A/N: God, but Éowyn's hard work to write. Blood from the stone. I could not have written this chapter without the help of Kshar, who understands Éowyn a lot better than I ever will.

Kathy: I'd assumed that Aragorn let Faramir know about the whole Thorongil business - or, more likely, given this bunch of repressed public schoolboys, he hadn't told him explicitly, but Faramir had worked it out. Imrahil would be old enough and would remember Thorongil, I'm sure. I'm not going to take this any further, but I would love to see a story about it.

Dirian: Not directly copying Tolkien (I probably was in the other stories I've written), just trying to get the 'feel' right. None of Tolkien's works that I can think of off the top of my head use a first person POV (someone will instantly correct me on this, no doubt!), but I wanted to write something that would sound like the first person voices of people from Middle Earth might do, had they sat down and told you their stories. Hope it's worked OK.

Rociriel: How's this for starters? Episcopal Witch: I swear this was already planned before your review of chapter 15.

I love knowing what happens in the rest of this story. Bwaha! Should I write it? Or not? I could just tell you what happens: this spaceship lands, right, and...

OK, on with the show. Thank you for reading and thank you for reviewing.

Altariel

***

XVII

And so he had ridden off, and turned and raised his hand in farewell, and then he was gone. And I went back inside, and tried not to think of him. Not an easy task to set myself, with his two children before me, and the memory of him now so fresh. For, while all about him had been steeped in this new sadness, much had remained the same: his gestures, moving his hands restlessly when he spoke and pushing back his hair; his tone of voice, which had always been softly cadenced yet compelling; and his expressions, the look of concentration before he said something of consequence to him, and the sudden creasing of his smile when something pleased him. And my son had the same frown when he thought, and my daughter smiled the same smile, and they both had very dark hair.

I did not much want to send them from me, so small and dear to me as they were, but to deny him their company for too long would have been an act of cruelty. His devotion to them was so plain and I had no fear for them in his care. Indeed, I believed that, no matter what anguish it would cause him, he would, without any hesitation, pick up a sword to defend them if they were in peril. But I myself did not yet wish to return to Minas Tirith, for in my mind there were few happy memories of that place, so I trusted my children to my brother and his wife, and sent them with my blessing to their father. And I missed them before they were out of my sight.

In the quiet of that early summer, I walked the paths of my own childhood, and I wondered what I might do. But the future filled me with fear, and I turned for comfort to the past. And I thought of those who had once lived beside me in these halls, of my uncle and my cousin, and remembered them with love. Green grew the grass upon their graves, and the white flowers flourished in their memory. 

But thinking upon them my thoughts turned to darker days, when the snake had slid into our home and choked the life from us with slippery speech and wicked words. And I had felt the cold, but too late, for Edoras was already frozen, and I watched and despaired, with the king failing, and my cousin dead and, at the end, my brother in chains. And there was naught to stand between me and... him. Into this dreadful darkness a light came, and I clutched out for it, but it was beyond my reach. And then I wanted nothing; not life, not love, only an end to it all. And so I rode south, and I saw the king die, and I turned and faced the shadow and because there was naught else it could teach me, I slew it and then fell into darkness.

And then I woke, and beside me my brother wept for joy, and I felt... nothing. My heart lay dead within my breast and all the world about me was grey, as if covered with dust, or ash. I sat in my chamber with the window behind me, and I looked at the wall, to the east, and I wished at first for death for there was nothing else. And when that death did not come, I clawed at those about me and demanded some other release from my prison. And thus it was that I was taken into the garden and brought before the Steward of the City, and he was not the stern and aged lord I had expected, but a sad and still young man, with his arm in a sling like mine, who stood and listened gravely to my tale, and then looked at me as if he read my soul, and it moved him, because he felt it too.

And so we walked together in the garden, and I knew not why I had consented to this, save that it seemed to bring him solace at a time when, I learnt, he was grieving for his brother, whom he had loved deeply, and for his father, whom he had loved too much. But naught, it seemed, could bring me comfort, not the fair and fragrant garden, nor the spring sun which warmed us as we walked, for my mind was full only of my sorrows. And if I had not felt the cold descend upon me, I almost missed the warmth, and this despite his undisguised but unassuming expression of affection. For all through this time, he walked and stood beside me patiently, and did not press his case, but sought only to lessen my distress. And all I - foolish girl! - could do was sigh for someone else.

There was about him something very like the King, the same wisdom and nobility, but the quality was different, less remote, as if he moved between two worlds, one of great antiquity, and the other of the heart, with all its fears and follies, which he pitied. And I knew I could be safe with this man, who looked upon human frailty, and only forgave it. And when, at last, he made his quiet offer, I welcomed it, more than I would have from any other man.

And so it seemed that my mind led always back to him and when we had first met. And there was more, for I found that, as I wandered about my home, that the sight of it was overlaid with memories of the time that he and I had been together here after our betrothal. When the King and his company had departed for Isengard, he had remained, as had his uncle. How much I admired the Prince, who was courteous and kind, and whose love for his nephew was plain for all to see and so endeared him to me further. And they were very similar, in look and in gesture, although the Prince's manner was easier, while the Steward was more thoughtful and would on occasion become very quiet. And I liked this quality of stillness about him, which no longer seemed sad, but was peaceful and calming. And how they made my me and brother laugh, these two men of Gondor, sparring easily with words, and I found that I could do this too, and his eyes shone to hear me speak, and he responded, very gently at first and stroking my hand, until he saw I was his match, and then he answered in kind, and still caressed my hand.

His uncle departed after a week, and my brother tactfully withdrew, and so we were left alone together, and in that lazy, late summer, we discovered and explored what it might mean to be happy. We walked in the fields and gardens of my home, and talked much, and we were always touching. But one morning at the end of August, as we sat outside together, he seemed distracted and, although he tried to hide it, in low spirits, and I asked him what troubled him. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, and then and looked at me sadly. 'It is six months, Éowyn... my brother...' And then he fell silent.

I took his left hand in mine, his ring cold against my palm. 'He died so bravely...' I said, hoping this might comfort him at least a little.

At that his face was overcome with sorrow, and then he told me why it was that his brother had felt the need to redeem himself with a sacrifice. And I listened as he spoke and grieved for him, for I could think of my uncle and my cousin without any stain on their memory, and he could do this for neither his brother nor his father.

'From all that you have said of him before,' I said when he had finished, 'I do not think this deed is the best by which to remember him. All else that he did... You must remember him as he truly was.'

'He was the best man in Gondor,' he said, with a smile of remembrance.

'No-one could simply think that, with you standing by,' I replied.

He dropped his head at that, and then raised my right hand to kiss it gently, and his lips lingered over the silver ring he had so recently given me to mark our betrothal. 'Not the best,' he murmured, for he was not at ease accepting compliments, 'but certainly the luckiest.'

Late that afternoon we walked through the gardens, and came to a little orchard, and I shuddered as we walked through. He put his arm about me and held me more tightly, and looked at me with concern.

'What is it, Éowyn?'

And because he had been so frank with me that morning, I was frank with him, and I told him about Gríma, and his face became flushed in anger, and he took both my hands and held them very tight as I spoke. And I explained how once I had been walking alone in this place, and he had appeared unexpectedly, and told of the encounter that had followed, of his whispered words and his fingers brushing against my cheek.
My voice shook as I finished my tale, 'I knew I was in danger from him.' To my shame, I was shivering. 'I was so alone and so very afraid. The memory is very bad.' And I looked about me, and wondered if would ever walk here happily again.

He touched my chin very softly, and brought my face about, until I was looking at him, and his grey eyes were filled with compassion and love. 'Then let me give you a new memory of this place,' he said.

And he very gently drew close to me, dropping his head and brushing his lips against my cheek. His breath was feather light against my skin, and I shivered again, but this time not from fear. I put my head back and a soft sigh escaped me as he kissed me all over my neck and throat. The fingers of his right hand traced along my cheek and up through my hair, the press becoming firmer, but still tender. He slid his other arm behind me and I wrapped one about him, pushing the other through his soft black hair, twisting it about my fingers. His breathing was coming more quickly now. He looked at me again, the intensity in his eyes thawing me, firing through me; and then we kissed, full and deep, the taste of him warm and sweet -

And someone was calling out our names.

Our eyes shot open and we gazed upon each other wide-eyed and startled, and quickly drew apart. He screwed up his face in frustration, and I bit my lip, rested my forehead on his chest, and suppressed a laugh.

He put his hands on my shoulders and I raised my head and smiled at him, and he cast his eyes lovingly about my face. Then he gave me a look of mild consternation, lifting his hand to my hair.

'This will not do at all!' he murmured with a soft laugh, fumbling with the clasp that bound my hair from the side of my face and which had come loose. 'We should at least make a pretence at propriety. I would not have your brother's wrath fall upon me!'

I gave a most unfeminine snort and, patting his hand away, took over his attempts to manage my hair. He pulled his tunic straight and pushed a hand through his own hair, which made it no less untidy.

'Do we look respectable?' he said.

'Come here,' I said, and smoothed down his hair, as we smiled at each other. 'I think we look it, now, at least!' And he took my arm and, laughing, we left the orchard.

Such memories he had left me! Sweet and bitter; the thought of our great happiness and our great hopes for the life we were about to start together. And most of all, the memory of his touch upon me, and how it was he always made me warm, when I had thought I would only ever be cold. How much more now I regretted pulling away from him, not just for the pain I had caused him in doing that, but because I would have felt his hand upon my arm again, and welcomed it. And this brought me only confusion, for our last touch had also been his hand upon my arm, which had bled as a result, and then he had hit glass in place of me.

But still I judged it a great gift that he had given me here in Edoras, bringing me healing here in my home, so that I could now walk here and no longer shiver, but smile to think of how we had been. And, before that, there had been his greatest gift to me, when he had so gently, and without any indication his affection would be returned, drawn me back from the brink, and so saved me. I thought perhaps I had done his city an injustice by forgetting these memories, which had been buried deep beneath disappointment but which, when brought back to the surface, were so dear to me.

And I wondered then what I had given him in return. Not healing - that was plain from the bruised and even broken man that had been here so recently, and that despite my avowal in the past that this was now my calling. And neither had I brought him protection for, despite all I had said, I had indeed sought this, as do we all, from the darkness, from fear, from loneliness. But who had protected him? When he had been here he had spoken, although indirectly, of being close to despair before the birth of our daughter. And I had not seen this, and I had not saved him from it as he had done for me. He was older, and had always seemed so much wiser, and I thought now that I had, perhaps, deferred too much to him and assumed he would always be as strong as he had been when we first met. For it seemed to me, as I thought back on our time together, that we had always been strongest and happiest when we had felt at ease to share our troubles. And I bitterly regretted that I had let him keep silent when he had returned from Ithilien, burdened with a new sorrow that neither of us could have foreseen. For I believed now that had he spoken then, or had I made him speak then, we would not now be in the state that we were.

And what was that state? I could not judge for certain. For when he had left here, he had seemed happier, as if he had come to a decision; and the letter I had received from him since had told of the changes he was making to his house and, which I believed most telling, of his imminent return to Emyn Arnen. Once I had vowed to save this marriage - but now I was left wondering whether if he had indeed at last found some peace of mind, it would be better for him if we remained apart. And this thought filled me with great grief.