Faramir Fiction Archive

The Healer (NC-17)

Written by Lilith

30 March 2004 | 11127 words

Chapter 8

Faramir heard the cry from afar. He knew in his heart that it was the king's.

The steward had followed Aragorn's path carefully. Although not the tracker that Strider was, he still knew enough tricks of the forest to follow someone's trail. Especially when that person was making no attempt to hide his tracks. In places it looked like the king had staggered, and Faramir kept his eyes peeled for any signs of struggle or blood. Fortunately there were none, but that did little to ease his worry.

His heart went cold when he heard the cry. He ran faster down the path, confirming the king's tracks as he raced along, hoping against hope that he was not too late. What could have happened? he puzzled. Was he attacked? There were no known enemies in the area, but there was always a chance that a stray band of orcs had breached Gondor's eastern border. Then there were the natural dangers of the forest. Wolves and bear generally kept away from men, but in scarce times they had been known to attack a lone man. Could the king have defended himself against a wild animal, weary as he had been this morning?

Lost in his thoughts, Faramir didn't notice at first that the king's tracks had disappeared. When he did, he berated himself. Faramir, what kind of captain are you? You know better than to lead when you're supposed to be following tracks! There was nothing to do but backtrack, and hope he picked up the track again quickly.

Aragorn, where are you?

---

Fortunately he only had to backtrack a half mile before spotting the broken branches and scattered stones that signalled that something – or someone – had slipped into the ravine. Faramir raced to the edge of the cliff. Looking down, his heart stopped. The king was lying very still at the bottom.

Eru, please let him be all right, Faramir prayed. Fastening his rope to a nearby tree, he lowered himself down the cliff. In a few moments he was beside the king, who lay face down in a shallow creek bed. "Aragorn," he said, as he gently rolled the king onto his back. A groan told him that the king was thankfully alive, if injured, wet, and cold.

Faramir quickly inspected the king's wounds. An ugly gash marred his handsome forehead, and had probably knocked him out. His ankle looked very bad. It was bent at an awkward angle, straining the king's leather boots. But that seemed to be the worst of the injuries. Aragorn's clothes had been ripped by stones and twigs as he fell, and he was sure to be bruised and scratched, but Faramir was relieved to find nothing more serious.

"Aragorn! Aragorn, wake up," he cried, gently taking the king into his arms.

"Faramir?" The king's voice was faint, but his eyes twinkled. "What took you so long?"

"Oh, Aragorn," Faramir hugged the king gently to his chest. "What happened to you?"

"I don't know – I slipped and – and I landed here, I guess." Faramir handed his canteen to the king, who eagerly drank his fill. Then he looked around in confusion. "I fell for a long time. How did you find me?"

"It looked like a warg took a tumble over the cliff," Faramir laughed. "If you were trying to hide from me, you didn't do a very good job of it."

The king clutched his forearms, giving Faramir a strangely protective feeling. "I would never hide from you. I'm so glad you found me. I cannot believe you did find me." He nestled his head into the captain's chest and said weakly, "Don't leave me, Faramir."

"Never, my lord," he said resolutely, kissing the king's head. He was not used to seeing Aragorn in this state. Usually he was the one sobbing in his arms. Now the tables seemed to be turned, and Faramir was determined to save the one who had saved him so many times before.

There was not much time before the sun began to set, when they would need to find shelter from the cold night. Without releasing his hold on the injured man, Faramir glanced around at their surroundings. He smiled when he recognized where they were. Less than twenty feet away stood one of the rangers' secret entrances to Henneth Annûn. That was a good thing, as Aragorn's ankle did not look as if it would bear him.

"Do you think you can you stand, sire?" Aragorn grimaced as Faramir's hand reached down to his right foot. When he tried to rotate it back into place, the king cried out in pain. "There, there, my love," Faramir whispered soothingly to him. "Sshh, it's all right, don't worry." Aragorn's face was pale, but he quietened at Faramir's tender words.

"I'm going to help you up," he explained calmly. "We're going into the mountain just here, it's just a few steps." How I will get you up the steps inside I don't yet know, Faramir thought.

He helped lift the king's bruised body, careful not to let him put any weight on his right leg. Nonetheless, the king whimpered softly.

"There, there, my love, you're going to be fine. I've got you, I won't let you fall."

"Faramir." The word came out almost as a sigh as the king clutched the shorter man's shoulders. The captain walked slowly as Aragorn hopped on one foot, and they laboriously entered the cave.

Inside the tiny alcove they were met with a long staircase hewn in stone, glistening with water from the falls above. The steps were jagged and uneven, difficult passage even for someone sure of foot. For the king in this state, impossible.

"Oh, Faramir," Aragorn sighed. "I can't make it up these."

"Yes you can, my lord," replied Faramir. Steeling himself, he bent and picked the king up in his arms. Aragorn was a bigger man, but the captain was sturdy though slight. Staggering only a bit, he started deliberately up the stairs. There were many, and several times he staggered and thought he would fall, but each time his will held. Up the first five steps, then ten, then another ten; and finally to the forty-sixth step, where they reached the haven of Henneth Annûn.

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