It was a hard chapter, guys.
Reviews are much appreciated. You can even throw rotten veggies at me, but I couldn't lick it any cleaner. And now forgive me while I go and die somewhere in a quiet corner.
Chapter 21.
Unbound
I love you.
There was emptiness.
And my soul ran dry. And I came from nowhere, and nothing I was. There was no place for me in the world.
I knew not how to leave him. Even now, when there was no one to leave. He had departed for Osgiliath days ago, and when he returned I wouldn't be there to greet him. Hear him. Watch him. It hurt more than the contempt he had shown me and I had accepted without a sigh of protest.
What I finally did seemed right, unavoidable. And still I was suffering, longing for him bitterly, drowning in so much rue and misery, I was dying...
And I couldn't die.
The resolve in me ran out quickly. It was barely enough to leave the chambers of lord Faramir. The temptation to stay and wait for my man was overpowering. Why didn't I turn back to face him when he was expecting it? What else could I lose, that I hadn't lost already?
Another look at him, I wouldn't ask for more. A small eternity to see enough of him for the rest of my time in Arda. No words - what could I tell him?
I want you.
The last remnants of my old nature's wisdom whispered there was nothing I could give him except for my love. A gift he wouldn't bear, had he even not cast it aside.
Yet, overriding the weak voice of reason spoke a cruel, jeering realization that the love I had harboured for him was no longer itself. And the one that had grown out of it was frightening.
I need you.
I had craved for him as Henneth Annun, I had feared for him as Helanthir. I had been ready to give up all to bid him from harm and bitterness. But only now the need welled up to be soothed and protected by him.
I ached to be in his arms if only to make this unbearable yearning rest still.
I was desperate for his strength. His voice, his touch, his pride, his harshness. His care.
How could mortals live with such a want of belonging?
I'm parched for you.
The sound of alien steps at my door would send me into painful shudder. It did now, no matter how clear it was who could call on me at an early hour like this.
I still hoped, my pain so strong it had wiped out all remorse...
I would yield to him, if he chose to have me. For only now I knew what saying farewell to him was. And it felt worse than losing him to death had once seemed to feel.
But the dark-haired man who entered my chamber without a knock or a warning was not and could not be him.
Ulmo be praised, he didn't return.
Oh, how he hurt me...
"Henneth?"
I moved to rise from my seat at the window, but the visitor stopped me with a short gesture.
"Forgive the intrusion, luv," said he, sitting down on the edge of my bed, "But I'm afraid the news is not very good."
Faramir was strolling along the dark corridors gloomily. He needed rest. The past few days cost him a year's share of troubles. He saw Boromir off without a spare word, giving him all he had asked for. The letter to Aragorn was sent a day and a night after the messenger from Osgiliath had informed him that the party had reached the destination safely. Faramir knew he would hardly be judged by anyone in Minas Tirith, but the failure to be honest with the King lay heavy on his shoulders.
Lady Helanthir was still in his castle. Staying in her room on her own volition, her loyal valet gathering up whatever was demanded for an easy travel to Rohan.
As far as Faramir could observe, since her visit to his chamber she hadn't spent a minute with Eowyn. He would rejoice in that, if he were able to say more than otherwise about himself.
He couldn't take a free breath till the girl was out of his domain. But he could try to sleep, and that was what he intended to do at the moment.
His mind heavy and unquiet, Faramir walked into the dark ante-room.
Strange as it appeared, the place was not as lifeless as he had expected to find it. It took him by surprise to see the door to the bedchamber crack open. Faramir frowned in confusion. It was way too late for the servants to tidy up, and yet too early for Eowyn to be in. She rarely let her head touch the pillow before the midnight.
The thin streak of yellowish light on the floor widened and grew brighter, as he stepped into it to lead himself inside.
No, it was not just a trick of imagination. He was not alone.
And Eowyn it was - sitting by the mirror and seemingly priming herself for the night's sleep.
She was clothed in a plain evening gown which had once been his favourite. A flow of satin, cold and smooth, throwing soft ivory sheen over her ever-white skin. The veil of goldish hair streamed so painfully tangible down the slender back.
Not a sight he had many chances to enjoy recently.
The brush was sliding along the silken tresses in a slow and measured manner. He was watching the movements silently, and his breath evened out little by little, succumbing to the soundless rhythm. Uneager to scare away the sudden promise of peace, Faramir chose to stay where he was to the moment when Eowyn looked up at last and their glances crossed in the mirror.
She didn't smile, yet she didn't look down or away either, holding his gaze till he found the strength to shake off his stupor and nod a wordless greeting. Calmly she lowered her head in return and shifted her attention to her own, already exquisite looks again.
With a furrowed brow Faramir pulled off his vest and moved to his usual place, a deep armchair in the farthest corner of the chamber.
He had definitely been expected. Someone lit a candle for him, and the books he hadn't touched for a while were freed from dust and piled on the small mahogany stand by his elbow carefully. He picked up the top one to open it without much enthusiasm and stare into the first page, reading and not reading the tangling lines as his thoughts were wandering far from whatever story they narrated.
The chamber was quiet for some time, the general stillness filled with nothing but the soft crackle of candle wicks and the whisper of dry paper under his fingers.
"Faramir."
He raised his head from the book, flinching at the gentle call. Eowyn had put away the brush and was sitting with her face to him. The candlelight blended with the aureole of purity she carried so proudly, making her whole self glow in half-darkness like a vial of sunshine.
She was smiling.
His breathing broke quicker than he could control it.
Only now it struck him they were alone – a thing so unusual of late, it felt almost a novelty.
"Yes," replied he, not at all surprised when his voice nearly cracked at the trifle word.
Small shadows played in the corners of her lips, lingered in the chiseled pits at her collar-bones, shaded the snowy triangle of bare skin which her gown revealed…
"Don't be cross with Helanthir," asked she mildly, "Don't you see she is unhappy?"
The blow was hard, even for someone who had toughened himself against the ruin of hopes by not letting them in. Faramir would laugh in bitter merriment, if the reason still left in him didn't warn him it was more than unwise.
Helanthir. There was always Helanthir, woe take her. Never him. Neither for his love, nor for his brother.
"What should I care for her happiness?" the disappointment made him speak far more harshly than he wanted.
It was painful to see a frown return to Eowyn's face, sharpening its maidenly smooth features.
"Will you just watch a woman in your domain give herself up to someone she doesn't want?"
"She seems perfectly able to stand up for herself," objected Faramir, this time calmer. After all, was it the fault of Eowyn that he was as brainless as to believe she had let her shields down for him?
As always, he'd have to be content with watching the trophy he had won for no service.
He was starting to doubt his palms had ever known the feeling of her skin, or his lips – the touch of her breath.
"Scared is what she seems," she admonished him gravely, "It is as if she dares not speak too much."
Against himself Faramir had to admit it was somewhat a just observation. He used to think of it not once before, but discarded the suspicions almost as soon as they had made their way to his mind. At a closer look nobody would say it was his scout whose presence made lady Helanthir cringe and lose her tongue. Laughed was what she did in the man's company, as sincerely as Eowyn hadn't laughed in his own one for a long time already.
Yet he couldn't say any of it out loud. This time Boromir made sure to bind him with a promise of silence he wouldn't dare break, for the Captain of Gondor valued his honour more than most things in life. And Faramir had no wish to probe whether the ties of blood were among those things.
"I don't see him forcing her into anything. She never turned down his attentions," he restored the book to the pile, knowing only too well he would hardly be able to make out a word of it now.
"She might pity him," objected Eowyn in a softer voice.
"Pity," uttered Faramir blankly, his gloom deepening as the possible undermeaning of the statement had sunk home with him, "It's a free realm. She could deny his hand if she found it unwanted."
"Not if she believed she couldn't have another."
Eru, Eru... Each muscle in his body stiffened involuntary. A swift reaction to sudden pain, as usual as it was pointless. Always too late to stop even physical sufferings, and twice unhelpful against a heartsore.
Unable to keep to his place, Faramir stood up and walked to the wide balcony opening. His heart was floundering in too much blood that had rushed to it.
He wondered whether Eowyn gave herself a full account of her words. Although, no matter if she spoke knowing what an unwished-for marriage was, or really believed it was only Helanthir she stood for, his own position was equally lamentable.
It was easier not to look into her eyes.
"Eowyn," he marveled at how indifferent he sounded, "Are you not too kind on this girl? What my scout knows about her might not be that innocent. Don't you think he's trying to protect her?"
"By driving her into the marriage she'll suffer in?" her tone was showing the signs of indignation, "What kind of a man is he to take advantage over a weakened woman?"
With every moment Faramir found it harder to breathe out. The thorn which had been sitting in his chest for so long, moved finally, not to leave him, but to drive itself deeper into where he was squirming in silent agony. He wished so bitterly to cradle her face in his palms, to ask if that was true, if that was really how she had felt for all that time. Was he that lacking?
"Such master, such servant," murmured he instead, succumbing to the ill-humour. Thankfully, she didn't hear him.
"Faramir...You have to do something."
He had to give up. He had known this moment would come. He had been made for breaking, so why had he allowed himself to struggle for so long? Love was no battlefield. There was more honour in an upright surrender. At least, for him.
If her pity let him claim her once, he would resort to it again, for he was pitiful.
With a deep sigh he forced himself to face her. After all, beggars were obliged to show their misery to the givers.
"I'm tired, Eowyn. There might be people who find pleasure in securing the happiness of all around them, but it's all duty for me. I'm not that free of trouble myself to teach others the ways to their souls' ease."
She didn't respond. He gave her no time to, spurred to go on now that he had for once resolved to speak his heart.
"I mind this city, though I wasn't made for it. I mind hundreds of people I'll never even meet. Each time I give my hand to someone I find myself arms full of their ills. What shall I do with mine?"
"Who wrongs you?" Eowyn was studying him in visible perplexity, yet something in her eyes, thrown so wide-open, gave him the strength to continue despite the doubts that were starting to gnaw at him. A glimpse of understanding, he hadn't expected to spark in her so easily.
"I wrong myself. I was taught responsibility, but not the measure of it. I burden myself with care for anyone who seems hurt to me and then I can neither help them, nor leave them be. Because I'm weak," in a spell of hopefulness he stepped up to her, close enough for a touch his mind and body were screaming for, "And I'm unhappy."
Her breast was heaving rapidly, nervously, and he nearly lifted his hand to cup her cheek, tilting her face up and claiming those reddened lips in a longed-for kiss…
With a short and angry sound Eowyn shrank back.
In a flash of comprehension Faramir was mortified to find that the feeling he mistook for sympathy was as far from that as it could ever be. More than anything, it was protest and indignation.
"Then, obviously, someone should help you out of it all," deadpanned his lady quietly.
And before he could learn how to bear the stab, she walked past him without a second look and moved out to the balcony in swift steps.
Beaten hollow.
There was not much left for him except taking his own leave once more, for he didn't know how to stay in for the night.
In the forenoon, when he returned to their chambers to change into fresher clothes, Eowyn was already out in the castle. The bed was made and seemingly untouched like no one had slept in it.
He was living with the feeling that the end was near. That was it.
And that was a week ago.
It took her two days of silence. And when she finally spoke, Faramir had to admit he'd bear thousand times as much not to hear what she had to say.
She asked for his formal permission to leave for Rohan with the foundling. To visit her brother, she said.
The grim resolve in her voice took away each bit of his still remaining poise. The implication of the request was clearer than he wished to confess.
Nobody paid official calls this time of the year, the busiest season there could be. As much as Eowyn loved her brother, even she would not risk leaving the household before the end of autumn at least. Unless the reason for such a call was so grave it made the trip unavoidable.
She was leaving him. And there was nothing he could do to stop her.
And so this morning he found himself in his study yet again, watching his wife make her last arrangements before the travel. His own hands were idle, unlike his mind, that was killing him over and over with uselessly morbid stipulations.
Entertaining a hangman's curiosity, he couldn't but wonder on what grounds he would be separated from her. Adultery was no option, as it marred both of their names badly. And was hardly believable, just as him being violent towards her.
On the other hand, the failure to provide to her needs fitted the occasion in each respect. Oh yes, he had no claims to raise against it, for he, indeed, had failed miserably.
After all the conceited promises he had made to her...
Part of him wished she chose the violence. In the end of the day he would be happier to let Eomer sword his guts out of him.
"The letter to your brother," said he levelly.
Eowyn accepted the scroll with a small nod to place it into her travel purse next to a satchel of jewels. No doubt those she had once brought here from Rohan.
"I've left the proper instructions for the pantler and the rest. You shall not be bothered when I'm away."
When. Not while. Faramir fought back the urge to repeat the word, driving her to an open confession.
What he saw before him was already over and above that.
"I'd rather that you took a larger retinue," was what he said instead.
"Mine is quite enough," reassured Eowyn on a flat note, "Do not think of it."
She tied the strings of the purse and picked up her light cape, thrown over the backrest of his chair. With a blank smile he took it out of her grasp and stepped behind her to arrange the garment over her shoulders in so habitual a gesture. She stood unmoving, even as his hands brushed over the folds of fine linen, lingering willfully as they reached her thin forearms.
"I hope the journey is safe," he cut short, unable to ramble about trifles anymore, "Eowyn...Was there a moment when you loved me?"
Eowyn gave a start, stiffening under his touch for an instant.
"What?" asked she in a tense voice.
"Nothing," replied he huskily, letting go off her arms, "Nothing at all."
She didn't love him, yes. But he wouldn't have her despise him.
Eru, Eru, what was he going to do once the door was closed between them?
No more detained, Eowyn turned to look at him in the eye, her face bearing a strange, uncommon expression he could neither recognize, nor read.
The pause they held was a long one.
"I should be going," said she at last.
Her tone changed, too. There was still strain in it, yet not of the awkward kind, like she had finally cast aside any doubts about her choice and accepted whatever her future bode her.
Like she knew exactly what it was.
"If you should," agreed he against the thickening heartbeat.
"Won't you need me here?" asked she almost softly.
"I will," admitted Faramir with difficulty.
Why was he saying all that? To bring to naught his desperate resolution? To whine another minute of agony out of her?
"Oh," Eowyn frowned a little, yet he could tell she had already ceased caring of whatever any of them said "You should have let me know that."
"Do not think of it," replied he below his breath.
Having tardily reminded himself that he was seeing off a Princess of royal heritage and his own noble wife, he made a deep bow, which remained unanswered if for another quiet nod on her part.
And then she took to her way to freedom.
To spare his and her pride, Faramir turned away. The door opened and shut smoothly.
End.
Over.
He was over.
Weakened and miserable, Faramir sank into the blasted chair at the blasted writing table and dropped his head into his trembling palms helplessly. Hurt. It hurt so badly.
He should have pretended that it had been nothing but a casual parting, for a month, a week, a day...
He should have crawled out of his skin to please her...
He should have stepped over his bloody pride and beg her to stay…should have…
…should have…
Losing control, he let out a stifled roar.
A slight motion behind his back whipped him out of the seat. With wild eyes Faramir stared at the linen-clad figure by the closed door.
It was her. She was standing there, and, seemingly, had never moved from the spot where he had seen her last.
"Eowyn…" croaked he shakily. His tongue was not obeying to him. He felt his face slowly turning red as it was dawning upon him that she had watched his every gesture, while he had been unaware of her presence.
She didn't say a word, the corners of her lips trembling in a smile he didn't dare call tender.
"Have you … forgotten anything?" asked he with no voice, thrilled against all reason when the small twinkle in her eyes grew brighter, and she carried herself across the room to where he froze in piercing expectancy.
"Yes," murmured she solemnly, bringing her soft mouth against his dry and aching one, "I forgot to kiss you goodbye."
"These royalties are imprudent," noted Artunnas dryly, "And inconsiderate. If we don't move out now, we'll boil in our own sweat on the way."
The remark was of little help, yet one had to admit he was right.
Although early, the day was already hostile. The air warmed up quickly, and there were no clouds in the sky to shield us from the sun, which was already high above our heads. We had to set off hours ago, but time passed, and Eowyn tarried with her coming.
The escort she chose to accompany her to Rohan was strangely small and unassertive. No court-ladies or noblemen to uphold the rank of the traveling Princess. Almost no servants. A few silent soldiers and a middle-aged officer.
And us.
Most courteously I had been asked to join the lady of Ithilien on her visit to her homeland and offered a horse of her stables. Not by Eowyn herself. The request had been passed on through Artunnas, and it had been Artunnas to tell me I could decline the horse, yet not the invitation.
I hadn't seen Eowyn neither before, nor after it. She proved constantly busy, and the only time I caught her eye she smiled at me apologetically and vanished deep into the belly of the castle again.
And if once I had feared I would have to explain myself to her, now there were all reasons to believe that no explanations would be asked for. She had already settled on helping me in the way that seemed appropriate to her.
The humble two-wheeled cart we'd been given was loaded with packs of clothing, wooden chests, wrapped-up food and sturdy waterskins, barely leaving enough sitting place for me and Zirah. My attendant had mounted his steed long ago and was now holding upright in the saddle, watching the gates of the castle with narrowed eyes.
The waiting was tedious, and still I had no heart to wish for the end of it. The cares of the departure dulled my mind and blunted my senses, but the heaviness still lingered, like a cloud of cold air in my chest. I realized that the moment Eowyn would show herself I would have to call my leaving real, and it scared me.
I looked away from the escort and discovered Artunnas studying me with a smile.
"It's too warm for you, isn't it, luv?" asked he in a low voice.
I shook my head, not wishing to trouble him.
"Of course it is," murmured Zirah under her nose. Plunging her hand in one of the bags, she took out a sheer scarf and tied it around my head carefully, "It will not do. I'll go ask someone what is wrong there."
Artunnas didn't detain her as she leaped out of the cart to make her way the rest of our forced companions. Having followed her leave, he turned to me again, grave now like he had been waiting for a chance for us to stay alone. The change surprised me, as it was not the first time we shared solitude since the day Faramir had freed him from the service, and, unlike me, he never showed taut either in talk or in silence.
I tried to smile, yet he didn't answer in a like manner.
"What did you tell Faramir about me?" he wanted to know all of a sudden.
The question was unexpected. Up to the moment he had behaved as though my visit to his superior was of little interest to him. The news of it he met with nothing but a knowing nod, and since then all I heard from him concerned the travel only.
"Nothing," replied I tardily.
"That's hard to believe, Henneth," Artunnas shook his head with a tired chuckle, "I lied to my sovereign, lied to my immediate officer, I was going to snatch you from under the nose of justice, and still I ride out of here as a free man. You spoke of me."
For a moment I could only wonder how blind I had been. Was I doomed to never see beyond what was put before my eyes blatantly? Likely so, because otherwise I would have told him all he needed to know before he was forced to ask me about it.
I was aware of his worries, but I forgot about them and him alike when he wasn't with me. And he never forgot about mine. That's why he had stayed hush on the subject, not a word of curiosity leaving his lips. It must have given him no rest, and yet he'd been saving my peace of mind at the expense of his own one.
He feared that not only my story had come into the light.
He didn't want to be pitied.
I could comfort him at least in that. There were no other ways to pay for the concern he kept showing me.
"We did. But it was nothing," repeated I as soothingly as I could, "I swear."
A small frown crossed his brow, and he averted his eyes from me to stare at the silent castle again.
"Thank you," dropped he curtly, "Now see, there's our lady."
The gates were opening slowly. The escort came to motion, which, however, was subdued again as it clear the newcomer was not Eowyn.
Another officer, stately and unsmiling, walked into the yard in a firm soldierly gait. Having given the people gathered a once-over look, he saluted shortly and headed in our direction.
Artunnas drew himself up in the saddle.
"I do not like it," muttered he, his hand landing firmly on the haft of his sword, "Hold to your place, luv."
Yet the undersense seemed to fail him this time, for the messenger meant to speak to quite another person. Bypassing my attendant without a spare glance, he halted before me and stooped his head in a reserved bow.
"My lady Eowyn regrets not being able to come to your wedding. Family business would hold her in Ithilien this time. She will visit you in Rohan when her duties allow her," with another bow he held out a velvet purse, which I took uncomprehendingly, "She begs you to accept this as your dowry."
"Thank you," my lips had moved before I knew what I would say.
"Not me, milady," replied he with the same steady intonations, "May your journey be safe."
At that he turned away and left the yard without further delay, gesturing for the escort to follow him. Obviously relieved, people obeyed the order willingly. Some waved at us in good cheer. One of the soldiers gave a wide grin to Artunnas, a maid kissed Zirah on the cheek...
The place was empty in no time, carts and horses left behind to be taken care of by other castle-men.
"What a way of saying good riddance," concluded my attendant in a cold tone.
His voice brought me back from the deep daze, inflicted by the happening. The purse weighed down my hand, and I could guess what it held, but why would I need it?
"Artunnas, what is it?"
Artunnas shrugged his shoulders, regarding the thing with an air of strange disdain.
"Money, Henneth. Dowry is what a wife brings to her husband so no one could say she was taken in mercy," a broad smirk stretched his lips all of a sudden, and he winked at me in a half-sly, half-embarrassed manner, "I didn't look too good now, did I?"
It was easy to see he was trying to lighten my mood, for reasons unknown believing I had to be offended, while I was not.
Somehow, though, the gift was burning my palm, undeserved and unsought-for as it was. If anyone was worthy of it, I felt it was not me.
"Please, have it," almost unthinking, I extended to purse out to the one who could make better use of it and prayed for him to take it. It was tiresome to deal with the workings of people's ways and minds. It wore me out to where I finally gave up to the urge to shift the task off my shoulders.
And wouldn't I have to accept more from him and his mother with little hope of ever returning their kindness?
The smile slipped away from his face. For a moment he was gazing at me silently, as though the offer meant more to him than it really did. I shrank inwardly under this glance, but it softened almost at once, like something he had read in my eyes set him at ease again.
Firm fingers molded around the back of my hand, and he drew it away from him with an equal measure of care and insistence.
"I owe you enough, luv," said he calmly, "I hope one day I can repay it."
The return of Zirah saved me from the necessity to answer. I wouldn't know what to say to him just the same.
Artunnas helped his mother settle back in the cart and sent his steed forward with a short whistle. Our horses took to the unhurried steps, the soft rattle of the hooves finally marking the start of my journey to yet another someone else's home.
And strangely I felt nothing. Neither relief, no regret now. I closed my eyes, yet he was not there. I wished to grieve, but what came instead was soberness of mind and bitter understanding.
I could have left the city long ago. It was only my selfishness that kept me here.
Against my own will I had never ceased to think him mine. Since the first day my streams had caught his reflection, through his life and death, and my death, and my life.
I didn't make sense without him, like a lonely lake in a lost cave makes no sense when there's no one to look into the calm mirror of its surface.
All I did, I did for myself. I was in need, and he was what I needed. It was not for his sake that I wouldn't leave him one on one with himself. And if there was anyone I consoled, it was me.
I still loved him, nothing could ever change that. I still bled deep in my heart, weak like a human that I was, and I knew it would never cease...
But whether I could make myself welcome it or not, we had parted. He didn't belong to me. He never had.
I had to give him freedom. Now, before I let myself miss him again. It's been long since had lost trust in my willpower.
I took a deep breath, the last one in the life where I was his. There was no way back.
The words came in whispers, barely heard even for me. And I couldn't but be glad of it.
"I'm letting you go."