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

Perfect friendship is the friendship of men who are good, and alike in excellence; for these wish well alike to each other qua good, and they are good in themselves.

Aristotle (384–323 B.C.),

When Aragorn left Fontos, he was delighted to find Eomer waiting for him outside the detention room. He was surprised just how keenly he had missed the joys of an uncomplicated friendship; such as he shared with the young King of the Mark.

He and Eomer, had little in common save the bond that comes from fighting side by side on the battlefield, yet a deep affection had existed between them almost since the day they had first met and had grown stronger over the years. Eomer benefited from Aragorn's experience and wisdom, whereas Aragorn found the society of one still full of youthful energy and enthusiasm, not yet jaded by the passing years, very refreshing.

A shadow had briefly fallen between them, when Eomer had mistakenly believed Faramir has mistreated Eowyn and fought with him on the steps on the Counsel Chamber. However, once Eomer had recovered from the head injury he suffered, he had been most contrite over his conduct. Aragorn had had gladly forgiven him, hoping that the incident would serve to grant him greater wisdom and maturity.

Sometimes of late, he had wondered if Eomer had been correct in his accusations at that time that he favoured Faramir. Maybe, he and his Steward were too alike, which had, perhaps, led Faramir to covet what could have been his, but was now Aragorn's by right.

"Come, brother, I have something to show you!" Eomer firmly graspedhis friend'sarm, inadvertentlycausing Aragorn to flinch. However, he allowed himself to be led towards the stables. A contingent of Imrahil's Guards trailed behind them, keeping a respectful distance He paused to speak to the grooms who were busying themselves grooming Roheryn and Zachus. With barely concealed impatience, Eomer led him to a stall at the far end. A familiar dark grey head looked over the stall and whinnied in pleasure.

"Hasufel!" Aragorn exclaimed delightedly, reaching out to caress the stallion's neck. "It is good to see you again!"

"I brought him to walk in your funeral procession," Eomer explained. "He had the honour of bearing a King in his saddle and I believe has not forgotten it. I should like you now to keep him, as a mark of my joy that you still live!"

"He is indeed a generous gift. I thank you from the bottom of my heart." Aragorn kissed Eomer warmly on the brow, and then busied himself stroking the horse's velvety nose, hoping his friend would not notice the tears that recently seemed to have come to him far too easily and often.

They lingered awhile and then walked back together towards the Royal Apartments where Eomer made to leave for the guest quarters. The walls suddenly seemed to close in around Aragorn. He realised he had not been alone for more than a few moments since Faramir had rescued him from Dervorin's cellar, and the prospect was frightening to him. What had become of him? He was a king, a warrior, and a ranger who had spent years alone in the wilds. Yet, now he was like a child afraid of the dark.

"Eomer," he asked impulsively, " Could you stay with me tonight? I miss Arwen's presence. I have much too, that I would tell you."

Eomer looked slightly puzzled. However, he immediately nodded his agreement. "Of course, my friend, I just need to speak with my men and then groom Firefoot. When his usual groom is not present, I like to tend him myself. I will return soon."

Aragorn found that his room was almost exactly as he had left it. The servants had obviously been in to clean and tidy it, and a cheerful fire burned in the grate. His healing supplies were still there untouched, the same tapestries adorned the walls, embroideries Arwen had brought from Rivendell, depicting the great deeds of their ancestors. His clothes were still hanging in their places as were Faramir's.

The Steward's possessions were dotted around the room, his comb, a small portrait of Eowyn and another of Boromir, and a book of Quenya poetry, that Aragorn remembered him sitting up reading shortly before he was captured. How could a man who had been so close to, have treated him so cruelly? Yet, it seemed that Faramir had remained here in the King's chamber, as if trying to emphasise the status he would have, if there were no King.

He would ask the servants to return Faramir's possessions to his own rooms, but that would have to wait. He was weary now, though it was only early evening.

He decided to have a bath in the hope it would ease his aching body and then share a light supper with Eomer before retiring to bed.

He went out into the corridor, noting that two guards stood outside the door, one of the Tower Guard and one of Eomer's men and was glad of their reassuring presence, something he never would have felt in the past. He called to a passing servant and ordered them to prepare a hot bath for him.

He laid out his nightshirt, robe, and clean underwear on the bed. He then sat for a while looking through Faramir's book of poetry waiting for the bath to be prepared. The poems all seemed to be about loyalty, honour and courage: qualities, which until recently, he would have wholeheartedly associated with the book's owner.

He lingered over a ballad describing the rescue of Maedros by Fingon, lingering over the part where Fingon had severed Maedros' hand in order to free him. Was Faramir's act of branding him a similar gesture? Or was it done solely to please those he appeared to have thrown in his lot with?

A servant interrupted his musings to inform him that his bath was now ready. Searching through his healing supplies, he selected some salves and oils, and then entered the bathing chamber. He added a few drops of lavender and rosehip oils to the water, undressed, and climbed into the sunken bath.

He felt the pain and soreness gradually leave his damaged body while he bathed, luxuriating in the bliss of being able to enjoy some privacy and comfortably spread out his long limbs in the spacious tub.

He planned to treat himself with the mud bath the next day, as he was eager to be free of the painful and unsightly scars, which disfigured much of his body.

Reluctantly, deciding he had lingered long enough in the bath, he rather gingerly eased himself out and reaching for his towel, began to carefully dry himself and thenapply healing salves to keep the scarred skin supple.

He prepared to don his night attire, only to realise that he had left it in the bedchamber. Thinking it was of no great import, since Eomer would most likely still be in the stables, he made his way back to the bedroom.

Clad only in a towel, which he held draped loosely round his waist, Aragorn padded barefoot from the bathing chamber, intending to don his nightshirt before the King of Rohan joined him

He was rather taken aback to see Eomer already there. Reticent at the best of times, he was acutely self-conscious of the numerous scars currently disfiguring his body. He could have covered most of them by crossing his arms, but to do so would risk losing his towel and with it, his last shreds of dignity. He was accustomed now to his wife, Faramir and Eowyn seeing the scars, but had little wish for anyone else to do so. Growing up amongst Elves had left him unaccustomed to such disfigurements and worse still; these were no honourable battle wounds.

"I am glad that you are here," he said, trying to appear casual and snatching up his nightshirt, letting go of his towel as he did so. Turning his back, he started to pull the nightshirt over his head, but it was too late. Eomer was gazing at him with an expression of sheer horror on his face.

"Aragorn!" he exclaimed," Whatever has been done to you?"

"I was put to torment while I was held captive," Aragorn said tersely, his voice muffled by the material.

"Let me see, my brother!" Gently but firmly, the nightshirt was pulled from Aragorn's grasp, Eomer easily resisting his somewhat clumsy attempts to cover himself.

Aragorn sighed. Resisting his urge to pick up his towel and clutch it around himself, he resigned himself to the indignity of permitting his friend to see his marred body. It was not the first time that Eomer had seen him injured and unclothed. However, on that occasion, he had been wounded in battle, and not carried the degrading marks of torture.

Eomer drew his breath in sharply, an expression of increasing sympathy and dismay on his face as looked Aragorn up and down and took in his friend's many injuries.

"Whoever did this to you?" Eomer asked, tracing a surprisingly gentle finger across each scar while he scrutinised them intently.

"Fosco of Lamedon, Dervorin of Ringlo Vale and their accomplices," Aragorn said grimly, trying to appear unperturbed by his friend's intense scrutiny. He could not bring himself yet to mention Faramir's name. He trembled slightly while Eomer circled him and studied the numerous reminders of the pain and humiliation he had suffered, from the marks left by the manacles on his wrists and ankles, to the wheals on his back and the knife wounds on his arms, chest and belly.

"Why did they inflict wounds such as these?" Eomer asking, studying the places where the skin had been removed and had grown back, red and tender.

"They sought to cause me pain without killing me by skinning me by inches," Aragorn told him grimly, shuddering at the memory of the excruciating pain.

"How could they be so cruel? And this, it is an outrage!" Eomer's eyes were now fixed on his disfigured shoulder," How could anyone brand you, and not even like a cow, but as a bullock?"

"What do you mean?" Aragorn enquired, wondering if there would be no end to his humiliation.

"When I was a lad, I spent a few weeks on a farm near Ringlo Vale," Eomer explained. "Elfhelm, long before he became a Marshal, went to deliver some horses to its lord and my uncle allowed me to go with him, in order to learn something of our neighbours. It was the season when they branded the cattle, and the herdsman showed me the different brands that they used to quickly distinguish between cows, bulls and bullocks. Trampling with wild horses would be too good for the unspeakable fiend who did this to you! You should curse them as Isildur cursed the oath breakers! "

"I will punish them as they deserve," Aragorn said quietly; loath to reveal just who had so disfigured him.

"I am so sorry, my friend. Would that I had known, and could have come to your aid!" Eomer averted his gaze at last, swallowing hard. "You must let me summon a Healer!"

Finally able to don his nightshirt, Aragorn swiftly pulled it down, then sat on the edge of the bed to pull his drawers on underneath. "There is no need," he said firmly, "Eowyn has tended me well."

"You might need someone to testify at the trial what those brutes did to you," Eomer insisted.

Though, he would much prefer the full extent of his injuries not to be revealed, Aragorn conceded the wisdom of his reasoning. "I will sent for Aedred tomorrow," he promised," I shall no doubt need a Healer to assist me with my mud treatment. Anxious to change the subject, he pulled on his robe and tied it firmly round the waist.Will you ask a servant to bring supper, please, Eomer?" he said, "I will tell you my story while we eat."

TBC

A/N A very grateful thank you to everyone who has taken the trouble to review. Your comments are greatly appreciated and I have replied to everyone who was logged in. The story is now gradually drawing towards a conclusion but how many chapters are left is for my wayward Muse to decide.

Eomer tended the wounded Aragorn in my first story, "The Hidden days of Healing" also on this site. Eomer fought with Faramir in "Burden of Guilt, the prequel to this story."