A/N: Slow coming, this one - required some delicate handling. Hope I've pitched it right. And I've had a handful of work deadlines to deal with leading up to the Easter holiday. Also stupid of me to decide to do a chapter involving lots of description, since I hate writing description.

eowyn in disguise: Nope, I'm absolutely not tired of this story; in fact, it consumes my thoughts...! There will be two more chapters after this one (i.e. there will be 21 in all). I'm so pleased you like TES: Ash Wednesday is my favourite too :)  I'm not a published (fiction) author, but fingers crossed.

Thank you, Isabeau.

KB: No Bath colonnade, but at least, as promised, there's another garden.

Altariel :)

***

XIX

I did not sleep well. Not just because this was summer in Gondor and the nights were so warm, but also because I had so much to think upon. It seemed to me that in a single afternoon we had said more to each other - and of more worth - than we had in a year, if not much longer.

I had had no inkling of what he had told me and, as he spoke, I was chilled to my core. It was unbearable to look across at our children, so small and so vulnerable, and who brought so much joy to us both, and think that anyone could want to harm their own child. But when I looked up to say this to my husband, I was shocked to see his unhappy face, and I saw that he had been afraid, that I would somehow blame him, or think him capable of the same behaviour. And so - despite the great frustration - I could hardly regret out son's appearance. For it had allowed me to do the best thing I could think of that would proved to my husband my trust in him. I handed him our son.

And then there was another reason that I did not sleep well. For I was looking forward to the next day most eagerly.

He was a little late arriving, and it was some time after noon when he came running across the courtyard to where I stood waiting for him beneath the White Tree. He looked hot from his ride in to the city and then from his run up from the stables. Our son, he explained, had not welcomed the idea of being left without either parent to hand.

'He took some persuading that I was going to come back,' he said.

I was most anxious for a while, and wondered if we should go back to him, but he assured me that he was now happy, and I trusted my husband's opinion when it came to the wellbeing of our children, and I tried to set aside my worries.

'Where then shall we begin?' I said.

He hesitated for a moment.

'I wonder... ' he said. 'It is some weeks now since I have been in the city. I would like to see what progress has been made on the house.' He looked at me quickly. 'If you would prefer not to visit there I can return another day - '

'I should like to see it,' I replied, for I was curious. I had seen only the outside, although the Queen had spoken of the extent of the work he was undertaking.

'Good!' he said, giving me his sudden, open smile, plainly very pleased by my response. And so we made our way across the citadel and towards the place that had once been my home.

When we stepped through the door and into the hallway, I gasped. It was completely changed. It was much lighter, for the wooden panelling that had lined the walls and had given the hall a distinguished, if sometimes gloomy, look, had been removed. More noticeably, the ceiling had gone, and the hallway was now two stories high. Above my head, light poured in from what had once been bedroom windows. And the heavy carpets had been lifted, and part of the floor was now tiled, with small black and white squares. Everything seemed different and, although it was clear that the work was only partially done, for the walls were unpainted and the chequered floor yet unfinished, it was possible to see what was intended.

'Was that dismay or approval?'

I turned to look at my husband, who was leaning on the doorframe with arms folded, one eyebrow raised at me.

'Approval,' I replied. 'I think it much better.'

'So do I.'

We went a few steps further inside and when we reached the stairway, I ran my hand along the banisters. The wooden ones had been replaced by wrought metal. 'This is very different,' I murmured.

'I had particularly unpleasant memories of the old stairway,' he said and, although his tone was not emotional - was light, even - his words cut through me. I put my hand on his arm and he turned to look at me, soberly for a moment, and then he smiled.

'That floor should be finished,' he said. 'I wonder what the excuse will be this time.'

We stayed some time, although it could be seen very quickly how extensive the changes were, and throughout the whole house. There was naught else so dramatic as the entrance, but here and there doors had been blocked up and new ones opened, and some walls moved. And the smallest of details had been attended to; every door handle or decoration had been removed and was being replaced. We sat for a while on the floor of what had been my sitting room, which had a new window and was now very sunny but as yet bare, and we sorted through and settled on the plans for what would become the children's bedrooms. When we stood up again, he brushed his fingers against my cheek.

'Dust,' he said, by way of explanation, although that did not account for his pushing my hair back behind my ear.

I took his arm as we left the house, and so it was that we left the upper level and walked down into the city. We had not been walking long when we were stopped by a passer-by who wished to welcome me back to the city and congratulate my husband on my return. This happened several times, to his increasing discomfort.

'I am so sorry,' he murmured awkwardly, after a particularly effusive encounter during which he had plainly had to make a great effort to be so courteous as he was. 'I should have thought that this might happen.'

'It does not matter.'

'Perhaps we might find some peace off the main road.'

I was about to jest that he did not need to hide me away, but I caught the look on his face and he was clearly most upset.

'Yes,' I said. 'I would like us to have a little peace.'

He nodded and seemed a little happier at this prospect, and led me down onto the fifth level, where we ducked into a side street. It was indeed much quieter, and I felt him relax.

We walked arm in arm along these narrow streets, shaded but still warm in the summer afternoon. Here and there, looking past archways and through gates, I would catch a glimpse of a little garden, or a paved courtyard, or hear the soft sound of a fountain. Behind the sombre stone fronts, the city hid away treasure upon treasure. And although this area was much quieter than the main thoroughfare, it was not silent. Birds were singing, children were playing, and we could hear the chatter of the townsfolk as they went about their business. The city was very alive.

We wandered through this pleasant district, following a meandering path since the streets were haphazard, but keeping more or less in the direction of the main road towards the gate. As we walked, I asked him about the work he had been carrying out rebuilding the city. In answer, he spoke mostly of how much was due to the people of the Wood and of the Mountain, but I had spoken to the King on this matter and I knew that the successes were at least in equal part because of the knowledge and sensibilities of the Steward.

'Show me something,' I said at length. 'Something with which you are most pleased.'

'As you wish,' he said.

He led me down onto the fourth level, and we walked westwards. At last we came to set of steps built into the wall, and we climbed these, and walked along the top even further west. At length, he came to a halt. We looked out of the city for a little while, south and east, for the view from this high across the Pelennor was always a marvel, and on a day so clear as this we could see easily as far as the ships gliding into the landings at Harlond, and the hills of Emyn Arnen beyond the river.

Then he turned from the view and back in towards the city. We were looking upon on a long avenue lined with a single row of trees with leaves of the darkest green I had ever seen. The row stretched round the curve of the circle of the city.

'They have white blossom in the spring,' he said. 'Which fits very well. Look at the buildings beyond,' he prompted gently.

Behind the trees and, like them, following the bend of the city, ran a long row of tall town houses, built from white stone, each several stories high. The stonework was exquisite. Each house stood behind railings and was entered up a small flight of steps, and the doors and windows were decorated with the most beautiful frescoes. The ones nearest to where we stood were already inhabited, although there was still much work to be done on many of those that went back eastwards in the direction of the keel. And, as they shone white behind the dark green of the trees, the effect was of a long, cool elegant line, stretching around the city. When it was finished, and they were all inhabited, it would be the most lovely district.

'These are beautiful,' I murmured.

'They are rather, are they not? This part of the city was derelict until we began work on these.'

'What stood here before?' I asked.

'They were houses before, but there was not much left of them, just the facades. They had been abandoned for... oh, many hundreds of years, since the reign of Castamir - '

'During the Kin-Strife,' I said. 'So many people were lost in the civil war that parts of the city fell empty.'

'Yes,' he murmured, turning to gaze at me. 'That's right.' His look became one of slight suspicion. 'Have you been studying?'

'You are not the only one that can read,' I replied. 'And the King told me some more. But he also said that if I did wish to know the history of Gondor, I should speak to its Steward.'

'Did he?' And he gave a low laugh. 'I am quite sure he knows as much as I.'

'He does not teach so well as you. You are not quite so... prosaic.'

He kept his face straight with an effort. 'You must mention that to him. He should, I think, be aware of the full range of my talents.'

'I believe he already is.'

He smiled at me, and then looked away, sidestepping the compliment.

'Tell me more about the buildings,' I prompted.

'Are you sure I am not boring you? Not even a little prosaic?'

'I shall tell you when you are.'

He laughed out loud. 'Yes, I believe you would, Éowyn! I could always rely on you to give me the truth!' He cast his eyes warmly about my face for a moment. 'Let me tell you something very particular about these buildings,' he said softly, 'Something I have not told anyone else - although I am certain the King knows.' Then he leaned back against the wall, and pointed west. Looking out in that direction, I saw a plateau sloping downwards, joining the hill on which the city stood to the mountain behind. A pathway wound down from the sixth level and, when it came to the plateau, became a road lined with domed buildings. Here on the fourth circle, and so far west, we were on a level with these solemn stone halls.

'That is Rath Dínen,' he said. 'The Silent Street.' He gave me a quick look to make sure I understood, which I did, and then pointed again. 'Do you see that dome, there - much newer than the rest?' He looked at me again and I nodded. 'The House of the Stewards. My father's contribution to the rebuilding of Minas Tirith.' He gave me a dry smile. 'I became tired of not coming to this part of the city,' he said. 'So I decided to put a contribution to its rebuilding here myself. Something else to think upon, when I come this way.'

I had told this man he was a coward. I put my hand on his arm and pressed.

'I have not just restored them, you see,' he said, smiling at me and rubbing my hand. 'They are rather different from what they were.' He gave a slight sigh and seemed for a moment much older. 'We cannot, I think, live solely in the past, even a past as compelling as the one we have inherited. We carry such a weight of our history in Gondor, and it is a source of deep pride and of great wisdom - but it should not crush the life from us. This is not Númenor, nor is it Gondor as it was. It is something new, and yet day by day more ancient.' He fell silent, and then he reddened slightly. 'You should not let me warm to this theme,' he apologized. 'I fear that this is where I do indeed become dull!'

'Not in the slightest. I am glad to hear you speak so fully,' I said quietly. 'I was so caught up in my own unhappiness here. I never truly grasped how you love this city.'

He gazed at me. 'I almost died at its gates to defend it, Éowyn. Yes, I love it.' He looked up and around him. 'The city of the men of the West. All that remains of Númenor.' He looked back at me, his eyes for a moment grey and grave; and then he smiled and looked very young. 'And I am its Steward!' he laughed. 'In all of my dreams, I never saw that!'

I looked up and around me once more. 'These will stand for centuries,' I said. 'And you put them here.'

I watched him absorb that thought, then a glow came into his eyes, one that was not often seen there, of pride, and quiet satisfaction. 'Yes,' he said simply. 'Yes, I did.'

Late afternoon found us sitting on the grass eating apples in a tiny walled garden on the second level. We were leaning back against an old wall, the stone cool against our backs in the heat. There was a small, well-kept lawn and a row of trees shaded the far side of the garden where we sat. He had pulled the apples off one of the trees as we had come past.

'Should you be doing that?' I asked severely.

He looked at me in mock alarm. 'You must not tell the authorities,' he replied, throwing an apple at me, which I caught with ease.

We had wandered along numerous back streets before we had reached this place, passing through a tall gate and crossing the lawn to sit in the shade of the trees. I watched him from the corner of my eye as he ate his apple.

'I have not been here for years,' he murmured, chewing thoughtfully. 'I used to come here all the time, after my brother left for the army. It was very quiet. Better than being at home. I got a lot of reading done.'

'Why did you never bring me here before?' I asked curiously, licking the juice off my fingers.

He looked at me, and considered the question. 'You never seemed very interested in exploring the city before,' he replied at last.

'I am sorry,' I said softly.

'It is hardly your fault,' he said mildly. 'It is not as if I helped ensure you acquired warm feelings towards the place.'

I did not answer, and looked down at the grass for a while, thinking. And then I came to a decision.

'It is my turn to tell you a secret,' I said.

He looked at me with interest and perhaps amusement. 'Go on!'

I twisted a little to look him properly, propping myself on my right hand. His face became more serious as he caught my expression.

'When you went to Ithilien,' I said, 'the time you found out you were ill...' I looked at him carefully, but he simply nodded his encouragement. 'While you were away, I thought I was ill too. I thought that the shadow had returned, and that I was going to die.'

A look of great alarm crossed his face, and he reached out and took my left hand between both of his.

'But,' I continued, 'it was just that I was having a baby. I had not realized. Haleth had to tell me.'

He began to caress my hand between both of his, the calluses rough against my skin, although the touch was very gentle. He was the kind of man, it crossed my mind, that should have had beautiful hands. 'Oh, Éowyn,' he murmured. 'I had no idea... What a terrible thing...'

'I feel rather foolish about it,' I smiled, but I felt the prickling of tears in my eyes.

'No!' he said with quiet intensity, and began to stroke my hair. 'You must not think that. Éowyn, you could not be foolish if you tried.'

'And I missed my mother,' I added, about which I still felt I had been too sentimental.

'Of course you did!'

It seemed there was no frailty that he did not understand.

Suddenly his face was overcome with a great wave of remorse. 'All that I said to you...' he said suddenly. 'As if it were not hurtful enough... how much worse this must have made it...' He looked at me. 'I am so sorry,' he said.

'You would not have done it if I had not been silent on the matter.'

'Which seems to have been our greatest mistake.'

'We would not, I think, make it again,' I agreed.

'How I wish I had been there for you,' he said softly. 'I would have done anything to - ' He stopped for a moment. 'I was going to say protect you,' he admitted.

I smiled at him. 'I think I may have liked that,' I confessed.

He began stroking my hair again, a very gentle, soothing motion. I followed the movement for a few moments and then with a slight sigh, I dropped my head to rest it against his chest, and I slipped my arms about him. I could hear his heart beating. He shifted slightly to lean back more comfortably against the wall, and then put his left arm about my waist, his right hand still playing with my hair. I felt him bury his face in my hair for a moment, and then he put his other arm about me, and settled his head on top of mine. And then, because the day was so warm and we were so at ease, we both fell asleep.

When I opened my eyes again it was evening. The light had faded somewhat, but the heat still lay on the city. It would be another sticky night. I sighed and stretched, and then nestled down a little more into his chest.

'I wonder,' my husband said politely from just above me, 'if you might possibly move your head? I have cramp.'

I sat up quickly. 'How long have you been sitting there like that?' I said, in dismay.

'About half an hour.'

'You should have woken me!'

'I know better than to wake you before you are ready, Éowyn!' he laughed, flexing and rubbing his left arm. 'I do value my life!'

I could not bear to reckon how long it was since last we had slept side by side. He spoke as if it were yesterday.

I watched him as he stood up and walked a few steps away, stretching his arms up and finally bringing them to rest behind his head. Then he stood in silent contemplation of the garden. That quality of stillness was there yet, and I saw that the deep sadness that had accompanied it when last he had been to Edoras was much lessened. He seemed almost serene.

'We should go down to the gates,' I said. 'And finish our tour.'

He turned, his reverie broken, and smiled down at me. 'If you would like,' he said. He put out a hand to me, and I took it, and let him help me up. And so it was that we were walking hand in hand when at last we came down to the lowest level, and went through the gates of the city onto the Pelennor.

It was dusk now, and the lamps were being lit along the road, but the traffic coming in and out of the city was still busy, and we were at length obliged to come off the road. We struck south-east, walking very slowly. And after a only a little while, I began to shiver, despite the heat of the evening.

'What is it, Éowyn?'

I pointed in the direction in which we were walking. 'A little way ahead is a piece of ground burned black,' I said, and shivered again.

He put his arm about my shoulders, and I felt that he too had gone cold. 'We should not have come here,' he said abruptly. 'Not in the twilight.'

I glanced up at his face, which was paler than ever, and his eyes and his mouth were set. He turned hastily and began to stride back towards the road, drawing me with him. But when we reached the road, I made him stop, and I looked back, and began to speak.

'It was dawn when we rode onto the field,' I said. 'But I would not have cared if the sun had fallen from the sky. And that was what it seemed to do.'

He drew in a sharp breath, and pulled me closer to him, and whether this was to comfort me or him I did not know. I hoped that it was both.

'The King fell,' I carried on, 'and the beast and the Shadow filled the sky, screaming. And I knew that they would take me, so I killed them. And yet they still took me - down, down into the darkness. I thought I was lost, even when I woke. And then you brought me back.'

I stopped speaking and looked up at him. The lamps of the road were flickering above us, but even their red glow could not disguise his pallor. Behind us, the traffic on the road filled the deepening dusk with a slow and steady rumbling. He stood looking east, perfectly still, his eyes wide and dark and unblinking. 

'It took us two days to get here,' he said suddenly. 'Two days... And I had not even slept the night before we left for the river. I was already dead on my feet...' He gestured east down the Causeway Road. 'When we quit the forts, someone had to do it... the wounded, the ones I could not save. Who else was there to do it? I could not ask anyone else.' He looked at me bitterly. 'Some of them thanked me.' He began to  tremble and struggled to control himself. 'So that was how the day started! And then it was noise. All noise. No sense. No sense to it at all. And the shrieking...' He fixed his grey eyes on me. 'You know all about that. You ended it. I never thanked you for that.' Tears were streaming down his face. 'All I wanted was an end to it. All I wanted was peace.'

Something binding him broke. He clutched at me, and I grasped him into my arms. He clung back and his hold was desperate. His head fell onto my shoulder and he wept freely, at last.

'I had not truly understood,' I murmured, stroking his hair, through my own tears. 'Not until now. Not until you told me.' And I lifted his head, so I could look upon his face, streaked with tears. 'This is a terrible place,' I whispered. 'But I would give you a new memory of it.'

I saw his eyes widen in remembrance and in understanding, and he nodded. And as we kissed, all the cold and the hunger were abated, and we wept, and we cared not who could see us.