There are a few lines in this chapter especially for Campy Capybara, a very sweet reviewer who has expressed concern over Faramir's sleepwalking attire. Come now, do you honestly think I would send the Steward on nighttime stroll in nothing but his skivvies?

Of course, now that I think about it, that could have potential…

Thank you for your sweet reviews, everyone. They make my day. :)

-----

The Stone and the Steward – Chapter Four

-----

"Forgive me for disturbing you so early, my lord, but I come with an urgent matter that cannot wait until a later hour."

King Elessar glanced up from his work to find Faramir before him, looking pale and distraught. "So I observe from your anxiousness. Pray sit, my friend, and tell me what has distressed you so." The King gestured kindly to a chair before his desk.

The Steward did not do as he was bidden, but instead fell to one knee and bowed his head in shame. "My King, most assuredly I have failed you this night. I come before you in contrition, for I have committed a crime worthy of my death."

A long moment of silence passed. When the King spoke, his words were carefully chosen, but their evenness did little to mask his surprise. "Tell me in full of this crime, Lord Faramir, but I will be the one who decides whether your actions are deserving of death."

Faramir bowed his head even lower, and spoke of his transgression with a clear voice. "I have looked into the palantir of the King."

King Elessar's lips parted in distress, and his gray eyes darkened. "A serious crime, indeed, Lord Faramir. Using the Stone is forbidden for many reasons—particularly to you, son of Denethor. I trust you understand why."

"I am aware of the reasons. I know that it was the Stone that drove my father to madness. I do not wish the same fate for myself—or for my family to suffer because of it."

"What you have said is true, but I hope you realize that the palantir has been shielded from you for another more sobering reason."

Faramir swallowed painfully, his vision swimming with tears he did not allow himself to shed. "I have seen what you speak of, my lord, though I wish with all my heart I had not."

"And yet you sought the Stone nonetheless. Why, Faramir, when you knew what you would see?"

The kneeling Steward reluctantly turned his eyes toward the King. "I do not know how to explain it. It is as if I was pulled there by a dream. Indeed, I thought I was dreaming. But such things are of little consequence. It remains that I have grievously betrayed your trust in me."

The King sighed deeply and pulled out his pipe. He lit it and puffed thoughtfully for a few long moments. "Indeed, Lord Faramir, you have betrayed my trust. But from your countenance and from your assertion that you, yourself, felt as if in a dream, I wish to hear your tale in full before I pass sentence. There seems to be more at work here than mere will. Tell me, Steward, have you desired to look into the palantir before?"

Faramir paled as memories of his father's madness played in slow succession across his vision. "Not before my recent return to Minas Tirith. I wish it had been destroyed or lost, long ago, like the stone of Osgiliath. That my noble father was deceived through it has grieved me since I knew of such things."

"Yes, it is as I thought. Still, have you never felt pulled toward it?"

For a moment, Faramir seemed lost—as if suddenly realizing something important. When he did not respond, the King repeated the question patiently. At length, Faramir replied, "How is it possible that I can resist the One Ring but not the call of my father's memory?"

The King's eyes shone with grave tenderness. "I wish to hear this tale in full, Faramir. Spare me no detail. And I will ask again that you rise from your knees and sit before me. I wish to see your eyes as you speak."

Obligingly, the young Steward rose, head still bowed in shame. He sank into the indicated chair, and somehow found the courage to meet the King's gaze with his own. Taking a deep breath, Faramir began his tale.

----

Éowyn woke feeling chilled and uneasy, with the strangest feeling that she was being watched. Sitting up, she clutched the sheets protectively to her chest. Faramir was nowhere to be seen, but that was not uncommon. Though Éowyn considered herself a morning person, nothing could compete with the hours her husband kept. He seemed to need little sleep, and she often retired and woke alone. This fact rarely bothered her, but for some reason, Éowyn was displeased as she gazed upon his barely dented pillows. Perhaps it was due to the talk she was planning on having with him. But something deeper was nagging at the corners of her mind—something she couldn't quite seem to put a finger on. She felt a sudden longing for her husband.

Reaching for her robe, she rose and opened the bedroom window. The sunshine and breeze soothed her, and she felt measurably better for it. It was time to dress for the day, and since she was planning to interrogate her husband until he confessed all, she would have to look particularly stunning if she wanted to catch him off-guard. After splashing some water on her face to brighten her cheeks, she combed her hair carefully and arranged it in a style Faramir particularly liked—worn long with the sides caught up in the silver combs he had gifted her with upon their betrothal. The dress was a deep blue that he said brought out her eyes, trimmed with silver and tiny glass beads. Dabbing a bit of cologne on her neck, she smiled mischievously. Faramir might be master over man and beast, but he did possess a few weaknesses—his wife being at the top of the list.

A soft knock sounded upon the door, and the chubby, red face of Éowyn's maid peeked into the room. "My!" the old woman exclaimed. "I came to see if m'lady needed help dressing, and here I find a princess in all her glory. You look lovely."

Éowyn smiled at the kindly woman. "Is the master at home or has duty already called him to the City?"

"Aye, he is in his study, ma'am. I saw him come back early this morning."

"Come back?" Éowyn echoed in perplexity. "But it is still quite early. Do you know where he went?"

"No, he did not say," the maid responded. She paused and seemed to blush. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but he was dressed terrible queer."

"How so?"

"He was just in a simple shirt and trousers. No cloak or tunic to speak of. I've never seen him attired so, at least not in public. It was as if he slipped off in the middle of the night."

Éowyn smiled warily. "Perhaps the Steward has taken to sleepwalking. At any rate, I am glad he is here now. I wish very much to speak with him. Perhaps, while I'm there, I can also solve the mystery of the missing cloak and tunic. Wish me luck."

-----

"You're wearing perfume," Faramir said when the door of his study creaked open slowly, his eyes not rising from his work. "I could smell it down the hall. You must want something."

"Aren't we in a pleasant mood this morning?" Éowyn teased lightly, stepping fully into the room. When at first he did not respond, she coughed pointedly to rouse his interest.

Faramir's gray eyes were weary and strained when they rose at last from his report. "You're dressed up, too, I see. You must really want something. Come now, and tell me what it is. I have much work to do."

"A pleasant mood, indeed." She bristled at his words, her proud Rohirric blood staining her cheeks. Her request came out harsher than she intended. "If you must know, I wish to speak with you."

Faramir sighed deeply as he impatiently rustled through the stacks of papers littering his desk. His movements seemed unsteady and uptight to Éowyn's eyes. "Now is not a good time," he said in a low voice that was devoid of his usual tenderness. "The King ordered a report last night, and I shall be hard put to finish it before the council reconvenes."

Éowyn's gaze softened minutely. "You seem quite fatigued, my lord. Perhaps a short reprieve would help you concentrate more on your work. We could-"

"I do not wish to rest," he interrupted impatiently. "It is not fatigue that keeps me from focusing."

The pointed jab behind his words did not escape her. "Forgive the intrusion, my lord. I will leave you in peace." Éowyn's lips thinned as she turned to leave.

Another sigh escaped his lips. "Wait."

Her fingers stilled upon the door handle. She turned slowly, willing to hear what he had to say, even through her hurt. She watched silently as he placed his head in his hands, rubbing his temples with his thumbs as though he had a headache.

"Forgive me, Éowyn," he said quietly. "I did not mean to be short with you. I admit that I am not feeling quite myself this morning. I feel—no, you need not worry about such things. I am fine." He lifted his head and offered a weak smile. "Did you say you wanted to speak to me about something? I will listen."

The words spilled from her lips like a great river bursting through a weakened dam. "I cannot help you until you tell what it is that is wrong." The statement rang through the room as though she had shouted it, though her voice had barely risen above a whisper.

Faramir's pen slipped from his fingers. He said nothing, but it was clear from his features that she had struck a nerve. His face crumpled, as if he had allowed some great weight that was resting upon his shoulders to finally crush him.

Éowyn's features softened as she drew close to him. Taking his face into her hands, she forced his weary eyes to look into her own. "Do you think me blind? Do you think I cannot see how you suffer? You take great care to hide your sorrow from me, and I do not understand why."

The Steward grew pale at her words. "Éowyn..."

"What has happened, Faramir?" she pleaded. "Please, will you not tell me what grieves you?"

He seemed to deflate as the last of his resolve left him. Turning his gaze towards the open window, he fell into a deep, pensive silence as he debated exactly what to tell her. Only when Éowyn threaded her fingers between his did Faramir seem dazed from his thoughts. "King Elessar," he began shakily, "is a noble and kind man. He has done me a great service and forgiven something terrible I have done. I am greatly in his debt and do not know how to repay him."

"Terrible?" Éowyn echoed in confusion. "I hardly think you capable of such a thing. Though I do not know of what you speak, I think it more likely that you have taken more blame upon yourself than you deserve. You always do. Tell me what you believe you have done."

Faramir shook his head. "I have promised the King I will not speak of it to anyone, until certain matters have been cleared up. If things were different, I would tell you."

Éowyn took this new information into consideration and chose her next words with care. "This incident…it happened this morning?"

"More or less."

"You have been anxious and aloof much longer than that," she observed.

A deep sigh unraveled from Faramir's chest. "Forgive my behavior, Éowyn. My mind has been in a thousand places—some less pleasant than other. I will strive to pay better attention to you."

"I do not ask for more attention, my lord," she protested. "You give me more than I deserve. At every difficult turn, you are there to help me rise above fear and uncertainty. The only complaint I have is that you do not allow me to do the same for you."

"What would you have me do? I have faced many struggles in the past few years, yes, but you must forgive me if I do not wish to place them on your shoulders as well. You bear so much already. I am your husband, and it is my duty to uphold you—not to weigh you down with my problems."

"And I am your wife," she declared heatedly. "I uphold you as well. Will you not let me perform my duty?"

Faramir's eyes closed slowly in defeat. "All right," he said softly, shaking his head. "I surrender. What do you want to know?"

"You spoke of struggles in the past year. Do you refer to the deaths of your loved ones?"

"Among other things. But you have lost family, too."

Éowyn shook her head. "No, Faramir. Do not belittle this. We are not talking about me. You have lost your entire family. Both parents. A beloved brother. Have you allowed yourself to mourn them at all?"

"I have grieved for Boromir," he said after a moment of hesitation. "And for mother—long ago—indeed, I've been grieving her loss for over thirty years."

"But not your father?"

"No."

"Have you forgiven him, Faramir?"

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. There were times when Éowyn could see through him with uncanny ease. He barely felt her hand as it moved soothingly though his hair, back and forth. "He wronged you in many ways. I have heard the tales, though not from your lips."

"Please do not take this as a rebuke, Éowyn, but you did not know my father. He was an honorable man, and those who like to tell tales misunderstood many of his actions. You have heard nothing from me about him, for I do not wish to dishonor his memory with my own petty thoughts on certain matters. For the record, I forgave my father of any wrong doings towards me long before they occurred."

"Towards you, yes. But what about towards others? Towards Gondor and the King? Towards himself?"

Faramir stared at her.

Éowyn visibly hesitated, seemingly very cautious to articulate her next words. "Have you forgiven him for taking his own life? I know what Gondorian tradition says about such an act."

He flinched and sprang to his feet. Caught off guard by the thought of his father engulfed in flames, he began to pace around the room. It was said in Gondor, that if a person took their life, they would forever be caught in the moment they died—unable to break free—forever held within the state of despair and anguish they left the world in. If this were true, it was no wonder Denethor's withering hands could be seen in the reflection of the palantir.

"Oh, Faramir. I'm so sorry. I did not mean to..." Her words trailed off as she saw that he wept. She had never seen him do so before, so closely did he guard his emotions.

"I loved him, Éowyn. I loved him so much. Why did he do it? Why did he give in to despair?" He twisted his fingers in his hair, pulling at it to take the edge off the pain in his heart. "People remember him only as he was in the latter years of his life, but that was not him. My father was stern, yes, but he was also kind. I have this one particular memory of him that stands above all the others. After all these years, it is still vivid and fresh."

Éowyn gently pried Faramir's hands away from his hair and kissed them. "Tell me, then, for if you love this man, then I wish to know more of him so that I may love him as well." She pulled him towards the low couch in the back of the room. Their fingers intertwined as they settled.

"I was not yet five years old," he began. "Mother was recently dead. Many people were about, preparing for the funeral. Boromir was not permitted to comfort me in public, nor were we allowed to weep. Father did not like weakness of any kind shown in his sons, particularly to certain individuals of influence in attendance of the funeral. I believe I got the wrong impression and thought, in my immaturity, that grieving was entirely wrong and forbidden.

"I did not weep for my mother until after the funeral was over, some weeks after her actual death. When the tears finally came, I could not seem to stop them. I hid for hours from my father and brother, not wanting them to find me that way. But my father, of course, did find me eventually."

Faramir paused and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if trying to control emotion from flooding his face. At length, he spoke again, unseeing eyes fixed upon the floor.

"He held me, Éowyn. He held me and held me until I simply ran out of tears. He never once told me to stop weeping, nor did he mention anything of my weakness. I will never forget the great refuge his arms were to me that day or the feel of his lips upon my brow. When my tears slowed, he put me to bed and asked what I wanted for my birthday, for it was the next day." Faramir gave a halfhearted chuckle. "I remember, I had forgotten all about it."

Éowyn was openly crying. "And what did you ask for?"

"My mother's mantle. It was something I always associated with her, for she wore it often."

"The mantle you placed on me in the Houses of Healing?"

"The same," Faramir said, his eyes never rising above the hem of Éowyn's dress. "My father brought it to me the next day and told me the story of my birth." He paused for a few moments and seemed lost in some vivid memory that had decided to relive itself before his waking eyes. "It is true that my father became despondent soon after this, but I will not speak ill of him, for I can never forget the comfort and love he gave me that day.

"You are right, Éowyn. I haven't forgiven him for taking his own life. I know it is selfish of me, but I fear I cannot help it. I can speak the words of clemency, but my heart and mind do not believe them. I have tried to let go of the anger, but being here again in this wretched place, I find myself constantly reminded of it. This lot should never have come to me. I was never groomed for the Stewardship, and I thought to never reside in this house again."

"I was foolish not to realize how staying in the house of your father might effect you."

"Not foolish, love. Only ignorant, for I've told you nothing till now."

Éowyn reached for him and sought out his lips with her own. "I am glad you have told me all these things—glad in my heart—because I know that words can heal just as assuredly as they can wound. Perhaps speaking of your father will help you through the process of forgiving him. Will you not tell me another story?"

He gave a half-hearted chuckle. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"No doubt something quite wonderful, long ago, that you've probably forgotten about."

A warm smile spread over his face, and Éowyn felt that it was the first genuine smile she had ever seen him wear in a long time.

Leaning over to kiss her, he said, "Then I am very glad I did it, whatever it was."

-----

To be continued.

Finduilas died five years after Faramir was born. Because I wanted a younger Faramir in this story, he is four, but turns five later in the year—in other words, the timeline is still correct—it just assumes his birthday fell after his mother's death, during the same year.

Fun Fact: Billy Boyd and Dominic Monaghan repeatedly refer to David Wenham as "Daisy" Wenham. I can't help but wonder where the nickname came from. :) Does anyone know the story behind it?