Note: I know next to nothing about what Emyn Arnen looks like, because Tolkien wrote very little about it. Therefore, I have had to make up just about everything concerning Éowyn and Faramir's home.

Chapter Thirty-Five

The following morning, Éomund's daughter was awakened by a bright stream of light that shone into her room and played incessantly upon her eyelids until she was forced to open them. When she did, her surroundings were so unfamiliar that at first she panicked, wondering if someone had taken her from Rohan. Then she remembered: she was in Emyn Arnen, and she herself was responsible for her exile.

With a sigh of disappointment, Gúthwyn sank back into her pillows. After a moment of looking around her new quarters, however, she had to admit that her situation was not entirely unfortunate. The view from her window was positively breathtaking, and Éowyn had outdone herself in providing her younger sister with comfortable arrangements. To top it off, the White Lady and her husband had yet to ask why Éomund's daughter was even intruding upon their home in the first place.

Gúthwyn grinned, relieved beyond all measure. She hoped that Éowyn's courtesy in this regard would last awhile longer—at least until she could get herself accustomed to a new way of life. Getting out of her incredibly soft bed, she walked over to the window and gazed out of it. She was unable to see the rest of the town from here, but when she squinted she could have sworn the White Tower of Ecthelion was twinkling at her in the distance.

She glanced away. A trip to Minas Tirith was certainly in her future, given the number of times Éowyn had written to her about visits with Aragorn and Arwen, but right now she had to concentrate on Emyn Arnen. How would she keep herself occupied here? The lack of broad, sweeping plains—or even fields—was evident, which meant that she would not be able to exercise Sceoh as thoroughly as she would like. She also doubted she would feel comfortable training around the Rangers, some of whom she would certainly recognize.

What to do, then? After her requisite tour of Emyn Arnen, she could not think of a single thing that would occupy her days the way they had been filled in Edoras. Her optimism began to fade. For what felt like the millionth time, she criticized her decision to come to Ithilien. She was forced to remind herself that her relocation was for Éomer and Elfwine's benefit, not her own.

Determined not to spend the day moping, Gúthwyn went to her baggage—which was still on the floor, since she had been too exhausted last night to put her belongings away—and dug out a dress suitable for seeing the town. After pulling it on, she rooted around some more and at last unearthed her brush. A few quick strokes later, she was done.

Almost as if the person on the other side of the door had a sixth sense about when Éomund's daughter was ready to receive visitors, she immediately heard a knock. "Come in," Gúthwyn called, crossing her fingers and praying that it was not Faramir.

She was in luck. Haiweth bounced into the room, a delighted expression on her face that meant only one thing: a new outfit. "Look!" the girl squealed, skipping over the mess on Gúthwyn's floor and doing a small twirl.

Éomund's daughter obliged and found herself wondering where that particular dress had come from. She had seen it before, she knew.

"Éowyn gave it to me," Haiweth explained, practically giddy with excitement. "She said it was hers when she was younger, but since it does not fit her anymore she told me I could have it!"

"That was very kind of her," Gúthwyn remarked, smiling at her sister's thoughtfulness. "Did you remember to say 'thank you'?"

"Of course I did!" Haiweth scoffed. "All of her gowns from when she was my age were in my dresser when I opened it this morning. Can you believe it? She said that they were now mine, because I should have a proper wardrobe for when we visit Minas Tirith!"

And your wardrobe was not proper before? Gúthwyn longed to ask, but she bit her tongue. As irritated as she was with Éowyn—or Haiweth—for making such an insinuation, now was not the time to get into a quarrel over it. "I am happy for you, little one," she said merely.

"I am not little," Haiweth reminded her. "I am taller than you are!"

"That is not saying much," Gúthwyn replied with a smirk. She was a full head shorter than the vast majority of her friends; even Lothíriel had an inch or two over her.

Haiweth appeared not to hear her. Instead, she crossed the room to the window. "You can see Minas Tirith from here?" she inquired. "Is that it?"

Gúthwyn glanced over and, sure enough, there was the gleam from the Tower of Ecthelion. "Yes, it is."

Haiweth sighed contentedly. "I hope we get to visit soon," she murmured wistfully.

"Faramir's position in Aragorn's kingdom will likely call him to the White City on more than one occasion this year," Gúthwyn assured her, though Haiweth's interest in Gondor—and not Rohan—stung.

Haiweth's gaze lit up. "Do you think we will get to meet Queen Arwen?" she wondered aloud.

"Should we accompany Éowyn and Faramir to Minas Tirith, that is certainly within the realm of possibility," Gúthwyn replied carefully, not at all liking the direction in which Haiweth's thoughts were running. "Why do you wish to see her?"

"Because," Haiweth explained impatiently, looking exasperated as if Gúthwyn had just posed the most idiotic question she had ever heard, "she is the queen of Gondor, and she is the prettiest woman in all of Middle-earth! Except for you and Éowyn. And…"

"And what?" Gúthwyn prompted when Haiweth did not see fit to continue.

The girl blinked, as if coming to herself and realizing that she and Gúthwyn were in the midst of a conversation. "Nothing," she said. "Does Prince Imrahil come to Minas Tirith often?"

Gúthwyn's jaw clenched even tighter. She had no qualms with Elfwine's grandfather, who had more decency in him than the entire court of Dol Amroth, but the fact remained that his sons, at least one of which was bound to travel with him wherever he went, had caused her great misfortune. "He must," she said, determined to maintain an expression of indifference. "He is a member of the Council of Gondor." The Council, led by the Steward of Gondor, had been reestablished by Aragorn upon his ascension to the throne. It consisted of various lords and army captains who advised him in regards to matters concerning the realm.

"Does this mean that—" Haiweth started eagerly, but Éomund's daughter had had enough. She recognized fully well Haiweth's poorly-concealed fascination with Dol Amroth culture, and she was in no mood to speculate over whether this or that noble might accompany Imrahil to the White City.

"Really, Haiweth," she cut the girl off, a bit more snappishly than she had intended to. "We are not packing up to visit Minas Tirith this instant, so why does it matter?"

Haiweth instantly deflated, but there was a certain measure of resentment in her gaze as she muttered, "Never mind."

A knock on the door brought an end to the uncomfortable silence. Both Haiweth and Gúthwyn blurted out, "Who is it?", identical expressions of relief upon their faces.

"It is Éowyn," a voice called back.

"Come in," Gúthwyn hurriedly replied.

Éowyn stepped into the room, her shrewd gaze picking up almost immediately on the visible tension within. "What is going on?" she inquired curiously.

"Nothing," Gúthwyn was quick to declare, though Haiweth was uncooperatively scowling at the floor. "We were just talking, that is all. Good morning, sister."

"Good morning," Éowyn responded, choosing to ignore the palpable enmity that was all but crackling in the air. Gúthwyn knew that the White Lady would seek answers from her when they were alone, so she was quite disconcerted when Haiweth mumbled something about finishing a drawing and hightailed it out of the chamber.

"What was that about?" Éowyn predictably demanded, stooping over to hoist one of Gúthwyn's bags onto the still-unmade bed. "Tell me while we unpack."

Gúthwyn obediently hauled the rest of her luggage on top of the rumpled blankets. "It was nothing, really," she lied. The first retort that had sprung to mind was You did not have to give her those gowns and imply that the clothes I have provided for her are not suitable enough, but the words sounded terribly churlish and ungrateful. Éowyn had opened her home to Gúthwyn and the children, and such surly behavior would be a poor reward.

"You have developed an unfortunate habit of frequently lying to people who care about you," Éowyn said sharply, giving her a disbelieving stare. "You are keeping too many secrets, Gúthwyn."

Éomund's youngest daughter gulped. Éowyn was far closer to the mark than she realized. If her older sister ever discovered anything of the painful recollections that choked her in Faramir's presence… If Éowyn found out that Gúthwyn had almost gotten married before her…

"You know most of them," Gúthwyn pointed out, her hands shaking as she pulled bundles of clothing from her bags. "I told you… I told you about Haldor."

There it was: the shadow of fear, the ghost of terror, the nausea that clawed momentarily at her insides. It was but a small taste of the dread that had consumed her years ago, when the memories had been fresher and the scars brighter. Now, the instinctive reactions were dulled. The sensations would worsen if she allowed them to, if she lingered in the darkness, yet she had learned to ignore them. Though she would never forget what he had done to her, she had finally managed to distract herself enough to keep Haldor at bay.

"He has been dead for almost ten years," Éowyn pointed out, "and in that time you have hidden much else from me."

Gúthwyn tensed, realizing what Éowyn was getting at. This conversation had nothing to do with Haiweth. Rather, Éowyn was now going to ask what she had not last night. She would interrogate her about why she had left Rohan and come to stay in Emyn Arnen, despite having never given the slightest indication of desiring to visit Ithilien.

This is it, she thought, bracing herself for the inevitable.

"So, tell me about what just happened between you and Haiweth, or I shall have no alternative but to hear her side of the story first," was all Éowyn said.

More confused than ever as to why Éowyn had not yet mentioned the curious nature of her sudden visit, Gúthwyn grudgingly relented. "All she ever talks about is Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth," she informed her sister irritably. "She did not appear the least bit upset when I told her we were leaving Rohan! Then"—Gúthwyn found that she was growing angry, her fists clenching at her sides—"she claimed that Edoras was excessively dull and there was nothing to do in the city!"

"I think Haiweth's dreams are too grand for Rohan," Éowyn suggested quietly.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Gúthwyn demanded, on guard at the merest hint of an insult to her home.

"Well," Éowyn began carefully, neatly folding several of Gúthwyn's gowns, "she has always been captivated by the glamour and riches of Dol Amroth. No offense to our brother, but there is not much opulence to be found in his kingdom—nor is there anything wrong with that. Yet to Haiweth, it seems lacking."

"But why?" Gúthwyn pressed her older sister, desperate for answers. "Where did I go wrong with her? How has she turned out like this?"

Éowyn looked sternly at her. "There is nothing 'wrong' with Haiweth," she said, somewhat frostily. "Her aspirations are simply different than yours."

"She spoke to me of marriage the other day!" Gúthwyn cried, unable to stop herself. "How could she even contemplate such a thing?"

Éowyn caught the distraught note in her younger sister's voice, and her expression softened. "She has not suffered like you, Gúthwyn," she explained gently. "She does not fear a man's touch, and nor should she. It is only natural for someone her age to give thought to wedding another, when all of her peers no doubt spend their time discussing the boys they consider handsome."

"You did not," Gúthwyn pointed out. "I never heard you talking about marriage or whom you found attractive."

"I kept my opinions to myself because I was King Théoden's niece," Éowyn replied, "and I knew the entire population of Edoras would take interest in said opinions."

"But—"

"Come, sister, surely there was at least one boy or man you had your eye on before you were taken to Mordor."

"No," Gúthwyn replied truthfully, her voice small. "There was not."

Éowyn stared at her in surprise. "How can that be?" she asked. "You were sixteen!"

"I-I do not know," Gúthwyn muttered, unnerved by the direction in which the conversation was turning. She felt as if Éowyn had shone a bright light onto her, illuminating her open wounds and the festering chinks in her armor for all of Middle-earth to see. "H-Haldor was the first person I ever w-wanted, the first person I ever kissed. After… there was nothing." Except Borogor. "There is nothing. I have learned my lesson."

"Learned your lesson?" Éowyn spluttered, horrified. "What Haldor did to you was not a punishment, it was his despicable means of controlling you!" Dropping the gowns and impulsively taking Gúthwyn's hands, she squeezed tightly and gazed earnestly at Éomund's youngest daughter. "You endured something that no one would wish on their worst enemy. I am so sorry, baby sister, that you opened your heart to someone who was heartless—but you cannot give up because of what that monster put you through. If you do, he has won!"

Gúthwyn wrenched herself away, unwilling to admit how effectively Éowyn's words were chipping away at the hard shell she had built around the remnants of her ability to love another. This shell had made it impossible for her to return Tun's feelings, to look forward to marrying Elphir. It had kept her, all these years, from taking that terrifying step into the dark territory of trusting any man to the extent that she could let him touch her. Éowyn was now making her doubt, making her question her reasons for cutting herself entirely off from affection. Was it possible for her to find recovery in the arms of a husband? Had she been wrong to not at least try?

Borogor, she reminded herself. The name comforted her and she waited for her confidence to return, for her heart to reassure her that she had done the right thing in abstaining from seeking a spouse. Yet for several seconds nothing came, until reluctantly, grudgingly, the pieces fell back together. Of course she was correct. She could never love a man who had the right to take her to bed whenever he wanted. Marriage was not for her. What would Borogor say if he knew she was entertaining the idea of intimacy?

Borogor has been dead for nearly a decade, said a blunt voice in her head that she could not quite suppress. He would not want you to be afraid of love; he would wish for you to experience what should have been yours from the moment you kissed Haldor. He always encouraged you to conquer your fears, to fight back against terror. What would he say if he knew you were not allowing yourself to feel again?

"Sister?"

Too late, Gúthwyn realized that tears were sliding down her cheeks. "This has nothing to do with me!" she burst out to an astonished Éowyn, furiously wiping her eyes. "We were talking about Haiweth, not Haldor—"

"It has everything to do with you!" Éowyn exclaimed, undaunted. "You are so afraid of men that you cannot comprehend why Haiweth is not. You are cosseting the girl because you dread the day when the boys her age start noticing her beauty, if they have not already, and you are doing her a greater disservice than you can imagine! You cannot protect her forever, Gúthwyn, and she will resent you if you try. Let her fall in love, dream of marriage if she wishes! In a few years she shall be a woman and she will have suitors by the dozen. The longer you let your memories of the past prevent her from having a future, the wider the gulf between the two of you will grow!"

Gúthwyn took several deep, steadying breaths, for awhile unable to say anything for fear of crying. "Y-You m-m-make it sound l-like I am a h-h-horrible mother," she finally choked out, sinking down onto the bed.

"You are not a horrible mother," Éowyn told her firmly. "You have loved these children as if they were your own, and fed them and clothed them and educated them as if it were you who had birthed them, for almost all of their lives. I know very few who would make such sacrifices. Yet you have to learn to let go of them when they no longer need you. Sister, sometimes I wonder if it is not you in fact you who needs them."

"That is not true," Gúthwyn whispered, trembling

Éowyn started to speak, but a knock on the door rescued Gúthwyn from a response that would have only made her even more miserable. "Who is it?" the White Lady called out, as Gúthwyn hastily wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her gown.

"It is I, Faramir."

Éomund's youngest daughter barely had time to curse her bad luck before the door swung open, and a puzzled Faramir stepped into the room. "One of the servants said you had gone this way," he announced, his keen gaze falling upon Gúthwyn's red eyes. "Is everything all right?" he asked kindly.

Get out! Gúthwyn wanted to scream at him. Leave me alone!

"We are fine," Éowyn assured her husband. "Forgive me—we were busy catching up while we unpacked, and I forgot to even mention the plan for this morning! Gúthwyn," she said, now turning to her sister, "how would you like to explore Emyn Arnen for the day? Faramir and I will show you around. We can leave the rest of this"—she gestured at the luggage that remained untouched—"for later."

"That sounds wonderful," Gúthwyn replied, injecting far more cheerfulness into her voice than she felt capable of.

Éowyn beamed. "Hammel, Haiweth, and Cobryn are more than welcome to come, of course," she added. "Indeed, they ought to join us. Gúthwyn, will you meet us in the entrance hall for breakfast in a couple of minutes? I shall go and find the others."

Gúthwyn understood: Éowyn was giving her time to compose herself. "See you soon," she managed.

The instant Éowyn and Faramir left, she set about making her appearance such that not even Cobryn would guess she had been crying. After splashing her face with water from the washbasin, she carefully dried off and forced herself to slowly inhale and exhale. Only when her hands stopped shaking did she take one last look in the mirror and pronounce herself ready for the day.

"What happened?" Cobryn muttered to her less than a minute after she had met up with the others.

Damn you, Cobryn, Gúthwyn thought.