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

I will be to him a Father, and he shall be to me a Son. - The Bible – Hebrews 1.5

With grateful thank to Raksha


“The scar on your shoulder!” Faramir cried.

“I have told you, ion nîn, it troubles me no longer, “ Aragorn said gently. ”I have come to regard it as a mark of your deep love and loyalty.”

Faramir continued to stare at Aragorn’s shoulder as if under some spell. He took a few steps forward and reached out with his hand to touch it. “The brand has gone!” he exclaimed in a tone that suggested he could hardly believe what he was seeing.

“What?” Aragorn looked down at his shoulder. The skin, disfigured for months by the livid brand, was now smooth and unblemished. He stared at it in amazement, tentatively feeling the place where the scar had been raised on his flesh. “It has gone!” he whispered, repeating Faramir’s words. A huge grin spread across his face. He caught hold of Faramir and hugged him tightly before spinning him around in a wild dance of jubilation. Tears ran down their faces as they alternately laughed and cried.

Breathless and exhausted, they finally collapsed together on the grass. ”How can this be?” asked Faramir once he had caught his breath. ”You tried every treatment known to Man or Elf, and nothing removed the scar. How could the wound have healed and when?”

“I do not know,” Aragorn replied simply. ”I tried to forget about it, and over these last days I succeeded.”

Faramir briefly closed his eyes and tried to recall when he had last glimpsed the scar on his King's shoulder. When Faramir had kept his back turned when Aragorn bathed or changed, it had been more than his usual natural reticence and good manners, for every glimpse of the scar had felt like a dagger stabbing his very soul. He had been grateful for the dim light and the fact Aragorn was lying face downwards when he had tended his lords aching back muscles. “I think I last saw the scar on the day the spider bit me,” Faramir said at last.

“I recall my shoulder itching,” said Aragorn. “It stopped paining me the day we swam in the mountain lake, but how the scar itched!”

“Maybe the water had healing properties?” Faramir suggested. “We can soon find out.” He unlaced his shirt and pulled it over his head, then studied his skin. The neat scar left by the arrow wound of a few months before was still there unchanged.

“An Elven mud bath will soon heal that blemish,” said Aragorn. “I believe my healing is a blessing from the One, bestowed on me when I let go of my pain and pride. How foolish I was to be so blind, when I was truly so blessed!” His voice unsteady, he hugged Faramir again. “Come, we had better have our swim if we wish to see our ladies before nightfall.”

Faramir sniffed hard and rubbed his hand across his eyes before removing his breeches and plunging into the refreshingly chill water. Aragorn followed a few minutes later. They splashed around in the water, ducking and diving like exuberant schoolboys, enjoying a respite from the heat of the day.

All too soon it was time to leave the cool water. They dried themselves and changed into clean, dry linens before donning the rest of their clothing
Mounting their horses, they set off towards Minas Tirith with a new lightness in their hearts.

0000

“The King will return in time for the first session of the Council, as will Faramir.” Arwen’s tone brooked no argument. Instead of asking Imrahil to sit down she stood, her eyes daring him to challenge her.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I cannot share your certainty,” protested the Prince. “Everyone could see the King was far from well. Now he has vanished without trace along with Lord Faramir.” Imrahil’s anger was obvious as he spoke his nephew’s name. “You tell me my lady, the King has not gone to Rivendell to seek healing, so where might he be?”

“He has gone to seek a cure, but there is none now in Imladris,” said Arwen. “The One alone can grant Estel peace. I sent Estel forth with Faramir that both might be restored to their former vigour.”

“I would have thought that Elessar would have preferred a more suitable companion than my neph....,er, Lord Faramir could have been found to escort the King,” said Imrahil. “The Steward's loyalty is still far from certain.”

Arwen’s eyes flashed with anger. ”Never was a man truer to my husband than your nephew, Lord Imrahil!” she said. “He saved Estel’s life!”

“He also spoke treason against the King, joined the rebels, and shamefully raised his hand against his liege lord by branding him!”

“Can you not see, Lord Imrahil, that there was only one way for Faramir to have snatched my husband from that nest of traitors?” Arwen demanded angrily. “Had there been a path to his freedom that was both swift and honourable, I am certain you would have taken it, as would many others. But there was no such easy deliverance. Would you prefer that Faramir had defied the traitors and bought himself and your King to a painful death? We should all be grateful that Faramir managed to save not only my beloved husband, but your other nephew's innocent child. I am proud to call Faramir my friend. You should sing his praise, Prince; instead you treat him like Maeglin!”

Imrahil flushed scarlet, stood staring at his boots for a few moments.” I will think on your words, my lady,” he said at last. “But if only the King would return!”

“He will,” said Arwen. “I foresee that the day is not far off.”

Dismissing the Prince of Dol Amroth, Arwen returned to her sitting room where Éowyn balanced Elestelle on her lap. Eldarion was crawling across the rug clutching a toy horse. A bored looking Elbeth was trying without much success to embroider a kerchief, watched by a nursemaid who sat in the corner. The high, large windowed chamber was light and airy in appearance, furnished with fine tapestries and rugs that Arwen had brought with her from Rivendell. A large bowl of pink roses adorned the table, perfuming the room with their fresh sweetness.


“Has Prince Imrahil departed?” asked Éowyn. “If only he did not think so ill of Faramir!” she sighed deeply. “And where is my husband? I thought you said he was making a pilgrimage on the mountain with Aragorn? I agree they needed some time alone together to sort out their differences, but it has been so long. I fear for Faramir; he was far from well when I last beheld him!”

“They will return when they are fully reconciled and beginning to heal,” Arwen said calmly. “Then Imrahil will understand the truth at last.”

“I want to see Strider again,” said Elbeth. “I'll ask him to pass a law banning embroidery!”

Arwen laughed. ”Many ladies would be very sad if he did that.”

“You can put your sewing away now,” said Éowyn. ”It is almost time for the evening meal Go and was your hands before we eat.”

As soon as the little girl had left the room, Arwen wandered over to the window and looked out. Two familiar figures were walking past the fountain. They paused briefly before the White Tree. Arwen could see a marked change in her husband’s demeanour even from this distance, for Aragorn Elessar walked with a renewed spring in his step. Her husband was obviously engaged in lively conversation with Faramir and both men were smiling.

“They have returned!” cried Arwen. Pausing only to tell the nursemaid to watch the children, the two women hastened to greet their husbands.

“Estel!” Heedless of her queenly dignity, Arwen ran to greet her husband.

“Arwen!” Beaming from ear to ear, Aragorn embraced her tightly.

“Éowyn, I never expected that you would be here!” Faramir cried joyfully as he greeted his wife.

“Arwen invited me to stay with her while you were away,” Éowyn explained. ”It is good to see you again, Faramir. You look so well!”

The two couples made their way back inside the royal apartments arm in arm. When Aragorn reached his chambers, he briefly left his wife’s side to speak to Faramir. ”Please join us for the evening meal, mellon nîn, and bring Éowyn and the children,” he said. “Arwen and I would have tell of our travels.”

“Gladly we will,” Faramir smiled.

As they made their way to their rooms, Arwen noticed that her husband walked with his old confidence. There was a lively twinkle in his eye and he smiled greetings to passing servants.

“How is Eldarion?” the King asked.

“Growing by the day,” said Arwen. “He has his back teeth now and had learned several new words. His nanny is just putting him to bed.”

“I can hardly wait to see him,” said Aragorn.

“I will leave you to change for dinner,” said Arwen when they reached the bedroom.

“Wait, I have something to show you,” said the King.

Arwen stared in amazement as her usually reticent husband peeled off his tunic, followed by his shirt. “Look!” he said, “I am healed!”

Joyfully, Arwen studied the unblemished flesh. Her husband’s muscular body had lost its skeletal appearance and filled out his powerful frame once more, while his skin was lightly bronzed from the son. This was the strong man whom she had wedded, fairer than most Elves! She reached out with slender fingers to caress his shoulder where the brand had once been.

Aragorn quivered with delight at the pleasurable sensations her touch evoked. He drew his wife close and kissed her fiercely.

Arwen responded with equal ardour. Her fears that Eldarion would be their only child evaporated. She nuzzled her cheek against Aragorn’s bare chest. “Let us retire early tonight,” she suggested.

“As soon as we have eaten. I need to keep up my strength!” Aragorn replied, a lively gleam in his eye. He reluctantly released his wife before he was tempted to abandon all thought of dinner. “Faramir and I must tell you of our adventures too.

“It gladdens my heart to see you reconciled,” said Arwen.

“We are indeed,” said Aragorn. “All he did, he did for love of me. I am truly blessed to have a friend such as he!”

“You are indeed. You should cherish and nurture such love. Your Steward a treasure beyond price!”

“I know that now. Fool that I was to be so blind! You were wiser by far, vanimelda, and could see what I could not.” Aragorn kissed his wife again before retiring into the bathing chamber.

0000

“Strider!” cried Elbeth when the King and Queen entered the dining room.

“It is good to see you again, Elbeth,” said the King, stooping to embrace the Faramir's young niece. ”I have missed you.”

“Are you all better now, Strider?” asked Elbeth. “Even your shoulder?”

“It is indeed,” smiled the King.

“I told you kissing it better would work, didn’t I, Uncle Faramir? “ Elbeth said triumphantly.

Elbeth was allowed to join the adults for dinner, which was a lively affair as the two men related their adventures. Arwen was charmed by the tale of the hidden lake and delighted with the sprigs of dried niphredil that Aragorn had brought her, while Éowyn and Elbeth both held their breath as Faramir spoke of the giant spider. Both ladies expressed regret that they had not witnessed the mock dual with the grasses while Elbeth wished that she could have joined in the play fighting. The listeners were highly entertained by tales of the villagers and wished that they could have met Faramir and Aragorn’s newfound friends, especially Mistress Tasariel.

000

The next morning, two very contented couples emerged from their chambers to eat a hearty breakfast. Aragorn produced the cheese that Tasariel had given them which both ladies declared to be delicious.

“I have something to show you,” Aragorn told Faramir before the two men commenced their labours for the day. “Come, walk with me as far as the White Tree.”

King and Steward walked side by side, Faramir with a rather puzzled expression.
“Now look up towards the White Tower,” Aragorn ordered.

Faramir did as he was bidden. The Steward could hardly believe his eyes, as there fluttered the banner of the House of Húrin alongside the King's Standard.

“Thank you!” whispered Faramir, blinking away tears. ”But why?”

“Our Houses are bound in true friendship; and I would have all of Gondor know this,” said Aragorn, his eyes shining with paternal love. “We are as one family.”

"It pleased me greatly to pretend that I was your son these past weeks,” said Faramir, his voice choked with emotion. All his life he had longed to see his own father look upon him in the proud and loving way Aragorn beheld him now.

"You are my son, the fact I did not beget you makes you none the less so," said Aragorn, embracing him.

The End

A big thank you to everyone who has faithfully followed this story and especially to my reviewers. I would love to hear from anyone who has been following the story, but has not yet told me what they think.

This story marks the end of a long journey, which began over four years ago. For details of my future plans, please see my LJ, a link is on my profile page.
This story has sadly not been as popular as some of my others, but I admit it is one of my personal favourites.

A very big thank you to Raksha who has contributed a great deal to this story.

I hope to continue “Healing the Healer” very soon.

Wishing all my readers in the USA a very happy holiday on Thursday.

Healing the Healer

The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.

In loving memory

With grateful thanks to Raksha and Deandra

Illness is the night-side of life, a more onerous citizenship. Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick. Although we all prefer to use only the good passport, sooner or later each of us is obliged, at least for a spell, to identify ourselves as citizens of that other place. – Susan Sonntag

Aragorn and Arwen lay sleeping peacefully, entwined in each other’s arms. Life was sweet. The kingdom was secure; their friends were all happy and in good health, while their beloved little son delighted them more each day.

A sudden knock on their door disturbed their peaceful slumbers.

“My lord, my lady, Prince Eldarion is unwell!” cried the voice of Eldarion’s nurse. The young prince had been moved to his own chambers recently, as his liking for awakening early had left his parents severely deprived of much needed sleep. His nursemaid slept in the same room with him. She had been given strict orders to come to the King and Queen at once, should Eldarion have need of them.

Aragorn was out of bed in an instant, pulling a robe over his nightshirt and securing the sash around his waist. He was already opening the door, while Arwen was still collecting her wits. Despite her superior Elven senses, long years as a Ranger had made Aragorn quicker to react. “What is wrong with him? Speak!” Aragorn asked somewhat sharply, opening the door to reveal the anxious nurse, clutching a miserable looking Eldarion.

“He feels hot, my lord, and is fretful. I think he has a fever!” the woman replied. ”I am sorry to disturb you, sire.”

“You acted rightly. My concern for my son caused me to speak sharply to you. I apologise.” The King managed to smile faintly at the woman. She dipped her head. Although she had worked in the King’s Household since Eldarion was born, Aragorn’s humility and good manners never ceased to amaze her.

“What ails him, Míriel? Give him to me!” Arwen had joined her husband and reached out to take her child. She cradled him lovingly in her arms.

“He slept as usual after you put him to bed, my lady,” Míriel explained. ”Then he woke up crying a few minutes ago. I picked him up and he felt hot, and did not seem his usual lively self at all.”

Eldarion promptly vomited all over his mother.

“We will care for him now,” said Aragorn. “Will you have warm water brought to our chambers, please?”

“Whatever is wrong with our son?” Arwen's composure faltered as soon as the nursemaid left the chamber. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Let me look at him while you change your nightgown,” Aragorn suggested, taking the child from her. Eldarion was burning hot to the touch. It was all too apparent that the heir to the House of Telcontar had developed a fever. Aragorn examined him carefully, but could find no cause for it. He could only assume it was a spring chill. As soon as the water arrived, Aragorn steeped athelas in it and bathed his young son.

The royal couple spent the rest of the night trying to ease their fretful child. Aragorn’s healing skills and Arwen’s loving touch soon soothed the young child a little, but he continued feverish and listless throughout the next day, refusing to eat and crying if his parents left his side.

Aragorn cancelled his duties for the day and sent a message to Faramir in Emyn Arnen, asking him to return at once to Minas Tirith. Meanwhile, a distraught Arwen paced the chamber with their son in her arms.

“Try not to worry too much, beloved,” Aragorn advised. “All human children have fevers occasionally. Eldarion has been fortunate so far. I do not think he is seriously ill. He breathes easily and his heartbeat is strong.”

“He is so little, though, Estel; I cannot bear to see him suffering!” Arwen replied. “I would gladly be ill in his stead!”

“I know you would, as would I,” said the King. ”We can only try our best to ease him. If only I knew what was making him unwell!”

“My poor little one, he is shivering now. A moment ago he was so hot!” Arwen fretted.

“Give him to me,” said the King. ”I can keep him warm.” He loosened his shirt and tunic and placed his son under them next to his heart, where he held him until he became over hot again.

By the next morning the mystery of Eldarion’s illness was solved. Aragorn bathed his little son again and found the small body covered in large red blisters. Arwen looked aghast and burst into tears.

“We can rest easier now, my love,” Aragorn soothed her. ”I know what ails Eldarion. He has chickenpox, a common ailment in young mortal children, from which they soon recover. It is rarely serious, just itchy and unpleasant.”

Within a few days Eldarion was almost his usual lively self again. The main task of his devoted parents was to keep him from scratching and away from other children until he ceased to be infectious. Life soon returned to normal within the royal household.

***

Three weeks later, Aragorn awoke in the middle of the night feeling too hot. Deciding it was the spring weather, which as a Northerner, he still found difficult to accustom himself to, he threw off the blankets without disturbing Arwen, and went back to sleep. At daybreak, he arose and washed and dressed as usual. His head ached and the room seemed unbearably stuffy.

“Are you well, beloved? You have hardly touched your breakfast!” Arwen enquired anxiously.

“I am just not very hungry,” Aragorn replied, pushing the food to the side of his plate and wishing he did not feel so nauseated. ”It is just the weather. I wish it were not so warm.”

”Warm?” Arwen asked incredulously. “It is cold today, I think. Eldarion needed an extra blanket last night. Are you certain you are quite well.”

“I am late for the Council Meeting,” Aragorn said abruptly, evading her question. He hurried from the room before she could press the matter further.

Aragorn wondered if the Council Chamber had somehow miraculously moved, as the walk seemed especially long that morning. He felt exhausted by the time he arrived. He quickly sank down in his seat after opening the meeting. He struggled to concentrate on a debate whether or not trade tariffs to Harad should be increased.

Faramir, sitting beside him, looked on in concern when his lord repeatedly mopped his brow and kept closing his eyes. “Are you well, sire?” he whispered, so softly that only Aragorn could hear.

“I am well!” Aragorn bellowed angrily, making the councillors jump.

“My lord?” Faramir laid a placating hand on Aragorn’s arm. Much to his alarm he felt the flesh burning hot beneath the fabric of the King’s tunic.

Before Aragorn could react, the Steward had risen from his chair to address the Council. “The King is indisposed. The meeting is concluded for today. You are dismissed!”

“How dare you!” Aragorn demanded as soon as the others had left.

“I can see you are not well. As your Steward, it is my duty to protect my King, and more importantly, as your friend I care about your well-being,” Faramir said, unperturbed by Aragorn’s wrath. “It is no good trying to deceive me, you ought to be in bed, and I am taking you to your room now!”

Aragorn opened his mouth to argue but found he lacked the strength. He slumped dejectedly in his seat.

“Come, mellon nîn, can you walk?” Faramir said gently.

“I can if you take my arm,” Aragorn replied, conceding defeat.

Even though he leaned heavily on Faramir’s arm, it took the King twice the usual time to walk to the royal apartments. Faramir knew better than to suggest that they summon guards to carry their lord on a litter.

Arwen was alarmed to see her husband back from his meeting so soon and leaning heavily on Faramir’s arm. “You are ill, Estel!” she exclaimed, as together with Faramir, she helped him to the bedchamber. “You have a fever. I will send for a healer at once.”

“No, I forbid it!” Aragorn said sharply. “Am I not a healer trained by your own father? I know more than anyone from the Houses of Healing. I have caught a chill, nothing more. If you mix me some willow bark tea, I will soon recover.”

“I will do as you wish,” said the Queen. “I wish you would permit me to summon Master Aedred from the Houses, though. Your symptoms remind me of Eldarion’s.”

“That is impossible; he had a childhood illness!” the King retorted. “I will be well once I have rested.”

“You should see the healer,” Arwen persisted.

“He would know nothing I do not know already!” Aragorn snapped. “I tell you I just need rest, and the tea I asked you for!”

TBC