Sun upon the White City
Disclaimer: I own nothing, make no money from this, etc… Only this short story as whole is my work.
Chapter 4 – Road to revelation
After the recent encounter, Éowyn wandered through Minas Tirith till the sun began to set. Streets were dusky, chill plagued the air, the vanguard of upcoming night. She went where her feet carried her, and now became quite lost. A smithy on her left side was now abandoned. She drew her cloak closer to her body and hurried up. Where, she knew not. Buildings looked more and more shabby. Not minding her footing for a while, the Lady stumbled upon something. It was a rock, a piece of a boulder thrown by catapult. Memories flooded her mind. Will she be ever free again? No, it was not a time to remember what is in past. No, she must find way back to the Houses. They stood in the sixth circle of the city. She had walked down, most of the time. So the logical course of action would be to find a gate that would lead up. But how can she do that? Oh well, perhaps it will be for the best to keep going and either find the right way or ask somebody. She mentally berated herself for getting lost. For letting her mind wander, when it should guide her. Foolishly she strayed from known paths, in reverie. Oh, why only had she ventured into unknown streets of Minas Tirith and hadn't stayed in those parts Faramir had shown her! How could she expect to find a way after only four days of going out? Why she hadn't sought his guidance today! The latter you know answer to very well, her mind whispered. That voice was right, she knew it. Once again, nightmares and memories assaulted her sleep and as she wept, he came. He did so before, five days back. Once more, he hadn't inquired a thing, just as she asked him then. He simply held her and his embrace soothed her. And it brought great embarrassment to the White Lady. Faramir had seen her weak. His very presence made her weak. When he was near, she questioned her heart's desires just like he questioned her every conviction. She hadn't forgotten their dispute about hope. Nor did she forget he asked for answer, but never demanded it. Hope, what is it? What does it mean to maintain hope? She thought she understood his words, but day after day, they were more and more enigmatical. Wooing a Lady, he spoke of. Should she, nay, could she hope? Dare to hope that - ?
Meanwhile her feet carried her through city now fully cloaked beneath night's black mantle of darkness. From behind a corner, a light could be seen in windows of some building. Éowyn sped up. Ere long she stood in front of large doors. She lifted her hand and knocked. After a moment it became clear that nobody would answer. Loud voices echoed through building, voices of quite drunken men. With a defeated sight, she lifted hand to handle and opened the door. Men inside noticed, who was standing at the doorstep and they immediately fell so silent, that even a fall of a needle upon stony floor would be heard. Every eye turned to her as she stepped in.
"What made you seek the company of weary soldiers, lady?" asked one of them, his words slightly slurred from more than a few drinks.
"I got lost and hoped you could show me way back to the Houses of Healing."
Éowyn's voice rose upon the hall, steady, unwavering, though she felt everything but that.
"Then I suppose I can help you." A gentle voice answered and Éowyn, startled, lifted her face to the bearer of said voice. The crowd parted with few respectful nods and soon enough, Gondor Captain stood before her. He was clad in a light green tunic with tree embroidered in the front, brown riding breeches and appeared to be the only sober among this company. Yes, always reserved, kind, honourable and obviously respected among these warriors.
"You will have to excuse me, for I will accompany the Lady of Rohan on her way back."
Faramir opened the door and held it for Éowyn to go first. They departed in shout of "Do not make haste, sir" and "What a nice lass you've got Captain". For the first time, Éowyn saw Faramir blush.
The journey was made in silence. Faramir led them through the city, up to the Houses, never hesitating in his steps. Maddening silence yet filled with unspoken questions. As their walk progressed, Éowyn could not stand it any longer and spoke.
"Say it. Say you are mad at me for getting lost."
Faramir turned his head to her, face full of confusion and replied.
"I am hardly mad at you. I do not blame you for wishing to explore Minas Tirith on your own. I only ask you to promise me to be more careful at your wanderings in the future."
His plea remained unanswered. Oh anger would be welcomed, she knew how to handle it! But this, this, how can she name it? Composure, yes that was the word, that was something new for her. They made it to the Houses in dead-pan silence. Ere long, they stood in front of Éowyn's chambers and the White Lady seems strangely reluctant to bid Faramir farewell. She had no desire to be locked among four walls, tormented first by visions, then by nightmares, both coming mainly from memories.
"My Lady, I couldn't help noticing, you seem, shall I say it so, terrified at the prospect of going to sleep."
Gentle grey eyes searched for hers, alas in vain, for Éowyn let her golden hair fall in front of her face, concealing it from the rest of the world. Faramir continued talking, still trying to cache her gaze.
"Do you remember when I came for the first time here, at night? You were crying, screaming. I came to you and held you 'til you were asleep. Twice already I held you, soothed you and was never once shoved away. When trapped in nightmare, it was me who gave you comfort. Éowyn, permit me to do so once more!"
And the gentle Captain could almost see a tiny thread connecting edges of the chasm between their hearts. Though it was thin as a cobweb, it was solid as mitril and it glittered in starlight as such. His musings were interrupted by a whisper.
"Weak."
He grabbed her shoulders, turned her and forced her to look straight into his eyes.
"You are not weak. You are the White Lady, the brave shieldmaiden of Rohan. Who was it that made you believe otherwise?"
"Grima Wormtongue."
Éowyn spat out that detested name.
"My late uncles' advisor and the right hand of Saruman."
She held Faramir's gaze without flinching, yet she didn't seen him, rather focusing somewhere far away, looking right through him.
"You know this and still believe his words?"
"Aren't they truth, after all?"
Faramir looked at her, his eyes gleaming strangely.
"What makes you believe they are?"
The woman in his arms smiled sadly, a single tear shed, rolling down her cheek. Before it could reach her jaw, a hand wiped it away.
"Look at me, just look at me. Standing here, afraid to go to sleep, because of nightmares, like a little frightened child. I am shieldmaiden, yet I do not desire bloodshed, a soldier who likes peace. I am hardly worthy of a company of such a great man and a warrior such as yourself, a mere woman I am."
Faramir's hand stayed like frozen on her face, now gently cupping her cheek.
"You are not mere women. You are the one who slew the Witch King of Angmar, the one about whom will people tell tales. And. If I may speak boldly, you are beautiful. Were there elven words to describe your beauty, it would be Gael-Míriel. The one whose beauty shines like a pale jewel."
Éowyn looked up at him, unasked questions in her gaze. And it was the expression in her eyes, that made him brave. Brave enough to cross the chasm. Brave enough to lean closer and press a kiss to Éowyns' lips. It was soft, swept over them like a butterfly's wing, yet shook both of them to their cores. It lasted hardly a second, yet it felt like an eternity. With a horrified gasp, Éowyn dashed out of Faramir's arms and submerged into her chamber's. As she closed the door, she leaned back against the hard wood, a sweet smile slowly spreading upon her once stern lips.