A/N: Thank you everyone who said that Éowyn sounded fine - phew! She's a tough cookie to write. And thanks to everyone for their patience with the posting problems. I'll keep on uploading to my website too: http://www.qresearch.org.uk/index.htm.

Nope, this story wasn't 'angst' when it started, either in the categorization, or in my mind! This is what happens when my id is let loose, I'm afraid.

Deborah: Spaceship fiction. You can read my Deep Space Nine fiction online at: http://www.qresearch.org.uk/personal/cardindex.htm. The Blake's 7 stuff is mostly in zines: there's a partial listing and some links at: http://www.qresearch.org.uk/personal/fanfic.htm.

Episcopal Witch asked: 'what's happened to the title of the story?' We're back to Faramir and Éowyn each making a move (Chapter XIII onwards), after the white knight - Imrahil - rode in to the rescue, with various degrees of success to his strategies. You could also say that the last two chapters were the resignations.

Altariel

***

XVIII

I put down the book in which I had been failing to interest my son, and instead let him pull at my hair without any distraction. After a moment or two I gave a small yelp of pain, and he laughed. To show my extreme displeasure, I scooped him into my arms, kissed him firmly on the top of the head, and then let him run off across the garden. In truth, it was a relief to see him laughing. For, in the weeks since my children had arrived, my son had been, on the whole, withdrawn, and very distressed most nights. There was, of course, a simple explanation. The boy was missing his mother.

This was not what I had wanted for my children. Indeed, it was the very opposite; always to be lacking either mother or father. It was as if, between us, Éowyn and I had contrived to arrange for our children a state of affairs as deficient as we each had borne in childhood. Already our son was suffering, and soon our daughter too would know nothing other than that her mother and her father were apart. All my wishes for a family in which my children could be as happy as possible had, it seemed, come to naught, and they would have second best, as their own mother and father had done.

My son returned then, interrupting my thoughts, for he wanted to chatter to me, and I was very glad to see him happy. But that night he was crying again, and I put him into bed beside me and he curled under my arm. And I sang to him and stroked his hair until he slept; and I do not know whether this was the case for my son, but his small, warm body beside me was a great consolation.

The next afternoon we sat out in the garden again, for it was the beginning of June, a warm and pleasant time in Emyn Arnen. I settled my daughter down beside me then, tearing my eyes reluctantly away from her - but with one eye still on my son - I began to work through my letters. But my mind was too full, and it was not long before it returned to my thoughts of the day before. And, as I often found, it seemed I had come to a decision in my sleep. Considering again the disarray that was now my family, I knew I could no longer countenance it. For, as matters stood, the children would always be moving between Rohan and Gondor, and never settled in a single place they could call home, and I could not see how this would work in their favour. It entered my mind fleetingly that, since it was my own reappearance and involvement that was disturbing my son and causing his distress, perhaps it might be best if Éowyn were left in peace with the children until they came to adulthood - but this notion filled me with such alarm I knew it was intolerable. I thought then that perhaps they could remain at all times with her in Rohan and so be more settled, and that I might journey there as I had done before - but this, I felt, was also undesirable. My son would, one day, be the Steward of Gondor - and what attachment could he feel to a land in which he had spent no time? My daughter too, and just as much, should not be denied her heritage. And yet I could not abandon my duties to live beside them in Rohan - but how could I ask Éowyn to return? This was, I thought unhappily, the perfect solution, but one more easily decided than enacted. For however much I desired my family to be whole again - for my wife to be beside me - I was not sure that I had much choice in the matter.

I thought then of other marriages about me and why it was that I, who had entered his own with such fine intentions and such great love, had failed so badly, when others had success and happiness. I thought of the King and Queen, and their great fortitude across all the years they had been apart; and of my uncle and his wife, and the courtesy and graciousness with which they always addressed each other, repeated now with my cousin Elphir and his wife. And I thought of Lothíriel, so much younger than I, and the humour and lightness that made her marriage so happy. All these people, who had suffered losses and griefs and come through the war as much as had Éowyn and I, and yet they had flourished while we had not.

Last of all, my thoughts turned to what I could remember of my mother and my father. I recalled her fear, ever unvoiced, and of how she would cling to me, which I had welcomed as a child, but which I saw now for what it was, her misery. And I thought of my father, so stern and unforgiving; and, although I could not fully grasp the reasons why, it seemed that now I understood a little better something of the man he had been. For I myself had been on the edge of such a descent, and I too had begun slowly to starve, and it had seemed nothing would ever nourish me again. How terrible his loneliness must have been. I wished, with all my heart, that I might have staved off the famine that had so ravaged him, but I perceived now, as perhaps I had never done fully before, that the fault, wherever it lay, was not with me, and that he had been famished long before I had ever been born.

So while I did not wholly understand what had formed my father's nature, I believed I knew now what had fixed it - the silence. His own economy and accuracy with his speech, whether giving an order or causing a wound, just enough for the desired effect. My mother, whose voice I could not recall, except perhaps a fleeting memory of someone singing to me. And my own silence, born of fear and kept in the belief that whatever I received was what I deserved, and so I made no protest. If only I had spoken once, I thought now, and confided in my uncle, it might be that my whole life would have been different. And then I longed for my brother, who would never let me think too long, who would force me to make decisions - and who had done my talking for me. But he was gone, and I remained, and I prayed he was at peace. Looking out across the garden, I saw my son, playing happily now; and I sighed, and I picked up my pen, and I began a letter to my wife.

In this letter I wrote of all I had been thinking - of how I saw that our children would be made unhappy as a result of my mistakes, and of my desire to make whatever sacrifices I could to ensure their happiness. I detailed the solutions which I had considered - including an offer to remain away, if she deemed this in their best interest, for the decision I would have to leave to her - but I wrote also of my earnest desire for us to be a family once again, and I most humbly begged her to consider the possibility of returning to live in Gondor, on whatever terms she chose. For I thought, but did not write that, however it was that I had persuaded her to become my wife once, I would not have such a success a second time.

I signed my name and sat staring sightlessly at the page while the ink dried. I held little hope that she would choose this final option. For although I had made my case only on the grounds of attempting to determine what was best for our son and daughter, I could not imagine what would tempt Éowyn to return to a place in which she had been so unhappy, and to live with a man that had only brought her sorrow and from whose touch she flinched. And I feared greatly that my audacity would only arouse her anger, and that she might as a result choose to dismiss me entirely. But I believed very much that the request had to made, for the sake of our children.

And then a cautious hope rose in me, for I knew how much she loved our children and, given the cordiality that had emerged during our last encounter, I thought that she might well understand the motives for my writing. And then it occurred to me that she had, when we quarrelled, often complained of my passivity, of my willingness to defer for the sake of peace. So I hoped too that she might see this letter as an attempt on my part to be more active, of risking rather than protecting myself. For I am hardly one of nature's gamblers - in the conduct of war, yes, but not in matters of the heart, where the damage can be as great, if of a different nature - but I felt that this chance had to be taken. Sometimes it had proven, when I trusted my instincts and did not over-worry matters, that I chose the best course of action. And if I did provoke her wrath, and she did dismiss me, then I would have to be patient, and I would not simply surrender, but keep trying to restore in her some trust in me, with all of my respect for her and my love for her and our children. For, I thought, I had been patient once before - and then she had agreed to marry me! And had I not waited so long to act, I would not have endured such a long and painful separation from my children. Perhaps, I thought dryly, as I folded the letter, I need not simply accept that my life had to be a tragedy - however beautiful they were to read.

All of a sudden I heard my son's voice, and I looked up in alarm. It seemed that he was calling for his mother. I pushed my papers aside and got to my feet, and then saw that he was pointing behind me. I turned to look - and there stood my wife.

'Éowyn...' I said in quiet delight, since the sight of her only brought me happiness, and to see her beyond expectation even more so.

'I am sorry to intrude upon you at home, my lord,' giving me a cautious smile in return.

'It is hardly an intrusion...'

'But I did wish to see how Emyn Arnen was faring,' she said.

I watched her as she glanced about the gardens. 'And what is your conclusion?' I asked.

'As fair as ever it was. Fairer, perhaps.'

At this point her son reached her, and she swung him up into her arms, and I smiled to see their reunion. 'And I came because I did not much care for the separation,' she confessed to me, a little shakily.

'That I can understand,' I said softly, and then we sat down on the grass opposite each other, and all her attention was on her children for a little while, and it brought me much happiness to see them all together and, knowing how I had felt to see my children again, I was glad they were no longer apart.

'You are working as hard as ever, I see,' she said at length, and nodded in the direction of my papers.

'Just some letters,' I said, and pushed the one I had just finished safely into the pile. I hesitated before speaking again. 'Will you stay here?' I said at last. 'While you are in the south, I mean,' I amended quickly.

'Thank you, but I am a guest of the King and Queen,' she said. She gave a wry smile. 'Who would ever have thought I would stay in the city by choice!'

'I did not like to remark upon it!' I laughed, then added, 'You would, of course, have the Steward's house at your disposal, but I fear it is hardly comfortable at the moment.'

'I have seen,' she replied with good humour. 'Your changes are most... ambitious,' she laughed back.

'My uncle is very distressed about the whole project,' I said, raising an eyebrow, and reached out to retrieve our daughter from her, so that she might better cope with our son, but taking great care not to touch her. 'I believe he thinks I will be bankrupted.'

'I am very glad he is still so protective of you,' she said warmly.

'It is but one of his many kindnesses to me.' And again, there was a short silence between us, before I spoke again, a little haltingly. 'I imagine you would like the children to return to the city with you...?'

'Have you tired of them already?' she said in surprise.

'Indeed, no!' I said earnestly, before I saw that she was jesting. 'Although I confess that they do exhaust me,' I added with a small laugh.

'You understand me a little better, my lord,' she smiled, and I tilted my head in acknowledgement of her point. 'I think they should remain here,' she said firmly.

And then we fell to talking, about her journey and her plans. It seemed that she had been in Minas Tirith but a day, and that she would stay until the end of the following month, when she would take the children back with her to Rohan.

'I would, if I may,' she said, hesitating, 'come and see you all now and again.'

'As if you need to ask me that... I hope you will come every day, if that is what you would like.'

'I do not wish to take away from your time with your children - '

'I would rather the family spent all the time together that it could,' I answered, and she seemed to give this statement some consideration.

'Then I shall come each day, by your leave,' she said softly.

And I glowed with pleasure at the prospect of spending so much time with her when she came to see her children.

'I heard of your defence of my honour at court,' she said suddenly, and shot me a amused look.

'From the King and Queen no doubt,' I said, suspecting immediately the worst tale bearers in the kingdom - barring, perhaps, my uncle.

'No, in a letter from my brother. He was most impressed with you.'

'With the greatest of respect to the King of Rohan, my lady,' I said gently, 'it was not done for his benefit, nor to win back his favour.'

'I know,' she said simply. 'And so does he.' And I was glad to hear that, even though her brother and I might never restore our friendship to anything close to its former ease, still I would at least not be forced to take evasive action the next time we met.

So the day wore on, and evening approached, and she came into the house, and we put the children to bed. And then I accompanied her to the stables, to say farewell, and as we walked together I kept my arms folded and a few inches between us.

'Well,' she said, when she had mounted her horse. 'Until tomorrow, I suppose.'

'I suppose so,' I answered. And we smiled at each other, and then she rode away. It was only after she was no longer in sight that I wondered briefly whether she would have stayed if I had invited her to join me for dinner. Then later that evening, on my way to bed, I stopped in my study, and I put the letter I had so agonized over at the back of a drawer.

So she came each day, and we were mostly with our children, as we had been when I had gone to Edoras. It was very like that time, except I was not so overwrought, for Emyn Arnen had always been a place where I had felt contented; indeed, it was my home. And she too was happy, I think, delighting in the children, and all of our conversations were friendly, and we talked a great deal - not only about the children, but not about all. And I kept what I hoped was a subtle but scrupulous distance.

One day, not quite two weeks after she had arrived, we were sitting on a bench in the garden with a little space between us, and we fell to talking about her home, which I remembered with affection, and I admit that at the back of mind I was perhaps trying to determine how she might receive a suggestion to leave there and return to Gondor.

'When the children left, it was very quiet,' she said. 'And I found myself thinking back to our time there together before we married.'

'I was very happy then,' I said quietly, folding my arms and looking out across the garden, thinking back to that remarkable time in my life, which sometimes seemed to have happened to another man. 'I always think of Rohan very fondly because of those memories.'

'I found that I too have only happy memories now, when so much could be unhappy. And I believe that that is thanks to you.'

I turned to look at her then, in surprise.

'For not only did I remember our happiness there together, but I recalled all that you did when we first met, and I was so despairing.' She stopped for a moment. 'I do not believe I ever fully thanked you for that,' she concluded softly.

I looked down at the grass, very moved by what she had said. 'I could have done naught else,' I said at length. 'You were... you are the most exceptional person... I desired... I desire only for you to receive what is your due. The best of everything.' I looked at her again. 'I am very glad to learn I did not wholly fail in my efforts.'

She smiled at me, but I looked away, and I sighed, and fell silent, for although I could only be glad to hear her speak of her new-found happiness, I was not wholly encouraged to learn that she had found such peace of mind at Edoras. And at length she stood up to leave. 

'Until tomorrow,' she said, with a smile, as she had taken to saying each evening before she departed.

'Until tomorrow,' I said, returning her smile, but I felt rather sad.

When she came the next day, our conversation stayed mostly on the trivial. And so it was that late in the afternoon, as we walked together, with our son a little way ahead, I was unprepared when suddenly she seized my right hand. 'What has happened to your rings?' she said, in surprise.

I looked down at my bare hand for a moment before speaking in order to consider my reply. 'I do not wear tokens that I do not merit,' I replied gravely. And we both looked at her right hand, which still bore her gold and silver rings.

We stood there for a little while, holding hands, looking silently upon each other. It was the first time we had touched since that terrible night. And then I slowly drew my hand away.

'When I was a boy...' I began, looking straight at her - and then stopped and dropped my head. I had not thought it could hurt so much to speak.

'Please tell me,' she said softly, and took back my right hand.

I swallowed and concentrated hard, wondering if I had been wise to broach this matter. But she had been so kind and warm since her arrival, and I had made that decision not to remain silent and yet had not acted upon it. When I spoke I still could not look at her. 'My father... had a heavy hand... With me and my mother.'

Her hand was pressing my own very tightly. 'I did not know...' she said softly. 'You never even hinted.'

'I had not thought about it for a long time; I was so happy with you; we were so peaceful. It seemed I would never have to think of it again...'

'More fetters,' she murmured.

I did not understand what she meant, but I was somewhat distressed and did not ask. 'And then I did what I did to you - ' I continued, and risked a quick glance at her. Her face was very still, but she was frowning.

'It is not, I think, the same,' she said firmly.

'No, no; I want to explain; you must understand...' I said, and I held up my left hand, now bare. 'My father's heavy hand... had a ring on it.'

She lowered her head. 'I see,' she said.

'When I saw the blood on your arm...' my voice was very quiet now. 'My mother... the memories are very hazy... but there was, I think, something similar. And I too know how that ring feels... To think I had done something he might have done - it was unendurable. So I hit the glass. I suppose it was the only punishment I could think of at the time.'

She stood in thought for a little while. 'I had believed that the blow was meant for me,' she admitted at last.

I looked at her in great dismay, for I had never once thought that this was what she believed. I would never want to strike her. She was the dearest thing to me in the world. 'Oh, my beloved lady, it was most certainly not,' I assured her. 'It was meant for me.'

I watched her face as she digested what I had just said and I wondered just how much of our life together we had spent with such different perceptions of the same events, and how we could know this, if we never talked of it.

After a moment, she spoke again.

'When you say... a heavy hand...?'

I caught the questioning note of her tone, and I pulled back my right hand to put it to my pounding forehead. How much I had been dreading making this explanation. 'Where to begin...' I murmured, pressing my palm on the top of my head for a moment. And once I had collected myself, I spoke a little more about how it had been to be the second son of the last Steward of Gondor, and never knowing which to fear more, the bite of his tongue or the anger of his fist. When I finished, she stood for a little while with her head down and her arms folded before her.

'Hearing you speak...' she began, and then faltered, and looked towards our children.

My heart constricted, as if bound tight in iron, and I wrapped my own arms tightly about me. For having heard now of the violence that ran like poison through the veins of the stewards, how would she ever want to be near me again? And how - despite my love for them - could she trust me near our children? Perhaps, it came to me, if I had told her this before we were betrothed, she would have chosen not to marry me, which would have saved us both much grief. I felt more bereft than I had done since that terrible moment I realized that I had driven her away - the first time, it now seemed.

All of a sudden, she seized my left hand and held it to her. And as she looked straight at me, I thought I caught a glitter in the corner of her eye.

'I am glad now,' she said passionately, 'that you blocked my blow. For having weathered so many, I do not think you should ever receive any more.'

I could not answer her. Her generosity, her courage, her swift loyalty and fierce kindness - these were the qualities that had made me love her, from the outset. She did not think herself into paralysis - she grasped what mattered in an instant and made the world crystal clear. I loved her. She was my soul.

Her face creased all of a sudden in concern. Letting go of my hand, she traced her fingers across my cheek, very softly. It seemed that there were tears there. Gently, exquisitely, she brushed them away. Her hand came to rest cupping my face and, with the smallest of movements, I could press my lips against her palm; hardly a kiss, more in obeisance. It was the first time I had dared move to touch her since she had pulled away from me in Edoras. I breathed her in shakily, and lifted my eyes very slowly to look upon her. A flush was rising from her throat, the smooth pale skin of her neck and cheeks turning a soft pink. And so we stood, looking at each other, and I was trembling, and she was swaying, back and forth, and each time she seemed a fraction closer.

Then I heard a sound, and it broke our trance and we both glanced down. Our son had come to see us.

A smile suffused her lovely face. She dropped her hand from my cheek, reluctantly I thought, then she stooped and picked him up, bestowed one kiss upon him, and then handed him to me. Her arm brushed against mine as I took him from her and we both shivered and tried to cover it. Settling into my embrace, our son put his head on my shoulder and locked his arms about me. As she watched this, her smile widened and her eyes shone. I gave her a somewhat wistful smile in return, and then rubbed the cheek that she had so recently touched against his hair, with a slight, unsteady sigh.

She took a breath too, and gazed about the gardens for a moment, before looking back at me. Her face was composed again, although her eyes were still alight.

'I wonder,' she said lightly, 'if you might come to the city tomorrow. It seems a great deal has changed in my absence. Or,' she said, more thoughtfully, 'there is much I had not marked before.' She smiled again at me and then raised her eyebrow. 'And it occurs to me,' she added, and her eyes now had that dry, narrow look that had always so delighted me, 'that I of all people should be able to prevail upon the Steward for a tour.'

I cleared my throat. 'Such a courteous request could hardly be denied, my lady.'

We looked at each other again, across our son.

'I must go,' she said at last, with a note of apology. 'I am expected.'

'Of course,' I murmured. Hearing this, Elboron demanded to come and see her horse. I nodded distractedly. I believe he could have acquired both my houses and most of my property if he had asked for them at that moment.

So, after she had made her farewell to our daughter, we went to the stables with her, and they patted the horse together, and I looked at her and thought how beautiful she was. Then we stood and watched as she made ready to leave, to say goodbye. She kissed her son, and then turned to me.

'Thank you for telling me all you did today,' she murmured. 'I know it was not easy.'

'You deserve a full account,' I said softly. 'Thank you for your understanding.'

She stood and looked back at me for a moment and then, on an impulse it seemed, she leaned in and kissed my cheek. She moved too quickly and I was holding our son too awkwardly for me to return it, and she had mounted her horse and was ready to go before I could collect myself.

'Until tomorrow,' she said, looking down at me.

'Until tomorrow.'

And she left and we waved; and then I went back indoors and settled our son and daughter, and I sat for a while staring at an open book and not reading a word before I too went to bed. The children slept soundly. Their father, of course, barely slept at all.