These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain
Grasping the dagger firmly and trying to stop his hand shaking, Faramir prepared to thrust it deep into Aragorn's heart. He wavered, his hand trembling so much that he almost dropped the blade. However, could he pierce the noblest heart ever found in any man? Maybe it would be easier to cut his throat?
Again, he drew the dagger and this time pressed it against the King's throat. The bitter irony of it all, that he who had so ardently desired the return of the King would be the only Steward in Gondor's long history to commit regicide. He, Faramir, reviled by his father as 'the wizard's pupil', was about to kill that same King that Mithrandir had crowned!
Whatever would Gandalf have said or even his father? He gave a bitter laugh. If he truly were the wizard's pupil, he could think of a way to save Aragorn! He looked even more like Denethor now his features were so worn and haggard, yet whether that made the deed harder or easier, Faramir could not say.
Yet again, he prepared to strike. A spot of crimson blood marked where he had placed the dagger before. All he had to do was to plunge it in deeply and kill his friend without causing him to suffer.
He was on the verge of hysteria now. In his agitation, he clutched at the fabric of his tunic with his other hand He felt the vial of spider venom that Tarostar had given him in his pocket.
A flash of inspiration struck him as the vestiges of a plan by which he had a slender hope of saving Aragorn began to form in his agitated brain.
Aragorn moaned softly. Faramir longed to comfort him but hardened his heart. He knew he must maintain his façade of hatred if his plan was to succeed, but first he needed to gain access to the kitchens and procure what he needed without being observed.
Reluctantly, he left Aragorn in his squalid surroundings and crept back up the steps and along the long stone corridor, which led to the kitchens.
Alone in his prison, Aragorn felt like weeping but even tears would not come now. Just how low had Faramir fallen, not only to have branded him but to come to laugh at his misery and torture him with a knife! He could feel himself growing weaker from his wounds, fever and starvation. Until yesterday though he had still hoped to somehow survive this ordeal but that was before the heartbreak of Faramir's treachery. He knew that most likely now he would not even need his ability to return the Gift.
To Faramir's dismay, despite the earliness of the hour, there were already several servants bustling around in the kitchens.
"You should still be in bed, Lady Elbeth!" he heard a voice saying.
"I'm used to getting up at dawn!" Elbeth's voice replied,"Besides, I'm bored and I like watching you bake the bread!"
"You can come back later, after breakfast, my lady!" the voice replied, "You could get hurt while we're boiling the water and what would your mother say?"
"She's wouldn't care!" Elbeth retorted, "She thinks only about if Lord Devorin likes her new dress!"
"Well, I'd be in trouble if you were hurt, so please go and play now my lady!"
"Will you give me a honey cake if I do?"
"Here you are, Lady Elbeth. Now please let us get on with our work or we will be in trouble!"
Elbeth scampered out of the kitchens with her prize, almost colliding with Faramir on her way out.
"Hello, Lord Faramir!" she said brightly, pleased to see someone she liked. "Would you like some cake? It tastes good!"
Breaking the cake in two, she offered him half of it.
Not wanting to upset her, he took a small bite and handed it back to her. "You can call me, 'Uncle Faramir', " he told her. "Did they not tell you that your father was my brother?"
"I think they did but I forgot." Elbeth replied, "They all say they're my uncles, though I don't think they are. Are you my real uncle then? What about Lesser the Zerper? He told me to call him 'Strider' but is he my uncle too? I don't think he is very well as they hurt him. You're his friend, aren't you? Can't you help him as you're a grown up?"
The innocent prattle tore at Faramir's heart. There was no doubt in his heart now that this was his niece. She had obviously inherited a kind heart from his mother and from Boromir. But to think that she had somehow befriended Aragorn! He felt more ashamed than ever of his own actions.
He had a sudden idea, as Elbeth was obviously familiar with the kitchens.
"Did the cook give you the cake or did you take it?" he asked, despite knowing the answer.
"She gave it me, but I can take anything I want." Elbeth boasted," They give me horrid things to eat like venison and syllabub so I find something nicer like bread and jam. They didn't bring my nurse here so no one tells me what to do now!"
"I should like an onion," said Faramir, "Could you get me one without them catching you?"
"Of course I could!" Elbeth boasted cheerfully, "Just you see! Why do you want a nasty onion though? A cake would be much nicer!"
"I just like onions and I want to play a game with it," Faramir told her. "Do they let you play outside?"
"Of course I can as I'm going to be the Queen!" Elbeth replied.
"Bring it to me by the stables." Faramir told her, "And remember it is a secret! That is all part of the game."
Elbeth put a finger to her lips and then giggled and ran back to the kitchens.
Faramir went outside into the cold early morning air. There was a slight frost, which the rising sun had not yet had time to melt .He shivered while he waited for Elbeth to come. He hoped she would arrive before the rest of the household were abroad, though he could always plead a need for fresh air after too much drinking the night before.
Slipping into the stables, a bored looking lad ignored him while he patted Zachus who was looking out at him from over the door of his stall. He then strolled carelessly round the stable yard until he came to where the sacks of oats were stored. Glancing around to see that no one was looking, he cut a piece of rough sackcloth, which he pocketed.
As soon as he saw Elbeth coming, he sauntered towards her and was rewarded by the feel of an onion being slipped into his hand.
"Told you so!" she said triumphantly, "And I got a nice juicy apple! I had better go back now before Mummy leaves Lord Devorin's room. I'm not calling him uncle, I hate him!"
She skipped away as Faramir, secreted his prize in his pocket and made his way back to the cellar, walking as casually as he could.
Once he was inside Aragorn's prison, he sat down beside the motionless King and started to peel the onion in front of his face, while keeping his own head turned away.
Soon Aragorn's eyes began to smart and run. Blinking, he opened them and gazed sadly at Faramir through streaming eyes.
Faramir was sorely tempted to tell him of his rescue plan, but what if anyone were to walk in? If he said nothing, and they did, it would merely appear, he had thought up a new method of torture to inflict on the helpless man.
Relentlessly, the Steward took the sackcloth from his pocket and ignoring his struggles, rubbed it round the King's nose until it was raw and reddened.
"Why are you doing this?" Aragorn reproached him, " I gave you everything I could and loved you as my own son!"
Not daring to reply lest he betrayed himself, Faramir said nothing and kept his head turned away. He could hear them moving around on the floor above. There was no time to explain to the confused and feverish King. It was just too dangerous, especially as now he had devised a plan of rescue.
"Where is Arwen? What have you done to her you traitor?" Aragorn asked accusingly, his fever rising.
With a final vigorous rub of the sackcloth, Faramir rose to his feet, pocketed the onionskins and without a backward glance, made his way quietly back to his room.
A few hours, when Faramir was breakfasting with his host and fellow guests, the burly servant, who had assisted with torturing Aragorn the previous night, entered and spoke quietly in Lord Devorin's ear.
The Lord of Ringlo Vale paled and then addressed the others. "I have reason to believe that Elessar has contracted the fever. " he said grimly, "So we dare not go near him for fear of contagion .I doubt he will last long in his weakened condition. Curse the man! I was determined to get him to sign the document today!"
"How do you know it is the contagion ?"Fosco enquired," It is more likely wound fever !"
"I am told his eyes and nose are red and watering, which is a sure sign,"Devorin replied grimly.
"Trust the stubborn idiot to cheat us!" Faramir said harshly, " I have had the infection, so if you wish, I could go and see if he still lives later. Maybe if we leave him without water for a while, he will sign in desperation!"
" I doubt it," said Devorin," But that is a good idea if you are you are certain you cannot catch the fever. You are our last hope of persuading him .We dare not even risk the servants for fear they pass on the contagion to us!"
Faramir struggled to repress a faint smile. His plan was working even better than he dared hope! "If Elessar dies without authorising the marriage, I shall do everything in my power to see that Lady Elbeth receives all that is due to her .The Queen will no one other than myself to turn to for advice." he told them earnestly.
"You are wise, Lord Faramir," Devorin replied with a smile which did not reach his eyes, leaving the Steward with no illusions at all to his eventual fate at the hands of these ruthless men.
Elbeth stared at Faramir accusingly at his failure to help her friend. "Lesser the Zerper is nice!" she exclaimed, "If he is ill you should get him some medicine to make him better!"
"You do not understand that he is a wicked man," Devorin said patting her on the head condescendingly.
Elbeth scowled.
"You should have done as I suggested to begin with!"Hanna complained," You men were far too soft with Elessar! Now he threatens us all with his contagion!"
After breakfast, Fosco remained at the table drinking to console himself at the setback to his plans, while Devorin flirted with Hanna even more outrageously than the day before. The farmers were all muttering anxiously amongst themselves about the risks of catching the fever, as they were all terrified of it, as one had lost a brother who lived in Minas Tirith to the infection. He blamed Aragorn for his loss as the King had been occupied tending a sick child at the time.
"If you will excuse me, I should like to exercise my horse." Faramir told them as he left the room. Elbeth followed him.
"Why don't you help Strider?" she asked.
"I cannot," Faramir replied, unable to bring himself to look at her.
"Why not?" she persisted, tugging at his sleeve.
"He…he was unkind to me as he rules Gondor when I was meant to. Then he made me walk through the streets wearing a sack and sent me to prison," Faramir replied, knowing he was within earshot of the others.
Elbeth frowned, trying to digest the information " If you won't get Strider some medicine will you play with me?" she asked, hopefully "I'm bored! I want to go out and play."
"Not just yet," he told her, "But maybe later. Could you keep that a secret?"
She nodded gravely and skipped away.
Faramir saddled Zachus and rode him around the grounds, all the time watching to see if he were being observed .It seemed though, that after yesterday's events, he was trusted. He could still scarcely believe how he had managed to commit such a cruel act, which if they escaped from here would most certainly forfeit Aragorn's friendship forever. Yet he would be happy just to know that his King were alive and well, even though the inevitable separation from him would break his heart.
Returning to his room, he retrieved Arwen's tapestry needle from where he had secreted it pinned inside his tunic and dipped it in water. Then carefully, uncorking the vial of spider venom, he dipped the point of the needle in it then carefully put it aside to dry.
Several hours later, after another vast meal, Devorin and his guests were in the dining room carousing. While they were occupied, Faramir made his way back to the cellar where Aragorn lay.
The King tossed and moaned with pain and fever, unable to find a way of getting comfortable because of his wounds and the shackles and vainly trying to moisten his parched lips with his tongue.
Even human instinct that Faramir possessed cried out for him to comfort his friend and ease his plight by at the very least giving him a drink. Yet he had no water with him and dared not fetch any and a single word of comfort might be overheard. If he relaxed his mask of traitor for even a moment, he did not know if he could resume it afterhe had come so near to breaking a few hours ago.
How he wished he had been able to ask Eowyn to wait for him in the cave, as he could see that Aragorn badly needed a skilled healer. He doubted his ability to save the King now, even if he could release him from his prison.
TBC
A/N
A very big thank you for all your kind comments and reviews. I appreciate every one and I am touched and amazed by your interest, and thrilled to learn I have readers from 14 different countries, and would love to know if there are any more.
Thank you, Steelelf for your beautiful, touching poem.
I have loved Wagner's operas since I was 14 for their great music and psychological depth. I hasten to add I only like the music, not Wagner's opinions.
I was delighted that many of you were familiar with the quote and its meaning.
"Faithless most faithful of friends" is a paradox, as Faramir loves Aragorn the most and yet is prepared to kill him.
My aplogies for the problems with the last chapter which I had to repost due to a mistake when correcting a typo.