find Faramir guilty, even though Aragorn knew he owed his life to him. But, how could he order the execution of one he had loved so dearly? Yet, if he spared him, would he be endangering the safety of his wife and son and encouraging others to break their oaths of fealty as the whim took them?

Despite everything, he found himself missing Faramir’s presence, slightly embarassing though he had found it at the time. When the initial sting sensations had passed, they had both enjoyed the experience of wallowing in the mud together, splashing and teasing each other.

Today, he was heartily thankful when it started to cool, indicating it was time to leave. His branded shoulder had never ceased to throb the whole time he was immersed. Never having treated anything quite like that before, he was unsure what he ought to expect.

He donned his robe and rejoined Aedred, trying to conceal just how nauseous and light-headed he felt. He sat slowly sipping the ginger tea; he had asked the Healer to mix for him.

Aedred hovered solicitously, not fussing, but rather aiming to distract him with tales of his youth in Rohan. Aragorn remembered the places of which he spoke from the time he had spend there in King Thengel’s service. Those had been good days, despite the hardships. Often of late, he had found himself wishing that the Gondorians were more like the open, uncomplicated Rohirrim.

At last, the bath of clean water was ready for him to wash off the mud. He swathed himself in towels before returning to the bedroom. He dreaded having to allow yet another person to see his scarred body. He could only hope that Aedred, as a Healer, was too accustomed to the sight of wounds of all descriptions, to be greatly shocked.

Aedred tried valiantly to conceal his dismay once the wounds were revealed, yet his ruddy features paled visibly. “How could they maim and insult you thus?” he exclaimed, examining the scar left by the brand, obviously aware like Éomer, of the implications of the design.

“It will be gone within three days, together with the other scars,” Aragorn replied, applying a generous application of the orange hued rosehip ointment to the scar.

“This treatment must indeed be remarkable!” Aedred exclaimed. ”Tarostar told me that Lord Faramir’s scars were completely healed. I would never have believed such a thing possible!”

“The Elves have had millennia in which to perfect their healing arts,” said Aragorn. ”I am fortunate indeed to be able to take advantage of them.” He rolled over to allow Aedred to apply the ointment to his back.

“Yet, you have decided against further using your skills here in Gondor,” the Healer said, in a tone in which suggested he was troubled by Aragorn’s decision.

“I tried to heal my people, but when the soul of Gondor betrayed me, I realised the healing arts were better left to those who do not govern and can better judge the patient’s character,” Aragorn replied cryptically, his thin body tensing beneath Aedred’s hands, as uneasy as Faramir had been beneath his touch but a few hours before.

“As you will, my lord,” Aedred said respectfully.” I think your Elven treatment is complete now. I would advise you to rest and eat plenty of nourishing food. You have lost a great deal of weight and need to build up your strength. You do not need me to tell you that, though.”

“Thank you, Master Aedred. I would be grateful if you would stay until my wife arrives, which I hope will be later today. I, um, feel a trifle light headed.” Aragorn could only hope that the Healer would not guess his true reason for desiring his company, was his fear of being alone.

“Gladly, my lord. I will send a message to Tarostar to tell him I will be remaining with you.” Aedred’s eyes were full of compassion, all too aware that even crueller ones upon his soul would mirror the scars on the King’s body. He knew little of Elven treatments, but doubted even the Eldar had any means of healing such wounds.

Aedred then insisted that Aragorn order the servants to bring him a nourishing meal, for it was already well past midday.

Once the King had eaten, he asked the Healer to tell him what had been happening since his disappearance and if the fever had truly abated.

They became so engrossed in their conversation that they scarcely noticed the passing of time until a servant knocked to announce that the Queen and Prince Eldarion, together with the Princess of Ithilien and the Lady Elestelle had returned.

“Ask the Queen to join me here!” Aragorn commanded.

“Would you like me to take the Lady Éowyn to her husband and arrange for him to be transferred to her care?” Aedred enquired.

Aragorn nodded.” Thank you, Master Aedred. I have had fires lit in Lord Faramir’s apartments in readiness for his return. You have served me well today.” He warmly clasped the Healer’s hand before he dismissed him.

“Estel!” Arwen had entered with her customary Elven light footedness.

“Beloved, I have missed you! You see my plan has succeeded. You are restored to your rightful place as Queen at my side!” He took her tenderly in his arms.

“All I want is to be at your side as your wife!” Arwen replied holding him close.

During the next three days, Arwen rarely left her husband’s side, only briefly taking the air when Éomer came to visit his friend. Aragorn was in considerable pain from his wounds, which smarted and itched after the Elven mud bath.

The Queen applied copious amounts of calendula salve to her husband’s hurts and, then with Eldarion in her arms, sang the melodies of her people to soothe both husband and son to restful slumber. She was pleased to note how Aragorn was enjoying his baby son’s company, now that he was again secured as heir to the Reunited Kingdom.

Aragorn, however remained melancholy and Arwen knew it was from more than the pain caused by his healing wounds. He did not mention Faramir, but she had enquired about his health and Aragorn’ grim visage had lightened, when the servant returned with a message that the Steward’s health was improving under the care of his wife and the Lady Elbeth. The maid then added, trying to keep a straight face, that the Lady Elbeth hoped that the Lord Strider would soon be well enough for her to visit him.

When he awoke on the third morning, free from pain at last, the Queen could sense his excitement at finally being healed of his scars. As was his custom, he retired to his dressing room to change out of his night attire. She remained in bed, suckling a somewhat sleepy Eldarion.

“No, it cannot be!” Aragorn’s piercing cry of anguish almost caused her lose hold of her child.

TBC