He Said, She Said - Part One
By Deby
April 18th, 3019 of the Third Age
The Steward had come at the urging of the Warden and when he saw that she indeed had again grown pale, he chided himself for neglecting her. He had known something was amiss when she had refused her brother's summons to the Field of Cormallen and still he had chosen to attend to matters of state rather than the matter closest to his heart.
With a pang of guilt, he returned the welcoming smile she gave him and it had taken little in the way of persuasion to entice her to walk the walls of the city as they had often done when he, too, was in the Healer's care. The sun shone brightly upon them, a phenomenon the people of Gondor had seen too little of before Sauron's downfall. The brooding clouds of slate that had once hovered over the city had been shredded and scattered by the clean, healing winds of victory over the darkness. Passing through the circles, the couple trod streets that had been cleaned of the stains war had left behind. Pounding hammers, rasping saws and cheerful voices blended to sing of the rebuilding and rebirth of Minas Tirith. The din was muted by distance as they climbed the steps to the parapet.
'When had she been first touched with frost? 'he mused as they wandered side by side in silence. 'Was it with the decline of her uncle, the late King of Rohan, or the needless death of her beloved cousin, Theodred, the King's only son and heir? Perhaps the cause lay even farther back in her past , back to the death of her mother that came too soon after the slaying of her father.'
Should he venture a guess of his own, he believed the seeds had been planted the day she made a heart-breaking, life-changing discovery. Though she possessed a proud spirit, an iron strength of will, and mastery of the sword equal to any knight of the Mark, she was bound and fettered by a custom that decreed she could exercise none of these things. Yet, in the end, when she defied the rules of propriety, she attained honor and glory on the Pelennor when the Witch-king fell to her sword with the aid of the halfling, Meriadoc.
Faramir was helpless to stop the shudder that shook him from head to toe. He had ridden under that same Shadow, it had almost been more than his wounded mind and body could bear. And this seemingly delicate as a lily-of-the-valley, golden haired beauty had slain the Undead but it wasn't enough. A quick glance to his right proved his reaction had gone unnoticed and he returned to his reflections.
Now it seemed that Eowyn sought a different honor for herself, one they both knew would never be hers just as she waited for the summons that would never come. Then again, could it be that she remained in the city for another reason? The two had passed many an hour in each other's company while they dwelt in the Houses of Healing, most of them pleasantly. The Gondorian captain had learned much about the Rohirrim shield-maiden, and she of him, as a friendship developed that allowed the sharing of confidences. Faramir had seen no sign that she considered him to anything but a friend, yet he had sensed something hidden in the clear blue eyes that she was not ready to reveal. A mere friend? Perhaps, perhaps not.
Still, what of himself, what did his heart hold for the White Lady of Rohan? Pity? Affection? Love? To be sure, it had begun in pity for the valiant warrior who was blind to the valor of her deeds. But time spent with her had transformed pity to admiration for here was a woman who would not be content to sit at a man's feet, not this woman. She would take her rightful place at his side and the man who had Eowyn at his side could accomplish anything.
It was with that thought that he had realized pity and admiration had given way to love. Faramir of Gondor loved Eowyn of Rohan, of that he was certain. Could she, would she settle for marriage to a lowly Steward and give up her fruitless wish to be the wife of a King? He could only knock at the door of her heart and pray she would let him in.
~finis~
'Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, Eowyn! But I do not offer you my pity. For you are a lady high and valiant and have yourself won renown that shall not be forgotten; and you are a lady beautiful, I deem, beyond even the words of the Elven-tongue to tell. And I love you. Once I pitied your sorrow. But now, were you sorrowless, without fear or any lack, were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, still I would love you. Eowyn, do you not love me?'
Faramir
The Steward and The King
The Return of the King
