A/N This story is a prequel to "The Hidden Days of Healing" also on this site. The story is based on a mixture of the book and the film mixed freely with my own imagination.
A very big thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter one. Welcome back to my reviewers ,who reviewed my last story and a warm welcome to anyone reviewing for the first time.
" Shall you turn on your side? I would like to tend your back." Aragorn said.
Faramir nodded reluctantly, his dark eyes haunted with a mixture of shame and fear.
Aragorn helped him roll on to his uninjured side, pulled the cover down as far as his hips and began very gently bathing the ugly looking and painful welts that disfigured Faramir's flesh.
They had been inflicted with such force that even the gentle cleansing caused them to bleed afresh.
Faramir flinched at each touch as if expecting further blows. Aragorn was baffled as to why he had been lashed.
He knew from his years of service there that the Gondorians would flog a disobedient soldier but only for a most heinous offence, which it seemed unthinkable that a highly respected captain such as Faramir would ever commit.
It also seemed that the lashes had been inflicted before he rode out to Osgiliath and what commander would show such madness as to weaken a worthy captain in such a fashion before sending him into the thick of battle? Small wonder Faramir had been grievously ill and close to death when he had first set eyes on him.
Aragorn started to spread ointment across the painful injuries disfiguring the woefully thin back.
Beneath his hands, Faramir trembled and recoiled with embarrassment that his King should see these dishonourable lashes. He had always imagined he would meet his King, riding out dressed in his finest velvets, not sprawled across a sickbed with the shameful marks of his father's displeasure revealed.
The healers had told him that Aragorn had laboured for hours to save his life and it puzzled him why the King should so concern himself for one such as he, Faramir, the constant disappointment to his father.
"How did you come by these hurts?" Aragorn asked him gently." Try to be still while I tend them, so I may ease you. If I am able to, in the future I can give you an elven treatment to fade the scars."
" It was a punishment, my Liege. I allowed the Perian to go and then Osgiliath fell whilst under my command."
Aragorn paused briefly from his ministrations, shocked by the words. Only one man could have ordered Faramir to be flogged and that man was his father.
Aragorn remembered Denethor from forty years or so before, as a cold hard man and yet a loving father to young Boromir.
However how could any man order his already ailing son to be flogged and then send him out to almost certain death he wondered?
Ever since Boromir had died, he had felt the duty had fallen on him to protect his younger brother. If only I had come sooner, he thought as he bandaged soft pads of cloth against the wheals, his heart brimming with pity.
He swore a silent oath that should he become king, none should ever harm Faramir in this fashion again.
"Are you feeling any stronger today?" Aragorn asked as he gently pulled the nightshirt up over Faramir's shoulders and fastened the laces round the neck. He then seated himself on a chair by the bed.
"I am much better, Sire and thank you for saving my life. I apologise for not having thanked you before"
Faramir sank back against the pillows but the tension failed to leave him. He sat staring at his King like a frightened rabbit caught by a fox.
Aragorn took his patient's hand and frowned at the racing pulse, as he felt his wrist. If Faramir would not be calm, the fever could return in his weakened condition.
Aragorn gently laid his hands on the other's head, stroking his hair and massaging the back of his neck with a healing touch.
Initially Faramir flinched again as if expecting a blow but gradually the tension left his hunched body as he felt the King's power.
Aragorn removed his hand, wishing he could ease his Steward more but feeling too weary to do so.
He noticed the other's hair was still covered in oil and picked up the towel to wipe it from his hands.
"It was thanks enough to see you recovering. You do not need to keep apologising, my Lord Steward. I would not have you fear me," he said with a smile. Fixing Faramir with a gentle but penetrating gaze Aragorn asked:" Tell me how you knew who I was?"
"I have dreams that foretell the future." Faramir replied "I saw you in one coming to save Gondor. You wield the sword that was broken. My brother had the same dream and my father sent him to seek counsel even though I begged for the errand."
He shuddered as he spoke unable to mention the dream he had awoken from that morning, a vision so hideous that he forced himself to stifle the initial warmth he had felt towards his King and saviour, as he could endure no more losses of those he loved.
The touch of the man's hands had only made the hideous vision clearer as he saw the King, his body bruised and broken, lying in some field, surrounded by a small group of weeping companions.
Aragorn was thinking the conversation was leading where he hoped it would, when Faramir noticed him wiping his hands.
"Why is my hair covered in oil? " Faramir asked with increasing confidence, as the elfish relaxation technique Aragorn had used, started to work." I know the healers have been too busy to help me wash it but when I ask why no one will even tell me that or how my father died!"
Aragorn wet the towel in the basin and rubbed Faramir's head with it while desperately wondering how to answer him. This was the one subject he wished to avoid above all others.
"Thank you, that feels better." Faramir said rubbing his hands through his damp but now much cleaner hair.
Aragorn held his breath wondering what would come next.
"Do you know how my father died?"
TBC