Beyond
He had known it would not be long. He who watched her so carefully always had seen the inroads time had made on her health. She had fought against it with a courage he had never seen before - surpassing all efforts on the battlefield. Éowyn had not wanted to leave him alone, but even her will was not enough to contend with death.
Faramir awoke on Midwinter's morning to her still body clasped in his arms. He had not cried, but pulled her close to him. Softly he called to his servant and asked him to ensure word was sent to Elessar. The King would come as soon as he heard Faramir knew, but he wanted these precious moments alone with his wife.
Her skin was soft against his hand, and not yet cold. She was so beautiful. Even now, after all her years, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Long ago, when they were first engaged, she had feared that, as she aged quicker than he, his eye would stray. How foolish the fears of the young were - when they looked back on the past, they both seemed like children. And he had once feared her friendship with Elessar - the one other man who would feel her loss as deeply.
He did not regret his marriage for a moment - the thought had never even occurred to him, though he had known it haunted Éowyn at times. It seemed too soon for him to lose her - though as she often said, he could never lose her. Still he wished sometimes that he taken pause, to savour the moments as they passed, for she was gone now, and they would come no more.
He felt a great wave of sorrow build up within him, but he was weak beneath the surge and could not even express it. Only his Kings hand, warm and steady on his shoulder, held him secure. He knew that he spoke, but could not even remember the substance of what he said.
He was glad she had died without pain, for she had feared the loss of dignity sickness would entail, more than anything. He had seen it in the way she had refused to accept her age for so long. It had been hard for her to accept, that at last she had come to the twilight of her life. All the harder because those closest to her still had many years left. Faramir had been with her the night she raged against fate for its cruelty. He had held her in his arms as she wept, saying she didn't want to leave him, not so soon.
He alone had been privy to her fear of death, of passing into the shadow at last, and being forgotten. And there was the rub truly he knew. Éowyn feared that those she loved would forget her, would barely even feel her loss. Faramir had told her how wrong she was many times, but it was not until Aragorn knocked over a chair in their chambers, nearly breaking it, when she spoke of her death, that she believed him. She had needed to hear it from someone other than her husband.
His wife was dead. He still could hardly believe it. That a woman of such courage, and beauty and with such a strong will could be dead - how could she be lost from the world? How could her spirit simply fade away into the shadows?
He remembered feeling the force of that will once. They had been preparing to ride to war in Harad, and he had been debating with his King whether or not he should go. Someone needed to be left to rule Gondor in the King's absence - and after the attack on Ithilien, the King was certain to leave with his army. Arwen and Éowyn had been listening to the debate as the two men weighed the pros and cons of Faramir leaving. Aragorn wanted Faramir in the field needing a trusted second.
After over an hour of talk Éowyn had exploded. "Am I not Stewardess of Gondor my King? If you wish to take my husband to Harad, I could fill his office. Not perhaps as well as he, but surely you do not think me incapable of succeeding in the office you granted me?" Aragorn had turned pale (which, as Faramir reflected later had to be one of the most comic sights he had ever seen - Aragorn Elessar shrinking before a tiny woman) and sputtered a bit, and Faramir had stupidly attempted to defend him.
Even now he shook his head at his own arrogance. He had suggested, delicately (or so he thought) that perhaps Éowyn was a mite inexperienced for such a difficult task. She had turned on him with all the force of a summer storm, "I have not watched you perform this task for nearly ten years without realising what it entails. I did not spend all those years in Rohan as my Uncle's right hand in Meduseld without learning something. Think you that I am incapable husband? For you shall find you are sadly mistaken. And even if I were 'inexperienced' the Queen shall also remain in Minas Tirith. I trust you do not consider Arwen, 'inexperienced'?"
And so it had happened. Éowyn had performed his office in his absence, and had brushed off any suggestion that, after the attack in Ithilien she was too weak to perform it. Instead she had recovered her strength and satisfaction in the work, and he had found her new bloomed when he returned.
She had always been the best judge of her own abilities, he thought. And of her own strength. His King stood from where he sat beside her on the bed; he spoke roughly, his face haggard, "I will inform our people." Faramir merely nodded, and moved to sit beside his wife again as Aragorn left, glad that Aragorn had relieved him of that duty. A few tears flowed down his cheeks, though he knew that Éowyn would never be dead to him, but just around the corner, in the next room. He merely prayed that he might see her again.
He had known it would not be long. He who watched her so carefully always had seen the inroads time had made on her health. She had fought against it with a courage he had never seen before - surpassing all efforts on the battlefield. Éowyn had not wanted to leave him alone, but even her will was not enough to contend with death.
Faramir awoke on Midwinter's morning to her still body clasped in his arms. He had not cried, but pulled her close to him. Softly he called to his servant and asked him to ensure word was sent to Elessar. The King would come as soon as he heard Faramir knew, but he wanted these precious moments alone with his wife.
Her skin was soft against his hand, and not yet cold. She was so beautiful. Even now, after all her years, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Long ago, when they were first engaged, she had feared that, as she aged quicker than he, his eye would stray. How foolish the fears of the young were - when they looked back on the past, they both seemed like children. And he had once feared her friendship with Elessar - the one other man who would feel her loss as deeply.
He did not regret his marriage for a moment - the thought had never even occurred to him, though he had known it haunted Éowyn at times. It seemed too soon for him to lose her - though as she often said, he could never lose her. Still he wished sometimes that he taken pause, to savour the moments as they passed, for she was gone now, and they would come no more.
He felt a great wave of sorrow build up within him, but he was weak beneath the surge and could not even express it. Only his Kings hand, warm and steady on his shoulder, held him secure. He knew that he spoke, but could not even remember the substance of what he said.
He was glad she had died without pain, for she had feared the loss of dignity sickness would entail, more than anything. He had seen it in the way she had refused to accept her age for so long. It had been hard for her to accept, that at last she had come to the twilight of her life. All the harder because those closest to her still had many years left. Faramir had been with her the night she raged against fate for its cruelty. He had held her in his arms as she wept, saying she didn't want to leave him, not so soon.
He alone had been privy to her fear of death, of passing into the shadow at last, and being forgotten. And there was the rub truly he knew. Éowyn feared that those she loved would forget her, would barely even feel her loss. Faramir had told her how wrong she was many times, but it was not until Aragorn knocked over a chair in their chambers, nearly breaking it, when she spoke of her death, that she believed him. She had needed to hear it from someone other than her husband.
His wife was dead. He still could hardly believe it. That a woman of such courage, and beauty and with such a strong will could be dead - how could she be lost from the world? How could her spirit simply fade away into the shadows?
He remembered feeling the force of that will once. They had been preparing to ride to war in Harad, and he had been debating with his King whether or not he should go. Someone needed to be left to rule Gondor in the King's absence - and after the attack on Ithilien, the King was certain to leave with his army. Arwen and Éowyn had been listening to the debate as the two men weighed the pros and cons of Faramir leaving. Aragorn wanted Faramir in the field needing a trusted second.
After over an hour of talk Éowyn had exploded. "Am I not Stewardess of Gondor my King? If you wish to take my husband to Harad, I could fill his office. Not perhaps as well as he, but surely you do not think me incapable of succeeding in the office you granted me?" Aragorn had turned pale (which, as Faramir reflected later had to be one of the most comic sights he had ever seen - Aragorn Elessar shrinking before a tiny woman) and sputtered a bit, and Faramir had stupidly attempted to defend him.
Even now he shook his head at his own arrogance. He had suggested, delicately (or so he thought) that perhaps Éowyn was a mite inexperienced for such a difficult task. She had turned on him with all the force of a summer storm, "I have not watched you perform this task for nearly ten years without realising what it entails. I did not spend all those years in Rohan as my Uncle's right hand in Meduseld without learning something. Think you that I am incapable husband? For you shall find you are sadly mistaken. And even if I were 'inexperienced' the Queen shall also remain in Minas Tirith. I trust you do not consider Arwen, 'inexperienced'?"
And so it had happened. Éowyn had performed his office in his absence, and had brushed off any suggestion that, after the attack in Ithilien she was too weak to perform it. Instead she had recovered her strength and satisfaction in the work, and he had found her new bloomed when he returned.
She had always been the best judge of her own abilities, he thought. And of her own strength. His King stood from where he sat beside her on the bed; he spoke roughly, his face haggard, "I will inform our people." Faramir merely nodded, and moved to sit beside his wife again as Aragorn left, glad that Aragorn had relieved him of that duty. A few tears flowed down his cheeks, though he knew that Éowyn would never be dead to him, but just around the corner, in the next room. He merely prayed that he might see her again.