Chapter I – Gone
While the greatest lords of Gondor deliberated, the door of the Council chambers slipped open to admit a slender young man draped in the robes of a healer. He went unnoticed as he lingered in the corner of the room hesitantly, waiting for his moment to interrupt the King and his advisors.
"This is folly!" cried Lord Glosfalath, his lips drawn tight with anger. "Surrendering South Gondor to Harad? Our people have fought for years to maintain Gondor's claim over that land! Will we allow their deaths to have been in vain?"
"'Our' people, Glosfalath?" Prince Elphir questioned, raising an eyebrow. "It is the men of Dol Amroth who have fought and died in South Gondor. As their lord, I tell you: I do not believe that surrendering the land will, by any means, suggest that their deaths were in vain. It is a small sacrifice to pay for peace."
"A small sacrifice?" spoke up Lord Orodreth. "That land stretches leagues and leagues, from Belegaer to the borders of Khand!"
"We know where the land is, thank you, Orodreth," scoffed Lord Dervorin. "I stand with the King in this matter."
"That's not surprising, Dervorin, as I have never heard you say otherwise while we sit in the King's Council chambers," Glosfalath sneered under his breath.
Faramir glanced at Aragorn. The King had been willing to sit for a while and listen to the bickering of the lords, but now it was clear that he was agitated by the response to his proposal. Faramir cleared his throat imperiously, and the others fell silent at once. Aragorn gave his Steward a look of gratitude and paused for a moment before speaking.
The healer in the corner took the chance to slip quietly over to stand behind Prince Faramir and leaned over to whisper anxiously in the Steward's ear. Faramir stood up so abruptly that he nearly sent the poor young healer flying. The lords around the table, as well as the King, looked up at him with astonishment.
"I'm sorry, my lords," said Faramir, clearly struggling to contain his ecstasy. "I must pardon myself. The King has my utter approval on this matter…" Aragorn nodded to him knowingly, and Faramir backed slowly towards the door.
"Is something wrong, Faramir?" asked Elphir, eyeing his cousin with concern.
"No, no!" Faramir assured him hastily. "Not at all!"
"Then for what occasion do you leave the King's Council?" asked Lord Forlong II, surprised.
"Oh…" said Faramir, flushing with timid pride, "…the birth of my son or daughter." Faramir thanked them all as they burst into cries of congratulations and applause. After receiving the warm praise of the King and Elphir, Faramir dashed out the door after the young healer, quite spry for a man of fifty-five years.
"Hopefully that'll put them in a better mood," he mumbled to himself absently.
His heart beat thrice as fast as normal. Twice a father, he would be today, and he promised himself that he would be twice the husband he'd ever been. Éowyn! Oh, Éowyn! After fifteen years of struggling to have a second child, this was the moment when all of their dreams would come true! A loving wife and two darling children—what more could a man ask for in life?
"Elboron," he thought suddenly, hesitating. His son would surely want to be present for the birth of the new little member of the family. He stopped short and took the young healer by the shoulders.
"Can I entrust a task to you?" Faramir asked seriously. The youth nodded eagerly, intent to please the Steward on this, the finest of days. "Go up to the Tower and summon my son Elboron to the Houses of Healing. Go now!" Faramir watched the healer turn away and then hurried on to the Houses of Healing.
The Warden greeted him at the door of the birthing ward with a smile. "Congratulations, Prince. Your lady wife is in labor as we speak."
Faramir's breath caught in his throat. "You mean…already?" he asked nervously. "I'd like to see her…"
"I'm sorry, m'Lord, but I won't allow it," said the Warden gently. "As much as I know you love your wife, men tend to…get in the way during births. Most can't stand seeing the…er…process." He patted Faramir sympathetically on the shoulder. "Don't worry. It'll be over before you know it. Please wait here, and I'll come for you as soon as I deem it's best."
As much as Faramir wanted to argue, he knew that the Warden had experience in his work. Faramir wasn't one to question experts in the field, and he knew that Éowyn would want him to cooperate with the Warden, since she herself was a healer. So, he waited.
Sweat gathered on Faramir's brow, and he swiped it away anxiously. For what must have been the millionth time, he felt a tight clench in his stomach—a sharp pang in his guts that forced him to sink into a seat at the nearby bench. He could hear the healers rushing around behind him, fetching cloths to soak in hot water. When restlessness crept over him, he sprang to his feet again and paced before another twinge made him sit. He waited, and he waited, and he waited still. Pace. Pang. Sit. Stand. Pace...
"Where in the great bulë iâ is that healer with Elboron?" Faramir cried, growing more worried and impatient.
Suddenly, a healer burst from the room and sprinted pell-mell to the end of the corridor, panting for breath. She shouted orders so frantically and quickly that Faramir could not catch what she said. A flurry of anxious assistants rushed to follow the healer back to the birthing ward.
"What is it?" asked Faramir breathlessly. "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry, m'Lord, I must go," she insisted, scurrying quickly into the birthing ward and slamming the door shut behind him.
Faramir had seen the fear behind her eyes. Something wasn't right… He could feel it—a tingling in his gut, a flutter of his heart. Something was terribly, horribly wrong.
He knocked feverishly at the door until the Warden opened it. The Warden's face was lined with a deep frown, and Faramir felt his stomach leap sickeningly.
"I'm sorry, but we can't let you in now," the Warden rushed to tell him. "I will fetch you when it is time." He turned to go, then paused to say brokenly, "It is a girl, m'Lord," and hurried away.
"Father."
Faramir turned to face his son Elboron, who was coming swiftly down the hall towards him with the young healer close behind. Elboron was dressed in a hauberk of chain mail and had on only one of his vambraces, which told Faramir that Elboron had probably been preparing to take his shift in the Citadel Guard before the healer found him.
"Is Mother alright?" asked Elboron. A keen curiosity filled his eyes, and he peered earnestly at the young healer who slipped away through the birthing ward door. "How is she doing?"
"I don't know," Faramir admitted. "Something may be wrong… The healers are darting around like mad…" He managed a smile for his son. "You have a new baby sister, though."
A small smile lit Elboron's face. "When can I see her?" he asked, sounding worried despite how he tried to hide it. "When will we know if something is wrong?"
"I don't know…" said Faramir. "They haven't even let me in yet. In fact…why don't you wait outside in the gardens until I know what is going on. As soon as the Warden comes to bring me to your mother, I'll summon you."
The smile turned into an angry frown. "I'd rather not wait outside," said Elboron, agitated. "Something could be wrong. I can wait in here with you, can I not?"
"No," Faramir replied.
"Why not?"
"Because I am your father, and I said so." Faramir ignored his son's glare. "I need some time to myself, and it wouldn't hurt you to take a few moments of quiet reflection, either. I promise you that when I know what is going on, you will know what is going on. Until then, I'd like you to respect my wishes and go."
Elboron shot a vicious look towards his father and then stormed down the corridor towards the gardens. Faramir sighed anxiously and scrubbed his face, praying to the Valar that nothing was wrong…that he was imagining things…
The more time that passed, the greater Faramir's fear grew. He paced outside the door restlessly, his tunic nearly soaked with sweat. He pressed his ear to the door, trying to hear, but the thick oak halted any noise. Why wouldn't they let him see his wife and newborn child? Please let there be nothing wrong with the babe! A daughter, the Warden had told him. That was all that he'd been told.
"Faramir. Calm yourself."
The Steward ceased his rhythmic pacing and turned to see Aragorn striding towards him. The look Faramir gave his King was filled with intensity, anxiety, and doubt. Aragorn sighed and motioned for Faramir to take a seat beside him on the bench, and Faramir sat.
"Where is Elboron?" asked the King.
"Outside," Faramir answered shortly. His voice was gruff with weariness and tension. Half of his attention was focused on drumming his fingers together edgily. "In the gardens. I will not let him in until I am sure of what is going on, and he is angry with me." His bubble of anguished distress burst. "Aragorn, they will not speak to me! Why can I not enter? Surely I have a right to know what is happening! I'm her husband!" He rose abruptly and paced the stone floor in circles again.
"Faramir." Aragorn's tone was enough to make Faramir halt in silence, wringing his hands behind his back. "If you quiet yourself, I will go in and ask them myself. I will decide if you should be permitted in or not, but only if you calm your nerves."
Faramir nodded and half-collapsed onto the bench again. "Alright," he said, drawing in a shaky breath. "Thank you, Aragorn." The King nodded and entered the room where Éowyn and Faramir's baby girl were waiting.
The instant the door was closed, Faramir leapt up and resumed pacing. He squeezed his eyes shut, bit his lip, wrung his hands, and almost began biting his nails in a vain attempt to vent his fretfulness. Reestablishing cool composure seemed impossible.
After an eternity, the door creaked slowly open. Faramir jumped towards Aragorn expectantly, but he was stricken still at the pain and the tears on Aragorn's face. Faramir's heart pounded in agony. With fear in his shuddering breath, Faramir choked out the question: "A-Aragorn… How is my wife? M-My daughter?"
Aragorn closed his eyes and half-turned away from Faramir. When he spoke at last, his voice was strained with grief. "Faramir…I am so sorry… I came too late… The baby survived, but Éowyn…she…"
"NO!" Faramir shouted, gasping in disbelief. "No, you're lying! You're lying!" Aragorn lunged to grab Faramir, but he missed, and Faramir shoved the door open with all of his force. The Warden barred his way.
"Prince—"
"Out of my way!" Faramir ordered, frantic. Aragorn was lying! He had to be!
"I don't think—"
"Now!" Reluctantly, the Warden moved, and Faramir dashed into the birthing ward.
Wailing in the arms of a healer was a newborn babe, wrapped in clean white cloth. All motion in the room except the babe ceased when Faramir darted in. His eyes whipped back and forth until finally they came to rest on a bed in the far corner.
His heart stopped as he saw her lying on the bed, deathly pale and still.
"Éowyn! Éowyn!" he shouted, rushing to her and gathering her limp body up in his arms. She did not speak or move or breathe. He cradled her head against his chest, stroking her sweaty, golden locks desperately. He choked and coughed on his own breath, pain tearing into his chest. He pressed his mouth against her cold lips, willing her to respond. "Éowyn! Wake unto me! Éowyn!"
"Faramir!" Strong hands seized Faramir about his waist and dragged him away from her. He struggled feverishly to reach his beloved, but Aragorn held him brutally. "She's gone, Faramir! Please! She's gone!"
Heaving great, rasping breaths, Faramir turned his wild eyes on the wintry face of his wife and watched her for painfully long moments. Surely she would breathe…just now! No… Very soon, though! Soon! She'd breathe again, and they'd see! They'd see! She was alive!
"She's not gone!" Faramir insisted, tears pouring from his eyes. "She not gone! She's not! She's not…she's…" He let out a heart-rending cry of agony, torn from the deepest pits of his soul, as if he had been run through by a blade.
"Éowyn!" he shrieked. Faramir crumpled to his knees on the floor, and Aragorn went with him, still clutching him tightly. "Éowyn! Éowyn! No! No! Éowyn!"
bulë iâ
(deep void)