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

From the sole of the foot even unto the head there is no soundness in it; but wounds, and bruises, and putrefying sores: they have not been closed, neither bound up, neither mollified with ointment. Isaiah 1.6

Warning – This chapter is somewhat gory and may distress sensitive readers.

He had steeled himself for the cruel mark of the brand, which he had inflicted and had expected Aragorn to be suffering from a variety of cuts and bruises. Far worse to behold though, were the raw patches where the skin had been deliberately and expertly removed to cause a great deal of pain without inflicting a life-threatening wound.

There were many such patches across the King's chest, sides, belly and inner arms, all inflicted where the skin was most tender or where the slightest movement would cause pain. Each patch looked raw and angry and several were infected and oozing an evil looking pus.

There were also had a series of shallow cuts slashed across his body. All had been expertly inflicted to weaken Aragorn through pain and blood loss, while keeping him alive.

Faramir swallowed hard as nausea threatened to overwhelm him. How could any human being treat another thus? He expected such behaviour from the minions of Sauron, but how could his fellow Gondorians behave like this to torture a good and noble man while he was bound and helpless. Worse still, how could he have joined in?

He forced himself to overcome his natural squeamishness and to concentrate. A chill ran through the Steward when he realised Aragorn had been tortured in the exact places, where he had experienced his mysterious pains. He shuddered at the thought of the agony his King must have endured .His brief spasms of pain had been hard enough to bear.

He carefully turned Aragorn on to his side, noting from his near skeletal appearance that not only had he been tortured, but starved as well. He knew, even without looking, that he would find he bore the marks on a flogging on his back. The stripes were almost healed, which suggested they were inflicted the very day Faramir had awoken with his back throbbing.

What manner of a mysterious bond had they then shared that he should have suffered his King's pain? Gladly would he bear it again rather than this dreadful emptiness within his soul.

He next removed the tattered breeches, fairly confident now that the worse injuries were all on Aragorn's upper body. He paused to note that a tiny white tree was embroidered on the knee of the dirty and torn drawers beneath, just as Arwen had said.

Removing them, he uncovered a good deal of bruising to the lower belly and groin area and reddened and inflamed skin, doubtless caused by being unable to either move freely or bathe.

Quickly, he covered the King with a towel to preserve some modesty for him. Though he had seen him unclothed before, when he tended him at the Hunting Lodge and when they had bathed together, he still considered it a sacrilege to see him completely naked. It seemed that even the rebels had been constrained by some vestiges of respect until now, since they had kept him clothed, though Hanna's desire to humiliate Aragorn had become insistent enough for the men to be ready to act upon it.

Faramir paused for a moment; studying Aragorn's battered and abused body and feeling overwhelmed at the task facing him. This was far worse than he could ever have imagined. He was no healer and very much doubted his ability to save his King, assuming even that he still lived.

He picked up a blanket and covered him with it, as much to conceal the dreadful injuries, the sight of which threatened to overwhelm him, as to keep Aragorn warm.

He took a deep breath and then poured the warmed water into a bowl and started to bathe Aragorn starting with his haggard and sweat stained face. Even clumps of his hair and beard had been pulled out. Faramir strongly suspected Hanna to be responsible for such senseless cruelty.

Aragorn's wrists were raw from where the chains had secured him and his left hand looked as if it had been brutally stamped upon and crushed.

Rage surged though Faramir, how dare anyone crush a precious hand such as this, which had been used to heal so many?

He was so glad that he had despatched Fosco and his servant; though the quick death he had given them seemed far kinder than what they deserved.

He had seen men who had been tortured before during his time as a soldier but never to such a degree or over such a long period of time.

Aragorn lay there limp and still, not even reacting when Faramir, working under the blanket, wiped away the blood and pus from his wounds, some of which had dried hard, and required vigorous cleansing despite his wish to be gentle.

The Steward increasingly feared that all his efforts were in vain .It appeared that the spider venom had proved fatal to the already seriously ill man. Yet, he continued to bathe him, blinking away tears as he did so, thinking this was at least the last service he could render one who had not only been his liege lord but also a beloved friend.

Aragorn's flesh was still warm to the touch but he had no way of knowing whether that was because he was alive or merely because of shared body heat from himself and the horse.

Faramir continued to work, moving downwards until he reached Aragorn's feet. The ankles were rubbed raw from the manacles that had encased them and the toes were covered with painful looking chilblains.

He then turned Aragorn over on to his side, in order to wash his back. Then he noticed that one of the wounds on his chest was bleeding. Faramir's heart leapt for joy. Dead men did not bleed. Aragorn must still be alive!

Quickly, he dried him and covered him with another blanket in an attempt to keep him warm, wishing it were better aired. Never had Faramir wished more, that he had studied the arts of healing, lacking as he did, even the basic skills to ascertain how badly the King was hurt.

He tentatively prodded the bruised body and suspected a rib or two might be broken, though he could not be certain. Most of the older looking bruising was concentrated around his ribs, belly and groin, but there were fresh bruises to his back and legs, which must have been caused when he was dragged from the cellar so roughly.

Hesitantly he picked up a jar of salve, hoping he was using the right one and to his surprise and belief, found every jar also bore an extra label saying what it was to be used for.

He began with the one labelled 'Damaged skin and bruises' thinking he would start with the least serious hurts .It smelled rather like a preparation Eowyn used for when Elestelle suffered from napkin rash, somewhat to Faramir's surprise. How he wished that Eowyn were by his side now to help and support him!

He spread the contents as gently as he could, across the reddened skin and bruises disfiguring Aragorn's body, moving the blanket aside a little at a time.

Elbeth stirred in her sleep, causing Faramir to fear she would awaken while he was still tending the King. To his relief, she merely turned over and settled again.

Not wishing to take any chances, the Steward rummaged in the bag of clothing he had brought until he found a pair of drawers embroidered by Arwen and pulled them on Aragorn, both to protect his modesty and Elbeth's innocence.

Returning to his task of tending the wounds, Faramir found a jar of salve labelled 'Burns' and rubbed it on the hateful brand mark, which he himself had inflicted. He could hardly bear to look at it never mind touch it!

He knew from Eowyn and their time at the Hunting Lodge that honey was the best treatment for wounds, but also the infected ones had to be drained, a task he dreaded.

Taking the knife Tarostar had given him, he plunged the blade into the fire until it glowed white-hot.

While waiting for the now sterile blade to cool, he fancied that he saw Aragorn move a little. Much as he wanted him to awaken, he had hoped it would not be until after his wounds were tended and he had made him as comfortable as possible.

He decided first to apply the honey and bandages to the wounds, washing his hands between touching each one. They appeared clean, albeit raw on Aragorn's belly, arms and shoulders .He then did the same to the patches rubbed raw by the manacles on his wrists and ankles.

He grasped the now cooled knife in one hand and a pad of clean cloth in the other. The worse infected wound was on Aragorn's waist and the others were under his elbow and on his chest.

Trying to keep his hand steady, he rather tentatively lanced the swollen patch on the King's waist but when he pressed the cloth down, very little pus oozed out. He steeled himself to cut more deeply and this time the cloth was soon covered by evil looking matter.

As soon as it was drained, he bathed it with salted water, smeared it with honey before carefully bandaging it, and then repeated the process with the chest wound. They were only small but looked extremely painful.

Sighing with relief that he had almost finished, he lanced the elbow wound, drained it and started to apply the honey to the raw flesh.

Totally paralysed, Aragorn dreaded the brief flashes of awareness, which stirred him from a merciful oblivion. He had felt the sweet air on his face, which could only mean though, that he was on his way to be buried alive. Then he was back in what felt like the cellar again. To his horror, someone was removing his clothing, leaving him completely naked and afraid of what new horrors lay in store. He found he could twitch slightly now, so maybe some movement was returning.

Hands were prodding every inch of his pain-racked body. There was nothing in any way indecent about the touch, but it was too clumsy and inept to be that of a healer and there was something oddly familiar about it. He felt himself being covered again. He wondered if they were trying to revive him in order to torture him once more.

Then he knew it; as he felt what appeared to be a red-hot blade piercing him. Something that stung painfully was poured over his raw wounds. He could neither move nor cry out but then the pain and shock must have overcome the paralysis. His eyes suddenly opened and he gave a strangled cry.

Faramir was immediately at the King's side, clasping his uninjured hand.

"Thank the Valar you are awake!" he exclaimed, blinking back the tears "Easy now, you are safe. I am tending your wounds! I am sorry I am hurting you!"

Feverish and agitated, Aragorn stared at him. "Traitor!" he croaked through parched lips."Your wiles shall not persuade me !"

TBC

A/N

A big thank you to all my readers for your much-appreciated comments and for taking me past the 600 reviews mark!

I intend to reply to future questions via the new message system, so please remember to log in to enable me to do so.

I share Elbeth's liking for bats.

The story is meant to have a winter feel rather like that in the "Narnia" books.