The First Presage of Spring
Chapter 10
Over the city of Gondor doubt and great dread hung. Fair weather and clear sun seemed but a mockery to men whose days held little hope, and who looked each morning for news of doom. Their lord was dead and burned, dead lay the King of Rohan in their citadel, and the new king that had come to them in the night was gone again to a war with powers too dark and terrible for any might or valour to conquer. And no news came, nor any rumour of what was passing in the brooding East.
Faramir, Steward of Gondor, walked alone in the garden of the Houses of Healing, and the sunlight warmed him, and he felt life run new in his veins; but his heart was heavy, and he looked out over the walls eastward. He knew the full tale of what the host had gone to do, for three days ago the Lord Aragorn had come to him again, and again he had been made joyful at the sight of his King. But they had spoken much, and Faramir had recounted again his dealings with Frodo and Samwise, and Aragorn had described the attempt they would make to give the Ringbearer some chance at his deed, if indeed he had made it alive out of Cirith Ungol.
Then Faramir asked, "My lord, I know time runs apace and you cannot tell the tale now, and maybe I will never hear its fullness, but can you tell me whether you were with my brother when he died?"
"I was, and great were his deeds in that hour," Aragorn answered sadly.
"I seemed to see you in a dream, beside his fallen body. Go now, my lord, and may the strength and virtue of our fathers be in you!"
And before the host had gone, Pippin had come to him and bid him farewell and asked him anxiously, "My lord, will you look after Merry? He is very downhearted that he may not go to the Black Gate because he is still mending, and I think maybe I will never see him again." Tears filled the hobbit's eyes.
Faramir took his hand. "You may be assured that I will. He will always have a place of honour with me, come what may, and if it happens that we too must ride to our deaths, he will go by my side. Take heart now, Pippin! If all comes to ruin, we have seen the King, and he at least will make such an end that even the Unnamed will shudder to remember it!"
But his heart was heavy as he looked now eastward and thought of the hobbit riding thither in such great company and of the two hobbits who maybe even now were toiling through a Dark Land no Man would dare.
Éowyn had remained in bed four interminable days. When she did not sleep, dark thoughts pursued her. She could not bear the inactivity, the waiting and doing nothing. The day after the host had gone, Meriadoc came in to see her for the first time. His eyes were troubled and anxious, but he smiled at her.
"My lady, I'm so very glad you're all right! I thought you were dead that day, and I thought I was dead, too."
She tried to reply cheerfully. "And yet here we both are, Master Meriadoc! Though it seems your recovery was swifter than mine."
He grinned. "I'm a hobbit, and we're made of tough stuff, they say." The grin faded. "But here I am alone again, my friends all gone to war and my good king lying dead in the Council chamber." He came up next to her bed and took her hand in both of his.
"Aye, he is dead," Éowyn answered. "But he foresaw it, and he did not die in ignominy and old age, as I had feared. He rode glorious and strong."
"Yes, he did, my lady, though my people have little knowledge of such things. He said, just before he died, that he went to his fathers, and even in their mighty company he should not now be ashamed. A golden sunset, he said."
"A golden sunset," she smiled tremulously.
"Yes. Oh my lady, all those days I did not know it was you, and when I did, I could not bear that you should die, though I knew you wanted to. I couldn't let you fall to – him."
Éowyn felt no resentment toward the hobbit. She squeezed his hand. "You saved me, Master Meriadoc, and you are very valiant. I should write a song about your deed, if I had the skill. And maybe there is something yet for me—something I do not see."
"Still round the corner there may be a new road or a secret gate," Meriadoc said quietly. "That is a song a friend of mine sings—sang."
"Is he dead?"
"I do not know. I may never know. He is gone far away, and he may never come back.
When the Captains were but two days gone, Éowyn bade the women who tended her to bring her raiment. They protested that she was not strong enough to rise, but she listened to none of it and rose, and they surrendered and brought her clothing. She would have preferred her comfortable Rider's garments to the fine blue dress they brought, but her clothes had been taken away, and they would only bring her women's garb. When they had clothed her and set her arm in a sling, she went to the Warden of the Houses of Healing, a tall, elderly man with white hair and a thin, wise face set with kind blue eyes.
"Sir," she said, "I am in great unrest, and I cannot lie longer in sloth."
"Lady," he answered, "you are not yet healed, and I was commanded to tend you with especial care. I beg you to go back."
"I am healed," she said, "healed at least in body. But I shall sicken anew, if there is naught that I can do. Are there no tidings of war?"
"There are no tidings, save that the Lords have ridden to Morgul-vale; and men say that the new captain out of the North is their chief. A great lord is that, and a healer; and it is a thing passing strange to me that the healing hand should also wield the sword. The world is full enough of hurts and mischances without wars to multiply them."
"It needs but one foe to breed a war, Master Warden. And those who have not swords can still die upon them. And it is not always good to be healed in body. Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter." She clenched her hand beside her and turned and gazed out of his window that opened to the East with eyes bright in her white face. She wished she had eyes to see the host and its captain. She had not even been permitted to look in that direction, for her window faced South. "Is there no deed to do? Who commands this City?"
"I do not rightly know," he answered, his eyes sad on her face. "The Lord Faramir is by right the Steward of the City."
"Where can I find him?"
"In this house, Lady. He was sorely hurt, but is now set again on the way to health. But I do not know—"
"Will you not bring me to him? Then you will know."
And such was both her air of command and his pity for her that he bowed and led her to the gardens. There she saw a tall man walking slowly to and fro, gazing out from over the walls to the East, and he seemed somehow familiar. The Warden spoke his name, and when he turned she realized he brought to mind the warrior Boromir, whom she had seen once long ago. Like him he was, yet different, taller and not so broad, more sober of eye and yet more noble of carriage, touched with wisdom and something that spoke of purity. She thought also of the nobility of Aragorn, yet this young man seemed not so high and remote, not like a king but like one who was worthy to serve such a king and would serve him with honour.
Faramir turned and saw a woman walking toward him with the Warden, and upon the sight of her he was moved with pity, for he saw that she was hurt, and his clear sight perceived her sorrow and unrest. Tall, fair, and pale she was, clad in the garments of the women of Gondor, and her face was as stone, like a statue caught by some sculptor in a moment of great grief.
"My lord," said the Warden, "here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan. She rode with the king and was sorely hurt, and dwells now in my keeping. But she is not content, and she wishes to speak to the Steward of the City."
Ah, Lady, I have for many days wished to look upon your face.
"Do not misunderstand him, lord," said Éowyn, and though she spoke the Common Tongue, she had not the musical lilt of the people of Gondor, who often spoke the Eldar Tongue amongst themselves. Her accent of Rohan gave her speech a rich, strong, sonorous sound, as if she spoke her own language with words he could understand. "It is not lack of care that grieves me. No houses could be fairer, for those who desire to be healed. But I cannot lie in sloth, idle, caged." She spoke the word bitterly, as if it bore great horror. "I looked for death in battle. But I have not died, and the battle still goes on." She had meant only to ask the Steward for some duty to do, but in his grey eyes she found something that made her speak her heart.
Faramir motioned the Warden away and said quietly, "What would you have me do, lady? I also am a prisoner of the healers." He looked at her, and being a man whom pity deeply stirred, it seemed to him that her loveliness amid her grief would pierce his heart. Would that I could help you! But not to your death. And she looked at him and saw the grave tenderness in his eyes, and yet knew, for she was bred among men of war, that here was one whom no Rider of the Mark would outmatch in battle.
"What do you wish?" he said again. "If it lies in my power, I will do it."
Elfhelm said that, and I know he regretted it greatly. "I would have you command this Warden, and bid him let me go." She met his eyes, and though her words were still proud, her heart faltered, and for the first time she doubted herself. She guessed that this tall man, both stern and gentle, might think her merely wayward, like a child that has not the firmness of mind to go on with a dull task to the end. And perhaps I am so.
"I myself am in the Warden's keeping," answered Faramir. "Nor have I yet taken up my authority in the City. But had I done so, I should still listen to his counsel, and should not cross his will in matters of his craft, unless in some great need." Yet it was almost with relief that I learned I need not go to Morannon. Though I ache to defend my City and my people, it is good to not fight, to for once not feel as if the fate of all the land is resting on me.
"But I do not desire healing. I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king, for he died and has both honour and peace."
"It is too late, lady, to follow the Captains, even if you had the strength. But death in battle may come to us all yet, willing or unwilling. You will be better prepared to face it in your own manner, if while there is still time you do as the Healer commanded. You and I, we must endure with patience the hours of waiting."
She did not answer, but she felt a little ashamed, and it was the wakening of a first healthy emotion and thought, brought not by condemnation from the Lord Faramir but by the understanding and compassion in his grey eyes. And as he looked at her it seemed to him that something in her softened, as though a bitter frost were yielding at the first presage of Spring. A tear sprang to her eye and fell down her cheek, like a glistening rain-drop. Her proud head drooped a little. Then quietly, more as if speaking to herself than to him, she said, "But the healers would have me lie abed seven days yet. And my window does not look eastward." Her voice was now that of a maiden young and sad.
Faramir smiled, though his heart was filled with pity. "Your window does not look eastward? That can be amended. If you will stay in this house in our care, lady, and take your rest, then you shall walk in this garden in the sun, as you will; and you shall look east, whither all our hopes have gone. And here you will find me, walking and waiting, and also looking east. It would ease my care, if you would speak to me, or walk at whiles with me."
Then she raised her head and looked him in the eyes again; and a colour came in her pale face. "How should I ease your care, my lord?" she said. What have I ever done to ease anyone's care? I fear I have added to the burden of care of many. Éomer rode not unburdened in heart eastward, as he should. "And I do not desire the speech of living men."
"Would you have my plain answer?" he asked, wondering at himself.
"I would."
"Then, Éowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful. In the valleys of our hills there are flowers fair and bright, and maidens fairer still; but neither flower nor lady have I seen till now in Gondor so lovely, and so sorrowful. It may be that only a few days are left ere darkness falls upon our world, and when it comes I hope to face it steadily; but it would ease my heart, if while the Sun yet shines, I could see you still. For you and I have both passed under the wings of the Shadow, and the same hand drew us back."
"Alas, not me, lord!" she said. "Shadow lies on me still. Look not to me for healing! I am a shieldmaiden, and my hand is ungentle. But I thank you for this at least, that I need not keep to my chamber. I will walk abroad by the grace of the Steward of the City." And she did him a courtesy and walked back to the house, and she was thinking less on the shadow within her than the darkening of pain in the young Steward's eyes and regretting a little less her own life and a little more that she should be the one to give him the pain.
But Faramir for a long while walked alone in the garden. If I have any grace to give, may it do more for her than allow her to walk abroad! May it bring the warmth of the Sun into her and drive out all shadow. And he wondered again at himself that in so short a time he should feel such deep pity and pain for a woman. His life had been consumed with study and defence of his City, and now when neither was before him, the Lady Éowyn came to fill his heart with more than pity.
When he returned to his chamber he called for the Warden, and heard all that he could tell of the Lady of Rohan, for the overheard conversation on the day of the Battle had done little but arouse pity and pose many questions, but the Warden could tell him little. So he sent for Merry, and while that day lasted they talked long together. Merry told what he had been told and had seen and guessed of the full tale. Legolas and Gimli had told him much of the king and Wormtongue, and he described the silver, persuasive tongue of Saruman, the teacher of Wormtongue. He told Faramir of Éowyn's love for Aragorn and her despair at his passing into the Paths of the Dead, and Faramir remembered what Aragorn had said: "In me she loves only a shadow and a thought: a hope of glory and great deeds, and lands far from the fields of Rohan." Then Merry told of looking into the hopeless eyes of the Rider he came to know as Dernhelm and of Dernhelm's great deeds. And Faramir learned much, more even than Merry put into words.
"Then it was indeed the Black Captain she slew. And you, Merry, had some part in it, though you speak little of that. I came much under his shadow, and ever I seemed to sink deeper into a kind of despair, but she has been under despair for many long months. The voice of Saruman ever working on her, draining all hope, and she always remaining in a dark house, who was born to ride free under the golden Sun. I do not wonder that her heart inclined to the free, valiant nobility of one such as Aragorn son of Arathorn. Has she hope there, think you?"
Merry shook his head. "I do not think so. He has often seemed melancholy, before they met, and I sometimes wondered whether he may not have left his heart behind somewhere. But he always had a grim task ahead and no time for other things."
Then in the fair evening Faramir and Merry walked in the garden, but Éowyn did not come. But Faramir learned many things about hobbits, and though in his brief acquaintance with them he had seen them frightened, sad, grim, determined, angry, now he began to see what he had guessed at, that they were merry of heart and long of tongue and ready to jest and keen for the enjoyment of life. And it saddened his heart to remember the pale, weary, burdened face of Frodo.
But in the morning, as Faramir came from the Houses, he saw her, as she stood upon the walls; and she was clad all in white, and gleamed in the Sun. And he called to her, and she came down, and they walked on the grass or sat under a green tree together, now in silence, now in speech. And each day after they did likewise.
And Éowyn learned many things of Faramir, Steward of Gondor, for he spoke to her of things he had never said to another, and she learned of Boromir and Denethor and the long line of the Stewards of Gondor. And he also spoke of the days of beauty and glory and peace, and he passed to other things that had always caused his heart to leap. Sometimes Merry joined them, lonely, and sometimes he held long discourse with Éowyn about Théoden. And Éowyn knew that somehow she was changing, but the darkness was still dark within her, and she feared.