These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Suffering is by no means a privilege, a sign of nobility, a reminder of God. Suffering is a fierce, bestial thing, commonplace, uncalled for, natural as air. It is intangible; no one can grasp it or fight against it; it dwells in time—is the same thing as time; if it comes in fits and starts, that is only so as to leave the sufferer more defenceless during the moments that follow, those long moments when one relives the last bout of torture and waits for the next.
Cesare Pavese (1908–1950), Italian poet, novelist, translator. The Burning Brand: Diaries 1935-1950,
Warning – This chapter is about tending Aragorn's wounds, and may distress sensitive readers. Please only read if you like such material.
For those readers who wanted to see Arwen tend her husband,especially those who have followed my stories since"Shadow and Thought"
Arwen swallowed hard. She found herself recalling vividly the day when her brothers had brought her mother home, after she had been captured and tortured by Orcs. Her father had not wanted her to present when her wounds were tended, but Celebrian had clung limpet- like to her daughter's hand and Arwen, who was devoted to her mother had been determined to stay by her side throughout the agonising hours when her father had cleaned and stitched the countless wounds that had covered her defenceless body.
Such abuse had been too much for her gentle spirit to endure and she had sailed West the following year. Arwen had wanted to accompany her, but her grandmother had urged her to remain, explaining that her foresight indicated that her granddaughter's destiny lay upon Arda still. For many years, her dearest wish had been to go to Valinor and see her mother again. Then she had met Estel and everything changed. She could only hope that her beloved mother would understand her choice and had written many letters for her father to take when he sailed.
The sight of Aragorn's ravaged flesh brought back so many cruel memories. Then there was neither Lord Elrond to tend her husband's wounds nor sanctuary in the West for him. He, a frail mortal was dependent entirely upon the three of them in this room, one of whom had helped cause his hurts. 'How could men do such things to each other?' she wondered. Orcs were by nature the creatures of darkness, but men, like Elves, were the children of Illuvar.
Anger surged within her. How she wanted to strike Faramir and let him experience some of the pain that her Estel was enduring! Yet, were it not for Faramir, Estel would by now be dead. She forced herself to restrain her emotions and concentrate on her husband.
Arwen looked directly into his eyes. There was no revulsion in her compassionate gaze; only love mixed with sorrow. She pressed a loving kiss on his bruised cheek.
Her eyes then hardened as she exclaimed, "How can they call themselves men, who did this to you, my love? They are foul as Sauron's minions!" She looked at Faramir, who flushed uncomfortably.
Eowyn, quickly mastering her shock at the sight of the King's pitifully abused body, was already probing the wounds. She was surprisingly gentle much to the King's relief .It seemed that motherhood had softened her a great deal. "Can you turn on your side?" she asked Aragorn.
Slowly and painfully, he complied.
"However did you get so many bruises?" she asked appalled, taking in the half healed welts on his back and the vast array of bruises on his shoulders and the backs of his legs. "You can lie on your back again now," she told him; having satisfied herself that there were no open wounds there needing her immediate attention.
"Some were inflicted when they punched me, the rest when I was dragged up and down some steps and across a stone floor," he replied, groaning as he turned over again.
Arwen shuddered. It seemed there was still a great deal she did not know.
"These wounds are serious, but most of them are mending. Faramir has tended you well!" she pronounced, her face grave "The most severe need stitching but the remainder should heal with salves, rest, and good food, which you have obviously sorely lacked. Does comfrey and calendula meet with your approval? I will give you rosehip tea to drink too.You have several cracked ribs but as fara as I can tell there is no damage inside."
Aragorn nodded and managed a weak smile," A good choice, that is what I would use myself!"
"I will stitch them," said Arwen. "I can put my skills with a needle to good use."
Aragorn was amazed at his wife's courage. Experienced healer though he was, he never found it easy to stitch friends' wounds. He shivered again, both with humiliation at being laid out before them thus, and the prospect of his impending ordeal.
"Can you tend his ankles, Eowyn?" asked Arwen, sensing his discomfort. "Then we can at least partially cover him."
Eowyn swiftly applied the salve and bandaged the raw ankles and swollen feet, made worse by having to wear boots so soon after his ordeal. She then rubbed more ointment on the bruises on his legs.
Faramir had fetched a blanket as soon as Arwen made her suggestion. He made to cover the King as soon as Arwen replaced the pot of salve on the bedside table.
"Are you concealing any wounds under that towel?" Eowyn asked the King bluntly, waving her husband aside.
"No," Aragorn said firmly, fearing his humiliation would have no limits today. How he wished someone like Aedred were here, a male Healer, who would see him as just another patient.
"Are you certain?" Eowyn persisted, making as if to take the towel away.
"He had some bruised and reddened skin," Faramir interjected, " It is almost healed though. I treated it with some salve that Tarostar gave me. It smells like what you use for Elestelle's napkin rash."
Aragorn wished the ground would swallow him, that he, High King of Gondor and Arnor should be the object of a discussion concerning napkin rash in front of two women and his treacherous Steward!
Eowyn was unable to repress a smile at the thought of the King suffering from such an ailment. "Very well," she said, " But be sure to tell me at once if it comes back!"
When Faramir finally tucked the blanket round him, Aragorn felt grateful. At least, he no longer felt so exposed and his legs and feet felt much warmer. Since his ordeal, he was always so very cold. He looked up to smile at his wife, but she was preoccupied in holding a needle in a candle flame, preparing to stitch his wounds.
"I will be as gentle as I can," Arwen promised her husband. He tensed, as she prepared to insert the needle in his arm, not wanting her to see just how much he was hurting. Courageous though he was, the last weeks had left him apprehensive at the prospect of yet more pain.
Faramir yearned to offer some reassurance to his lord but knew it would not be welcomed. His eyes met Eowyn's. She moved to sit on the bed and wordlessly offered her hand to the King, who grasped it, grateful for the proffered comfort.
Arwen took a deep breath to steady herself before drawing together the damaged skin and carefully stitching the wounds under her husband's arm and elbow closed. She then repeated the procedure with the open wound on his chest.
Aragorn made no sound and tensed only slightly. If Arwen's ministrations were causing him pain, he was obviously determined not to show it.
When she came to the wound on his waist, she paused. It covered quite a large area and looked inflamed and slightly infected. She looked questioningly at her husband and then at Eowyn.
"It chafed badly from having to be held on Roheryn's back," Aragorn explained tersely. "I think stitching it would cause more harm than good."
"I will bandage it then and apply salves," said Eowyn. "Why did they take the skin from such strange places I wonder?"
"To make every movement painful and break my will. They did not succeed." A flicker of his former majesty was briefly visible in his features. "Sooner would I die than betray my family!"
"I know you would, Estel!" Arwen held her husband's hand while Eowyn applied the stinging salves and bound up the gaping wound. The strong mental bond between them meant she could sense his pain almost as if it were here own.
"I'm sorry, I know I am hurting you!" Eowyn apologised as she wound bandages around his chest, arms and middle and then pulled the blankets over him to keep him warm.
As if somehow sensing his parents' distress, Eldarion started to cry loudly in the next room, uttering high-pitched wails of distress.
"Our son needs you," Aragorn urged gently, "Go to him!"
Arwen hesitated. The wailing grew louder.
"Please, Arwen, go to our son! Eowyn can finish tending my wounds now." Aragorn's voice was barely audible above the cacophony.
"Are you certain?" Arwen's strong maternal instincts decreed that she soothe her child. Yet, how could she leave her husband at such a time?
"I cannot bear to hear him cry so! Take him for a walk in the garden to calm him," Aragorn suggested.
"I will return if you need me, Estel, you only need to call!" Arwen replied, before tenderly kissing her husband and hastening from the room.
"I should have given you poppy juice, I am sorry!" Eowyn apologised.
"I wanted to leave that for the worst part," Aragorn said quietly, ""This is the main reason I did not want Arwen to stay."
"What else ails you?" Eowyn asked in alarm.
Aragorn took a deep breath as he had been dreading this for some time now. "The bones in my hand need resetting," he said simply, holding out the damaged left hand for Eowyn's inspection.
Eowyn took it and cradled it between her own smaller hands as she studied the damage. All the digits had been broken. The smallest finger and the thumb were healing well, but the first three fingers had not been set correctly and had knit at an odd angle, rendering them virtually useless.
"When Faramir found me they had already started knitting and it was too late for him to do anything," Aragorn explained," I need you to break the fingers again and reset them."
Eowyn paled. "I cannot!" she gasped, "One of the Healers in the city will have to do it!"
Aragorn shook his head sadly. "How could I get to the City or you bring a Healer here without betraying our whereabouts?" he asked.
"Damrod then?" Eowyn suggested desperately, "He will come to visit us here soon and I know he has some experience of tending the wounded."
"He has not been trained like you and this needs doing quickly before it is too late for it to heal properly. What use would a one handed King be to his people! Please, Eowyn, I beg of you! "
Eowyn shook her head vehemently." Aragorn, I cannot hurt you so! Do not ask this of me!" she shuddered, recalling the ironic fact that but a year ago, she would have carried out the task with grim relish as she had hated him with such vehemence. So much had happened since then; not least, that he had saved her baby and Faramir too. Once, it had bewildered her why Faramir and her brother loved Aragorn so much .Now she understood and shared their love and admiration for this man. She looked again at his mangled hand and fury blazed within her that anyone could maim the very hand he had used to save her child!"
She looked across and met Faramir's eyes, which were filled with a pain equal to her own. Her eyes briefly lingered on the brand defacing Aragorn's shoulder and at that moment, she understood.
"Eowyn listen to me!" Aragorn said mustering his meagre reserves of strength, "You will harm me more if you will not to this! If you give me some poppy juice, it should not be too painful if you work quickly."
Eowyn bowed her head again and carefully felt the damaged joints. She knew exactly where the bones needed to be snapped and then splinted back in the correct position.
A painful procedure, but one she had been trained how to carry out and had once successfully done so before on a servant who had delayed seeking help for a broken finger. However, he was a virtual stranger, not a dear friend.
"I know it is hard for you, " Aragorn said quietly, "I had difficulty tending Faramir when he was so badly injured last year and on one occasion Aedred had to take out the stitches and drain the wound on his arm. Alas, there is no one else to call upon now but you!"
TBC
A/N A very grateful thank you for all your much appreciated reviews. I have replied to everyone who was logged in.
I have deliberately given the characters old-fashioned traits to emphasise that they live in a very different time and place to our own.
Faramir has committed a crime, however good his reasons for it and is unlikely to attempt to justify himself, being so honourable.
I have studied many accounts of disabled men to research this story and almost unanimously they have said they do not wish their wives to be their nurses to bathe and change them ect, as they want their wives to see them in a more romantic light .
Aragorn finds it very hard to accept care, being used to being the carer himself and fiercely self reliant.
Thank you to whoever nominated "Burden of Guilt" for the "Mithril Awards". It reached the quarterfinals.