March 25th
Éowyn's Diary
And so it is done! The halflings won through, the ring is destroyed.
The eagles also brought tidings that both my brother and Aragorn had survived. I felt almost weak at the knees with relief. Then I was almost sick. Which seems like a very strange reaction to good news.
I feel exhausted, deflated almost. It is a most peculiar feeling. I should feel buoyed up, happy beyond belief, but for some reason I don't. Mostly I feel like crying. Crying for the memory of Théoden King. For all the brave men who fell. For all the women who will mourn them. For all the people, children among them, who died when their villages were sacked.
When the Eagles came, Faramir put his arms around me and kissed my brow. I almost cried then. But I didn't want to. Well, part of me did. It felt overwhelmingly comforting to stand there, held in the arms of a friend, warm, safe. But the other part of me just wanted to be alone. Somehow it seemed too much, too raw – too private. So I ran away instead.
Oh dear! I fear I may have hurt his feelings.
Faramir's Diary
We have won! The Eagles came this morning. It is strange – I sensed the change in mood before they arrived. I stood high on the battlements with the Lady Éowyn, and somehow, with her beside me, I could not believe that anything dark or evil could endure. And now... It is as if the burden of a whole lifetime has been lifted from me. In that moment I felt joy, release, a burst of happiness soaring to the heavens.
The only fly in the ointment is that in a fit of happy madness, I took the liberty of kissing Éowyn – only on the brow (even I am not that much of an idiot). For a moment, I held her in my arms – and yes, her body is all soft curves, and just for a moment she leaned into me – and she almost seemed content to be there. Then she stiffened, moved away, and soon after made her excuses and left.
In short, I have made a complete cake of myself.
There is nothing for it but to get drunk – drunk to celebrate, drunk to drown my embarrassment. Fortunately, Beregond came by earlier – he has smuggled a cask of ale into the dormitory where the walking wounded are recuperating. I shall do my duty and dine with the court worthies, and make sincere speeches of the bravery of those who marched to Morannon and fell there, and less sincere speeches of gratitude to those who stayed behind (the ones, that is, who were not too old to fight – it is them that I find hard to stomach, not the elderly men who cannot wield swords). Then I shall take myself off to what little remains of my ranger troop and celebrate properly.