Hey, I have to clear something up...if you are not cool with Beregond as an important character in this Fanfiction, then stop reading. Further, it states in The Return of the King, chapter 10 "The Black Gate Opens" on the first page... that Beregond is leading a 'company' of Men of the City to the Black Gate. So if that aspect is in question, let's get clear and get on with it!
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The day was cold. The north wind was rising and the lands below were dusted as grey as their mutual eyes. Eowyn and Faramir stood high upon the city walls, looking out at the stormy weather. It was their 5th day together. Swollen clouds glided listlessly through the sky. Faramir shivered and glanced towards Eowyn, wrapped tightly in the starry blue mantle that had once belonged to his mother, whose own beauty had long passed far away to reaches of memory and twilight. It was alive however on this fair woman, who moved quivering and breathing in ways he felt only he noticed.
Eowyn pulled her eyes desperately away from the lands engulfed in terror and struggle; and she found it all the more difficult to quell her dread and curiousity. There was something so quiet and still in the air that she felt she was all alone with Faramir on some mountain, the last survivors of war or shipwreck or desolation. Carriers of a fragile light.
"Something is happening..." she whispered, shuddering.
She felt him turn upon her and she met his motion, her body tilting beneath these deep folds soft and warm, that she had first protested against and now accepted. They spoke, the words both music and discord to her ears; and he waited patiently as she called for the reverent silence the moment seemed to bring and ask for.
The silence was completely consuming, clouds of mist filtering through their vision. Eowyn gasped, feeling that time was limited and stifled and then... expanded to something as fierce as the eye of a whirling storm. Faramir and Eowyn drew closer beneath the weight of the crashing worlds and dimensions, their shoulders brushing, then their arms taut, their fingers upturned. They breathed, the only sound they heard that of the blood beating, thrumming, singing in their hearts.
"Do you feel the tremor deep in the earth?" he asked of her as the north-eastern mountains where the Black Gate lay seemed to shimmer and tremble.
She nodded, sensations flooding and casting out her numbness, for the sun above them had not yet died...
Their hands merged, but they did not know of the physical linking of their flesh, engrossed as they were with the inner waiting, the inner battle.
Darkness and Light erupted and flared, and the wind blew at them bringing something that released the bonds of the shadow. When Faramir spoke of his dreams of Numenor, Eowyn sighed and listened, thinking yes, I understand this that goes beyond us... He gave her hope with his words, words that seemed to shelter and support her faltering feet. They faced eachother now without the fear, and Faramir held her with a wonder he had never known.
When he spoke her name and kissed her brow, Eowyn felt something give way in her heart, a heart that was now smiling. When they parted, they saw how the light had changed and the earth was now a golden hue. As if some wave had passed and uncovered the stars.
In the sudden mighty wind, Eowyn's hair strayed back from her brows in a nimbus about her head, and as Faramir watched her she was aware of his own grand aurora, his eyes penetrating and holding her attention, revitalizing and tightening her nerves all at once. The curve of his cheekbones and beard, his torso and hands held straight and strong, this handsome, unlikely man who had been her dearest companion at the end of the world as they knew it.
Then the greatest vision beyond any charted hope they beheld; the Eagles were coming, flying from the east, streaming to the great western city of Gondor to bring news of victory long desired and answered.
In the early night-time hours when the moon was rising, Eowyn and Faramir returned to the Houses of Healing for the balm of rest now resting freely over the city of Minas Tirith. There was a luminous luster about them and in the Houses, and as their feet drew apart over the mosaic tile floor, they turned eagerly back to eachother as if their glance could melt the distance now between them. The breeze brushed their faces with cool radiance. They bowed and smiled, sharing a resonant look of sweetness and friendship and possibilities that Eowyn carried back to her chambers as a visceral song.
The next morning was a fair one and all the people were rejoicing. Lothiriel came and hugged Eowyn and her features shone. Eowyn dressed as quickly as she could and went out into the gardens. She waited a long time but they remained still and empty. Her heart racing, she hurried back to the Houses and sought out Lothiriel.
"Lord Faramir... where is he?" Eowyn questioned.
"He has now taken up his pressing duties as Steward; he is occupied I am sure by matters of state and all the little important details of business that need him and have called for his presence," explained Lothiriel. She looked up and searched Eowyn's pale face. "Is something wrong?"
"No," Eowyn choked out, turning on her heel and swiftly taking her leave. Oh yes he had matters of import to attend to and had left without word... why was she even surprised? Understanding and angst warred within her. She felt the return of some strange weakness as she sat on a bench beneath a drifting tree and suppressed her urge to cry. He was gone...
April came and wagons came bearing men and requesting supplies and the presence of Merry and Eowyn on the Field of Cormallen. Merry happily rode away to reunite with his friends, but Eowyn blatantly ignored her brother's commanding summons. She could not bear for any to see the truth written in her face and the growing pain she carried in her limbs. Her injuries were inflamed and her once joyous heart down-trodden. Pride kept her walled in the Houses in an illness of her spirit that she did not desire Aragorn to witness. Hope now laughed at her and she cursed its teasing, taunting ways. She felt her place was still here, now caged ironically by her own hand. Eowyn did not see any sign of Faramir for many days until one day someone both new and familiar was brought to the Houses of Healing.
As Merry prepared to leave, a man was brought from the wagons in need of the herbal preparations of the Houses in case of infection from wounds. It was Beregond, son of Baranor, who had fought bravely by the side of the Halfling Peregrin Took in the last battle before the Black Gate and had been struck down by a troll-chief. His injuries were not said to be he life-threatening but he needed the care of the Houses.
Eowyn had hurried to the sick-room of Beregond after Bergil and Lothiriel told her of his presence there. Her heart thudded dully, and she hoped he would recover and not sicken. Skirts kicking out before her, she rounded a corner to face of all people... Faramir.
They paused as animals poised in flight and stared at one another.
This was their first meeting since the day Sauron was destroyed.
"Eowyn!" he said, falling in step beside her. "I am sorry I have not seen or spoken to you in so long! I have been kept incredibly busy and I regret my time has been limited. I have been sending you my best. I trust you are well?" His words scraped over her seeming forced and false. He was trying too hard.
"Yes, I..I have been well enough my Lord," she said glancing at him tersely before looking ahead.
"You do not have to treat me with such stiff courtesy you know... I feel I know you and am as fond of you as any sister would be to me, or my cousin Lothiriel, now that we've spent time together."
Her grey eyes shot to his. "DO you know me now, my Lord?"
He faltered. "Yes.. I..I .. suppose. You are going to see Beregond? He is a dear friend of mine and I heard you met him ere he left to the East. I hope he is in good shape and on the mend."
Eowyn forced herself to keep walking steadily forward. "Yes... I dearly hope so too."
Silently and with some strange distance, they reached Beregond's room.
Eowyn followed Faramir as he approached the bandaged figure on the bed. "Beregond!" he intoned warmly and with care, taking the man's hand in his. Beregond's usual exuberant tone of greeting was lower but still buoyed by hearing Faramir's voice. The men greeted eachother, and then Beregond's eyes turned to Eowyn, standing withdrawn and cloaked.
"And you bring an injured man the brave White Lady! What an example of fortitude and healing must I now live up too!?" Beregond smiled, streaching the bandage over his cheek. "I am grateful you remembered me, my Lady," he said in a softer tone which Eowyn heard pain inscribed in.
"Always will I remember noble men," she told him back, fighting the strain in her voice and in her clenched muscles. The two men were then curiously staring at her in a way that made her feel exposed.
"Forgive me... " Eowyn hesitated. "I must leave you to catch up and visit.. it is not my place." She turned to flee.
'Wait!" Beregond's voice caught her where she was. "I would think it would ease my healing if you were to speak to me again, My Lady Eowyn; and I would tell you of my experiences in the east if you are interested in my company and I hope... it would not burden you."
"Never a burden! I wanted to look in on you and see how you are faring. But I do not want to infringe..."
"You may call me Beregond. I am a simple, humble man."
"But a renowned one of integrity... as your Lord would say I am sure."
Faramir inclined his head, and Beregond seemed relieved. The energy in the healing room felt easier and not as oppressive. "For once my words work..." thought Eowyn with a glimmer of something more then the abashment that she had been feeling.
When she had bid them farewell for the time, she shut the door behind her and leaned against its solid mass.
Perhaps Faramir did not want her assistance or company anymore, but maybe- just maybe, Beregond did...
Confusion roiled her next days, but her injuries and distress began to lessen in their acute pain as she set herself to helping those who deserved praise in the days following the victory and the end of the war.
Beregond became a focus. She tried not to think of her thwarted feeling towards Faramir, and found herself taking a peculiar comfort in his friend. Had Faramir ever truly loved or cared for her? In their short, yet meaningful time together... something had grown and taken root, but was it now dying in their fear of commitment and innate shyness?
Lothiriel guided her in her desire to attend to Beregond's injuries. While the healers hovered doing the most intimate and important physical work, Eowyn took up the simpler yet still industrious tasks of caring for Beregond's slash trailing from nose to chin, and then just talking to him. The scratch on his cheek was shallow, but most thought it would leave a scar. When she would change the bandage and apply the herbs and salve, he would tell her of the battle and the Halflings that had saved the world.
It gave a spiritual rise to her tormented heart to think of these small folks who had wrought such goodness and miracles.
Beregond's eyes had been bloodshot, his breathing shallow, and his face grey when she had visited with him one on one for the first time. But now color had returned, his breathing was deeper, and his gaze grounded with a newfound clarity. This was an accomplishment to Eowyn, as was seeing him with his son Bergil. "To hold my son again in my arms and know we are safe... what a gift," he had told her, earthy brown eyes shining.
They spoke of things both serious and light, and one time as Eowyn's hand grazed over the skin of his cheek she wondered at their ease with one another. He met her eyes then, and her fingers shivered with an electric jolt at the contact. The jolt overwhelmed her. Once I vowed never to touch men... and now I am healing them? She made an excuse of gathering supplies across the chamber to gather her wits. 'How did I come to this, desperate to hide, but also desperate to be close to people?'
Eowyn shook her head, adjusted her sling and went back to Beregond. "Who looks forward to Bergond's recovery.. how much family do you have beside Bergil?" she asked him later that day.
"If I do not face penalty for my disobedience, my parents, siblings and cousins in the south will be pleased to see me again. Alas! But Bergil is my only son and child... and... " Beregond's voice caught in his throat, sticky and thick with some great emotion Eowyn couldn't quite fathom. Impulsively she wrapped her fingers in his, pressing his cold hand.
"Beregond..?" she whispered.
He closed his eyelids. " My lovely wife died sometime ago... in childbirth with our second child... as did this second son of ours soon after."
"I am so sorry..."
"Don't be. She gave me many days and nights of bliss and contentment. More then most men deserve. And then there was my firstborn son... My Bergil is an image of her spirit. These are memories bittersweet, memories bittersweet..." He trailed off.
Eowyn flushed, removing her hand and curling it upwards, her nails digging into her palm. What would she know of such grief? Yet she understood it...
That night her dreams showed her a smiling woman who led her to a veiled chamber where Beregond rose whole and healed to greet her. They embraced, but then his intense warm eyes changed to cool grey ones... Aragorn's eyes, Faramir's eyes... she screamed and reeled back, feeling hands grasping hers. "Eowyn! Its just me! Come back!" Lothiriel's anguished voice broke though her reverie. Eowyn opened her eyes to Lothiriel's hazel ones. "You are crying out and fighting me, are you okay?"
"It was just a bad dream, so real..." Eowyn collapsed against Lothiriel's shoulder and began to quietly weep.
The next day Lothiriel summoned her resolve, thinking of Eowyn's strange unhappiness, and she went to Faramir encouraging him to seek out Eowyn. "I know what you feel for her.."
He ducked his head at her words. "I know..."
"Just know that your time may be running out..."
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