She was underwater, struggling to break the surface, and three faces glared down at her. One was a woman, with flaxen hair. The other two were dark haired and gray eyed men. She cried for help, but her voice was muffled by the black water. She tried to struggle to surface and begged the figures to pull her to her rescue, but the woman just looked on passively at her panic. One of the dark haired men turned away, and Éowyn could feel herself sinking. She tried to break the surface, tried to yell for help, but she could do little to fight as the black depths took her. Then suddenly a hand burst into the water and grabbed her, and pulled her above the surface. His hands were on her waist, lifting her effortlessly into the air. His hair was raven and his gray eyes were filled with fire.
"I would never let the White Lady drown," He set her down. His voice was quiet and his lips were soft and loving upon her brow. And then his lips were upon hers and his arms were around her, and she hungrily sought his mouth...
Éowyn woke softly with the first light of sunrise. She wanted to close her eyes and return to her dream, to Faramir. But the flicker of recognition of his name burned into her, and she vaulted up. Faramir, who gave her his mother's mantle and leather-bound books, and yet would not be in her presence. Éowyn's cheeks reddened. She was now wide awake. She brushed her hair and looked at the leather strap. No, she would not wear her hair braided today. She dressed in one of the white gowns, then narrowed her eyes at the mantle, its stars glittering in the sunlight. You can glisten all you want, but we both know that your light burns when touched. Éowyn turned away from it. Maybe tonight she would demand her answers, even if it hurt Faramir to know her love. Even if she had to spar with Citadel guards to get to the Steward. She was not sure she could wait for him any longer.
Éowyn opened her chamber and walked to the corridor, finding Ioreth sitting at the desk with another healer. Ioreth called Éowyn forward.
"Breakfast, my dear," Ioreth gestured to the small trays of food on the table, "It is the energy that keeps healers on their feet all day. Please take some."
Éowyn smiled gratefully and dug into the bread and jam, more modest than what had been prepared for her when she was a healing noble guest, but still quite good.
"Thank you Ioreth. So what shall we be doing today?" Éowyn could hear happiness in her voice, as her desire to heal overcame her confusion and fury at the raven haired Steward.
"Same as yesterday, I reckon. First we will look upon the healing of the workman's bones and check his injuries for infection," Ioreth watched as Éowyn gulped the last of her tea, and they were off.
Lily of the valley. Fir needles. Thistles. Dandelion. Athelas. Knot grass. Birch root. Éowyn remembered their names and uses in kind as she followed Ioreth. She now was quite good at making the soothing salves, and Ioreth was excited to teach her to make a poultice. Éowyn saw that there was more complexity to such a concoction, where ingredients and timing were important, and reminded herself to take note of it in her book. No, not the book Faramir gave her, her book.
The workman was drowsy, and the healers did not like the angry red shade his arm was becoming, calling for Éowyn and the poultice. Ioreth took a sniff of Éowyn's mixture, nodded her approval, then the healers set to work.
"We need to draw out the infection. Nothing too concerning yet, but another day of that color and we will start to worry." Ioreth used her hands to sculpt the poultice and place it where she saw the most need. Éowyn observed that the healers concentrated the poultice in places that were either the most red or had notes of white. She took note of it in her mind.
After rebandaging the workman, the rounds continued in the same routine as yesterday, and Éowyn was hard pressed not to let her mind wander to Faramir. No, she would think on Faramir later, and decide what she had to do then. Healing others was more important than her love, and her dejection.
Hours passed and the haze in her mind cleared. She saw she was at Beregil's room. Éowyn had not yet mixed his soothing salve, so she retreated to the herb closet. As her hands worked, she let her mind wander. Faramir had been listening to their conversation yesterday? To what end? Her indignation at his intrusion was met with confusion and despair. She did not know what had happened after the darkness lifted to spur Faramir to avoid her, and it was killing her inside. To be in the presence of a man who regarded him so highly would be hard, but she was a healer. She would not let her own despair distract her from her mission. So Éowyn went forth.
Beregil smiled as she approached, "it is good to see you, White Lady of Rohan."
Éowyn smiled back, but it did not reach her eyes, and Beregil noticed.
"What has brought you to my room with such sorrow in your heart?" she was going to like getting out of Gondor if so many could read her so plainly. She set to work rubbing the salve into Beregil's welts, and for the third day in a row noted how much better they were looking.
"I fear that the one I love does not love me back," Éowyn decided to speak the truth at the root of her fear to Beregil, "Worse even than this, he has stopped coming to me at all, not even as a friend. And yet my heart still tells me to have hope, though my mind does not. I dreamt of him for the first time last night, and the dream was of hope. I do not know what it means."
Beregil considered this for a minute before responding, "Are you sure that it is out of scorn that he does so, rather than out of something else, such as fear?"
"I do not know, for without his company, I cannot read his meaning." Éowyn wanted to say it's Faramir. He is who is bringing me this sorrow from his absence, but stayed her words. Those were not words that would help Beregil find his healing.
"A man came to my room, as stricken and pained as you are now. He came to heal me, and yet his despair was apparent. He too found the one he loved but came to believe she did not love him back. Yet something in his heart told him not to give up hope. And neither do I," something twinkled in Beregil's eyes, "I wonder if you, like he, just came together with those that you loved and said it plainly, would your despair be healed. I still await word of my wife and my children, and I would give everything I have to tell them just one more time that I love them."
Instinctively, Éowyn laid down her salve and took Beregil's hand. Realizing what she was doing, she reddened slightly. Was such an intimate gesture proper? Éowyn paused at this, and decided she cared not. This small gesture made her feel lifted, and she could see that her touch lifted Beregil as well.
"Have hope that you will see my wife and children again, so you can make up for all those 'I love you's that you have not yet said," Éowyn looked thoughtfully into Beregil's eyes, "I shall light a candle and pray for their return. For the Valar have blessed us with a time of hope."
"I will my lady," Beregil smiled at her, "As this is a time of hope, perhaps you should let your heart guide you."
Éowyn took his meaning. She also suspected that the man who Beregil mentioned had raven hair and had given her a mantle. It quickened her heart and buoyed her hope. Tonight she would storm the tower of the Steward if she had to and would demand an audience with Faramir. His pain at her unrequited love would be nothing compared to losing hope in one another. She would not lose his friendship, and would not let a chance at love pass them both by. It was time to share the last of her secrets with him; the secret brought her the most shame. One that Merry had not abandoned her for. Tonight Faramir would know how it came to pass that Aragorn broke her heart.
"Thank you Beregil, you've given me my resolve to not let my fear overcome my hope. As I finish applying this salve to you, please tell me more of your family, or of whatever it is in this time that brings you joy and healing," Éowyn smiled and her heartbeat quickened as she made her decision.
"Actually Lady, perhaps you can tell me one of your own tales that brings you joy," Beregil replied.
Éowyn paused, then closed her eyes and saw Windfola and the Westfold. She saw her beloved brother, and the mad grins on their faces as their hair whipped in the breeze.
"So be it, I shall tell you a story of the time I won my race against my brother." and Éowyn regaled the tale of her pony race with Éomer through the golden fields in the fall, being cheered on by their cousin and uncle.
Before she knew it, Beregil was patched and ready for his nightly battle with his dreams.
"Beregil, have you started to see those visions you need to calm you in your sleep?" Éowyn could not help but ask the question, thinking upon her own dream that morning.
"Yes, I see you, and I see Faramir. Your white light and laughter shine like a shield against the onslaught of darkness, and his words propel me forward. It has not destroyed my fits, but it has diminished them greatly. I should hope to keep seeing both of you, for the freshness of the memory of you seems to have the strongest effect." Éowyn again marveled at his honesty, and also marked the admission, so the Steward was visiting his Ranger.
"I will be back tomorrow then," Éowyn said, "Though it appears tonight I must go into battle for my heart. Wish me luck, that the guards of the Citadel do not spear your brave shieldmaiden before she is able to reveal her love."
Beregil's smile lit the room, "I wish you the greatest of haste and luck."
With one final deep and appreciative curtsy, Éowyn swept from Beregil's room. She then walked to Ioreth, who released her from her duties for the day and to her healer's bath. Éowyn thanked her, and made her way into the bath chamber.
I will not give up this fight Faramir, she thought. Faramir would not get to run away from her again, and he would know all that was in her heart. She did not fear his rejection anymore, only that he would stop seeing her as a friend. And it was that that Éowyn feared above all the rest. That he who brought her healing and love, who opened her heart was lost to her. Aragorn was never open to her, for love or for friend, and though that blow hurt her deeply, it did not even register compared to losing the deep companionship that she'd found in this House with the raven haired Steward. Guttural fear overcame her at that thought, that he was letting her down easily as he returned to his duties and his people. She would simply refuse to oblige him. Losing his friendship was too devastating, surely he could see that.
Éowyn would not wait for a message that she was calling upon him. She would ask, nay, demand, that the Warden escort her directly to him, and would not leave until he granted her an audience. She did not care if she had to wait for Faramir for hours, for his friendship and being in her life were too important to her. Yes, she would let him know all that was in her heart, and would hope he felt the same. But if he did not, she would also fight for their friendship. Love and fire could be channeled through healing hands, one who understood her pain and her hope could not be. And so as she scrubbed her hair with her lavender soap, Éowyn was resolved. After she dressed, she would march to the Warden and battle his will. As like last time, she had no doubt that she would prevail and be on her way to the Steward.
Éowyn pulled herself from the bath and dried herself off, looking at her face in the mirror. The stern resolve that had overcome her when she accepted that she would become Dernhelm was in her face yet again. She smiled. This time she was marching not toward death and glory, but toward love. Éowyn made it back to her room, and paced it. Looking challengingly at the mantle, which was glittering defiantly at her again, reflecting the moon's light.
I will see what is written in your stars tonight, she said to it. And she combed out her hair. She then looked at the books, and the lavender, and the leather strap. She grabbed the strap and smelled it deeply, then placed it back softly on the book, fingering the edge she had hewn off to make her favor. Éowyn exhaled, then looked at the door, and marched toward it. One more deep breath, and she pushed it open.
Someone was standing outside, pacing, someone tall, with raven hair, and the build of an archer. She could see his gray eyes burning in the candlelight of her room. Faramir.