Chapter 7 These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
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.
I did only intend to write one "Lord of the Rings" story but the response I received to "The Hidden Days of Healing" amazed me and encouraged me to write more. Depending on the response I get, I may write another story after this.
This is dedicated to all my loyal readers.
A very big thank you to everyone who has reviewed. Your comments are much appreciated.
"That is kindly offered but I have no wish to cause dissent by openly entering the city." Aragorn said.
Imrahil hastened to override his objections." If you come at first light, dressed as you are now, no one will notice your presence, My Lord. I have taken the liberty to order the servants to let you in and prepare a bath for you. Then Eomer of Rohan, Prince Legolas and myself will help dress you like a King .It will inspire the men and give them hope."
Aragorn was too weary to argue. He bade Imrahil goodnight and made his way to his tent to snatch what little sleep he could before dawn.
Faramir awoke remembering the sensation of comforting arms around him. How many times over the years had he longed for his father to hold him like that but such comfort was always denied, even when he was only five years old and his mother had just died.
He had turned to Boromir from that day onwards. Strange that he should receive more fatherly solicitude from a stranger who happened to be the King, than he ever had experienced from Denethor. He could like this man, even love him as he could never love his harsh father. Then the dark vision returned and he cried out.
Imrahil was at his side in an instant.
"Faramir are you in pain?"
He shook his head. "No it was just a dream."
"These dark times lend themselves to troubled dreams, I fear." Imrahil said sympathetically trying to stifle a yawn.
"You need to rest, Uncle, I will be well enough." Faramir reassured him before making a request of the Prince.
Nevertheless, Imrahil sat watching his nephew until he fell into what appeared to be a dreamless sleep.
He was sorely troubled about his nephew as his lot was perhaps the hardest of all, to wait while the fate of Middle Earth was decided and maybe defend the city in a last hopeless stand against the Dark Lord while already loaded with a heavy burden of grief.
Imrahil looked back sadly on his nephew's sleeping features as he left the room, thinking it could well be the last time he saw him in this life.
A servant unlocked the Steward's apartments as Aragorn approached at dawn the next day. It seemed that no sooner had he fallen asleep than he was roused again by Imahil's squire.
Still half asleep, he made his way to the highest level of the city, wondering why people set so much importance by appearance. Surely, the armour that Theoden had lent him would serve well enough?
Entering Denethor's apartments was like stepping back in time, as the furnishings were much like they had been in his father Ecthelion's lifetime, almost forty years before.
The same heavy carved furniture, the imposing desk littered with papers, the dark heavy tapestries and the slightly musty smell, The rooms had a claustrophobic feel despite their size, as if fresh air were never allowed to enter.
Several servants carrying buckets were either entering or leaving the bathing chamber.
"Here you are my Lord." Said the servant escorting Aragorn, gesturing towards a huge sunken bath, filled with steaming water." We have left soap and towels in the chamber for you. Do you require any other assistance?"
Aragorn shook his head.
"No, but thank you for all your help. I would be alone now. Please tell Prince Imrahil and his companions to wait here when they arrive"
The man bowed and exited followed by the others, one threw a curious glance at Aragorn, another looked resentful that any should use Denethor's bath while the third looked totally indifferent.
Once they had gone, Aragorn locked the door behind him and started to divest himself of his clothing, the grey cloak the elves had gifted him, the tunic and trousers he had worn since Rivendell and the fine linens worn beneath, the only clue that here was a man of rank and status.
Gondor was chilly on a grey dawn in March and he shivered at the cold air on his naked flesh and quickly climbed down into the bath.
The hot water felt blissful as it was so long since he had been able to bathe properly and the warmth eased the aches in his arms and shoulders.
Yet, there was little time to relax and enjoy the ease.
Sighing he picked up the soap and washcloth and began to rinse away the accumulated grime of travel and battle.
His chest and arms remained darkened, not with grime but the many bruises he had acquired over the last few weeks.
He washed away the dried blood from several partially healed gashes, which the enemy had inflicted on him at Helm's Deep.
He was relieved they had not become infected as there had been so little time to treat them properly and so many others needs to attend to.
The warm water soothed his many hurts and he allowed himself a few brief moments to enjoy it, wondering if this were the last time, he would enjoy a bath like this.
They were leaving on a fool's errand today, one, which would most likely result in all their deaths and yet there was no other choice but to try to distract Sauron as to give Frodo a chance to destroy the ring.
He thought sadly of all his hopes and dreams of marrying Arwen and becoming King of a reunited kingdom. Kingship would be a heavy burden and yet he had looked forward to trying to bring peace and prosperity to his kingdom.
These last few days had been the most arduous of a long and hard life. His first trial was confrontation in the palantir, which Pippin had picked up when Wormtongue threw it from the tower at Orthanc and looking in the stone had almost cost the young Hobbit his life, yet had steeled Aragorn to do what he knew he must and show himself to Sauron as the lost heir of Isildur.
The battle of wills had been waged throughout the night and Aragorn was utterly drained by it. Yet he emerged the victor as he bent the stone to his will.
TBC