These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain
So, when a raging fever burns,
We shift from side to side by turns;
And 't is a poor relief we gain
To change the place, but keep the pain.
Isaac Watts (1674–1748)
Faramir hung his head in shame for indeed Aragorn must believe him thus.
"I am sorry, my lord, " he replied, " I acted only that I might rescue you." He held a cup of boiled water to the King's parched lips.
Aragorn shook his head, nearly fainting at the effort, "No, I will not drink your poison, traitor!" he croaked.
Faramir suspected that the King must be desperately in need of fluids and pinched the skin on the back of his uninjured hand, something he had seen Aragorn do to him while he was seriously ill after his ordeal in the prison. That memory was more painful than ever now. Aragorn had been so kind to him then .
The King had explained that if pinched skin did not immediately fall back in place, it meant a person needed water very badly. The result was just as Faramir had feared. He tried again only for Aragorn to clamp his parched lips tightly shut.
Sighing, he was forced to put the water to one side. He could only hope that once the King's wounds were bandaged he might become more reasonable.
Picking up the jar of honey again, he tried to apply more to the wound on the Aragorn's elbow.
Aragorn screamed and lashed out with what little strength he had. Faramir narrowly dodged being hit in the eye.
He picked up a roll of bandage and tried to reason with the feverish man. "Please, just let me finish binding your wounds!" he pleaded.
"No, no!" Aragorn replied, catching sight of the ring on Faramir's finger. "Traitor, torturer, thief!" Starting to struggle again, this time he succeeded in landing a weak blow on Faramir's nose.
Exhausted, heart sore and despairing at Aragorn's words, Faramir wildly raised his arm in a threatening gesture, determined to subdue him for his own good.
"Stop it!" A hand grabbed his arm. Alarmed, he swung round and found himself looking into Elbeth's furious and distressed features.
"You are hurting poor Strider!" she said crossly.
"How long have you been awake?" he asked her, swallowing hard at the realisation she had just saved him from falling further into darkness.
"Since he woke up, I was scared to say anything in case you hurt me too .I won't let you hurt him though!" she said fiercely, positioning herself in front of Aragorn.
Faramir felt overwhelmed with shame at his own conduct .To think that he had sunk so low as to threaten a sick and helpless man who was also his lord .He despised himself for frightening a child too, let alone letting her witness such behaviour. He realised he was sweating almost as much as the feverish man beside him.
He blinked away the tears, which threatened to overwhelm him. "I am sorry. I would not harm you, Elbeth," he apologised, his heart going out to her. He hugged her but she glared at him and broke free. "The King has been hurt and needs his wounds looking after. That makes him cry out because they are sore. I am trying to make him better."
She looked at him doubtfully, as laying the bandages aside; he tried again to coax Aragorn to swallow some water, meeting with no greater success than before.
"Uncle Faramir?" the little girl asked, tugging at this sleeve.
"Not now, Elbeth. I must get him to drink or he could die!" Faramir said frantically.
"I can give it to him," Elbeth said calmly, taking the cup from the astonished Faramir before he could protest.
Supporting Aragorn's restless head with her small hands, she let him see her swallow a mouthful of the water and then held it to his lips. Thirstily, he drained it.
"However did you do that?" Faramir was amazed.
" I've been taking him drinks when they thought I was asleep. He likes me, as I'm his friend. He'll eat and drink anything I give him!" she replied, with the supreme confidence of her youth.
Although delighted at her success, the words were like a dagger to Faramir's heart. He had once held the trust of this greatest of men but had been forced to forfeit it. Stifling his emotions, he filled the cup again and handed it to Elbeth.
"He needs plenty of water, so give him this too, if you can," he begged her.
Again, the water was quickly swallowed.
"Can you give him his medicine now?" he asked her.
"I expect so, if it doesn't taste too nasty!" she replied.
Carefully he mixed up some herbs, catnip and willow, labelled 'Fever', rosehips labelled 'Infection' and poppy juice, which he recognised as being for pain. The Healers had carefully measured out each dose in a screw of paper or vial and written instructions about how often it should be taken. At least he did not have to worry whether he really would confirm Aragorn's suspicions and poison him!
He took a tentative sip of the mixture, which tasted vile. He added a spoonful of the honey to it, which made it palatable, if not exactly pleasant.
Elbeth again took the cup to Aragorn. "Here is your medicine, Strider, "she said, "Drink it up then you'll get better and can play with me!"
Whether it was her words, the sound of her pleading childish voice, or even the familiar tasting medicinal herbs, Faramir had no idea, but Aragorn swallowed it all and soon became sleepy as the poppy juice took effect.
Faramir seized his chance, and after asking Elbeth to hold the King's uninjured hand, wound the bandage round his elbow, and secured it. He then did his best to bind the broken fingers of his left hand, using pieces of firewood for splints, which provoked whimpers of pain from Aragorn and glares of protest from Elbeth.
"It has to be done. It will soon be over," he soothed; uncertain whether it were Aragorn or Elbeth he most needed to placate.
At last, it was done and Aragorn's wounds were finally tended as best he could. Tears of pain ran down his cheeks from his prolonged ordeal. Faramir made to wipe away the tears and sweat but Aragorn flinched away as if expecting a blow then tried to throw off the blanket much to Faramir's alarm.
The Steward hastily sorted through the supplies of clothing for a loose shirt and handed it to Elbeth. "Can you get him to put that on?" he asked, torn between the need to keep Aragorn warm and reluctance to allow a small girl to see him partially clothed, even though well covered by the bandages. It was truly disturbing that the King would so ignore Gondorian etiquette and his own reserve, as to rather permit a young girl to help him dress than his once trusted friend.
"Strider!" Elbeth called softly, "Put this on, it is nice and soft like the one you gave me!"
Aragorn struggled to sit up, so Faramir inched behind him without being seen and supported him, pulling the shirt down as Elbeth eased it over his head, without being seen. Poor Aragorn was obviously too drowsy and ill by now to wonder whom his unseen helper might be. At Faramir's urging, Elbeth then coaxed another cup of water down the King.
Faramir was vastly relieved that Aragorn would at least accept help from Elbeth. At the same time he felt desperately worried about what he was going to do when the King needed to answer a call of nature or be bathed and changed.
Gesturing Elbeth to stay beside the King, he selected the two blankets nearest the fire and exchanged them the damp and blood soaked blankets currently covering Aragorn for them. Although he burned with fever, in these cold and damp surroundings, it would be all too easy for him to take a chill.
He waited for Aragorn to fall into a feverish sleep and only then, did he set out his own bedding and suggest Elbeth make herself comfortable in a makeshift nest of pelts and blankets between himself and Aragorn.
"This is fun!" she exclaimed, giggling softly, "Much nicer than a bed! I'm playing at being a kitten or a puppy!"
Faramir could not help but smile at her. "Which would you rather be? " he asked,
"A kitten!" she replied, "they are prettier and more cuddly! I wish I could have one!"
"When we get to my home, you shall, if you are a good girl!" Faramir promised, eager to reward her for her help, should they manage to escape.
"What colour?" she asked.
"Let me think, " Faramir replied, trying to remember what colours the house cats at Emyn Arnen were."You could have a black one, or a white one or maybe a tabby with stripes, or a kitten with different coloured patches or even a ginger one if you are very lucky!"
"I'd like a ginger one best!"Elbeth was already falling asleep, a contented smile on her young features.
Faramir sat for a moment lost in thought and studying the ring on his finger. Stung by Aragorn's rebuke, he felt unable to wear it a moment longer. He knelt by the King's side and gently took his uninjured hand, to perform a task he had yearned to do since the day Arwen had entrusted it to him.
He slid the Ring of Barahir from his own finger and transferred it to Aragorn's, reuniting the precious heirloom with its rightful owner. He wept quietly, overwhelmed with grief for the King's pitiful condition and remorse for his own cruelty towards him. He felt so empty without the shared Thought Bond, which he was certain could never again be restored.
How he yearned to hold the one in his arms who had been father, brother and friend to him and offer what comfort he could but even asleep Aragorn recoiled from the touch of his hand.
The Steward would have very much liked to stay awake to keep watch over Aragorn, but not being of undiluted Numenorean ancestry, after the stresses of the day, lacked the stamina to do so and soon fell into an uneasy slumber, his sword ready to hand.
He woke frequently roused by a mixture of worry and bitter cold. Each time, he reassured himself that Aragorn was still alive before pulling his blankets round him again and snuggling closer to Elbeth for warmth.
The next morning felt even colder when Faramir awoke again. After satisfying himself that Aragorn was still breathing, he hastily built up the dying fire knowing that must be his first priority. He placed a pot of water on it to boil.
Still drugged by the poppy juice, the King shifted restlessly in his sleep muttering to himself. When Faramir gently felt his brow, it felt hotter than ever much to the Steward's dismay.
TBC
A/N A very grateful thank you to all my readers for your much appreciated comments.I have replied to everyone I was able to.
There is still plenty of angst ahead.