In case anyone was anxiously waiting for an update - ha - I'm sorry it took
me a little while to post this. I have it all written, but I've been very
busy, and when I wasn't busy I was very lazy, so I didn't get around to it.
But here it is.
***
Chapter Four
To Lose what was Found
She came across him as he was walking beneath the trees, and almost she called his name. Then she saw that he was deep in thought, and, thinking he was alone, was also not guarding his emotions.
So, instead of alerting Faramir to her presence, Éowyn watched him, trying to learn as much as about him he had about her at their first meeting. But all he looked was slightly confused, as one trying to reason an illogical puzzle. Meanwhile, she noticed, he was absently twisting the ring on the smallest finger of his left hand. The symbol of the Stewardship, she remembered.
He was approaching steadily, and she knew that if she did not speak he would know that she had been watching him. So she called to him and he looked up, and for a moment, a tiny, tiny moment, his face was exposed.
The Steward looked at her, and the White Lady's breath caught at what she saw. Something inside told her that she might never see anyone look at her this way ever again, and without thinking her heart reached out for it.
Then she realized what she was doing, and recoiled. Faramir, too, blinked, then somehow it was gone, whatever it had been. Gently he smiled and fell into step beside her. And it looked, for all the world, as though the emotion that had just a second ago covered his face and filled his eyes had never existed.
But Éowyn could not forget, and desperately she wanted to ask him about it, but had no idea how to phrase it. So instead she remained coldly silent, until it started to concern the man walking next to her.
"Lady?"
She did not look at him. Trying to find something to occupy her eyes, Éowyn turned to the east wall, where ever her eyes turned. Something uncomfortably warm boiled inside her, and she didn't know what it was. "I'm tired," she said shortly.
Faramir didn't say anything, which chafed at Éowyn's already reduced short temper. What was it about him that did this to her? Why did she feel like pouring her heart out to him, and what was it that, at the same time, held her back?
"And." She couldn't fit it into words. They were gone, all of them, Éomer and Aragorn to the Black Gate, and Théodred and Théoden to their rest. And she alone, as always, left behind and forgotten. Caged. But he would never understand, this proud, solemn man beside her.
Yet despite her conviction in that, the Steward said softly, "I know." Éowyn's eyes burned; she wanted something, but she didn't know what it was. Confused and lonely, she retreated back inside herself, trying to find something she knew. All she could uncover, though, was isolation. and anger.
So, without thinking, she turned the anger on him. "How would you know?" she hissed, stopping in her tracks and turning to face him. Rage made her brave, and it was, perhaps, the only thing that kept her looking into Faramir's eyes. "You've never been left behind, been locked away. Been looked over." The sudden flash in his eyes made her take a step back.
"Never been looked over?" he asked quietly, but his voice was strained. Only now did Éowyn see the rashness of her words. She knew little to nothing about him. had she misjudged?
As if he could read her thoughts-which, she thought bitterly, would not be overly surprising-Faramir continued, in the same, tense voice, "I do not think, my Lady, that you are one to judge me."
"Nor you me," Éowyn returned sharply, but her heart was crying for this argument to be over. Fighting was for the Enemy, and Faramir was the only friend she had in this City. But her pride never listened to her heart.
Faramir's jaw was tight, his eyes hard. "I did not. I presumed only that you would wish to share your loneliness with another who thought he might understand." Coldly, he added, "Apparently, I was wrong."
Oh, thought Éowyn, and suddenly she remembered. Only fragments of stories, but one thing a servant somewhere had said came back to her then with terrible distinctness.
'They give him no rest. The Lord drives his son too hard, and now he must do the duty of two, for himself and for the one that will not return.'
How had she forgotten? Steward of Gondor! Of course his father had been Denethor, and his brother Boromir, Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas's companion. Éowyn cursed herself in vain for not making the connection sooner, but it was too late.
Slowly she turned her eyes to Faramir, pleading. I'm sorry, she wanted to tell him, had to tell him, but Denethor's son turned and slowly walked away from her.
"Faramir," she tried to say, but she choked on the word. As he disappeared around the corner into some passage of Minas Tirith that she had yet to discover, Éowyn felt tears spilling from her eyes. Reluctantly, she tore her gaze from where Faramir had disappeared and climbed the walls, with feet heavier than lead.
( (
When he returned, she was standing on the walls. He saw her wince as she heard his footsteps treading lightly up the stairs, and she did not turn to look at him. The words they had spoken earlier had not left her, Faramir knew.
They had not left him either, of course, but he was not going to bring that up now. Better to forget, or at least put them aside. They had been harsh and careless, the words of troubled hearts in a hopeless place. He had been wrong to become angry with her. In fact, he reflected, it might have been the most personal thing she had yet said to him. He only hoped she was not furious with him.
Yet Éowyn did not seem unhappy to see him. In fact, she looked rather relieved. Perhaps, thought Faramir, she had not meant to pry into parts that were still healing in him. Maybe she just hadn't known. It was a somewhat comforting thought.
"I brought you something," he said softly, coming to stand next to her. Éowyn turned to him, and he knew that despite herself she was curious. She watched silently as he unrolled the blue cloak, made of a fine, heavyweight material, with stars embroidered on the hem and throat.
"It's beautiful," she told him. "Where did you get it?"
Faramir smiled a little, the new pain receding and the old surfacing. "It was my mother's," he said as he traced the pattern of stars along the edge, remembering those days long past, those days when they had all still been alive. Without another word, he spread it out and swiftly had settled it about her shoulders. Éowyn could not keep the smile from her face as she fastened the clasp at her throat. The cloak settled over her protectively, thick and warm.
Wrapping it closer around her, for a chill wind had started, she tried to conceal a grin and asked, "Well? How do I look?"
Faramir looked at her for a moment, thinking of how to answer that question. She looked nothing like his mother, needless to say. He was not used to seeing someone else wearing that cloak; it had been locked away for how many years now?
But she was beautiful, and it gave him both pride and sorrow to see her like that. After another moment's consideration, Faramir replied, "Like a queen."
Éowyn looked at him for a moment, evidently unsure of what he meant by this. She looked away, and for half a second Faramir thought he had said the wrong thing. There was irony in that though he no longer had to watch what he said in front of his father, but now he worried that he might say something to drive Éowyn away. However, his fears were abated when she spoke.
"Does not the Black Gate lie yonder? And must he not now be come there? It is seven days since he rode away."
"Seven days," he agreed, looking now in the same direction she was. "But think not ill of me, if I say to you that they have brought me both a joy and a pain that I never thought to know."
As she turned her face to him, he was unable to keep from reaching a hand to her face. Gently he touched her cheek, two pairs of gray eyes staring into each other. Unwittingly, he moved closer to her.
"Lose what you have found?" she asked softly, eyes locked on his. "I know not what in these days you have found that you could lose."
Unsure of what this meant, if she knew how he felt and was trying, gently, to let him down, or if she simply did not see, he decided not to comment. Instead, he dropped his hand and looked back out to the east. He did not see the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, nor did he feel her hand clasp his own.
"It reminds me of Númenor," he said quietly. "Of a darkness inescapable." Another type of nightmares that haunted him. He didn't know why he had mentioned it, having not mentioned it to anyone in more than twenty years.
She drew closer to him. "You think it comes here? Darkness inescapable?"
Turning back to her, Faramir smiled. "No," he reassured. "It was but a picture in my mind. I do not know what is happening. The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days."
But he knew this not to be true, or at least he hoped, desperately, that it was not. "But my heart says nay," he continued, and was gladdened by the flicker of hope in her face, "for a hope and joy are come to me that no reason can deny." Again, he touched her face. "Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure." He lifted her face.
Éowyn's eyes closed, anticipating the kiss. But the moment his lips touched hers, her eyes flew open and she pushed him away. He released her instantly, trying to keep the bitter remorse from showing on his face. For the first time in a long while, he had misjudged. He looked to Éowyn. What he saw in her face destroyed any words that might have come.
In that fair face, Faramir saw regret, sadness and, to add to his anguish, fear. But before he could begin to hate himself for frightening her, he saw another emotion. He saw hope in those gray eyes, and in that moment, he knew that she cared for him. This in itself gave him more joy than he could ever remember feeling.
Yet before he could speak, before any reassuring words had left his mouth, Éowyn had turned and walked swiftly down the stairs in a flash of blue and white.
Faramir watched the stair she had exited by, then closed his eyes. Part of him was irritated with himself; he wasn't usually one for falling to emotion. But another part of him cried out for her. This part was stronger, and he found himself agreeing with it.
Be careful, the first part said. She's hurting.
And so am I.
Suddenly, there was a cry on the winds. Faramir looked up and saw eagles flying towards the City. And when he heard the message they bore, tears unchecked streamed down his face.
Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor, for the Realm of Sauron is ended for ever,
and the Dark Tower is thrown down.
Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard, for your watch hath not been in vain, and the Black Gate is broken and your King hath passed through,
and he is victorious.
Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West, for your King shall come again, and shall dwell among you
all the days of your life.
And the Tree that was withered shall be renewed, and he shall plant it in the high places,
and the City shall be blessed.
Sing all ye people!
***
Chapter Four
To Lose what was Found
She came across him as he was walking beneath the trees, and almost she called his name. Then she saw that he was deep in thought, and, thinking he was alone, was also not guarding his emotions.
So, instead of alerting Faramir to her presence, Éowyn watched him, trying to learn as much as about him he had about her at their first meeting. But all he looked was slightly confused, as one trying to reason an illogical puzzle. Meanwhile, she noticed, he was absently twisting the ring on the smallest finger of his left hand. The symbol of the Stewardship, she remembered.
He was approaching steadily, and she knew that if she did not speak he would know that she had been watching him. So she called to him and he looked up, and for a moment, a tiny, tiny moment, his face was exposed.
The Steward looked at her, and the White Lady's breath caught at what she saw. Something inside told her that she might never see anyone look at her this way ever again, and without thinking her heart reached out for it.
Then she realized what she was doing, and recoiled. Faramir, too, blinked, then somehow it was gone, whatever it had been. Gently he smiled and fell into step beside her. And it looked, for all the world, as though the emotion that had just a second ago covered his face and filled his eyes had never existed.
But Éowyn could not forget, and desperately she wanted to ask him about it, but had no idea how to phrase it. So instead she remained coldly silent, until it started to concern the man walking next to her.
"Lady?"
She did not look at him. Trying to find something to occupy her eyes, Éowyn turned to the east wall, where ever her eyes turned. Something uncomfortably warm boiled inside her, and she didn't know what it was. "I'm tired," she said shortly.
Faramir didn't say anything, which chafed at Éowyn's already reduced short temper. What was it about him that did this to her? Why did she feel like pouring her heart out to him, and what was it that, at the same time, held her back?
"And." She couldn't fit it into words. They were gone, all of them, Éomer and Aragorn to the Black Gate, and Théodred and Théoden to their rest. And she alone, as always, left behind and forgotten. Caged. But he would never understand, this proud, solemn man beside her.
Yet despite her conviction in that, the Steward said softly, "I know." Éowyn's eyes burned; she wanted something, but she didn't know what it was. Confused and lonely, she retreated back inside herself, trying to find something she knew. All she could uncover, though, was isolation. and anger.
So, without thinking, she turned the anger on him. "How would you know?" she hissed, stopping in her tracks and turning to face him. Rage made her brave, and it was, perhaps, the only thing that kept her looking into Faramir's eyes. "You've never been left behind, been locked away. Been looked over." The sudden flash in his eyes made her take a step back.
"Never been looked over?" he asked quietly, but his voice was strained. Only now did Éowyn see the rashness of her words. She knew little to nothing about him. had she misjudged?
As if he could read her thoughts-which, she thought bitterly, would not be overly surprising-Faramir continued, in the same, tense voice, "I do not think, my Lady, that you are one to judge me."
"Nor you me," Éowyn returned sharply, but her heart was crying for this argument to be over. Fighting was for the Enemy, and Faramir was the only friend she had in this City. But her pride never listened to her heart.
Faramir's jaw was tight, his eyes hard. "I did not. I presumed only that you would wish to share your loneliness with another who thought he might understand." Coldly, he added, "Apparently, I was wrong."
Oh, thought Éowyn, and suddenly she remembered. Only fragments of stories, but one thing a servant somewhere had said came back to her then with terrible distinctness.
'They give him no rest. The Lord drives his son too hard, and now he must do the duty of two, for himself and for the one that will not return.'
How had she forgotten? Steward of Gondor! Of course his father had been Denethor, and his brother Boromir, Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas's companion. Éowyn cursed herself in vain for not making the connection sooner, but it was too late.
Slowly she turned her eyes to Faramir, pleading. I'm sorry, she wanted to tell him, had to tell him, but Denethor's son turned and slowly walked away from her.
"Faramir," she tried to say, but she choked on the word. As he disappeared around the corner into some passage of Minas Tirith that she had yet to discover, Éowyn felt tears spilling from her eyes. Reluctantly, she tore her gaze from where Faramir had disappeared and climbed the walls, with feet heavier than lead.
( (
When he returned, she was standing on the walls. He saw her wince as she heard his footsteps treading lightly up the stairs, and she did not turn to look at him. The words they had spoken earlier had not left her, Faramir knew.
They had not left him either, of course, but he was not going to bring that up now. Better to forget, or at least put them aside. They had been harsh and careless, the words of troubled hearts in a hopeless place. He had been wrong to become angry with her. In fact, he reflected, it might have been the most personal thing she had yet said to him. He only hoped she was not furious with him.
Yet Éowyn did not seem unhappy to see him. In fact, she looked rather relieved. Perhaps, thought Faramir, she had not meant to pry into parts that were still healing in him. Maybe she just hadn't known. It was a somewhat comforting thought.
"I brought you something," he said softly, coming to stand next to her. Éowyn turned to him, and he knew that despite herself she was curious. She watched silently as he unrolled the blue cloak, made of a fine, heavyweight material, with stars embroidered on the hem and throat.
"It's beautiful," she told him. "Where did you get it?"
Faramir smiled a little, the new pain receding and the old surfacing. "It was my mother's," he said as he traced the pattern of stars along the edge, remembering those days long past, those days when they had all still been alive. Without another word, he spread it out and swiftly had settled it about her shoulders. Éowyn could not keep the smile from her face as she fastened the clasp at her throat. The cloak settled over her protectively, thick and warm.
Wrapping it closer around her, for a chill wind had started, she tried to conceal a grin and asked, "Well? How do I look?"
Faramir looked at her for a moment, thinking of how to answer that question. She looked nothing like his mother, needless to say. He was not used to seeing someone else wearing that cloak; it had been locked away for how many years now?
But she was beautiful, and it gave him both pride and sorrow to see her like that. After another moment's consideration, Faramir replied, "Like a queen."
Éowyn looked at him for a moment, evidently unsure of what he meant by this. She looked away, and for half a second Faramir thought he had said the wrong thing. There was irony in that though he no longer had to watch what he said in front of his father, but now he worried that he might say something to drive Éowyn away. However, his fears were abated when she spoke.
"Does not the Black Gate lie yonder? And must he not now be come there? It is seven days since he rode away."
"Seven days," he agreed, looking now in the same direction she was. "But think not ill of me, if I say to you that they have brought me both a joy and a pain that I never thought to know."
As she turned her face to him, he was unable to keep from reaching a hand to her face. Gently he touched her cheek, two pairs of gray eyes staring into each other. Unwittingly, he moved closer to her.
"Lose what you have found?" she asked softly, eyes locked on his. "I know not what in these days you have found that you could lose."
Unsure of what this meant, if she knew how he felt and was trying, gently, to let him down, or if she simply did not see, he decided not to comment. Instead, he dropped his hand and looked back out to the east. He did not see the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, nor did he feel her hand clasp his own.
"It reminds me of Númenor," he said quietly. "Of a darkness inescapable." Another type of nightmares that haunted him. He didn't know why he had mentioned it, having not mentioned it to anyone in more than twenty years.
She drew closer to him. "You think it comes here? Darkness inescapable?"
Turning back to her, Faramir smiled. "No," he reassured. "It was but a picture in my mind. I do not know what is happening. The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days."
But he knew this not to be true, or at least he hoped, desperately, that it was not. "But my heart says nay," he continued, and was gladdened by the flicker of hope in her face, "for a hope and joy are come to me that no reason can deny." Again, he touched her face. "Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure." He lifted her face.
Éowyn's eyes closed, anticipating the kiss. But the moment his lips touched hers, her eyes flew open and she pushed him away. He released her instantly, trying to keep the bitter remorse from showing on his face. For the first time in a long while, he had misjudged. He looked to Éowyn. What he saw in her face destroyed any words that might have come.
In that fair face, Faramir saw regret, sadness and, to add to his anguish, fear. But before he could begin to hate himself for frightening her, he saw another emotion. He saw hope in those gray eyes, and in that moment, he knew that she cared for him. This in itself gave him more joy than he could ever remember feeling.
Yet before he could speak, before any reassuring words had left his mouth, Éowyn had turned and walked swiftly down the stairs in a flash of blue and white.
Faramir watched the stair she had exited by, then closed his eyes. Part of him was irritated with himself; he wasn't usually one for falling to emotion. But another part of him cried out for her. This part was stronger, and he found himself agreeing with it.
Be careful, the first part said. She's hurting.
And so am I.
Suddenly, there was a cry on the winds. Faramir looked up and saw eagles flying towards the City. And when he heard the message they bore, tears unchecked streamed down his face.
Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor, for the Realm of Sauron is ended for ever,
and the Dark Tower is thrown down.
Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard, for your watch hath not been in vain, and the Black Gate is broken and your King hath passed through,
and he is victorious.
Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West, for your King shall come again, and shall dwell among you
all the days of your life.
And the Tree that was withered shall be renewed, and he shall plant it in the high places,
and the City shall be blessed.
Sing all ye people!