April 5th
Éowyn's Diary
Béma, I can't remember the last time I slept this long. I'm not sure if the yellowstar has lifted my mood, or whether the sedative and resulting sleep (dreamless for once, thank the gods) has done the trick. But I don't feel quite as miserable as I have for the last few days. Though whether this is genuine or not I'm not sure. I also feel a bit of a headache, as one might from too much ale, and also curiously detached from the world, as if either I, or it, was wrapped in a layer of wool. Very strange. But it is a blessed relief not to feel wrapped in a black cloud.
I'm looking back on what I wrote last night. What a rambling load of nonsense. It would appear that the draught had a certain disinhibiting effect. But what am I to make of my nonsense? A case of herb induced confusion, or an example of the fact that a man (or woman) may sometimes utter truth when in their cups?
One thing I don't think I can hide from any more is the fact that I agree with Ioreth's maid: Faramir is a very attractive man. But I don't want to feel that way. I don't want to make an idiot of myself. I've done that all too recently. And I don't want to lose his friendship – if we still have a friendship, that is. I haven't seen the man in days, after all, so perhaps he thought simply of our time here as a chance acquaintanceship between two people thrown together by circumstance. One which soothed a difficult period while we convalesced, then was quickly forgotten about when more pressing matters came to the fore.
Oh dear, I must pull myself together. This will not do at all.
But I hear footsteps in the corridor. Dame Ioreth's, if I recognise that determined stomp! I'd best put this back in the drawer and find out what she wants.
...
What did I feel, that moment when he asked me? I remember his question: "Do you love me, or will you not?" I felt overwhelmed by something – confusion, mainly. It is not a new sense of confusion – I know I have been writing of my confusion for days now. And I have spent many of those days trying to convince myself that he puzzling thing was the intensity with which I felt his absence. It confused me because I'd spent so long trying to convince myself I saw him as a friend, rather than loving him as – well, I suppose as a lover. It was only this morning that I finally allowed myself to admit that I was attracted to him as a man. But I still did not know what to make of that.
And now, with his question, it was as if he had seen inside my head, seen the confusion that lived there. "Will you love me, or do you love another?" Then it came to me that I could simply let him sooth that confusion away – that if I agreed to be his wife, he would, with time and gentleness, make me content to be his wife. And so I agreed, still not knowing how to resolve my confusion, but trusting to him to help me in some way. I shall never forget the look of delight on his face.
For a moment I felt a pang of guilt. Surely that delight, that... well, it's finally clear to me that he loves me, that his words are not just flowery platitudes... Where did that come from? I had no idea he felt that way, but clearly he did, he does. And equally clearly – he deserved – he deserves more than the vague hope that his wife might one day grow to feel a quiet contentment.
I think it was that sudden stab of guilt that moved me to make light of my confusion. So I joked about whether Faramir could cope with the people of Gondor asking why he had chosen to tame a wild shieldmaiden of the north. And his mood seemed to shift too – suddenly there it was, that glint of mischief in his eyes that I'd seen before, half hidden up till this moment, but now quite unashamed. He gave that smile of his, and said, very simply, that he could. All the time he looked at me, sharing in the joke, eyes twinkling at the unlikely thought. And also looking very much as though the idea of a wild shieldmaiden pleased him in all sorts of ways and to an extent which… well, the look in his eyes made my cheeks burn. But in a good way. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by the feeling I'd been simultaneously trying to identify and hide from over the last few days: desire. I stepped forwards towards him and put my hands on his shoulders. I have a feeling he thinks he was the one who kissed me… but really, I think in all honesty that probably it was me who started it. Or gave an invitation so clear that even a man as reticent as Faramir couldn't miss it. In any case, he bent his head towards mine.
And in that instant everything changed. I had thought before that I knew what desire was. I was wrong. As he touched me, as his arms went round me, as his lips met mine, I found that I desired him with every fibre of my being, totally and utterly. There was a need for him, for his touch, that I had never imagined. I did not know until then that one could be undone and completely remade by such a simple thing as a kiss. I did not know that desire could be so strong. That desire could become almost a physical, solid thing. That it could drive a yearning to become so close to another person that you could merge into one being. And then I knew, knew with a certainty so strong that I could not now see how I had ever failed to see.
Faramir's Diary
She will be my wife! I am still not quite sure how I got her to agree, but I know that I am the happiest man on earth.
I should back-track a little, and admit that I had some help, or at least a nudge in the right direction. When I arrived at the house, the warden looked immensely relieved that I had come. He suggested I wait for Éowyn on the walls, and sent Dame Ioreth to fetch her. As Ioreth and I walked down the corridor from the warden's room, she looked at me and said "The lady has missed you, you know." I said that I had missed her, and that her friendship had become immensely valuable to me. To which she replied that she supposed I thought her (Ioreth, that is) a dull, prattling old woman, but that while dull old women might be getting a bit short sighted they weren't completely blind. I was rather taken aback and asked what on earth she meant. Dame Ioreth replied that it was plain as a pikestaff to her that I had been smitten with the lady since the moment I set eyes on her, but that what I appeared not to have noticed was that the lady felt the same way about me, and that if I didn't stop shilly-shallying around (that was her exact expression) I was in danger of letting the most precious chance ever offered to me in my life slip through my fingers. Then with a vague harrumphing noise, she disappeared up the stair case which led to the women's quarters within the houses.
I made my way to the walls feeling completely floored by this information. Amazed, disbelieving and at the same time elated – and as terrified as ever I had on the eve of battle. But Ioreth's words did the trick. I finally did what my imagined shade of my brother thought was such a stupid idea – told Éowyn exactly how I felt about her, and asked if there was any chance she could feel the same, then asked whether she would marry me.
Admittedly when she first agreed she looked somewhat stunned – poleaxed almost – by her own decision. Then she joked about taming wild shieldmaidens from the north, and I couldn't resist it. I kissed her – not a chaste, courtly kiss, but rather the sort of kiss that I have been dreaming about.
And I was right – she loves as she fights, with a fire and passion. It started with me kissing her, but very rapidly became us kissing each other.
And when we finally parted, she looked stunned – but a different kind of stunned. A much better sort of stunned. A sort of stunned that said she was seeing me for the first time as her lover rather than her friend, and that she liked what she saw.
Then it dawned on me that we had kissed each other – kissed each other as if we intended to get an heir to the house of Hurin right there on that very spot at that very moment – in front of THE WHOLE BLOODY CITY!
And do you know what? By all the Valar, I don't bloody care. She will be my wife and that is the only thing in the whole world that matters to me right now.
~o~ The End ~o~
Author's note: Firstly, thank you to the Ladies of the Garden of Ithilien for encouragement, and many helpful comments on earlier drafts of this. (Remaining mistakes are of course mine). And thanks to Tommy Ginger whose comment about "getting an heir to the house of Hurin right there and then" I have stolen (she made the comment originally in connection with Catherine Chmiel's absolutely wonderful drawing of the kiss on the walls).
The next episode in this set of pieces will be posted within the next week or so – it is time to see how Éomer is getting on at the field of Cormallen! And after that, I may well pick up this again, and write a sequel in terms of more diary entries and letters detailing the period between now and the events of Whenas in Silks.
Finally, thank you to all of you who have left encouraging comments. They make such a difference to me as a writer.