Sun upon the White City
July 2014 – major grammar revision- a big thank you to Certh, who pointed out some of the many mistakes and typing errors.
Summary: What happened in Minas Tirith, mostly in Houses of Healings, after Sauron fell? Read to find out.
This is mainly books-based fic, requires its knowledge. Though it doesn't follow the original storyline entirely.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, make no money from this, etc… Only this short story as whole is my work. Oh, and yes, the names of chapters are names of songs. This one is Schubert's string quartet in D minor.
And to the story…
Chapter 1 – Death and the Maiden
The sun shone upon the white city, announcing the long awaited arrival of spring. Darkness of the Shadow no longer loomed menacingly over Ephel Dúath. He was defeated. The air cleared, and within it - a slight fragrance of the first blooms. The silence of the previous days was replaced with singing, rejoicing and repairing what had been destroyed during war. All day long, hammers hitting stones could be heard, work masters shouting orders to workers. Yet one place seemed untouched by all this fuss. Silent as ever before, the Houses of Healings stood there tall with white shining walls, secluded from everything else. Inside them was a garden, offering a breath-taking view of the city, but not quite within its reach.
There, beside a great, cold, stone pillar, stood a figure. Her mantle of dark blue with silver stars embroidered around hem blew in a breeze. She just stood there, waiting. She knew he would eventually come. He always did. Sure enough, footsteps could soon be heard, nearing her in a pattern she had come to know so well in the past days. They drew closer and closer and stopped just behind her. She stood there, didn't turn, the still beauty of a cold marble statue.
"Good afternoon, my lord."
That broke the spell, revealing she was a living, breathing being. Oh, how enticing she looked, cloaked in his mother's mantle, with hood drawn up, hiding hair of gold crowning her head.
"Good afternoon to you too, White Lady of Rohan."
They stood silent for a moment or two, before Faramir spoke again.
"The city will soon be just as it used to be. What wounds the battle of Pelennor Fields left will soon be concealed. Minas Tirith shall stand proud and undefeated once again."
"Alas, my lord, not all of the wounds are in a stone. What of the injured soldiers? Not all of the wounds are visible in stone and mortar. What of the hearts of soldiers, who had seen their friends lie in puddles of blood with an arrow in their chest?"
Faramir's heart swelled. Oh, how he longed to take her in his arms-. He quickly suppressed such thoughts. Besides the obvious impropriety of such behaviour, she did not want him to. Cruel, cruel Fate, dangling his heart's desire barely at arm's length, yet with great chasm in between, one he despite all of his bravery, couldn't bring himself to leap over.
Her speech was passionate, but drained whatever of her energy was left. Then her voice cracked with poorly hidden sobs, tears welled in her eyes, the last question coming out as a mere whisper.
"What of my heart?"
She didn't know what possessed her, her, who was always so calm and cool. Never before let she anyone know of her weaker side, except her beloved brother. Even Aragorn, in whom she had confided her hopes and fears, knew not. Yet this man, who had been a stranger to her not so long ago made crumble the walls she had enclosed the remainders of her shattered heart in. She yearned for King's admiration, hoping to gain it by bravery, strength and skills with sword. But she wasn't that strong. She was tired of being strong.
"Time has the power to heal, to take sorrows away from a weary heart."
"Yet I believe mine is beyond repair."
Faramir put a finger under her chin, lifted her head and forced her to look directly into his grey eyes.
"Never give up on hope, Éowyn."
Both his words and the shock at the use of her first name caused her to withdraw, eyeing him warily, though not at all displeased.
"I am afraid I must return to my chamber. As always, it was a pleasure to talk to you."
The bud of hope Faramir had in his heart blossomed when she did not reprimand him about the proper way of addressing her and was only a bit startled. Feeling brave, he offered her his arm with words: "Then allow me to accompany you."
Éowyn hesitated for a moment, but then, though tentatively, took it. Together, they walked through the Houses. Occasionally, a healer would walk by, greeting them with nod. Not a word was exchanged between them, 'til they stopped in front of an oak door leading to Éowyn's chambers, those chambers with windows facing east, which Faramir had requested for her after their first meeting. He opened the door, allowed his lady fair to enter first and closed the door.
"May I?" He gestured towards the hood.
"You may." She replied, seeing no harm in his request. Her mind was clouded, bothered by her earlier outburst, fighting emotions, which threatened to overpower sensibility. In the meantime, oblivious of her inner battle, Faramir drew the soft cloth down. As a golden waterfall, the cascade of hair splayed on her back. So different from the raven-like tresses he had.
"Your hair is like my mothers. I recall how they used to feel upon my face as she kissed me good-night. She was so beautiful, I believe her beauty would be equal to Elven-maiden she was named after if only she had ever smiled."
Had Éowyn but looked at him, she would see his soft grey eyes filled with sorrow. First, his mothers' passing, then Boromir's death and, as if this wasn't enough, his fathers' final madness. He was born to be tormented and was tormented further. For the Lady he favoured above others wished to become a Queen. Though Éowyn wasn't aware he knew and certainly hadn't shared her secret, Faramir recognised her hearts' desire. The look on her face, when Isildurs' heir was mentioned, the tone of her voice when she spoke of him gave her away. Still, she refused to face him, preferring to talk to a window.
"'Tis second time you have told me about your mother. You always mention how beautiful she was, yet sad. You spoke of her, when you gave me her mantle."
Éowyn didn't know, where the conversation was going, and honestly, she didn't care that much. Anything to keep the talk away from the matters of her heart, or her at all. It relieved her to hear about losses of others, somehow making her own grief more bearable. Or was it just the effect of talking to Faramir? No, that couldn't be. Yes, she admired him, who in the city didn't, but that was all. Or at least so she tried to persuade herself. A small smile lit Faramirs' face.
"Then you remember my words, Éowyn?"
Her eyes flew up in surprise, but she didn't turn. Once again, he had called her by her name. It sent a pleasant shiver up her spine, she couldn't deny she liked the way it sounded coming from his lips. He always treated her as an equal in the past days they shared and became, could she dare to say it, friends. And a friend should be allowed to call her by her given name, should he not?
"Yes, I remember." Came a soft answer. She seemed neither appalled nor shocked as she was when he addressed her in this manner for the first time. Perhaps Lady Fortune didn't loathe him after all. But the chasm between him and Éowyn was still there, darker than ever. A moat, she built to protect herself. She may be the brave shieldmaiden, but she still felt fear, she was rejected, she lost her family. He decided to push his luck and recall their previous conversation.
"You spoke of your heart before, beyond repair were the words you used. And I ask you why? What was torn can be mended, what broken repaired, what shattered put together. Your heart could be whole again, if only you wanted to. But that is the thing, isn't it? You do not want it to be repaired. You relinquish despair." He knew he was walking on a thin ice. She could simply order him to go away and never speak with him again, but to his delight, she just sighed and began to talk.