Linda's Lord of the Rings Fanfiction

The characters are the property of the Tolkien estate

With special thanks to Raksha

Burden of Guilt  by Linda Hoyland

The events in this story take place a few months after the events in “Shadow and Thought”. Aragorn and Faramir have become close friends, Faramir and Éowyn are now happily married and Aragorn and Arwen are expecting a child. The story concentrates mainly on Aragorn and Faramir but also features Arwen, Éowyn and Eomer and to a lesser degree Legolas, Gimli, Ioreth, Imrahil and Damrod. The King and the Steward August Year 1 of the Fourth Age The Council chamber in Minas Tirith. The Council Chamber had recently become known for heated debates. King Aragorn Elessar, though firm in his decisions, always encouraged his Council to have their say before pronouncing his final judgement upon a matter. It had taken the Lords of Gondor some time to become accustomed to the new regime. Lord Denethor; the Last Ruling Steward had strongly discouraged discussion, especially in the latter years of his rule. Today, the debate had become surprisingly heated when Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth had raised the matter of the celebrations to follow the impending birth of a child and heir to the King and Queen “How do we even know that a human and an elf are able to produce offspring? ” argued the young Lord of Lossarnach. Aragorn’s eyes flashed dangerously although he remained outwardly calm. “My own existence is proof, as Lúthien the Fair was my ancestress, ”he replied. “But that is so long ago, the story could be but a myth!” the Lord of Lossarnach refused to be silenced. “I trust you are not making accusations against my Queen’s virtue.” Aragorn’s voice was icy. “None of us would, my Lord King, but how can we know that the child is your true heir and has not been smuggled into the Queen’s bedchamber?” The Lord of Lamedon rose to his feet and joined in the argument. “That is absurd!“ Prince Imrahil said sternly. ”Not only are you questioning the honour of our Sovereign, but you also forget that under the ancient laws of Gondor, during the Queen’s confinement, no one may enter her apartments on pain of death!” “We know that.” This time, the Lord of Lebennin was on his feet. “Yet a babe could still be smuggled in, prior to the confinement!” The other Lords all started to argue loudly about this possibility. Aragorn, usually good-natured, was by now white with barely suppressed fury, his hand reaching for his sword hilt. Faramir, Prince of Ilithien and Steward of Gondor, leapt to his feet. “Silence, my lords!” he thundered. They immediately fell silent. Faramir, once the most quiet and self effacing of the Council, had grown increasingly in confidence over the last few months and now was a force to be reckoned with, second only to the King himself. “Cease this bickering over what should be a joyous event! ” Faramir said sternly. “The birth of the heir to the throne should be witnessed, then no man might question the babe’s legitimacy.” The Council murmured their assent. “Well, spoken, Lord Faramir .I would ask no further questions were that so.” the Lord of Lossarnach said. ”I am certain the other Lords would be of the same mind.” “How dare you make such a suggestion, Lord Faramir, I would not have my Queen subjected to such humiliation! No man save myself shall ever enter her bedchamber at any time. The birth of our child shall be attended solely by her ladies and midwives! The dignity of my wife is sacrosanct.” Aragorn advanced towards Faramir, his eyes blazing, his voice like thunder. A lesser man than Faramir would have quailed, yet the Steward calmly held his ground. “I completely agree my liege,” he said, meeting Aragorn’s eyes without flinching. “I therefore propose that my wife, the Lady Éowyn, Princess of Ilithien, be present at the birth.” Aragorn’s tense features relaxed into a smile.” I believe that would be acceptable to both the Queen and myself,” he said. “Does the Council agree?” “That is a good choice,” said the Lord of Lossarnach. ”We all know, that should the King die without an heir, that the rule of Gondor would revert to Lord Faramir and his heirs, so who better to bear witness than the Steward’s wife?” No voice was raised in dissent and as no one raised any other matters to be dealt with, the Council was dismissed.  Faramir and Aragorn left the Council Chamber and together walked back to the Citadel for luncheon. Faramir had never been as contented, as during these last few months. For the first time in his life he felt confident, loved and secure, in both his public and private life. In public, he bore his responsibilities well and had the respect of his peers, while in private he basked in the love and approval of his wife and his King. Now to make his happiness complete, so it seemed, Éowyn was with child, and he hoped to become a father sometime in mid winter. The King had over the past months healed his old hurts. Aragorn had become as a father, giving him in abundance, the love and approval that Denethor had always denied.  Aragorn was happy too; Gondor was finally at peace, he was happily married to the woman of his dreams and looking forward to the birth of his heir. He was enjoying seeing Faramir blossom, from the almost broken man he had first met, into a confident Steward of Gondor and much loved friend. The ordeal they had both suffered a few months before had served to forge a very deep and loving bond of true friendship between them. Faramir had always loved his King, but had been too nervous to truly enjoy his company before. I surprised you then, Aragorn, I wish you could have seen the look on your face!” Faramir laughed. Aragorn jostled him playfully. “Were you not afraid I would cut off your head, my wily Steward?” “I had to be convincing. You should know that by now!” Faramir retorted in mock indignation. ”We had no idea the Council would have such strange notions about the baby’s parentage. As they had no idea that Arwen had requested Éowyn to be present, that seemed a good way to appear to satisfy them!”  “You were born to be a politician, Faramir!” Aragorn said; delighted at the confidence his Steward now displayed. “Whatever would I do without you?” “I have no plans to go anywhere.” Faramir replied, “I promised at the Hunting Lodge not to leave you and I meant it!” “I am glad to hear that!” Aragorn replied, cuffing him playfully, “You and I we need each other if the Council is not to drive us mad!” The two men worked together well and would often appear to oppose each other in order to get what they needed from the sometimes stubborn lords who sat on the Council. As few knew the depth of their friendship, the tactic usually worked to their mutual advantage. They had now reached the Royal Apartments. Faramir was about to leave him to go to his own rooms when the King enquired ” Would you like to go swimming this afternoon with Legolas, Gimli and myself while the weather is so fine?” Faramir hesitated; he enjoyed swimming but had only ever done so alone with Boromir. Although he felt much more confident, now that his scars had faded, he was uncomfortable at the idea of removing all his clothing in front of others. Aragorn, guessing the reason for his hesitation, added. ”I know of a pleasant secluded spot and there is no need to disrobe completely. Given the positions we hold we have to be careful how we are seen.” Faramir smiled, amused that the other could read him so well. “I think I will then, thank you. It will be pleasant to relax for a while, away from all the paperwork. My new secretary insists on tidying everything away, which means it takes twice as long to find whatever I am working on!” Aragorn smiled ruefully. “Why are good secretaries, or rather secretaries that suit us, so hard to find?  I am glad you will come with us this afternoon. The water should be most refreshing at this time of year.” The King clapped Faramir on the shoulder, adding ”Later, Arwen and I would be delighted if you and Éowyn would dine with us? ”  “We will be pleased to, ” Faramir replied, taking leave of the King. He hummed contentedly to himself as he went in search of his wife.  Messing about on the river Legolas and Gimli were paying a brief visit to Minas Tirith on their way to the Elf’s home in Eryn Lasgalen. As they was due to depart on the morrow; Aragorn had invited them to join the swimming party, so they could spend the last day of their visit together. Legolas was eager to go but the dwarf declined the invitation saying, “Swimming was all very well for fishes but not for dwarfs.” They rode down the levels of the city and across the Pelennor to the River Anduin at a leisurely pace, enjoying the summer sunshine. The people going about their business in the streets cheered their King, his Steward and the handsome Elven prince as they passed by. Aragorn smiled and waved as the people cried “Hail to the King and his Steward!” Faramir smiled shyly in response to their adoration. Even after almost two and a half years, it still felt strange to him to hold his father’s title. He often wondered what Denethor would think if he could see him now. He knew Boromir would be proud of his success. His father though, had always been impossible to please and he was certain he would just be waiting for him to make some dreadful mistake. Faramir inwardly vowed that was not going to happen. He was conscientious in performing his duties and he was determined never to disappoint his King, who had given him so much. When they reached a pleasant, secluded spot by the river, Aragorn dismissed the guards, telling them to enjoy a free afternoon. He loved Minas Tirith. After so many years in the wild, though, sometimes it felt like a cage to him and he needed to get out into the open countryside. Often he would go riding, usually with Faramir at his side now that Arwen was pregnant. The Steward, having spent most of his life in the City, would tease his King about his ambivalent attitude towards it. Aragorn took it all in good part. They tethered the horses. As soon as the guards had gone, sought the cover of some bushes and started to undress, shedding their tunics, shirts and breeches. They placed them in a heap by the side of the river with their towels on top. Legolas, with the supreme confidence of the Eldar, swiftly removed all his garments. He reclined under a tree as he waited for the others. The dappled sunlight only served to emphasise the lean contours of his body and perfect skin. He laughed when Aragorn and Faramir, both naturally modest and rather shy, made their way to the water’s edge, still clad in their drawers. They cautiously dipped their toes in the water, testing the temperature.  The Elf ran past them and dived in, graceful as a seabird, seemingly oblivious to the chill of the water.  “The water is pleasant today. Hurry up undressing and come on in!” “We are undressed!” Aragorn replied as he slid into the water. He was closely followed by Faramir, who was relieved not to be the sole brunt of Legolas’ teasing. “You mortals are so shy!” the Elf teased.” Maybe it is because you lack our perfection?” Aragorn’s only reply was to duck him under the surface. Having grown up with Elves, he was accustomed to their flawless skin and perfectly proportioned bodies and felt no envy, even though his own shyness had developed from being compared with such perfection and found wanting. He should still remember being teased over a spot on his nose when he was about fourteen. No Elf ever suffered from such an unsightly affliction. Much as he loved Elves, it had not been easy being so different from those around him, as he grew to maturity. The day he had started to grow a beard, had been the most traumatic of his young life, when it marked him out as irrevocably different from his foster family. Faramir kicked out from the shallows. He was fine swimmer and had used to enjoy swimming here near the same spot with his brother. He still missed Boromir, and always would. Yet he had found happiness again now in the brotherly companionship of his King and his marriage to Éowyn. He wondered if Boromir were watching from the afterlife and smiling at how well his little brother had done.  Legolas emerged spluttering and met Aragorn’s laughing eyes. “We mortals can hardly bear to see your brilliance!” the King teased. ”I meanwhile must maintain my dignity as King. What if a subject were to bow to me unclad? They would not know where to look!” Legolas tossed his now sodden golden locks and dived under again, pulling the King down with him. Faramir swam towards them and joined in the fun.  Wearying faster than the immortal Elf, Aragorn and Faramir clambered on the bank for a short rest, while Legolas circled round, as at home in the water as a fish. Faramir was unable to resist watching him. All his life, he had been curious about the Eldar and had never in his wildest dreams have ever expected to be in such close proximity to them. He realised that their perfection was no myth, though to a human eye the smooth hairlessness of their skin appeared somewhat strange. Not for the first time, Faramir wondered how Aragorn must have felt growing up amongst such as these. He decided to ask him when he had the chance. Tiring of watching Legolas’ acrobatics, Faramir leaned back against a tree stretching out his arms and playfully chasing the dragonflies with his fingers as they whirled overhead. It was a perfect summer’s afternoon. It was hard to believe they were only a short distance from the city. The only sign of civilisation was a herd of goats grazing nearby. Of the goatherd, there was no sign. The King wondered if he were playing truant by swimming too, further downstream from them. Aragorn sighed with contentment. It gladdened his heart to see Faramir healed, confident, and contented. Faramir got up and stood at the water’s edge, his back to the King, his skin almost as flawless as Legolas’ thanks to the Elven treatment, that Aragorn had persuaded him to use a few months ago. It seemed that once Aragorn had healed the physical scars of Faramir’s old life, the mental scars had faded too. The Steward had finally come into his own, much to his King’s joy. At long last, Faramir was relaxed, healthy and enjoying the happiness he had long deserved. Faramir dived in again, calling “Come on in again unless you are too worn out!” “Youth have no respect for their elders nowadays!” Aragorn teased as he dived in beside him. Although he was now ninety years old, a passer by would have taken the two men to be much of an age. “I will race you to the far bank!” Legolas challenged, setting off at a fast pace. The others followed, though they had no chance of catching the swift Elf. They clambered out on the other bank and saw the sun was starting to sink. “I think it is time we returned to the city,” said Aragorn. The others agreed, but loth to leave the refreshing water, all three swam back slowly. The goats had now come down almost to the water’s edge. “They must be thirsty.”  Legolas commented. “Or hungry. ” Faramir added. ”They seem to be grazing.” Aragorn was the first to leave the water. He reached for his towel. It had vanished, as had his clothes. Grin and bare it Aragorn looked more closely at the goats and suddenly realised what they were eating. “You are not having these too!” he yelled, as a bearded Billy goat made a grab for the leg of his drawers. The animal retreated, carrying a piece of the fabric in his mouth. “What is happening?” Faramir asked anxiously, scrambling out of the water. “The goats appear to have eaten our clothes and towels.” the King replied grimly. ”It even took my white tree!” He gestured towards the torn leg of his drawers, where there had been an embroidered White Tree of Gondor, one of his few vanities. “No!” Legolas cried, scampering after a goat, which had a piece of his tunic hanging from its mouth. By the time he had reached the animal it had devoured the cloth completely. “They have bitten through the ropes and the horses have strayed! ” Faramir announced, unable to conceal the rising panic in his voice. “They cannot have gone far.” Aragorn replied, trying to sound calmer than he felt. Legolas returned from his futile chase, looking totally dejected. ” Whatever am I going to do? ” he groaned. ”I suppose one of you wouldn’t lend me… ” Faramir blanched. He had a great admiration and respect for the Eldar, but the prospect of walking back to Minas Tirith stark naked was the stuff of his worse nightmares. “The King and the Steward of Gondor have their dignity to maintain. Maybe the goatherd will return and be able to help us.” Aragorn said firmly, placing a protective hand on Faramir’s shoulder. Despite the warmth of the late afternoon, the Steward’s skin felt icy to the touch. He felt irked with Legolas, for making such a request. The Elf could have kept some of his own clothing on instead of boasting Elven perfection. “Very well,” Legolas sighed. He wandered back to the bank to look for something to cover himself with and alighted upon some gigantic leaves, which he started to gather. “Do not touch those!” Aragorn warned. ”They are poisonous and cause a painful rash.” “For mortals maybe, but surely not for Elves?” Legolas dismissed the concerns airily.  ”I have not seen an Elf affected, but then these plants do not grow in the Elven realms.” Aragorn conceded. Legolas walked back up the bank, clutching a bouquet of the giant leaves around his waist. He brushed his long golden hair back from his face with his free hand. “You worry too much, Aragorn.” he said. ”These leaves will serve as covering until we find something better.”   “Bad goats come back!” A shout heralded the belated appearance of the goatherd, a young boy of about eleven summers. He was roughly but more than adequately clad in rough breeches, a tunic and a cloak The boy stopped when he saw them and stared with eyes wide as saucers. “Please could you help us? ” Aragorn asked politely.” We need some of your clothes from you, we will pay of course!” The boy looked him up and down for a mere second them with a piercing scream fled. Aragorn sighed with dismay.” I fear he misunderstood our predicament and takes us for thieves or lunatics. Either that, or he took some of the clothing himself. It was a great deal for goats to devour,” he said. “Come, we had better try and find our horses and some clothing.” The three started to run across the Pelennor. The meadows were green again after the carnage of the battle fought there; maybe made even lusher, now they were nourished with the blood of so many. The only reminder of what had occurred was a bare patch where the remains of the fell beast had been burned where nothing would grow. Aragorn and Faramir soon found themselves tiring, for although both had spent many years wandering in the wilds, they had little such exercise since Aragorn had become King. Their pace slackened and they walked in dejected silence with Legolas bringing up the rear.  Although the Elf was tireless, he preferred to stay close to his human companions in his current predicament. Much to their relief, they eventually reached a farmhouse where a plump young woman was hanging some washing out on a clothesline. Their eyes brightened at the sight of several shirts, a pair of breeches, and some bed sheets. “Stay behind us! ” Aragorn instructed Legolas as they approached the woman. He was blushing scarlet at the prospect of letting a lady see him so inadequately clad. Faramir’s expression suggested, that were he not so loyal to Aragorn, he would have turned and fled. He stood huddled miserably, trying to cover himself with his arms. “Your pardon, my lady, we wondered if you could help us, we are in dire need of your clothing. “ Aragorn said politely, gesturing towards the washing line. The woman’s only reply was to deal him a resounding slap across the face. “How dare you, you impudent knave!” she shrieked. “Be gone, or I’ll set the dogs on you! I hoped now the King has returned that things would get better, but we never had lunatics wandering around like this in Lord Denethor’s day!“ “I am the King.” Aragorn replied with as much dignity as he could muster, He rubbed his reddening cheek before crossing his arms defensively across his bare chest. “King indeed, a madman more like!” she snapped. “ Obviously the three of you have escaped from the asylum. You need locking up forever!” Much to their dismay, she snatched her washing from the line and hurried inside, slamming the door behind her. “We should have waited and helped ourselves to the washing once she had gone. “ Faramir said sadly. “We could have paid for it later. Has she injured you?” Aragorn rubbed his face ruefully. “It could have been worse, she could have punched me in the eye! Whatever did I say to upset her so?” “You asked for her clothes,” Faramir answered with a mirthless laugh, I think she thought you meant what she wore, not the washing!” Aragorn flushed slightly at the implication. “What can we do now?” asked Legolas. Aragorn looked around him and espied a mill a short distance away. “Let us try that mill.“ He suggested. They set off at a fair pace, Legolas having to slow down to keep up with the two men. He had now positioned himself between Aragorn and Faramir, as the leaves were starting to wilt and he had lost several of them on the way. Both men were wary and did their best not to get close enough for the leaves to touch their skin. The mill door was open. Much to Aragorn and Faramir’s delight, a pile of flour sacks were neatly folded behind the door. They picked them up and started tearing holes in them to make makeshift clothing. “Just what we need!” Faramir sighed with relief. He was cold as well as miserable and discomfited by their plight. “What use are flour sacks? ” asked Legolas. “We need clothing!” “We can wear them.“ Aragorn was already pulling one over his head. Like Faramir, he was starting to feel cold and his flesh was covered with goose bumps. “These?” the Elf was horrified. “But the material is so coarse!” Aragorn had already torn a strip off a second sack. He then made a hole in the bottom of it, stepped into it, and secured it round his waist. The outfit was far from being either elegant or comfortable, but it was at least decent. Faramir had likewise fashioned similar rough attire for himself. “Will one of you let me borrow your drawers now?” Legolas pleaded. “We itch as much as you, maybe more so, being mere mortals! “ Aragorn retorted. “You had better put on a sack or remain naked and treat the citizens of Minas Tirith to a glimpse of your Elven perfection! ” “Mortals would be unable to appreciate Elven beauty! ” Legolas retorted, reluctantly following the others’ example. “It itches,” he complained, when the sackcloth irritated his fair flesh. “And just what do you think you are doing! ” A middle-aged man, with greying hair and beard entered the mill, his face flushed with anger. “Stealing my flour sacks, I’ll report you to the King’s justices!” Sackcloth and ashes “We will recompense you fully, Master Miller,“ Aragorn said. “I am the King.” The Miller threw back his head and laughed. “King indeed!” he snorted. “How can you be the King? If you were, you would be wearing fine silks and velvets not sackcloth stolen from me!” He gestured towards Faramir. ”I suppose you’ll be claiming next that this ragamuffin is the Lord Steward?” ”I am he.” Faramir looked as if he wished the ground would open and swallow him.” We were swimming and some goats …” “Be off with you!” The Miller snapped, quickly suppressing his laugher.” If I catch you still here when my wife returns from market, you will be very sorry! I’m not listening to any more lies or slandering the good name of our King!” The three sackcloth clad companions fled sheepishly from the mill, leaving the Miller staring after them. They were obviously lunatics and yet there was something about the eldest man that intrigued him. It were as if he had an almost regal air about him, despite his appearance, a something, which had stopped him from giving the impudent fellow a sound thrashing. Shaking his head at such thoughts, the Miller tidied up the scattered pile of sacks. Aragorn and Faramir felt slightly more relaxed now they had acquired some clothing, however makeshift, while Legolas complained incessantly about how the rough sacking chafed his fair skin. It seemed a very long way back to the city. “Look! “ cried Legolas suddenly. “There are our horses.” They craned their necks in the direction the Elf pointed and could just make out three specks on the horizon. “They’ve strayed into a hayfield,” Legolas explained, his keen Elven eyesight noting the details. “Iavas loves fresh hay! It will be difficult to retrieve them,” Faramir groaned. Aragorn gave his companions an enigmatic smile. He then raised two fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle, paused for a moment and then whistled again. Legolas regarded Aragorn doubtfully. Surely losing his clothes had not caused him to lose his wits as well? By contrast; Faramir, having unlimited faith in the King’s abilities, waited hopefully, certain that Aragorn knew what he was doing, however odd it might appear. “They are coming!” Faramir exclaimed joyfully, when the horses started galloping towards them. “However did you do that? ” Legolas asked. “I still remember a few tricks I learned as a Ranger. “ Aragorn grinned, swinging himself up upon Roheryn’s broad back. “We never learned that in Ilithien” Faramir told him, as he mounted Iavas, patting the chestnut’s neck as he settled himself in the saddle. Meanwhile, Legolas had realised there was no way he could ride astride, without incurring the mirth of the populace, not to mention breaking several laws regarding public decency and breaching the peace. He was obliged to mount sidesaddle and ride like a lady, a feat he found took some mastering. He had never sat on a horse in such a manner before. It took all his Elven agility just to keep his balance. Faramir and Aragorn struggled to contain their mirth. “Your golden locks are even fairer than my wife’s!” Faramir chortled. “Don’t let your lady hear you saying that, Faramir, or you will be wearing sackcloth for a long time to come!” Aragorn teased, ignoring the Elf’s furious expression. They urged the horses towards the city gates and reached them within minutes only to be halted by the stern faced Guard. “What have we here?” he asked. “Vagabonds on stolen horses?” “We own these horses.” Aragorn said coldly. He was weary, cold and itching from wearing the sackcloth. All he wanted now was a hot bath and some comfortable clothing. The Guard shook his head. ”Those are fine beasts, fit for the King and his Nobles, not for the likes of you!” He drew his sword and levelled it at Aragorn’s chest. “I’m arresting you in the name of the King!” “I am the King.” Aragorn’s tone was at its most commanding as he glared at the Guard. ”Release us this instant!” The Guard flinched at the authority in Aragorn’s voice but continued undeterred. “I’ve no time for your impudence, you rascal! You cannot be the King, not dressed like that! I saw him at his coronation and he wore finery that a ragamuffin like you couldn’t imagine in your dreams!” Aragorn groaned inwardly. He was in no mood for a lengthy argument. The prospect of being locked in a cell and hoping someone would be allowed to identify him was growing alarming. They could overpower the Guard, but the King was reluctant to harm someone who was only doing their job. He was about to urge Roheryn into a gallop and hope the others had the wits to follow, when he remembered he was wearing the Ring of Barahir, the heirloom of the Heirs of Isildur. “Do you recognise this ring?” he asked the man. The Guard shook his head. “It looks as if you stole that too!” he said grimly. “Send for the Captain of the Tower Guard!” Aragorn ordered. “He will know this ring and its owner!” He could only hope that whoever was on duty would recognise him or Faramir in such unorthodox attire. He was becoming increasingly worried, especially about Faramir. The Steward had endured so much in the past that Aragorn feared being locked in the dungeons could badly damage his newly acquired self-confidence. Then there was Legolas, a Silvian Elf, one of a species attuned to Nature, who might react very badly if confined in a stone walled cell. The man hesitated, he had a good mind to march these ruffians through the street to the dungeons, but it was a long walk and he was due to be relieved soon. Then what was to be done with the horses? Aragorn, Faramir and Legolas could only wait and endure the stares and titters of the passers by. A queue was building up behind them impatiently waiting to enter the city. “Whatever do you think you are doing?” Aragorn heard a familiar and querulous voice, shouting almost in his ear. “Dame Ioreth!” He was so relieved to see her that he could have kissed her! “If that is your idea of the latest fashion, Lord Elfstone, I am not impressed!” Ioreth said tartly.” You look like beggars and ought to be ashamed of yourself for encouraging Lord Faramir to dress like that to go out riding!” She turned to Faramir, ”As for you, young man, your father would be ashamed of you to see you looking like this! He had his faults, did Lord Denethor, but he did at least see his sons were properly dressed!” Faramir opened his mouth to protest, but before he could do so, Ioreth continued, “I just don’t know what this city is coming to! Highborn Lords riding around wearing sackcloth! I don’t care if it’s some new fashion or even a new fangled religion, but it is not at all seemly. Maybe it’s the fault of the Elf, I never could abide them, you cannot tell what gender they are! I thought this one was male, but as it rides like a maid, it must be a she! Legolas turned the colour of a beetroot. “Dame Ioreth, I assure you that.” Aragorn began but was promptly interrupted. “And why is there such a queue at the city gates, I would like to know? It was never like this in Lord Denethor’s time! I’ve spent a long tiring day visiting my cousin from Lossarnach, who is staying at a farm near here. And I want to get home and put my feet up not stand here talking. Why my cousin was telling me…” Aragorn gently but firmly placed his hand over her mouth to stem the ceaseless flow. She glared at him with a look, which would have proved fatal if looks could kill. “ My pardon, Dame Ioreth, but I want to put to put my feet up too but cannot get a word in edgeways!” Seeing the Guard advancing menacingly, he removed his hand, only just in time to avoid being bitten, he surmised. “Please, Dame Ioreth, tell the Guard, who were are, then we can all be on our way!” he pleaded. “Is that ruffian annoying you, good lady?” asked the Guard. Aragorn held his breath. “Yes, he is.” she replied.” Aragorn sighed. It looked as if the prospect of shedding the sackcloth followed by a warm bath and a meal were receding into a distant prospect. Elven Blushes "But he is no ruffian and should know better!” Ioreth continued. “That is the King himself, Lord Elfstone, and the Steward, Lord Faramir together with one of those Elves that the Lord Elfstone seems to favour!” A look of horror spread over the Guard’s face. He dropped to his knees. “My Lord King, forgive me, I did not know!” he cried. “ Rise! You were only doing your duty.” Aragorn said without rancour. ”Now, will you be so kind as to lend me your cloak? I will see that it is returned to you.” The man rose to his feet, and with trembling fingers, unfastened his cloak and handed it to the King. Aragorn immediately passed it to Faramir. “You had better take this, as you have been known far longer than I in this city!” he said, aware that Faramir was probably the most upset by the day’s events. “There is no need, he can have my cloak!” Ioreth volunteered surprisingly, handing the garment to the Steward. “Why, thank you!” Faramir was touched by the usually fierce old woman’s kindness. “It is a warm day, I will get home all the faster without!” she said briskly.” Now don’t you dare ride around the streets like this again, whatever that Lord Elfstone says! You will catch cold, and then who will have to tend you?” “I promise I will dress properly in future,” Faramir said meekly, wrapping the grey woollen cloak closely round him. “Has no one a cloak for the Elf?” Ioreth demanded loudly.” Decent folks like us, don’t want to see it riding through the streets like that!” A man, who looked like a rich merchant, came forward and offered Legolas his fur trimmed garment much to the Elf’s relief. “All the cloaks will be returned.” Aragorn promised in a voice all could hear, as the Guard opened the city gates and let them through. They urged the horses to a trot and rode without stopping through the city streets. To their great relief, the citizens failed to recognise them. Aragorn and his companions managed to enter the royal apartments unnoticed, using a secret way that Faramir knew from his childhood. They were anxious to avoid their wives until they looked presentable, knowing the ladies would tease them mercilessly if they were spotted sporting sackcloth. They parted and went their several ways, promising to meet for dinner once bathed and changed. After a hot bath and now dressed in fine woollen breeches and a velvet tunic, Aragorn was about to enquire whether Arwen and his guests were ready for dinner, when Gimli hurried up to him, an expression of great anxiety on his face. “Please come quickly, Legolas feels most unwell and is unable to even dress for dinner! I have never seen him like this before! What if the poor Elf is dying?” Pausing only to snatch up his healing supplies, Aragorn raced to Legolas’ room, closely followed by the panting Dwarf. He knocked on the door and on getting no reply, entered and approached the bed, where he discovered the Elf lying on top of the covers, dressed only in a loose nightshirt. A painful and unsightly looking red blotch across his cheek disfigured Legolas’ fair features. The Elf struggled to sit up when his friend approached but fell back against the pillows with a groan. “What ails you, mellon nîn?” Aragorn asked, although he already knew the answer.” I was told you were unable to dress to come to dinner.” “Those leaves, I fear you were right!” Legolas replied.” I feel as if my skin is on fire, it is too painful to endure my garments rubbing against it!” “Why didn’t you tell me about the leaves, Legolas?” Gimli exclaimed, “I thought you were dying from some dreadful poison!” Aragorn placed his hand on the Elf’s forehead. ”You do not have a fever,” he pronounced. “The leaves produce a painful burning sensation, though it affects humans slightly differently. Their symptoms take a few hours longer to develop. Luckily, I have a salve, which should help. Where is the rash?” Legolas flushed slightly and held out his hands without much conviction. ”Here, where I touched them,” he replied, ”and on my face too.” Aragorn carefully applied the salve to the Elf’s reddened palms and fingers, trying to suppress a wry smile. He then waited patiently for Legolas to elaborate further. A long, uncomfortable silence followed, during which, Legolas shifted uneasily on the bed and winched “And where else?” the King asked finally, eager to end the Elf’s torment. “It is rather embarrassing,” Legolas muttered. “Unless you will show me, I cannot tend you, so if you would prefer I take my leave?” Aragorn gathered up the jar of salve and pretended to make for the door. “If you don’t tell him, I will!” Gimli exclaimed, placing himself in front of the door. “I have noticed where you have been scratching, Master Elf!” “Maybe if you were to take a little walk?” Aragorn suggested to Gimli. ”The gardens are pleasant at this time of year.” “And of what interest are flowers to Dwarfs?” Gimli huffed indignantly, “We don’t go around smelling them like Elves. A fine mess plants and flowers have left him in!” “I meant that I need to ….” Aragorn bent to whisper in Gimli’s ear. The Dwarf laughed out loud. “I hardly think so. The Elf has no hesitation in taking off all his clothes and jumping in the river to bathe in front of me when we are journeying together. He even suggests I should join him, just think of the damage it would do to my beard, not to mention anything else! A Dwarf and his garments are not easily parted. We have a more sense than going diving in freezing cold rivers and getting a nasty rash as result!” “The river was not the cause of it. It was some poisonous leaves.” Aragorn explained patiently. “Well it would never have happened it he had kept his clothes on. A Dwarf would never …” The chatter was making Legolas aching head feel worse “Stay, please!” he interjected, halting Gimli’s endless chatter. With surprising tact, Gimli smiled at his friend then went across the room to look out of the window, where he remained standing as Aragorn approached the bed. Blushing scarlet, Legolas reluctantly pulled his nightshirt up to above his waist, revealing large areas of red and blistered skin between waist and thigh marring the otherwise perfect Elven skin. With the calm detachment of an experienced healer, Aragorn applied the salve in liberal amounts, plastering it thickly over the affected areas. Legolas sighed as the cooling ointment took effect. “Turn over!” Aragorn instructed him. This is so mortifying! “ Legolas wailed, as his friend continued to tend him. Glad that Legolas could not see the expression of barely suppressed mirth on his face Aragorn asked with mock gravity.” I thought Elves were so perfect they had no need for shyness and delighted in revealing their perfection? You implied only this afternoon, modesty was a trait only mortals shared!” Unable to think of a good answer, Legolas changed the subject. ”Why do mortals cultivate such plants?” he asked  “They do not, but it grows wild in the lands of the Harad.” Aragorn told him. “Most likely, their soldiers brought the seeds here on their boots during the war. He finished applying the salve, smoothed down the Elf’s nightshirt, then went over to where a basin and ewer stood on a table near the bed and poured some water into the basin to wash his hands. “Is the poison deadly? My skin feels as if it is about to fall off! Am I going to die?” Legolas groaned. The Merry Wives of Gondor Aragorn calmly dried his hands and started to mix some herbs in a goblet of wine. “I have been stung with it many times and I live still!” he told the Elf. ”You should be much better by morning and be able to return to Eryn Lasgalen as you planned. You have the fast healing abilities of the Eldar.” “I will never be able to sit on a horse!” Legolas lamented. ”How can I let anyone see me thus, my looks are ruined!” “You can of course stay longer, if you wish.” Aragorn replied, handing him the goblet. ”Drink this; it will help you get some rest. I think though, you will find you are fully recovered by morning. I will have to go now, the others are waiting for me to begin dinner. I will have some food sent to you later when you are rested.” “Don’t leave me, I feel very ill!” Legolas pleaded. “That is something we imperfect mortals often feel!” Aragorn said dryly.” You have no cause to fear; you will live! Be comforted.” “I will stay with him.” Gimli offered, finally losing interest in the view from the window and moving to Legolas’ side.” Please give your lady my apologies that I cannot come to dinner as the Elf needs a nursemaid.” Legolas opened his mouth to retort, but only a yawn emerged as the sleeping draught started to take effect. Gimli settled himself by the bedside and patted his friend’s hand, the gesture belying his somewhat scathing comments. Aragorn drew the coverlet over the unhappy Elf and left to join his wife and friends for dinner. He was going to enjoy relating the latest turn of events to his Steward. When Aragorn entered the dining room of his private apartments, he found his wife, together with Faramir and Éowyn already there and waiting for him. Arwen was now so large; she had difficulty sitting at the table. She was, however, in good spirits and chattering to Éowyn in an animated fashion, while Faramir looked on uneasily. “Éowyn and I have heard such tales from the city today!” she exclaimed. ”Three naked madmen are on the loose! It is said they attacked a boy and then a woman, stealing all her clothes before helping themselves to some horses from the Royal stables and beating up and robbing a miller!” “Well, I heard they merely stole some sacks from the miller.” Éowyn added,” Then, the latest rumour was they escaped wearing stolen cloaks!” “How are you going to punish these villains when you catch them?” Arwen asked with a gleam in her eye. “Surely the King won’t let them run amok in the city?” Éowyn commented earnestly. Aragorn opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again while Faramir blushed scarlet. “The most interesting thing I heard was the description of the lunatics.” Arwen’s tone was like honey.” I was told two were dark haired with grey eyes, one older and slightly taller than the other, while the third was fair to look upon with long golden locks that any maid would envy. That sounds somewhat familiar. “How strange my husband should go swimming this afternoon with two that fitted that description!” Éowyn could now barely contain her mirth. Arwen burst out laughing, not the usual musical laugher of Elves but very human guffaws, which she had obviously learned from Éowyn. The two women shook with helpless mirth. “If only we could have seen the three of you!” Éowyn roared. “What a sight that would have been!” “We were not naked, we were wearing our drawers, that is Aragorn and myself were.” Faramir said with as much dignity as he could muster, somewhat ill at ease to be even mentioning underwear in the presence the Queen. He was fond of Arwen and admired her greatly, but always felt slightly awestruck in the presence of one of the Eldar, even at the best of times. “How did you find out?” Aragorn asked. He had hoped for some sympathy from his wife, but realised that to an observer, their plight must have seemed hilarious. It was good to see Arwen so cheerful. As spirits as the delivery time drew nearer, she had become somewhat apprehensive and her bulk made her uncomfortable. “Ioreth came to see me and told me most of the story.” Arwen explained, once she could control her mirth. ”The rest I heard from my maid, whose brother’s wife is the miller’s sister. He had come to report the theft of the flour sacks to the guard and also had spoken to his neighbours. The tale seems to have been embroidered in the telling, though.” “We never attacked anyone, only asked for some clothing and were forced into stealing some flour sacks when no one would give us any.” Aragorn explained. ”They failed to understand our motives, I think.” “Your adventures have certainly entertained us!” Éowyn chortled. “The bruise on your cheek looks painful.” Arwen added.” Though, maybe you deserved it from what I have heard!” “He did not!” Faramir said indignantly.” We did nothing wrong!” “Where are Legolas and Gimli?” Arwen asked. “I thought they were joining us.” “Legolas is weary after all that happened this afternoon and decided to eat in his room and Gimli wanted to stay to keep him company.” Aragorn said diplomatically, to spare the Elf the ladies’ teasing. He intended to tell Faramir the full story, once they were alone. “It has been quite an unusual day starting with the Council Meeting this morning,” Aragorn told her, anxious to change the subject. He proceeded to tell them about Faramir’s intervention in the debate over a witness to the impending royal birth. “There are dozens of regulations on the subject.” Faramir informed them as they began their meal. “Surely not any more than those we discussed this morning?” Aragorn groaned. “I think there are about fifty pages of regulations.” Faramir informed him.” It is a month or two since I last looked at them.” ”Fifty pages?” Arwen was incredulous. “It seems that each Queen in the past, or her family demanded that new ones be added.” Faramir explained. “For example, the ruling that the Queen may not be disturbed during her confinement was made after one King burst into the bedroom and kept shouting at the Queen, that he would divorce her, if the baby were not a boy, that also led to the rule that the King may only spend an hour a day with the Queen for the first days after the birth. The same monarch harangued his wife after the birth of their daughter, so the poor lady had no rest. She was the Queen who added the rule that the midwifes must remain in constant attendance of the Queen for a week after the delivery. I think it was her father who insisted on adding the separate bedchambers clause too.” Faramir flushed slightly. “Whatever is that?” Aragorn demanded. “The King may not share the Queen’s bedchamber for two weeks after the delivery, nor have um, intimate relations for six weeks,” Faramir mumbled uncomfortably, staring down at the tablecloth. “What sort of monster am I supposed to be?” Aragorn said testily. “The angry father of over a thousand years ago was only concerned about the health of his daughter.” Faramir said hastily. ”I do think some of these ancient laws need revising, though.” ”They will be before we have any more children,” Aragorn said grimly. “I think I should have some say in the matter,” Arwen interrupted. “Of course, my love, you shall rewrite them yourself if you wish,” Aragorn soothed. “And I shall help you!” Éowyn added. ”I assume there are rules about the birth of the Steward’s heirs too?” “Forty pages of them.” Faramir informed her. Éowyn blanched. “Well if you need a witness, I will be happy to assist.” Arwen offered. ”I did learn some healing arts from my father, so I might be useful.” “I would be honoured to accept,” Éowyn smiled, while Faramir gave a sigh of relief as he had dreaded approaching the subject, given that Éowyn insisted that ladies of Rohan took giving birth for granted and were back on their horses the next day! The conversation took a lighter tone as the servants brought dessert. Arwen was starting to yawn, As soon as she had finished, she excused herself and prepared to call for her maid to help her prepare for bed. “Shall I help you?” Éowyn asked, feeling anxious for her friend. Arwen thanked her and the two women left the room, leaving the men to their wine. Arwen and Éowyn Éowyn unfastened the Queen’s heavy gown and let it slide to the floor. A maid had already brought hot water and towels with which Éowyn helped Arwen bathe, noticing as she did so how much larger her belly had grown. “I think the baby will come fairly soon,” Eowyn commented. “I wish I knew how long I have to wait,“ Arwen groaned, “It could be as soon as next month or not until the Mid Winter festival when your own child is due!” “I hope it is born ere winter, as I cannot be in two places at once!” Éowyn jested, though secretly she felt anxious, as she did not think the Queen could safely grow much larger. “I do not know what happens when the mother is of the Eldar and the father human,” Arwen mused, shifting uncomfortably as the babe inside her kicked. Impulsively, she grasped Éowyn’s hand and guided it to where the child was kicking. “This babe is strong!” Éowyn smiled. “You are sure everything is going as it should?” Arwen fretted. Éowyn took the opportunity to carry out a brief examination. Arwen had become increasingly shy as her body swelled, though in her friend’s opinion she was a vision of fecund beauty, the curves of her swelling body framed by her mane of shining raven hair and the silvery stretch marks on the ivory skin appearing more of an adornment than a disfigurement. “The babe’s head is in the correct position and it moves strongly.” Éowyn assured the Queen. ”You should have plenty of milk for it, though I assume, you will have a wet nurse?” “Indeed, I will not!” Arwen replied. “Who but myself, would have the right milk for my child?” Éowyn agreed and applauded her decision. She intended to feed her own babe too; such was the custom of Rohan. “I think this babe is getting eager to be born!” Éowyn smiled as she helped the Queen get on to the bed, no easy task given her considerable bulk. “I am eager as well!” Arwen replied, rubbing her aching back. ”Aragorn yearns to see his child as well. He tells me he does not mind whether it be a boy or girl, for in the past the women of Númenor have worn the crown. He wants the eldest to succeed him regardless of gender.” “Faramir says he doesn’t mind either what our child is,” Éowyn replied. ”We are fortunate in our husbands.” “Oh, my back!” Arwen groaned, trying to make herself comfortable. “Shall I massage it for you?” Éowyn asked tentatively, for although both the King and Queen had taught her the Elven massage techniques, she was far from skilful in them. “Or, would you rather I fetch Aragorn?” “It works best when a friend does it since it is meant to be relaxing rather than exciting!” Arwen replied, turning awkwardly on to her side. “ Let Aragorn and Faramir enjoy themselves together. It makes me happy that they are now such good friends. Aragorn was like a bear with a sore head before they became close. He was so lacking in male companionship. Men need each others’ company and friendship as much as we women do.” “Faramir is much happier now too.” Éowyn commented, as she tried to use her fingertips as she had been taught, hoping she was easing the Queen’s discomfort rather than adding to it. “It pleases me how at ease he is now with Aragorn, instead of jumping at the sound of his voice and flinching away from his touch.” “It used to grieve Aragorn that Faramir was so afraid of him. He always wanted to befriend him. Now they are inseparable and I could not imagine it ever being otherwise, which gladdens me.” Arwen commented, stretching herself as the pain in her back eased. ”That is much more comfortable,” the Queen said at last. ”Thank you. I will gladly do the same for you, once my child is born.” Éowyn sighed with relief. ”I feared I lack the correct technique to ease you. And thank you, I would like that.” “If it is done lovingly, Elven massage always works,” Arwen said with a smile. “That is what true magic is!” “I often wondered!” Éowyn replied as she helped Arwen don her nightgown, plumped up the Queen’s pillows and arranged the covers in place. “You return to the men folk now,” Arwen said once she was settled. ”I am comfortable now and will sleep soon. Éowyn bent to kiss her friend goodnight then turned to leave. Arwen surprised her by suddenly starting to laugh. “I was just thinking of what our husbands must have looked like skulking through the city this afternoon!” she tittered.” How I wish I had been there!” ”So do I!” Éowyn replied, hastily leaving before she too was overcome with mirth. She desired to put some serious questions to Aragorn while she had the chance to speak to him alone. Faramir and Aragorn were seated side by side on the couch when she returned, sipping goblets of wine in companionable silence, while Aragorn with his free hand, eased the knots from his Steward’s neck caused by the stressful events of the day. “I could do that for you!” Éowyn said in mock indignation. Actually, it pleased her that her husband was now so at ease with the King. “I know, but this is the expert!” Faramir replied, “In any case, you would only tease me about my ordeal this afternoon!” “I had an ordeal too, my cook burned the stew intended or lunch!” Éowyn retorted. “I will massage your neck next then.” Aragorn grinned at her. “Thank you but a strong woman like myself is already quite recovered,” Éowyn replied, secretly wishing her pride did not demand she turn down the offer. Aragorn had a truly magical touch. Aragorn finished his ministrations to Faramir and then picked up a letter from the table. “I thought you would be interested to know that I have decided to have Duilin of Morthond’s Hunting Lodge converted to a refuge for war orphans.” the King told them. ”I thought that would be the best use for it. We can always visit if we wish, for although our time there was not exactly pleasant, it did serve to bring us together! “That is an excellent plan!” Faramir enthused. ”There must be many more children like Elbeth.” Aragorn’s tone became sombre. ”That is something else, I must tell you, the Housekeeper writes that Elbeth has vanished from her sister’s home. She has heard Hanna had escaped from the asylum too. I do wish we had brought the child back with us!” “So do I.” Faramir said sadly. “It just seemed best at the time to leave her with the Housekeeper’s sister.” “I doubt Hanna would harm her daughter,” Aragorn said reassuringly. ”I would just rather that she were safe with us. She was such a beautiful child. Éowyn cleared her throat; ”Talking of children, there is something important I need to ask you.” “What is it? Is Arwen well?” Aragorn asked apprehensively. Éowyn came straight to the point. ”Aragorn, how much do you know about Elven pregnancy and childbirth?” she asked bluntly, causing Faramir to blush at her outspokenness and nervously twist the wedding band he wore round his finger. “Very little, I fear about any sort of pregnancy.” he answered her as one Healer to another.” There were no births at Rivendell during my time there. As a ranger and a soldier, I was rarely amongst women. In any case, childbirth is a matter for midwives. The healing arts I know are for wounds and other maladies, not to treat the natural lot of women. Why do you ask?” “I am concerned for Arwen,” Éowyn said bluntly. Seeing the look of alarm cross Aragorn’s handsome features, she added quickly. ”She is well, but growing so large, I do not think it can be more than six weeks at most before the babe is born, yet she tells me it might not be due for another four months yet. Then, neither Ioreth nor myself have any idea what an Elven delivery is like. I have asked Arwen, but she has no experience of childbirth amongst her own kind either.“ “I have heard a child of a mixed union such as ours could be born after nine months if it favours the father, or twelve if it favours the mother, or somewhere in between. Arwen is unique too, with both human and Elven ancestry. I have no idea if an Elven delivery is different than a human one,” Aragorn told her. “That is very helpful!” Éowyn said rather sarcastically. “Could we send a message to Rivendell?” she added. “It is a long journey. They might not get there in time before Elrond and most of his household sail for Valinor.” the King replied. ”If only I had thought to ask Lord Elrond before we parted, or even Lady Galadriel!” “A somewhat difficult topic to discuss with your father in law,” Faramir remarked sympathetically. Aragorn frowned and rubbed his hand worriedly across his brow as he sat lost in thought. Gathering Clouds Éowyn sighed in frustration. “I know, Elrond’s books!” Aragorn said suddenly. ”Arwen’s brothers brought his texts about healing to Minas Tirith when they visited at the New Year.” “You have Lord Elrond’s books?” Faramir was awestruck. “I am sorry, I should have mentioned it before. There has just been so much to do these past months,” Aragorn sighed. ”Let us see now what we can learn from them about childbirth.” Faramir was naturally familiar with the main library of Minas Tirith, which had always been one of his favourite places. As a boy, he would escape the grief of being motherless and the scorn in his father’s eyes whenever he looked at his younger son, by immersing himself in Gondorian history and tales of the Eldar. The vast knowledge he had gained had often proved invaluable to Aragorn. Although the King was well educated, he paled beside his Steward when it came to the obscure details of history, law and customs of the southern part of his Reunited Kingdom. Faramir had never been in Aragorn’s private library before. Aragorn had always brought any books that were needed to his study. He stood staring in amazement at the sight of all the Elvish volumes lining the shelves. “Given your love of learning, I should have brought you here long ago,” Aragorn said apologetically, as he lit the lamps. "You are welcome to come and enjoy my library any time you wish.” Faramir thanked him, while the King searched the shelves for the volumes Lord Elrond had given him. “This might help,” he said at last, selecting a large dusty volume and placing it before Éowyn. "It explains how best to avoid complications during childbirth.” “I fear I don’t read the language,” Éowyn said, a touch of regret in her voice. Aragorn opened the book at a page illustrated with a diagram of an Elvish woman giving birth. ”I can translate,” he said. “That is, if you are not too tired being with child yourself as it is growing late?” Éowyn shook her head. “The women of the Mark are strong. We are usually on horseback almost until the birth whereas I have been sitting in a comfortable chair for most of the day.” Aragorn placed the tome on a table and drew up three chairs. “This chapter is about the first stage of labour,” he began. ”Is that what you want to know? Apparently labour is more emotionally draining for an Elf than for a human, though as a male, I would not know,” he added hastily, seeing Éowyn’s expression. “Of course, with Arwen’s mixed heritage there is no way of knowing how she will react.” Eowyn nodded and the King began to read, translating the ancient words into the common tongue. “When the waters break it usually indicates the first stage of labour has begun. At this point contractions will be about thirty minutes apart and the midwife should ascertain by careful visual examination that there is no bleeding and that dilation is at least …” He broke off and turned to Faramir. ”You understand Quenya too, so why not translate for your wife and see one of Elrond’s books for yourself?” Faramir had first blushed when Aragorn had started to read, but had now turned a sickly greenish hue. ”No, thank you!” he gulped. ”In fact, I think I will go to bed now and leave you to discuss, um delicate matters.” “You look tired, my friend, go and get some rest.” Aragorn said sympathetically patting Faramir’s arm. “Maybe this is a subject best left to women and Healers. It is a tradition of the Eldar that the father be present. I am heartily thankful, Arwen has not asked me to observe it.” I will bid you goodnight then.” Faramir turned even paler at the thought of the father witnessing the birth. He was anxious to leave before any more of the book could be read. He had seen animals give birth often enough, but his wife was quite a different matter entirely! “Wait!” Aragorn got up and reached another volume down from the shelves. ”I think this, also from Elrond’s library, might be more to your liking. It is a history of the First Age. Why not borrow it for a while, then maybe we could discuss it together?” Faramir’s eyes lit up as Aragorn handed him the precious volume. “You would let me handle this?” “Why not? It ought to be read by someone who will appreciate it!” Faramir impulsively embraced Aragorn. Only recently had he felt comfortable enough to express the deep affection he felt towards his King, for he would never have dared behave so freely towards his father. Aragorn warmly returned the gesture and placed his hand on the dark head in blessing. He truly did feel blessed to have a friend like Faramir. Never had he dared hope that the Valar would grant him both the wife and the grown son or little brother he had always longed for. Suddenly his hands felt wet and when he hooked down he saw they were covered in blood, Faramir’s blood! He paled and swayed slightly at the horror and clarity of the vision. “Are you unwell?” Faramir and Éowyn’s concerned voices roused him from the trance. Aragorn forced himself to smile reassuringly at his friends. The vision had to be false, as he would no more harm his friend and Steward than cut off his own right arm! “I am just a little tired after everything that happened today,” Aragorn replied certain that this must be the correct explanation, though he found himself glancing anxiously again at his hands, which now appeared perfectly clean. “You ought to go to bed too then. I shall bid you goodnight,” Faramir chided gently. Aragorn smiled and then exchanged a kiss on the brow with his Steward. This time the contact passed without triggering a further vision, much to Aragorn’s relief. Being of high Númenorean lineage carried the advantage of long life and vitality, but also the dubious privileges of foresight. Visions were often kindled when two thus gifted with similar bloodlines were in close proximity. “You would make a good mother hen!” Aragorn teased. Faramir departed to his bedchamber, clutching the precious volume under his arm. Not for the first time, Aragorn wondered if he should invite Faramir to form a Thought-sharing Bond with him to further cement their friendship. It was always a hard choice to make, for so doing made any future loss of the other person like having part of one’s soul torn away, as Aragorn already knew to his cost.  Although Faramir much younger, he would most likely die long before his King. The Southern descendents of the Númenoreans had intermarried far more than those of the North. Yet, he felt that that they should share the Thought Bond one day, whatever the cost, for how could he not when he loved Faramir dearly as a brother or son? ** Éowyn’s discussion with Aragorn continued late into the night. Her old feelings for the King long having been put aside, she now regarded him with the comfortable affection that a sister feels for a brother. Tonight though, they were simply two Healers, studying an ancient text to benefit a patient. When she finally went to bed, she found her husband already asleep, the history tome still open on the coverlet. Obviously he had been reading until he could keep his eyes open no longer. Taking care not to wake him, she placed the book on the table, before turning down the lamp, changing into her nightgown and settling down beside him. Affectionately, she smoothed back his hair, which had fallen over his brow, noting how peacefully he slept, a smile hovering on his lips. He finally seemed to have escaped his old demons, which had plagued his sleep with nightmares. Smiling at their present good fortune, Éowyn sank into a dreamless slumber. ** Arwen was still awake when her husband tiptoed into the chamber. It was very late for after Éowyn had left, he had gone to see how Legolas was faring. To his relief, the Elf was sound asleep, with Gimli snoring loudly beside him. The Dwarf had obviously nodded off while watching over his friend. Aragorn felt Legolas’ forehead and pulse without waking him and noted the rash visible on his face already visibly fading. The Elf appeared to be quickly regaining his usual robust health. He had crept out again as silently as he had entered. Swordplay The King made his way silently to Arwen’s chamber and crept into his dressing room. He swiftly changed into his nightshirt, having no need of a light after long years in the wild had left him able to find his way in the dark almost as easily as a cat. He padded barefoot across the floor and climbed into bed beside his wife. Arwen stirred as he settled beside her. “Did I wake you, beloved?” Aragorn asked contritely. “Maybe I should have slept in my own rooms tonight?” “No, please stay here, my love, I like to have you beside me, especially at the moment,” Arwen replied. “I was just lying here wondering, which of us our child would most look like when it arrives. Did you have a pleasant evening, Estel?” “Much more pleasant than this afternoon!” Aragorn chuckled. After a good supper, he was able to see the funny side of it. “You were right about Éowyn all those months ago, she does indeed have a good heart. And Faramir has grown so very dear to me.” He nestled his head against Arwen’s huge belly, marvelling yet again at the miracle of new life moving within her. Her child, his child, the precious fruit of their love, was growing larger by the day, and was almost ready to enter the world if Éowyn’s instincts were correct. “I know our child will be the most beautiful, adorable babe ever to be born!” Aragorn said, fervently placing a kiss over where he assumed the baby’s heart was, before moving up the bed to kiss Arwen on the lips. “It cannot be as fair as its mother, though!” “Wait until you have met the babe!” Arwen laughed, returning the kiss and running her fingers through her husband’s unruly tresses. “I hope it has your hair!” The waviness never ceased to fascinate her and the fact the dark locks were now flecked with grey, something which she had never seen amongst her own kind. Aragorn did not reply, as he was already snoring gently. Arwen smiled indulgently, thinking she would be weary too, if she had had such an adventurous day. Before many minutes had passed, she too was asleep, nestled against her husband. *** The next morning, Legolas appeared completely recovered, just as Aragorn had predicted. No sign of the rash could be seen on his face or hands, and as he was sitting comfortably upon his horse, it had presumably disappeared from everywhere else as well. His health and spirits restored, he cheerfully bade Aragorn and Faramir farewell and set off for Yves Lasgalen with Gimli where they were planning to remain for several months. After they had gone, Aragorn told Faramir of the Elf’s misadventures of the previous evening. Faramir was surprisingly sympathetic. “Poor Legolas!” he exclaimed, “I can think of nothing worse than having any injury in such an embarrassing region!” “He is recovered now, though I gave him a jar of salve just in case the itching lingered,” Aragorn replied. “It takes a great deal to make an Elf blush, unlike we humans. It was the fact his skin was blemished, rather than where the rash was that so distressed him!” “It cannot have been easy growing up amongst the Eldar,” Faramir said, finally bringing up a subject, which had long intrigued him. “I enjoyed it as a child and was as uninhibited as Legolas then,” Aragorn confided, "but when I reached adolescence, I became far more self aware. First I developed spots on my nose, and worse was to come when I grew hairs on my chest and a beard! I have been self conscious ever since!  Some of the Elves would tease me about how different and imperfect I was. I doubt they meant to be cruel, but for a sensitive youth it was very painful. Some even tried to tweak my beard and pull off my clothing to gratify their curiosity! My mother did her best to reassure me and even scolded the Elves that teased me, but I still find those memories painful to recall. I often wish I could have grown up with other human children as well as Elves. It was because of my own experiences that I was so anxious to treat your scars when I realised how much they distressed you.” “I always felt inferior when compared with my brother.” Faramir said, a hint of melancholy in his voice. “He developed early and was very tall, muscular and strong whereas I was just tall and skinny. Boromir never made fun of me but the other boys and my father did. No one could compare with my brother.” “You are a fine man in your own right and you are loved and valued now!” Aragorn replied, placing a comforting hand on his Steward’s shoulder. “You have my word that I shall protect you as your brother would have done. ” Faramir smiled.” It is bliss to know I will never be beaten again and be free of my scars. I shall always endeavour to be worthy of all the kindness you have shown me, my friend. I will never let you down.” “I know you would not and you richly deserve what little have given you. I count myself blessed to have you at my side.” Aragorn reassured him, patting his shoulder. “I hope you did not find yesterday’s events too distressing.” “I enjoyed our swim until the goats came,” Faramir assured him. “And even afterwards I was sure you would think of something to spare our blushes!” “We will leave a Guard with our clothes next time!” Aragorn grinned, touched by Faramir’s faith in him. “I will see you later at the Council Meeting, as I promised Arwen I would breakfast with her. I had better hurry if I want any, she is eating for two at present!” “Éowyn said she would stay with the Queen later while we are in Council. I shall look forward to our next swim together, without the goats that is!” Faramir replied, grinning broadly. “We are fortunate indeed to have you both.” Aragorn smiled, before they went their separate ways.  Early September Steel clashed against steel as the King and his Steward honed their skills on the practise yard. Aragorn was the better swordsman by far, while Faramir had the advantage of youth. The bout seemed destined to last all morning when the sound of a maidservant’s crying child distracted the Steward. Aragorn took advantage of the lowered guard and swiftly levelled his sword tip at Faramir’s throat. A bead of blood appeared where the sword pricked the skin. “You are hurt!” Aragorn’s voice was full of concern. ”Come let me see!” “It is nothing, I did not even feel it. You win,” Faramir said calmly, not batting an eyelid. “You dropped your guard!” Aragorn chided, examining Faramir’s throat and wiping away the spot of blood. The Steward was right. It was a mere pinprick Faramir shrugged. ”I would be more careful on a real battlefield, but I trust you in practise. Rematch?” Aragorn nodded. This time Faramir fought with renewed vigour and threw himself wholly into the bout. The swords rang while the two experts each tried to surpass the other. This time Faramir won, by virtue both of making the older man tire to match his swift strokes and Aragorn being somewhat distracted. He held the point of his sword to Aragorn’s heart, “I yield!” Aragorn threw up his hands in surrender and laughed. ”I made the mistake of underestimating you! With anyone else I would be more wary!” “That is one match each!” Faramir exclaimed jubilantly. It was rare that he could best Aragorn with a sword, which made his occasional victories all the sweeter. “Shall we return to the ladies now?” he suggested. “They are waiting for us.” Aragorn’s keen eyes had spotted his wife and Éowyn watching from an upstairs window. He waved and Faramir did likewise before they sheathed their swords. Aragorn heaved a inward sigh of relief.  After his vision, part of him had feared to spar with his Steward. It seemed the ‘vision’ had just been the jumbled workings of an overtired mind. Cushions and Contractions A tiny spot of Faramir’s blood on his fingertip could hardly be termed a catastrophe! Aragorn could have laughed out loud at his foolishness at taking his ‘vision’ so seriously. “We had better change before joining the ladies,” Faramir, ever mindful of court etiquette suggested. He glanced ruefully at his sweat soaked shirt. The sparring had been especially energetic that morning. “I will go to my apartments and meet you later.” “My rooms are much nearer,” Aragorn replied, “You can borrow a clean shirt of mine. It will be quicker if we change together.” “Thank you,” Faramir replied, following the King into his room and pulling the sweat soaked shirt over his head and casting it aside. “There is water and a towel on the washstand.” Aragorn told him, as he did likewise, thinking as he did so what a change had come over Faramir these last few months. Before undergoing the Elven scar treatment, the Steward would have gone to almost any lengths to avoid changing his shirt in front of anyone else, most especially his King. He found himself surreptitiously looking at Faramir’s throat again; still anxious that he was injured, but nothing at all was visible now. The incident had shaken him, but he resolved to put it from his mind. Sword practise was vital for them both to keep their skills finely honed. It gladdened his heart that his Steward was so relaxed and comfortable in his company and in such good health and spirits. Faramir now moved with grace and ease, when once he had struggled even to raise his arms above his head without pain. Now, he glowed with health and vigour, the effect heightened by the slight tan he had acquired the day they went swimming. “Can I borrow a blue shirt?” Faramir asked, as he towelled himself vigorously.” That is Éowyn’s favourite colour.” “Of course, here you are! We are so grateful to Éowyn,” Aragorn said, tossing the garment to him and choosing a red shirt for himself as that was his own wife’s favourite shade. “Arwen is feeling nervous now the birth approaches and it helps her to have Éowyn constantly at her side.” “We will all be glad when the baby is safely born,” Faramir replied, his voice muffled as he drew the borrowed shirt over his head. “You will make a wonderful father!” Smoothing down the garment, he proceeded to borrow a comb to tidy his glossy mane of black hair. “As will you, my friend.” Aragorn replied. ”You will give your child all the love it deserves. I will be relieved when our baby is here; poor Arwen is so large she can hardly move. It cannot be much longer! Come on, we should hurry, Arwen is somewhat impatient at present!” “You had better tidy your hair too or she will go into premature labour with fright at the sight of you!” Faramir teased, handing his friend the comb. Aragorn’s unruly locks looked wilder than ever, having survived sword practice, washing and drying and the change of clothing and now resembled the shaggy coat of a dog, of the kind that has to be combed in order for it to see where it is going. “No one cared how I looked when I was a Ranger!” he groaned. Sighing, Aragorn struggled to tame the wild locks; ignoring his Steward’s smirking. Brought up within the rigours of Denethor’s court, Faramir would consider it unthinkable to appear other than perfectly groomed in the presence of ladies or his superiors. Éowyn was helping the Queen waddle back to the couch. ”That was a fine display of swordsmanship!” she complimented the men, as they entered. ”You only see that when the combatants trust each other completely.” Aragorn grinned as he gave his wife an affectionate kiss. “I am lucky Faramir is here, so we can practise with real blades sometimes, as there is none other save Éomer that I could trust with my life like that.” he said. “What about my brothers?” Arwen asked with a frown. “I trust them too, but being Elves, they are too quick for me,” the King replied, dodging the cushion his wife threw at him in mock indignation. “So we mere mortals are slow then?” Faramir followed the Queen’s example, only with better aim, hitting the King on the chest. “Show some respect for your King! I will have your head!” Aragorn chortled as he hurled the cushion back aiming for his Steward’s head, only to be hit by two more thrown by the women. Laughing the two men collapsed on the heap of scattered cushions as they continued their mock fight. Éowyn and the Queen laughed till tears rolled down their cheeks at their husbands’ antics. Mid September He was weeping over the prone form on the bed, but he could not see their face, as they were shrouded in blankets. All he knew was, it was someone he loved dearly. He bent forward to pull the blankets aside. “Estel, wake up!” Aragorn slowly opened his eyes and tried to force himself to full consciousness and away from the blackness of his nightmare. While he was living in the wilds as a Ranger, it had been easy for him to wake instantly alert, but during these last three years, he had grown accustomed to a life of ease and learned to sleep deeply. For a moment, he felt he was back in the wilds, lying on damp grass. “Wake up!” Arwen’s voice was more insistent. “What?” he mumbled, blinking at her.” It is still dark!” “ I am having contractions and my waters have just broken! The baby is coming!” Aragorn was now fully alert and leapt out of bed. Grabbing his breeches, he pulled them on over his nightshirt. “I will fetch Éowyn.” He knew he should think of something profound to say at this moment, but the words would not come as he hurried out of the room to fetch help. For the last week or two, either Ioreth or Éowyn had slept in a bedroom adjoining the Queen’s chambers in case they were needed. Éowyn, a robe pulled over her nightgown, answered the King’s knock quickly. Always a light sleeper, she was quickly alert and seeing the look on Aragorn’s face, guessed at once what was happening. “Go back to Arwen!” she instructed him. “I will send a servant to summon Ioreth and will be with you in a moment. Aragorn rushed back to his wife who moaned as a contraction came. Aragorn concentrated and held his hand over her belly, using his healing powers to ease her pain. “I am afraid!” Arwen gasped. ”It is too soon!” Aragorn gently stroked her hair. “Hush, my love, the babe could take after me, remember! Éowyn said she thought you would give birth around now, so the time must be right.” Just then Éowyn entered the room, and quickly grasped the situation. “She is having contractions, I think,” Aragorn said helplessly. “I need to examine her to make sure, if you would leave us?” Éowyn said, quickly taking charge of the situation. Anxious about his wife, the King hesitated. “Shoo!” Éowyn said impatiently, propelling him towards the door. “Go and ask Faramir to stay with you, while your wife and I deliver your heir! You can look after each other as I must stay constantly by Arwen’s side for at least three days!” “A good idea, if he can endure my company! ” Aragorn replied, as he obediently retired to his dressing room, closing the door behind him. A brief examination confirmed what they suspected. “You are in labour and everything is happening just as it should be,” Éowyn soothed. She slid a dry shift over the Queen’s swollen body and called Aragorn back into the room. “The babe is on its way. Now stay calm!” Éowyn instructed. “Ioreth is coming and we will take Arwen to the rooms prepared for her confinement I will help her to dress first. If you feel another contraction, Arwen, don’t panic just take deep breaths. Now which of your ladies will be attending you?” “Lady Meril and Lady Morwen. Several maids are coming too, to assist with fetching and carrying. They can be handed buckets of water at the chamber’s entrance or pass messages to the guards when need be.” Arwen allowed Éowyn to lead her to her dressing room and clothe her in a loose gown. Meanwhile, Aragorn moving restlessly to the door, lingered anxiously on the threshold, looking for Ioreth. Arwen was already dressed and ready by the time the elderly midwife appeared. “You are late!” Aragorn reproached her. “And you, Lord Elfstone, know nothing of first babies!” she retorted. “They take their time in coming, it could take two days or more!” Warning – This chapter contains violence and from now on the story takes a dark turn with violence, injuries and angst, so please read with caution. Fall from Grace Arwen grasped her husband’s hand. “If anything should go wrong,” she faltered, ”I want our baby to be saved.” “Much as I want our child, my love, it is you I adore! I regret now that I ever got you in this condition to risk your life by giving me an heir!” Aragorn protested, his nightmare returning with a frightening clarity. ”Your life comes first, but do not think of such things and distress yourself!” “It was my choice. I want a child as much as you do, you need an heir, Gondor needs the line of Kings to continue,” the Queen said firmly. “I love you so much, Estel!” They exchanged a lingering kiss and only broke apart when another contraction hit Arwen. “Come, Lady Elfstone,” Ioreth ordered, “we need to prepare you for the birth.” Aragorn took Éowyn aside. ”Take good care of her please,” he begged, “I am so worried.” Éowyn gently patted his arm; it was rare she saw the usually self-assured King in this mood ”Please, try not to worry, we are taking every precaution,” she said quietly. ”However, I believe that you have no need to fear, your wife is strong, broad hipped, and I know the babe’s head is in the right position. You will soon be holding your first child in your arms and telling Arwen, how proud you are of her!” “Thank you, Éowyn, I know she is in good hands.” Aragorn tried to force a smile, but there were tears in his eyes as Arwen was led away. He feared he would never see his beloved wife again in this life. “You need to keep yourself busy today, all expectant fathers feel the same,” Ioreth chuckled knowingly. “Farewell, my love!“ Arwen called as she disappeared down the stone corridor. Aragorn returned to bed and tried to go back to sleep for a few more hours, but found it impossible to rest. He could have sent for Faramir to keep him company. It seemed unfair, though, to disturb his Steward just yet when he could still have a few more hours of restful sleep in his own apartments. He intended to keep Faramir at his side throughout the coming days. Since their ordeal at the Hunting Lodge, they had become close friends and apart from Arwen, Faramir was the only other person that Aragorn felt he could share his innermost hopes and fears with. At daybreak, Aragorn abandoned any further attempt at sleeping. He was just too concerned about his wife. He supposed he should eat breakfast, though he had little appetite. Afterwards he had to attend that day’s Council Meeting. Duty must always come first, however he was feeling, as Elrond had taught him all his life. Faramir would understand this; he too had been well schooled in duty, albeit more harshly, by his late father The King’s hands shook as he fastened his elaborate tunic. Maybe, he should have sent for a servant to help him dress, but he disliked having others clothe him. He usually dispensed with their services, unless it was some state function, for which a second pair of hands was essential to secure all the finery in place. He paced the room restlessly, knowing he could not spend most of the day like this .It was so hard to concentrate when his every thought was with Arwen, wishing he could ease her pain. A servant brought him some food on a tray and he picked at it before pushing it aside and making his way to the Council Chamber. It was a beautiful sunny morning. Minas Tirith was alive with citizens bustling through the streets. Across the courtyard, he could see Faramir already mounting the steps to the Hall of Kings. The Steward paused when one of the lords came to speak to him. Everything in the entire city seemed at ease with the sole exception of her King. Suddenly, loud shouting and the clatter of hoof beats on stone shattered the peaceful atmosphere. “Horses are not permitted in the Citadel! You are not allowed here!” a hapless guard protested, only to be pushed aside as Éomer King of Rohan and his personal Éored stormed into the courtyard, scattering alarmed guards and citizens in their wake. Women and children screamed while the horses neighed wildly in the unaccustomed environment. Aragorn raced outside to try and calm the commotion. Éomer, a grim expression on his face, dismounted, and after handing his horse’s reins to one of his Éored, looked around him, as if searching for someone. He suddenly espied Faramir amongst the Counsellors and strode menacingly towards him. “Come here, worthless scoundrel, how dare you insult and dishonour my sister!” Éomer raged, waving a sheet of parchment under Faramir’s nose  “I know not of what you speak, brother!” Faramir replied. Utterly bewildered, he backed up the steps towards the entrance of the Council Chamber. “There must be some misunderstanding. Come inside and let us discuss this calmly.” “How dare you call me ‘brother’, when you treat my sister without honour! How many times have you beaten her? What cruel humiliations have you forced upon her, a Princess of Rohan? How many of your friends have you forced her to lie with? ” “Only one. She was not forced and there was no impropriety, as he was near death,” Faramir replied, blushing as he recalled the events of six months before. “From your own lips you admit it!” Éomer looked more outraged than ever. “I have never abused nor ill-treated my wife! I have no idea why you accuse me,” Faramir protested. “Send for her then and let her speak!” Éomer snapped. “I cannot, as she is attending the Queen during her confinement,” Faramir said quietly. “Will not or can not? Or is this some new insult to her, forcing her to act as the Queen of Gondor’s maid?” Éomer snapped, drawing his broadsword and advancing on Faramir. ”I demand satisfaction, arm yourself!  Worthless cur though you are, I would not kill you in cold blood!” He threw the crumpled parchment down at Faramir’s feet. Faramir hesitated, unsure of whether or not to pick it up. He decided not to when Éomer advanced menacingly. Slowly and reluctantly he drew his sword. “Stop this at once!” Aragorn, having arrived on the scene, shouted in a commanding tone. He was somewhat out of breath in his haste to get there. “This is none of your affair, save that you should have not let your Steward abuse my sister, Aragorn Arathornsson!” Éomer retorted. ”I will avenge Éowyn’s honour, whether you like it or not!” Aragorn tried to rush forward but found himself restrained by his own guards. “Let me pass!” he ordered. “Your life could be in danger, sire, and we are sworn to protect you,” the Captain of the Guard replied. “You can punish us as you will, but we are not letting you face over a hundred heavily armed men, unarmed, and protected by only four guards!” “I order you, as your King, let me pass!” Aragorn roared. Éomer rushed forward up the steps towards Faramir and lashed out with his sword, catching the Steward a glancing blow across the arm and side. Trying to defend himself, Faramir lunged at his opponent, aiming to disable his sword arm. Éomer spun away from the blow, while Faramir was thrown slightly off balance and as result landed Éomer a blow to the chest. The King of Rohan, standing precariously on the top step, overbalanced as Faramir’s sword pierced him. He fell down the stone steps backwards; landing with a sickening thud, then lay there motionless, blood pouring from his head and chest. His followers leapt from their horses, drew their swords and milled round him, loudly demanding justice. Aragorn finally broke free from his guards and rushed to Éomer’s side. The King of Rohan appeared lifeless and Aragorn bit back a cry of anguish as he bent over his stricken friend. He held his hand over Éomer’s nose and mouth and thought he detected a faint breath. Speed was the essence if he were to have any chance of survival. “Take him to my apartments!” Aragorn ordered. “Carry him carefully.” The Rohirrim pressed round Faramir, lances raised, demanding vengeance, while the Gondorian guards, who had come rushing from their various posts round the city, tried to hold them at bay. A large crowd of citizens had also pressed into the courtyard on hearing the commotion. The horses, unused to the city, stirred restlessly, threatening to unseat their riders and stampede. “Death!” chanted Éomer’s men. “For the White Tree in the name of the King!” cried the Gondorians Aragorn realised he must act quickly if war was to be averted. “Take Faramir, Steward of Gondor into my custody!” he ordered. He bent and stuffed the crumpled parchment into his tunic. White with shock, the unresisting Steward was led away. “He must die, he killed our King!” demanded the Rohirrim. Aragorn raced to the top of the steps, oblivious to his own safety. “Put down your weapons!” he roared. ”Guards, arrest anyone who desists! Good citizens of Gondor, return to your homes, you are under curfew for the rest of the day.” He then called in Rohirric “Men of Rohan, I myself, Aragorn Arathornsson will care for Éomer King and see justice done. Put down your weapons, your horses could easily be harmed in this confined space!” Aragorn held his breath, hoping that war could yet be averted. Grievous wounds Several spacious rooms and a bathing chamber had been prepared for the Queen’s confinement. The largest overlooked a secluded garden and was furnished with comfortable low chairs and a couch. The adjoining chamber was furnished with a large bed and several smaller rooms for the attendants were nearby. While the two ladies in waiting took the Queen to bathe, Ioreth and Éowyn unpacked everything they might need; a supply of clean shifts, towels and clean cloths, herbs, ice kept packed in straw to staunch bleeding if it occurred, a needle and thread and tongs, which they might need but hoped they would not. A sharp knife also lay on the table, used to cut the cord. Kept hidden, was a larger knife, a hideous final option to try and cut a living child from the dying body of its mother. Éowyn shuddered as Ioreth concealed the weapon. She was certain Arwen and the babe were healthy at the moment, but could Arwen, with an Elven mother and half Elven father safely give birth to Aragorn’s child? She had delivered several babies in the past, but always to sturdy Rohirric women who usually had several children already. This confinement was unlike anything she had known before and even Ioreth, veteran of more births than she could count, was looking apprehensive. Arwen returned from her bath looking refreshed. She started to pace round the largest of the rooms, restless as a caged animal. “Would you like some music?” Éowyn asked, aware of the Queen's liking for sweet melodies and desiring to soothe her friend. Arwen nodded, hoping it would distract her from the pain. Ioreth looked rather shocked at such a novelty in a birthing chamber. Lady Meril produced her harp and started to play while Lady Morwen sang in an attempt to soothe the Queen. Arwen continued to pace but gradually became calmer. ** Slowly, the mob started to disperse, moved both by Aragorn’s words and his commanding presence. Swiftly, he moved back to Éomer’s side, where two of his Guards hovered with a stretcher. Kneeling beside him, he weighed up the risks of moving his friend. From what he could determine from a swift examination, Éomer’s neck and spine appeared undamaged. He could hardly be treated lying outside in the open, so Aragorn carefully eased the King of Rohan on the stretcher, aided by the guards. Aragorn brushed the sweat from his face with the back of his hand. He took a deep breath. This was a situation he could never have imagined in his worse nightmares; one of his closest friends severely injured, the distinct possibility of war with Rohan, and being bereft of the support and guidance of his Queen and his Steward just when he needed them the most. He summoned every ounce of composure that he possessed, directing the bearers to carry the King of Rohan to the nearest bedchamber and lay him carefully on the bed. Éomer was a much-loved friend, as was Faramir. However could this have happened? He pushed his feelings aside, knowing he must concentrate on trying to save the King of Rohan’s life and thereby avert a bloody conflict. A group of Rohirrim and Palace guards followed close behind, muttering angrily amongst themselves. As soon as he entered the room, Aragorn grabbed a mirror, and held it in front of Éomer’s lips. A fine mist appeared on the glass and Aragorn could have wept with relief. “Éomer, King of the Riddermark yet lives!” he announced in a loud voice. “Now everyone leave this chamber, save the Captain of the Guard and his Lieutenant. Éomer King’s wounds must be tended with all haste if he is to have any hope of surviving! I want guards posted outside this room at all times.” The Gondorians left the obediently but the Rohirrim lingered. “Go!” Aragorn ordered in Rohirric.” You endanger your King’s life by remaining! I give you my word to do everything I can for my brother of Rohan.” They filed out, muttering amongst themselves all save one, whom Aragorn recognised as Eothain, a faithful but surly companion of Eomer’s since his days as Third Marshal in Théoden’s court. “I am not leaving my Lord with him whose Steward struck him down!” Eothain said angrily. “Very well!” Aragorn bit back the rebuke he wanted to utter. ”But sit over there and do not interfere or I will throw you out myself!” He gestured to a chair in the corner of the room and then turned to his two remaining guards. ”I want the swiftest of you to go and fetch the two most experienced healers from the Houses of Healing and tell them to bring everything needed to treat wounds,” he ordered. “Ask the Warden whom he recommends, but be swift!” He had the skills to treat Éomer himself, but wanted two assistants, both to help him and to serve as witnesses that everything possible had been done, should Éomer die. He was aware that he could be seen as less than impartial, not being one of the Rohirrim and that his Steward had wounded Éomer. The young Lieutenant sped away. Aragorn then turned to the Captain. “I need you to go to the Council Chamber and inform Prince Imrahil what has happened and ask him to lead today’s debates.” If the Captain replied, Aragorn did not hear, as he was already at Eomer’s bedside engrossed in trying to save his friend. At a glance Aragorn could see that Éomer was bleeding profusely from wounds in his head and chest, while his right shoulder, on which he had landed heavily, was at an odd angle. Aragorn staunched the bleeding as best he could, with a sheet snatched up from the bed and then took Éomer’s pulse, which felt alarmingly weak and rapid. He shouted to a passing servant to fetch some athelas from the gardens. He feared he was going to need it. Lifting Éomer in his arms, he started unfastening the armour he wore. “I should be doing that!” Eothain protested, approaching the bedside. “I told you to stay over there!” Aragorn snapped. “How can I when my lord requires my aid?” the Rohir replied. “I fastened his armour on him but this morning!” “Very well.” Aragorn conceded, inwardly realising the man would be more adept with the fastenings than he was. It was long before Eothain was even born, since he had last wrestled with the intricate clasps the Rohirrim used, the chain mail Théoden had lent him, being of a different design. The armour Éomer wore was more ceremonial than functional, and had been all too easy for Faramir’s blade to pierce. Together, they lifted off the elaborate leather breastplate revealing the torn and blood soaked tunic beneath. Aragorn’s heart sank even more, especially as Eomer showed no sign of life when they moved him. He carefully cut the ruined tunic away and sighed when the gash that Faramir had cut across the broad chest was finally revealed. The wound was deep, bleeding heavily and had only missed his heart by mere inches. The jagged edges of the injury suggested the blade and gone awry and not hit its intended target cleanly. Eothain was now purple with rage. “Your Steward did this to my Lord!” he snarled. “He will pay, I swear it!” “Justice will be done!” Aragorn said in a voice that brokered no argument, pressing a cloth against the wound, attempting to staunch the bleeding. He bent and pressed an ear against Éomer’s chest. He suspected the damage included a collapsed lung, though the colour of the blood issuing forth led him to hope it had not been pierced. He gently prodded the bruised ribs, and found that several were broken, much as he had feared. He then examined Éomer’s shoulder, which proved to be dislocated rather than broken. He pressed it back in place. To his alarm, the painful procedure produced no reaction whatsoever as Éomer lay motionless beneath his hands. Aragorn feared more than ever for the life of his friend. The healers, clad in the black robes of their calling, arrived accompanied by a servant, who was carrying the supplies they needed. Aragorn recognised them as Tarostar, the Warden himself, who had been Denethor’s personal physician and Aedred, a younger healer, who originally hailed from Rohan. Aragorn made a mental note to thank whoever had been responsible for this piece of diplomacy, for Eothain visibly softened on seeing one of his fellow countrymen enter. Aragorn was hopeful these two Healers were amongst the most skilled available, especially Tarostar, who had been a Healer almost as long as Aragorn himself. Aragorn quickly greeted them and explained the situation. Even as he spoke, they moved over to the bed. Tarostar took over applying pressure to the chest wound, while Aedred, speaking softly in Rohirric to Eothain, helped him to remove his King’s leg armour and boots. Aragorn turned his attention to the head injury. The King frowned as Éomer’s head was starting to swell at an alarming speed. He had seen wounds like this before and very few survived them. He had once assisted Elrond with a dangerous but effective procedure, from which the patient had made a full recovery. He hoped he could remember the exact details. He feared he might have to try it on Éomer if the King of Rohan was to have any chance of survival. Aedred was preparing to finish undressing Eomer and unfastened the leather breeches. “What are you doing?” Eothain asked suspiciously. “Show some respect for our King!” “We need to see if he has any more injuries.” Aedred explained. “You are one of those Gondorians now as you follow their foreign ways!” Eothain grumbled. "In Rohan, you never part a man from his breeches in case he needs to mount a horse in a hurry!” Aragorn glared, knowing the man just wanted to cause trouble, as the Rohirrim were generally totally unconcerned about nakedness. He wondered whether he should throw the man out, but instead gestured towards a folded blanket lying on the table.” I do not think your King will go riding for some time yet,” he said. “Fetch that blanket to keep him warm with.” Aedred uncovered a badly bruised hip and twisted knee once the clothing was removed. He set to work bathing the hurts and applying salves of arnica and marigold before taking the blanket from Eothain and covering Éomer’s lower body with it. Only then did they notice that the man’s breath reeked of ale. Aragorn caught Aedred’s eye and transmitted a silent message. They began cleaning the chest wound, which had finally stopped bleeding. Aedred took Eothain to one side. ”I have an important errand for you,” he said. “I wish you to go and tell the rest of your King’s men what is happening. I am certain they will be as concerned as you are.” “I don’t want to leave him.” Eothain said stubbornly, “not with these Gondorians!” “I am of the Mark and will care for him, I give you my word,” Aedred said firmly, guiding Eothain towards the doorway. “It is best that news of Éomer King should come from one of his own men!” Aragorn and Tarostar now examined the chest wound carefully and debated how best to treat it. They decided on washing it out with an infusion of meadowsweet ,before stitching it and then smearing it with honey and garlic to prevent infection from setting in. ”It looks as if the edge of the sword caught him,” Tarostar remarked. “I have seen many wounds like this, but only after a battle!” Aragorn sighed as he threaded a needle. “ King Éomer overbalanced and fell on to the blade, most unfortunate, though I am hopeful that it is not a mortal injury. While I do this, could you shave the hair surrounding his head wound? ” Tarostar took up a razor and began to carefully shave off part the matted and bloodied blonde mane surrounding the injury. “You are skilled with a needle, my Lord,” Aedred commented admiringly, as he bandaged the damaged knee. “Lord Elrond of Rivendell taught me.” Aragorn replied without looking up. “My skills are nothing compared with those of the Elven healers, I fear. I see you are a diplomat as well as a healer, Master Aedred, you dealt well with Eothain. I did not want him to witness it when I cut open the King of Rohan’s skull!” Warning- This chapter may upset readers of a squeamish disposition. A Dangerous Procedure Aedred blanched and even Tarostar looked alarmed, He tugged nervously at his white beard. “My lord, that is very dangerous!” the elderly healer protested. “I have heard of the procedure, but not of any surviving it! Would it not be better to wait and see if the swelling subsides?” Aragorn looked troubled but said nothing. He finished the stitching and turned his attention to Éomer’s injured ribs, feeling them gently before applying a salve of comfrey and arnica. He motioned to Aedred to lift the King of Rohan while he bandaged his chest wound and strapped the damaged ribs. He then moved up the bed and stood for a moment studying Éomer. “See how his head is swollen!” Aragorn pointed out. “It has grown worse, even since you came in this room. I well know the procedure is dangerous but not to try it, would be more so. I do not like doing it, but fear I have no choice.” He gently probed the head wound with his long sensitive fingertips, while he spoke. “I will need you to hold him while I make the incisions.” The Healers still looked doubtful but did not wish to contradict the King. “Have you any better suggestions?” Aragorn asked, determined to leave no stone unturned in his efforts to save his friend. “I fear I cannot think of any other treatment except cold compresses, which I doubt would work.” Tarostar sighed. “We will assist you as best we may, sire.” Aragorn wrapped blankets round Éomer to keep him warm and to try to prevent him going into shock, then draped a towel round the young King’s shoulders. Carefully, he washed his hands and steeled himself for one of the most difficult tasks of his life. He knew it was unwise to carry out such a procedure on a loved one and it turned his stomach to think of what he must do. He was all too aware that Éomer’s life lay in his hands. He alone had the skill and knowledge to save his friend and could not allow himself to give way to his natural revulsion. He studied Éomer’s pale face, trying to see him merely as a man in need of his help rather than his brother in arms; his first and most faithful ally in the struggle to defeat Sauron and a loyal friend who had shown him many kindnesses and always held his welfare close to his heart. Éomer lay as still, as one already dead and Aragorn knew that unless he acted quickly, his friend would soon be beyond all mortal aid. “Hold him upright!” Aragorn instructed the Healers. He took a knife they had brought from the Houses of Healing and held it in the flames of the fire to cleanse it. Taking a deep breath to steady his hand, he made three incisions round the wound on Éomer’s head, each about three inches in length. Tarostar, while supporting Éomer’s upper body with one hand, used the other to mop away the blood oozing from the fresh cuts, to allow Aragorn a clear view of Éomer’s skull when the scalp was pealed back to expose the shattered skull beneath. Aragorn carefully picked out the fragments of bone, all the while taking care not to pierce the membrane surrounding the brain, as that would cause a most likely fatal infection. It was deliberate and painstaking work as one slip would be fatal, as would leaving any fragments of bone inside. When he was satisfied the wound was clean, he folded back the skin flap and carefully stitched it, before applying a salve of garlic and honey to fight off infection. Aragorn finally dared to relax a little. He found that he was shaking. “You should rest a while, my liege,” Tarostar counselled, “I will bandage King Éomer’s head.” Aragorn nodded and permitted Aedred to assist him to a chair. The Rohirric healer brought him a restorative drink and a cloth to wipe his hands; hands stained red with his close friend’s blood. “That cannot have been easy for you, my lord, I know you hold Éomer King in high esteem.” Aedred sympathised, holding the cup for him to drink from. Aragorn briefly closed his eyes and for once, allowed himself to be aided. He felt drained with the strain of fighting for his friend’s life combined with guilt about not being able to prevent this catastrophe. Then, before all this had happened, he was worried about Arwen and the child she was bringing into the world. Tarostar paused in his almost completed bandaging, uneasy about Éomer’s condition. The King of Rohan seemed to be turning paler by the mo