Éowyn awoke to the sun streaming through her window. She smiled at the kiss of its warmth, opened her eyes, and rose from her bed. Éowyn saw that her usual white dresses were waiting for her. The mantle Faramir had given her was also now hanging in the wardrobe. The stars on the mantle reflected the sunlight, sending a hopeful sparkle throughout the room. He wouldn't have given her such a gift if there was no love there, would he? No, she had to believe that he loved her, as she loved him. The thought of it brought a smile to her face. On her bedside table was the lavender, and her token. Faramir's leather strap down laid next to her brush. She decided to wear his leather today. Éowyn changed into the white dress, then braided her hair, absorbing the scent of Faramir as she tied in the leather strap. She wondered if today would be the day. She was ready.
Éowyn left her chamber, and found Ioreth, who smiled upon seeing her, "Your schedule is normalizing my dear! I'm glad you take well to routine, for today will be about the same as yesterday. The Warden would also like to have a meeting with you, as your desire to be an apprentice means we need to set you up to learn the scholarship of the healing arts."
"I am gleeful for it!" Éowyn beamed, though she snuck a look around for the raven haired Steward. He was not there.
Ioreth studied her, wearing a faint smile. Éowyn blinked any disappointment away, and turned to start her rounds. First to the herb cabinet to make the soothing salve, which she would be applying to the nearly-healed man's ear.
"Ioreth? We are running low on dandelions," Éowyn called, "I've lessened the mixtures I'm making slightly so that we might have enough for all the charges for rounds today, but I think you should have the Warden ask for new herbs."
"That we will do girl! The Steward has already begun tasking our usual scouts with finding herbs. He wanted to make sure we have all we need for the returning injured. I will add dandelions to their list." Éowyn's gut dropped by the mention of the Steward. If he had tasks in the House of Healing, why had he not been to see her? Éowyn's worries blossomed into doubts. Before she let those doubts further germinate, she turned to Ioreth.
"Can you also make note that one of the Ithilien Rangers is still within our walls? I believe he would improve if the Steward came to see him," Éowyn thought of the man with the haunted eyes, and his dreams. Éowyn wanted to add something else to the note to the Steward: that Éowyn would like to declare her love for him, but she held her tongue.
Ioreth looked at her appraisingly, "that I can do girl, though I daresay our poor Steward finds himself with more work than time!"
"He'll come, if he knows that his hands can help heal," was Éowyn's reply.
Ioreth nodded at her, and made note of it. Continuing the rounds, Éowyn now undressed and redressed the bandages of the afflicted, and Ioreth instructed her on how to create a sleeping draught.
Then with a wink, Ioreth showed Éowyn how to create an elixir for those who had had too much drink. The celebrations around the city meant that some merrymakers had overindulged. Éowyn watched as Ioreth gave each in turn the bitter-tasting elixir, then scolded them for their irresponsibility, "the elixir does not have to be bitter, I just think it helps make sure the lesson sinks in." Éowyn laughed.
In the middle of Éowyn's shift, a workman was brought in after a damaged archway had given way above him. His arm had been crushed. The healers quickly got to work. Éowyn lingered on the periphery, watching as they masterfully reset the man's bones, entombed it within a hard case, then bandaged it together. She marked every hand movement, every gesture, every herb passed. Ioreth asked Éowyn to feed the workman a sleeping draught, and she relished in making it, then fed it to him. The workman's expression went from pain to relief the moment her draught touched his lips. Éowyn beamed. The life of a healer would be a good life.
After they had patched up their newest charge, Éowyn made her way into the Ranger's room with the soothing salve. He was awake and waiting for her, and he smiled when she walked through his door.
"The White Lady of Rohan I have now heard you called. Why do you tarry here, when the celebrations are in the fields?" the Ranger was bold. Éowyn wondered if this was the practice of the men of Ithilien. To give herself time to consider how she wanted to answer his question, Éowyn went about her healer's work, appraising his wounds, then dressing them. They were slightly less angry than yesterday.
"Yes, the celebrations are in the field, as is my brother and your King, but I am finding that I prefer the small triumphs in this place when the bandages come off for good. Crying celebrations out in song ignores that there are still battles being fought," Éowyn replied, "My sword was my escape from the cage of a noble woman. Here in this House I found my purpose. I prefer these small battles to those grand celebrations."
And my love, she thought. The Ranger's expression subtly changed as she thought it, and she wondered if her love for Faramir was betrayed on her face. She had the feeling that the perceptive blood of Númenor could read her heart, now that she had let it open.
But where was her raven haired Steward? Had he taken her hesitancy as a sign that her love belonged to someone else? Aragorn. Éowyn felt ice rising in her stomach at the thought.
"You are wise," he looked at her, "Gondorians never took enough stock in their allies to the north, and the valor there. You came to our aid in our hour of greatest need and turned the battle to save us. And now we find the greatest of you healing our wounds."
"Only me, for now." Éowyn replied, the conversation was formal yet also strangely intimate.
"What of your future?" he was bold indeed.
"I'll return to my home, hopefully bringing healing with me. I reckon I will marry some great Lord of the Mark there, to help my brother seal allies and rebuild our realm. Unless I find that the love I have in my heart is requited," Éowyn was not sure why she was sharing such intimate things, but something in the man with the haunted eyes told her she could.
"Is that also what you wait for?" the man asked
"No," Éowyn replied, Yes.
"I am no more than a Ranger of Gondor, but I can see plainly your quality. Any man who does not see that should never deserve such a gift as you, White Lady of Rohan," perhaps Éowyn had put too much poppy into that soothing salve…
"Why do you speak so boldly to me, good Ranger?" Éowyn knew men to be bold in their pursuit of her beauty, but she felt no threat from this man. His boldness came from somewhere else.
"I live under the shadow every night, and will myself to wake up each morning for the hope that I will see my wife and children again. Speaking formally has done naught for my nightmares, yet speaking to you, I feel lifted. Two nights in a row and I have not screamed or nearly swallowed my tongue," he spoke plainly, and Éowyn found deep respect for his honesty, "You and Captain Faramir are the only two who made tomorrow seem less horrible than today. I should like to know those who have done me such a great service."
Éowyn blushed, and smiled, "Tell me about your wife and children, Ranger of Gondor"
"My name is Beregil, White Lady." Beregil smiled, "I'd be honored to hear my name spoken by she who laughed at fear itself."
"Well, Beregil, I shall rejoice if you tell me your tales," Éowyn replied, feeling the smile upon her face, and a calm effused her to soothe this man.
And so she sat and listened to his story. Beregil's wife had taken their children and fled across the mountains before the onslaught, and he had yet to hear from them. The healers had promised to alert him immediately if his family sent word. She could hear his sadness, and it moved her to pity. But his tone was lightening merely with her presence, so she continued to sit and to listen. Of Beregil's encounter with a Mumak, and how his son would have squealed to see such a beast. Of the white hot fear he felt when his wife was giving birth to their daughter. Of the letters they wrote when he was on assignment. Suddenly, a clucking of Ioreth's tongue let Éowyn know it was time to move on. Éowyn smiled and said goodbye, then promised that she would be back.
"In all his time with us, I'd never seen him light up like that, so I let you stay there. Lifting spirits is as much a part of a healer's work as healing wounds, and I do think you lifted him today higher than he has been lifted. The Steward will be pleased." Ioreth said, and with the title Éowyn started.
"Has- has the Steward been in contact?" Éowyn turned white
"Yes, he came by personally to pick up the Warden's notes. I believe the dandelions have already been restocked." Ioreth was speaking, but Éowyn was not hearing.
He did not seek me out. In fact, he is doing the opposite. The realization stabbed Éowyn in her heart. The blossoming doubt swarmed throughout her, and she was left listless. All obstacles had been removed from their path. She would not have to return to Rohan to lead her people. She could marry Faramir and heal Ithilien by his side. But perhaps that was not what he wanted. Perhaps he sought comfort from her as they stood awaiting their doom and death, but now the reality of his station had hit him, and he knew better than to marry a wild shieldmaiden of the Rohan. Perhaps... he did not seek her because he feared that she had reserved her heart for another. The one who broke it. Éowyn's limbs felt heavy.
"Are you alright girl?" Ioreth was trained to see pain both in limb and in heart, and Éowyn's was clear to see.
"My heart is heavy, but it is lifted when I can use my hands to heal," no use in lying, though she did not dare reveal the entire truth, though Ioreth likely guessed.
"The Steward made his way to Beregil's room, and I think overheard you two talking. He lingered outside the door for a while, though I am not sure to what end," Ioreth looked thoughtfully at Éowyn as he spoke, "He seems to have taken your note to heart. I've no doubt that he will be back."
Ioreth had hope in her eyes, but Éowyn could not look at her. Why had Faramir not sought her? If only she could talk to him, all would be made clear. And yet, to declare her love for him if it was unrequited would only bring both of them hurt. If Faramir could not love her back, still he would feel her pain as his, so gentle was his person. No, she would have to wait for him. But what if he never came? What if he had so convinced himself that she loved Aragorn that he would never come?
Éowyn thought of the mantle, and felt crushed by it. She had accepted it as a gift, as a sign of his heart, but perhaps it was a gift given to see one lovely and sad as his mother wearing it before the end? And now that hope had returned, he had given such a high gift to one who was not to be his future wife. Éowyn could feel a tear threatening to break through her eyelid. Ioreth seemed to have caught her mood.
"Well my dear, my rounds are over for the day, as are yours. I have sent for a healer's bath for you, which you should take. You've done well today, and after you've bathed, please see the Warden to start collecting the books that we will have you read for your apprenticeship." Ioreth pinched Éowyn's cheek, then leaned in to whisper the last words, motherly care in her voice, "People will need your healing tomorrow, as they did today, and as they did yesterday."
With that, Ioreth turned from her and walked out of the corridor, leaving Éowyn in privacy. Éowyn let her legs carry her back to her room, barely aware of where they were leading, and took the leather strap from her hair. A token? She was no longer sure. Perhaps it was not a token to him, but it certainly was a token to her. Passively, she followed the healer's assistant to her designated bath, and lowered herself into it.
Now that she had felt the nurturing warmth of real love, she feared she would never be able to offer such love to another, and that realization pained her deeply. She could only see two pathways before her now. One led back to Rohan, with her brother. She wondered if she could convince him to let her stay unmarried, taking care of her nieces and nephews, and working on healing the people and the land. Her renown as Wraithbane could be useful, even if she was loath to offer her marriage hand. And Éomer would never force her to marry against her will, not after all they had been through with both their mother and Wormtongue. But could she deny her brother such a precious diplomatic gift? Sealing an alliance with her marriage? Could she find happiness, even if she had to abdicate hope that she would be able to fully love any husband who was not Faramir? She did not have the heart to think upon it.
The other pathway was the pathway she desperately desired; Faramir's wife and mother to their children. The desire for it was so palpable she wondered if others around her could feel it. She wanted to seek Faramir out and demand that he speak to her plainly. She would tell him of her deep abiding love and let him decide what came next. She was Éowyn Wraithbane of the House of Eorl, her blood sang with the nobility of both Rohan and Gondor, and yet she wondered, for such a noble man as Faramir, if even that was enough. Perhaps he loved her back, but knew that he could never sink so low as to marry her. Éowyn lowered herself deeper into her bath at that thought. Perhaps those poisoned words of Gríma held some keen truth, that the most noble of Gondor could not look upon the stock of Rohan as equals. Lord Aragorn had not even viewed her as a person. Perhaps Faramir's pity came to the same end, enough for days before doom but not enough for hope returning to Middle Earth. Éowyn let sobs escape her from below the surface of the water.
Éowyn waited for her sorrow to abate before she surfaced, grabbing her lavender soap. Its scent broke her from her despair. No, this sorrow would not do. She was not her mother, and would not fade when the only love she could abide was taken from her. Éowyn would love Faramir, but she would not forget her vow. It did not matter if he did not love her back, she was more than a maiden waiting to be rescued. She was a warrior who saved her people and the people of Gondor, defeating fear. She was a healer, and so she would be a healer, whose enemy now was death. She would dedicate all her waking hours to the healing arts, and would tell Éomer that his choice was to make her a healer in Rohan and create a House of Healing or return without her. Healing made her feel nearly as good as the fire in Faramir's eyes, and far greater than wielding a sword.
Éowyn rinsed her hair and raised herself out of her healer's bath. She pulled on her cloak and her slippers, and headed back through the corridors to her chamber. In her room, she dressed in her white gown, now shining with the light of the rising moon. She was still and forever would be the White Lady of Rohan. Éowyn combed her hair, and put on a robe, but before she set off to the Warden, the gleam of little silver stars found their way to her eyes. Faramir's mantle was lighting up under the sky, and Éowyn choked down a whimper. Could he have really given her such a gift if there was not love there? Perhaps he could. But the stars on that mantle carried some insistence for her that she should not abandon hope. Not yet.
Éowyn looked defiantly at the mantle, then at the lock of her hair tied in leather. They could stay here with her for now, for she had not abandoned hope just yet. Finally, she turned away from them and walked through her door to find the Warden.
Éowyn found the Warden's door open, and he smiled warmly at her.
"Lady Éowyn, you are a vision of health!" the Warden exclaimed, "We are not used to such noble guests asking for our teachings, but it is an honor to have you. Ioreth has had nothing but praise for you, and our Steward has spoken of you in nothing but the highest regard. I should think us the lucky ones to have found you. Please sit."
Éowyn was getting better at disguising her face at the mention of Steward, but saw the Warden's face change ever so slightly when he had said 'Steward.' Both ignored it. The Warden motioned to a small pile of books on his desk, "these are the first sets of healer's books, mostly detailing the concoction of simple herbal remedies, and the most common wounds to be dressed. Please read through them at your leisure. I have also provided ink and quill should you want to make some notes. The Steward has had these books printed specially for you, as our gift for the wondrous gift you have given us by slaying that foul thing."
Éowyn flushed, this was too much. Faramir had made copies of books for her, and had given them to her through a messenger? Éowyn felt her facade cracking at this insult, but she held it together.
"Thank you Warden. This gift is great indeed. My dream is to take a House such as this to my home, so these books are needed. I will study them fervently." Éowyn smiled and curtsied, and when she thought that she had lingered sufficiently long for decorum, took the books and the writing utensils and walked with haste to her chamber.
Fury and sadness welled up in her, and broke through. Why had he not sought her out himself? Why give her such a gift but not face her? Éowyn let herself feel the fear, that Faramir was trying to spare her feelings. And yet, his absence was making it all worse. A page knocked on her door as she collected herself, and brought her a small tray with dinner. She accepted it kindly, and made herself eat what was given to her. She would not let despair take her over these men. Aragorn's scorn had been bad, Faramir's was markedly worse.
A healer's love raises her patients. I do not need the love of a man, and I can survive their scorn. Éowyn repeated these words to herself as she finished the soup that had been brought. She then settled her breath, and looked at the first book "A Healer's Guide to Herbal Remedies." She did not care who gave her this book, she would read it cover to cover. For she could heal others, even while she waited for her own heart to heal.
Éowyn read until the candle burned low, and the stars out her window insisted she fall asleep. She finally gave in, but repeated what she had learned, using her new understanding of healing to force out the feelings of sorrow at Faramir's considerate inconsideration.
Lily of the Valley. Effective for sleeping draughts, but use carefully, as it turns to poison very easily.
Fir needles. Excellent for reviving one who has fainted.
Thistle. To give to women during painful times in their moon cycle
…and then Éowyn was asleep.