A/N: I had a good day, so here's another chapter. Enjoy, Carrie S!!!!!!
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I have oft thought that the White City of Gondor is always most beautiful in the morning, for it was morning in Minas Tirith when I had first laid eyes upon my husband in the gardens. And now it was morning again, and we had reached the east side of Osgiliath and were at last crossing the Pelennor Fields, eager to be within the Great Gate of Minas Tirith.
When we had reached the ruined city, we found it teeming with rangers, and thankfully they recognized us and gave us food and water while bearing Damrod and Mablung, who would not leave his friend's side, ahead to Minas Tirith on horseback. They offered to take me as well, but I was content to stay in this crumbling place with Beregond and Einarfin as my protection for now.
Lieutenant Odrastor offered a full report to the man in charge of the Osgiliath rangers, Captain Meneldil. He listened to the report, his face growing more serious with every word.
"We had heard the report brought to the king by your men only two days past, but the army has not been sent yet, though they should be ready to leave this afternoon."
I interrupted him. "They have not yet departed? Why is this?"
"My lady, it takes some time to ready so many. They are still packing provisions for their journey southward. We have been sent here to protect the crossing so none might pass through the Rammas Echor and into the Pelennor without our approval."
Though I knew the slowness of the army was not his fault, I yet yelled at him. "Captain, my husband could very well lie wounded somewhere along the Harad Road because the army has not yet departed! Instead of guarding this crumbling heap of rocks, you should be hastening to the River Poros before any other fine men are taken from us!" Beregond laid his hands upon my shoulders, trying to calm me, but I shrugged him off and ran to the edge of the river, wishing to be alone.
After a short while, from close behind me, someone cleared his throat. I did not turn, and so Anborn came a little closer and began to speak. "My lady, how fare you?"
"I am well enough," I muttered, hugging myself tightly against a sudden chill.
He tried again. "Has your husband ever told you of the day when we fled from this place during the War?"
It was not a question that I had expected. I turned to face him, and stood silently for a moment, judging his expression. I decided that he looked tired, no, he looked defeated. "Faramir spoke of the day, though not in much detail," I offered, recalling the evening when I had reached the outpost and had dinner with the rangers. The Osgiliath retreat was the one battle that no one had mentioned.
"Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you knew that no matter what, you could not be successful?" I shook my head, and he continued, "Captain Faramir had been in that position for years, placed there by his father. He thought that we did not know of the strange relationship that he held with his father, but we did. All of us did. And when his father, the Steward of Gondor, commanded him to hold Osgiliath before the whole host of Mordor, he resigned himself to his fate. And he resigned his men to it as well."
I was going to interrupt him, but he held up his hand. "Do not misunderstand me, Lady Éowyn. If Captain Faramir had bid us to drown ourselves in the River Anduin, we would have done it without question, for he was a fair and wise commander, regardless of his father's opinion of him. And we knew that if he needed something to be accomplished, we would give everything that we had to complete the task for him."
Anborn came closer to the edge of the water and stood next to me, gazing out over the water, the city at his back. "During the retreat from Osgiliath, we gave him everything. We were greatly outnumbered, we were weary, and above all, we were frightened. The captain himself felt all of those, too. I had watched him from the time I joined the Rangers of Ithilien. I watched him fade with the strain of the command, never having any time to rest, nor to relax, nor even put his mind upon more pleasant thoughts, for there was naught else for him but Gondor and the concerns of being the second son of the man who constantly found fault with all that he did. And then when Boromir fell. . . ." His head drooped, and his eyes clouded as he remembered, but I would not speak.
Finally he continued. "He called the retreat because it was foolish to stay there any longer, and yet even when the Southrons began to pour through the Rammas Echor, he stayed behind just a bit, making certain that those of us who yet stood were ahead of him. Five leagues, my lady, we fled, our friends falling dead around us, and yet always near us was his voice, reassuring us, urging us forth, though we knew that few of us, if any, could live through that terrible day.
"And, near the end, the Winged Shadows descended upon us." He laughed bitterly here. "One of the foul creatures' mounts eviscerated Halnir with one swipe of its claws. And I saw Faramir's courageous facade dissolve in that one second. As he turned to face the Witch-King, I think that he had decided that perhaps he could buy the lives of the rest of us with his death." Anborn turned his head toward me, and his eyes found mine. "I know that he would have died for us then if it had not been for the Southron arrow that felled him." His eyes clouded once more, and tears sprang there. His voice was a mere whisper. "When he fell from his saddle, I knew it was finished, for it was his mere presence that had kept us alive."
Anborn took a deep breath and turned back to the river. He continued, with a much stronger voice, "Luckily, Prince Imrahil and his troops arrived then, and the prince himself carried our captain from the battlefield." He sighed and lowered his eyes to the ground. "I thought him dead then, my lady."
He shifted his weight and turned to me. "Forgive me my lengthy speech, Lady Éowyn."
"There is naught to forgive, Lieutenant."
His face colored, and he would not meet my gaze. "Forgive me my hasty decision about his fate, my lady. It is only that I cannot see how he could possibly tempt fate a second time and emerge victorious yet again, though I would trade myself for him if that were possible."
"As would I, Anborn," I murmured. "After everything he has suffered, he deserves to be honored and revered, and above all, he deserves to be at peace." I placed my hand on his shoulder. "I believe that he yet lives, Anborn. I shall believe in it enough for the both of us."
He smiled a little then and thanked me before I withdrew my hand, and we went back to where Lieutenant Odrastor and Captain Meneldil stood, still speaking urgently about the Southrons. But the captain turned his attention to me as soon as I arrived.
"My lady, forgive me. I had no idea what had befallen your husband."
"Nay, Captain, forgive my outburst." I changed the subject. "I would see the king if it is possible. Might I have the loan of three horses to bear me and my remaining guards to Minas Tirith?"
"Of course, Lady Éowyn." He called to his aide, and the man found us mounts, and so Einarfin, Beregond and I rode to Minas Tirith as fast as the horses would run.
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"Éowyn, I am so glad to see you well." Aragorn clasped my arms and kissed me on each cheek, though he had seemed quite surprised at my disheveled appearance. "When I received word of your husband's wounding at Huadh in Gwanur, I was greatly alarmed. Where is the Steward, my lady?"
He had received me in his private office as soon as he heard that I had arrived in Minas Tirith and offered me a seat across from his chair behind his desk.
"My Lord King," I began, and the friendly glimmer in his eye faded, for whenever I addressed him as such, he knew that matters were very serious. "My Lord King, the Steward of Gondor is missing. The outpost at the River Poros was ambushed by at least a hundred Haradrim, who set fire to the buildings and then proceeded to kill anyone who was in their way. Unhappily, I was forced to flee along with the only seven men who yet remain alive. I left my husband there, and the last time that I saw him, he was in close combat with the Southrons."
Aragorn's expression was pained. "My lady, I give you my sorrow at your ill news. My army departs at noon today, one thousand men strong, but it seems we depart too late to save Gondor's greatest treasure."
"Aragorn, I do not believe that he is dead. I ask you to respect that until we know for certain aught else."
He nodded. "Of course. Will you ride with us, Éowyn?"
I was sorely tempted, but I said, "Nay, Aragorn, for my lord sent me from him, as he was worried for my safety, and I would not defy him on this matter, though I wish that I could."
His brow furrowed a moment before he said, "I shall bring him back to you myself." The words 'dead or alive' hung in the air between us, though they had not been said aloud. I nodded my thanks to him.
Aragorn was too much of a gentleman to mention how appalling that I knew I must look, but he took my hand and bade me to follow him. We walked slowly through the corridors of the Citadel until we reached the door that led to where his private quarters began. "Please, Éowyn, go to Arwen. She has missed you much in the months since you have last graced the White City, and I hope that you might take some comfort from her presence as well as provide some comfort for her while I am gone from Minas Tirith and her side."
I bowed before the king and said, "Farewell, King Elessar. I wish you great haste to the River Poros, as well as success when you at last battle the Haradrim."
"Farewell, Lady Éowyn. I shall send word to you of your husband as soon as I am able." He kissed each of my cheeks one last time and then strode away in the direction from which we had come. I turned and entered the royal apartments and greeted my friend, the queen.
Arwen sat upon a settee near the windows which overlooked the Pelennor, but she rose as I entered, her fair face etched with concern for me. Even as she requested refreshment to be brought, she settled me next to her on her bench and bade me to tell her all of what I had seen.
I did, even going so far as to tell her of Faramir's strange dreams when he was upon the Huadh in Gwanur. She smiled at that and quietly congratulated me, though I told her that I felt not like celebrating when the fate of my husband remained unknown. And so I continued my story to the very end, adding that I felt guilt about his wounding and now over his disappearance as well. The food and drink arrived, and the queen informally poured us both some tea. She sat silently and considered what I had said for a bit, as is oft her wont, before she finally said, "Long have the Haradrim sought to destroy the people of Gondor. It seems not enough for them to remain in their own lands to the south. Never shall they be satisfied with that, for they are a warlike people and seek battle where they will. And yet, if their forces that you have described were so few, perhaps their strength wanes, and they shall be turned back easily."
"Perhaps, Arwen, though not soon enough for my liking. I worry constantly for Faramir and wonder if he lies somewhere grievously wounded and unable to follow me to Minas Tirith, for he said he would follow, and I believed him."
Arwen stroked my cheek once. "If he is able, I know that he shall, Éowyn. Fret not the events that cannot be undone. You went to him because of your love for him, and you could not know what might befall him after that. But Éowyn, he defended you and the life of your unborn son, perhaps unto death, because of his love for you. If the worst should come true, someday you may find that your knowledge of that shall bring you some comfort."
I nodded, taking comfort from her words. "Now," she continued, passing a plate of honey cakes to me, "you must eat. You are looking thin, and you must think of the child within you, who, I know, demands nourishment." Her words were so like Faramir's before we were parted, and though I had remained strong among the men, I now wept, and the queen drew me close within her arms, and she said naught else.
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I found it most unsettling that my right hand would not stop shaking. The cool mud had felt refreshing against my fevered skin as I had dragged myself from the edge of the river and lain for perhaps two days time in the underbrush of a small thicket that the Poros had deposited me near. It is impossible to know for certain how long I remained there since I was barely conscious for most of that time. But I had finally miraculously become alert enough to know that I was thirsty, and my health was desperately in need of attention. I knew that my body would yet be floating downstream had I not hit that cluster of barely submerged rocks, but unhappily I had come away with a badly broken left arm, which hung limply, though painfully, at my side, and a lump on my head that caused me dizziness and nausea when I sat up. Though the sunlight greatly troubled my eyes, I crawled out of the bushes and tried to determine where I might be.
I found that the river was at my back, and judging from the direction of the flow, I knew that I was in South Gondor, obviously somewhere downstream from the Fords of Poros. The river was quite wide here, and the current did not appear to be very swift. I would have attempted to swim across had it not been for my poor physical condition, but I thought it quite unlikely that I should emerge from the other edge of the water yet alive.
My head ached abominably, and it was all I could do not to lie back down and give up. But I thought of Éowyn and the precious life she held within her, and I knew that I must live for them. So I crawled back to the edge of the water and drank. Though it was muddy, the water was cool and passably refreshing. I bathed my head and face as well, hoping to ease the ache somewhat, though it was debatable how successful that truly was.
I was quite uneasy being in this unfamiliar land without any weapon, save my dagger which had fortunately stayed in its sheath as I had been buffeted against the rocks in the river. I knew the only way that I could possibly reach a suitable place to cross the Poros without being seen by an enemy was to travel only by night. And yet, I worried that if I were to slip back into unconsciousness during the course of the day, I might never wake again. And so I lingered at the edge of the river, drinking water when my roiling stomach would allow it, keeping watch for anyone, and probing my broken body with my shaking fingers, hoping to be somewhat fit for travel by nightfall.
Sometime just before dark, I woke from a doze that I had not realized had overtaken me. I took one last long swallow of water from the river and then worked my way to my feet, falling into the mud only twice before I was steady enough to take a few wobbly steps along the bank. But I was unable to stagger very far before I found myself again on my knees retching feebly onto the mud.
I found this method of travel most unacceptable, but I could not do any better, and so I satisfied myself with simply reaching the next sizeable stand of trees, where I was lucky to catch scent of a patch of meadwort, which I had long used as a painkiller when in the field. With my dagger, I clumsily cut off a leaf and began to chew it, in hopes that I might soon reap some of the painkilling benefits from it, despite the fact that I had no means of brewing it into a proper tea.
Though I had barely moved a hundred feet from my original position, I was exhausted more than I realized, and sleep took me without my knowledge. But I woke again around midday of the morrow, and once again slipped down to the river to drink and to scout my position. But I had barely emerged from the trees when I heard whistling, not of a bird, but of a person. Glancing upstream, I saw a young man, perhaps twelve or thirteen years of age, who was fishing from the bank. Quietly I slipped back into the shadows and stooped, waiting to see where he would go when he was finished there.
I did not wait long before he caught a rather small fish and pulled it onto the bank before removing the hook from it and tossing it into his creel. He seemed to be satisfied with his catch, and so he stood with his belongings and made his way along a well-worn path through the brush and tall grass that carried him southward away from the river. Deciding perhaps he could lead me to a horse and provisions, I followed him as best as I could, staying as low as possible, not yet wishing to be seen by anyone.
Soon he was out of my sight, though his trail was plain enough. I staggered over two more hills before I finally sighted a weathered wooden hovel set at the edge of a thick wood. I would have thought it abandoned, had it not been for the smoke drifting from the stone chimney. I was disheartened to see that the inhabitants did not appear to own a horse, as there was no outbuilding to keep one in. But there was naught else that I could do as I was much too weak to get far on my own. I called out to whomever was inside and waited patiently for someone to show themselves.
The creaky wooden door opened a little and I knew someone was studying me from the dark interior. I held my right hand before me to show that I came not intending any harm, and I said as much. After a minute or so, a small woman with unbound dark hair opened the door enough to reveal herself, and she stepped outside, two young girls hanging onto her skirts. The boy I had followed home stepped from behind her, brandishing a pitchfork.
"What do you want?" she asked, her tone unfriendly.
"Madam, I am badly in need of aid. I was injured when I fell into the river. Will you help me?" I held my breath, hoping she was not as inhospitable as she seemed. She signaled to the boy, and the pitchfork was lowered as she came closer to me, her small children waiting at the door for her.
"Did you say you fell into the river?" I nodded as she eyed my ruined clothing. "How does a ranger from Gondor simply fall into the River Poros?"
"Please, madam, might I have only a bite of food? I cannot pay you, for I lost everything to the river, but perhaps I could do some work around your home to earn my keep?"
The woman laughed somewhat unkindly as she circled me, looking me up and down. "I do not think you shall be doing any work with that arm of yours anytime soon." I suffered her to touch me as she pulled back my cloak revealing the dagger at my waist. "Where is your sword, ranger?"
"As I said before, I lost everything." She dropped the edge of my cloak and stood before me, her eyes fixed unwaveringly upon my face, and finally her expression softened. Without looking away from me, she bade her son to bring a chair. I watched him disappear into the house and only seconds later he reappeared carrying a rickety wooden chair. He placed it on the ground next to his mother and she invited me to sit.
I sank gratefully into the chair with a murmur of thanks, wondering what she found so beguiling about my face.
"Sir Ranger," she said, as if she was reading my thoughts, "please forgive me my rudeness. It has been long since I have rested my eyes upon a warrior, since my husband left before the War."
"Mother,"began the boy, but she hushed him with a wave of her hand.
She had revealed to me that she was alone here with her children, but whether a calculated risk or an accidental admission, I could not say. I nodded dumbly.
"Madach, take Isilma and Erendia inside and bring a bowl of soup for the ranger."
Madach remained silent but sent me a look that might have killed me if such a thing had been possible, though he obeyed his mother. The soup arrived in due time, and the woman presented it to me, asking forgiveness for the thinness of the liquid. Though the fare was indeed meager, it was delicious, and it was difficult not to gulp it down all at once. Though I did spill a little because of my damnably shaking hand, I retained my propriety and sipped at it, complimenting the woman's ability to cook. She thanked me and remained standing before me, watching me eat. I grew uncomfortable under her gaze.
"Madam, will you and your son not join me?"
She looked at the ground, seemingly uncomfortable as well. "Nay, Sir Ranger, I must save the rest for my daughters."
I was dismayed that I had eaten their dinner and said as much. The woman waved off my apology and knelt next to me, gently folding my cloak back from my left shoulder to look at my broken arm. She noticed the bloodstains and that the lacing on my left side was missing as well.
"Would you allow me to see to your wounds, Sir Ranger?"
"I would indeed, madam, though I reckon your son thinks it a disagreeable idea." I asked the boy, "Is there aught that I might do to ease your fears, Master Madach?"
He seemed surprised that I had addressed him at all, not to mention that I had actually called him by his given name. He remembered himself quickly and resumed his defiant glare before he shrugged by way of an answer.
"Madach, do not be rude!" his mother scolded.
"Nay, madam, he is only worried for his family, no less than I would be if I were in his situation, faced with a strange man armed with a dagger." Clumsily, I unbuckled my sword belt and offered it, and the dagger attached to it, to the boy. "Here, take this, then you shall know that I cannot harm your mother while she tends me." His eyes lit in surprise, and he came forward slowly, taking the offering with a bow before he retreated a few feet from me and examined the dagger, pulling it from its sheath and checking its sharpness and shine in the afternoon sunlight as his mother took me by my right arm and slowly led me into their humble dwelling.
The hovel was dark but comfortable and warm. The woman offered me a seat at her table in front of the fire and set before me a bowl of water to wash in and a cloth. As she stepped away a moment, I awkwardly wet the cloth and began to wipe my face, and then I held the coolness against the lump upon my head, for it felt good.
Madach came into the house, bringing the chair back, and sat upon it in the corner, watching me warily, as he clutched my own knife in his hand. His two sisters rushed to his side, and they sat on the dirt floor next to his feet and watched me with wide-eyed stares. Their mother returned with some tea, and asked me if I would care to drink it.
"I defer to your will, madam," I murmured as she set the cup on the table before me.
"Please, my name is Almaria, Sir Ranger." She took the cloth from my trembling fingers and began to gently bathe my head wound.
"My name is Faramir, Almaria." My name seemed insignificant to her as she continued her work. "Can you tell me how far below the Crossing of Poros we are here?"
"Perhaps five or six leagues from there, Faramir."
I was shocked that the river had carried me such a distance, but said naught of it. Carefully, I lifted the tea to my lips and sipped it. It was willow bark, and bitter as sin, but I was not about to ask for honey to make it palatable. "I need to return to Ithilien as soon as I might."
"Of course."
She knelt on my left side and asked Madach to bring the dagger to her. He obeyed, and she began to carefully cut open the stitching on the sleeve of my surcoat, thoughtfully attempting to preserve the garment, though I wondered if she had any thread to sew it up again. Mardach came around to my right side and removed my cuirass as his mother worked.
It was not long before I could feel the pain lessening somewhat as the tea began to do its work. But I began to feel dizzy and lightheaded as well, and then my vision began to darken. I meant to warn Almaria that I was about to fall from the chair, but the words that I spoke were slurred too much to be understood. When I worriedly glanced up at her face in the dimness, I realized that there must have been something more than just willow bark in that tea, for she was smiling down at me, but the last words that I heard her utter were something to the effect of how trusting that Men of Gondor are inclined to be.
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I have oft thought that the White City of Gondor is always most beautiful in the morning, for it was morning in Minas Tirith when I had first laid eyes upon my husband in the gardens. And now it was morning again, and we had reached the east side of Osgiliath and were at last crossing the Pelennor Fields, eager to be within the Great Gate of Minas Tirith.
When we had reached the ruined city, we found it teeming with rangers, and thankfully they recognized us and gave us food and water while bearing Damrod and Mablung, who would not leave his friend's side, ahead to Minas Tirith on horseback. They offered to take me as well, but I was content to stay in this crumbling place with Beregond and Einarfin as my protection for now.
Lieutenant Odrastor offered a full report to the man in charge of the Osgiliath rangers, Captain Meneldil. He listened to the report, his face growing more serious with every word.
"We had heard the report brought to the king by your men only two days past, but the army has not been sent yet, though they should be ready to leave this afternoon."
I interrupted him. "They have not yet departed? Why is this?"
"My lady, it takes some time to ready so many. They are still packing provisions for their journey southward. We have been sent here to protect the crossing so none might pass through the Rammas Echor and into the Pelennor without our approval."
Though I knew the slowness of the army was not his fault, I yet yelled at him. "Captain, my husband could very well lie wounded somewhere along the Harad Road because the army has not yet departed! Instead of guarding this crumbling heap of rocks, you should be hastening to the River Poros before any other fine men are taken from us!" Beregond laid his hands upon my shoulders, trying to calm me, but I shrugged him off and ran to the edge of the river, wishing to be alone.
After a short while, from close behind me, someone cleared his throat. I did not turn, and so Anborn came a little closer and began to speak. "My lady, how fare you?"
"I am well enough," I muttered, hugging myself tightly against a sudden chill.
He tried again. "Has your husband ever told you of the day when we fled from this place during the War?"
It was not a question that I had expected. I turned to face him, and stood silently for a moment, judging his expression. I decided that he looked tired, no, he looked defeated. "Faramir spoke of the day, though not in much detail," I offered, recalling the evening when I had reached the outpost and had dinner with the rangers. The Osgiliath retreat was the one battle that no one had mentioned.
"Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you knew that no matter what, you could not be successful?" I shook my head, and he continued, "Captain Faramir had been in that position for years, placed there by his father. He thought that we did not know of the strange relationship that he held with his father, but we did. All of us did. And when his father, the Steward of Gondor, commanded him to hold Osgiliath before the whole host of Mordor, he resigned himself to his fate. And he resigned his men to it as well."
I was going to interrupt him, but he held up his hand. "Do not misunderstand me, Lady Éowyn. If Captain Faramir had bid us to drown ourselves in the River Anduin, we would have done it without question, for he was a fair and wise commander, regardless of his father's opinion of him. And we knew that if he needed something to be accomplished, we would give everything that we had to complete the task for him."
Anborn came closer to the edge of the water and stood next to me, gazing out over the water, the city at his back. "During the retreat from Osgiliath, we gave him everything. We were greatly outnumbered, we were weary, and above all, we were frightened. The captain himself felt all of those, too. I had watched him from the time I joined the Rangers of Ithilien. I watched him fade with the strain of the command, never having any time to rest, nor to relax, nor even put his mind upon more pleasant thoughts, for there was naught else for him but Gondor and the concerns of being the second son of the man who constantly found fault with all that he did. And then when Boromir fell. . . ." His head drooped, and his eyes clouded as he remembered, but I would not speak.
Finally he continued. "He called the retreat because it was foolish to stay there any longer, and yet even when the Southrons began to pour through the Rammas Echor, he stayed behind just a bit, making certain that those of us who yet stood were ahead of him. Five leagues, my lady, we fled, our friends falling dead around us, and yet always near us was his voice, reassuring us, urging us forth, though we knew that few of us, if any, could live through that terrible day.
"And, near the end, the Winged Shadows descended upon us." He laughed bitterly here. "One of the foul creatures' mounts eviscerated Halnir with one swipe of its claws. And I saw Faramir's courageous facade dissolve in that one second. As he turned to face the Witch-King, I think that he had decided that perhaps he could buy the lives of the rest of us with his death." Anborn turned his head toward me, and his eyes found mine. "I know that he would have died for us then if it had not been for the Southron arrow that felled him." His eyes clouded once more, and tears sprang there. His voice was a mere whisper. "When he fell from his saddle, I knew it was finished, for it was his mere presence that had kept us alive."
Anborn took a deep breath and turned back to the river. He continued, with a much stronger voice, "Luckily, Prince Imrahil and his troops arrived then, and the prince himself carried our captain from the battlefield." He sighed and lowered his eyes to the ground. "I thought him dead then, my lady."
He shifted his weight and turned to me. "Forgive me my lengthy speech, Lady Éowyn."
"There is naught to forgive, Lieutenant."
His face colored, and he would not meet my gaze. "Forgive me my hasty decision about his fate, my lady. It is only that I cannot see how he could possibly tempt fate a second time and emerge victorious yet again, though I would trade myself for him if that were possible."
"As would I, Anborn," I murmured. "After everything he has suffered, he deserves to be honored and revered, and above all, he deserves to be at peace." I placed my hand on his shoulder. "I believe that he yet lives, Anborn. I shall believe in it enough for the both of us."
He smiled a little then and thanked me before I withdrew my hand, and we went back to where Lieutenant Odrastor and Captain Meneldil stood, still speaking urgently about the Southrons. But the captain turned his attention to me as soon as I arrived.
"My lady, forgive me. I had no idea what had befallen your husband."
"Nay, Captain, forgive my outburst." I changed the subject. "I would see the king if it is possible. Might I have the loan of three horses to bear me and my remaining guards to Minas Tirith?"
"Of course, Lady Éowyn." He called to his aide, and the man found us mounts, and so Einarfin, Beregond and I rode to Minas Tirith as fast as the horses would run.
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"Éowyn, I am so glad to see you well." Aragorn clasped my arms and kissed me on each cheek, though he had seemed quite surprised at my disheveled appearance. "When I received word of your husband's wounding at Huadh in Gwanur, I was greatly alarmed. Where is the Steward, my lady?"
He had received me in his private office as soon as he heard that I had arrived in Minas Tirith and offered me a seat across from his chair behind his desk.
"My Lord King," I began, and the friendly glimmer in his eye faded, for whenever I addressed him as such, he knew that matters were very serious. "My Lord King, the Steward of Gondor is missing. The outpost at the River Poros was ambushed by at least a hundred Haradrim, who set fire to the buildings and then proceeded to kill anyone who was in their way. Unhappily, I was forced to flee along with the only seven men who yet remain alive. I left my husband there, and the last time that I saw him, he was in close combat with the Southrons."
Aragorn's expression was pained. "My lady, I give you my sorrow at your ill news. My army departs at noon today, one thousand men strong, but it seems we depart too late to save Gondor's greatest treasure."
"Aragorn, I do not believe that he is dead. I ask you to respect that until we know for certain aught else."
He nodded. "Of course. Will you ride with us, Éowyn?"
I was sorely tempted, but I said, "Nay, Aragorn, for my lord sent me from him, as he was worried for my safety, and I would not defy him on this matter, though I wish that I could."
His brow furrowed a moment before he said, "I shall bring him back to you myself." The words 'dead or alive' hung in the air between us, though they had not been said aloud. I nodded my thanks to him.
Aragorn was too much of a gentleman to mention how appalling that I knew I must look, but he took my hand and bade me to follow him. We walked slowly through the corridors of the Citadel until we reached the door that led to where his private quarters began. "Please, Éowyn, go to Arwen. She has missed you much in the months since you have last graced the White City, and I hope that you might take some comfort from her presence as well as provide some comfort for her while I am gone from Minas Tirith and her side."
I bowed before the king and said, "Farewell, King Elessar. I wish you great haste to the River Poros, as well as success when you at last battle the Haradrim."
"Farewell, Lady Éowyn. I shall send word to you of your husband as soon as I am able." He kissed each of my cheeks one last time and then strode away in the direction from which we had come. I turned and entered the royal apartments and greeted my friend, the queen.
Arwen sat upon a settee near the windows which overlooked the Pelennor, but she rose as I entered, her fair face etched with concern for me. Even as she requested refreshment to be brought, she settled me next to her on her bench and bade me to tell her all of what I had seen.
I did, even going so far as to tell her of Faramir's strange dreams when he was upon the Huadh in Gwanur. She smiled at that and quietly congratulated me, though I told her that I felt not like celebrating when the fate of my husband remained unknown. And so I continued my story to the very end, adding that I felt guilt about his wounding and now over his disappearance as well. The food and drink arrived, and the queen informally poured us both some tea. She sat silently and considered what I had said for a bit, as is oft her wont, before she finally said, "Long have the Haradrim sought to destroy the people of Gondor. It seems not enough for them to remain in their own lands to the south. Never shall they be satisfied with that, for they are a warlike people and seek battle where they will. And yet, if their forces that you have described were so few, perhaps their strength wanes, and they shall be turned back easily."
"Perhaps, Arwen, though not soon enough for my liking. I worry constantly for Faramir and wonder if he lies somewhere grievously wounded and unable to follow me to Minas Tirith, for he said he would follow, and I believed him."
Arwen stroked my cheek once. "If he is able, I know that he shall, Éowyn. Fret not the events that cannot be undone. You went to him because of your love for him, and you could not know what might befall him after that. But Éowyn, he defended you and the life of your unborn son, perhaps unto death, because of his love for you. If the worst should come true, someday you may find that your knowledge of that shall bring you some comfort."
I nodded, taking comfort from her words. "Now," she continued, passing a plate of honey cakes to me, "you must eat. You are looking thin, and you must think of the child within you, who, I know, demands nourishment." Her words were so like Faramir's before we were parted, and though I had remained strong among the men, I now wept, and the queen drew me close within her arms, and she said naught else.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I found it most unsettling that my right hand would not stop shaking. The cool mud had felt refreshing against my fevered skin as I had dragged myself from the edge of the river and lain for perhaps two days time in the underbrush of a small thicket that the Poros had deposited me near. It is impossible to know for certain how long I remained there since I was barely conscious for most of that time. But I had finally miraculously become alert enough to know that I was thirsty, and my health was desperately in need of attention. I knew that my body would yet be floating downstream had I not hit that cluster of barely submerged rocks, but unhappily I had come away with a badly broken left arm, which hung limply, though painfully, at my side, and a lump on my head that caused me dizziness and nausea when I sat up. Though the sunlight greatly troubled my eyes, I crawled out of the bushes and tried to determine where I might be.
I found that the river was at my back, and judging from the direction of the flow, I knew that I was in South Gondor, obviously somewhere downstream from the Fords of Poros. The river was quite wide here, and the current did not appear to be very swift. I would have attempted to swim across had it not been for my poor physical condition, but I thought it quite unlikely that I should emerge from the other edge of the water yet alive.
My head ached abominably, and it was all I could do not to lie back down and give up. But I thought of Éowyn and the precious life she held within her, and I knew that I must live for them. So I crawled back to the edge of the water and drank. Though it was muddy, the water was cool and passably refreshing. I bathed my head and face as well, hoping to ease the ache somewhat, though it was debatable how successful that truly was.
I was quite uneasy being in this unfamiliar land without any weapon, save my dagger which had fortunately stayed in its sheath as I had been buffeted against the rocks in the river. I knew the only way that I could possibly reach a suitable place to cross the Poros without being seen by an enemy was to travel only by night. And yet, I worried that if I were to slip back into unconsciousness during the course of the day, I might never wake again. And so I lingered at the edge of the river, drinking water when my roiling stomach would allow it, keeping watch for anyone, and probing my broken body with my shaking fingers, hoping to be somewhat fit for travel by nightfall.
Sometime just before dark, I woke from a doze that I had not realized had overtaken me. I took one last long swallow of water from the river and then worked my way to my feet, falling into the mud only twice before I was steady enough to take a few wobbly steps along the bank. But I was unable to stagger very far before I found myself again on my knees retching feebly onto the mud.
I found this method of travel most unacceptable, but I could not do any better, and so I satisfied myself with simply reaching the next sizeable stand of trees, where I was lucky to catch scent of a patch of meadwort, which I had long used as a painkiller when in the field. With my dagger, I clumsily cut off a leaf and began to chew it, in hopes that I might soon reap some of the painkilling benefits from it, despite the fact that I had no means of brewing it into a proper tea.
Though I had barely moved a hundred feet from my original position, I was exhausted more than I realized, and sleep took me without my knowledge. But I woke again around midday of the morrow, and once again slipped down to the river to drink and to scout my position. But I had barely emerged from the trees when I heard whistling, not of a bird, but of a person. Glancing upstream, I saw a young man, perhaps twelve or thirteen years of age, who was fishing from the bank. Quietly I slipped back into the shadows and stooped, waiting to see where he would go when he was finished there.
I did not wait long before he caught a rather small fish and pulled it onto the bank before removing the hook from it and tossing it into his creel. He seemed to be satisfied with his catch, and so he stood with his belongings and made his way along a well-worn path through the brush and tall grass that carried him southward away from the river. Deciding perhaps he could lead me to a horse and provisions, I followed him as best as I could, staying as low as possible, not yet wishing to be seen by anyone.
Soon he was out of my sight, though his trail was plain enough. I staggered over two more hills before I finally sighted a weathered wooden hovel set at the edge of a thick wood. I would have thought it abandoned, had it not been for the smoke drifting from the stone chimney. I was disheartened to see that the inhabitants did not appear to own a horse, as there was no outbuilding to keep one in. But there was naught else that I could do as I was much too weak to get far on my own. I called out to whomever was inside and waited patiently for someone to show themselves.
The creaky wooden door opened a little and I knew someone was studying me from the dark interior. I held my right hand before me to show that I came not intending any harm, and I said as much. After a minute or so, a small woman with unbound dark hair opened the door enough to reveal herself, and she stepped outside, two young girls hanging onto her skirts. The boy I had followed home stepped from behind her, brandishing a pitchfork.
"What do you want?" she asked, her tone unfriendly.
"Madam, I am badly in need of aid. I was injured when I fell into the river. Will you help me?" I held my breath, hoping she was not as inhospitable as she seemed. She signaled to the boy, and the pitchfork was lowered as she came closer to me, her small children waiting at the door for her.
"Did you say you fell into the river?" I nodded as she eyed my ruined clothing. "How does a ranger from Gondor simply fall into the River Poros?"
"Please, madam, might I have only a bite of food? I cannot pay you, for I lost everything to the river, but perhaps I could do some work around your home to earn my keep?"
The woman laughed somewhat unkindly as she circled me, looking me up and down. "I do not think you shall be doing any work with that arm of yours anytime soon." I suffered her to touch me as she pulled back my cloak revealing the dagger at my waist. "Where is your sword, ranger?"
"As I said before, I lost everything." She dropped the edge of my cloak and stood before me, her eyes fixed unwaveringly upon my face, and finally her expression softened. Without looking away from me, she bade her son to bring a chair. I watched him disappear into the house and only seconds later he reappeared carrying a rickety wooden chair. He placed it on the ground next to his mother and she invited me to sit.
I sank gratefully into the chair with a murmur of thanks, wondering what she found so beguiling about my face.
"Sir Ranger," she said, as if she was reading my thoughts, "please forgive me my rudeness. It has been long since I have rested my eyes upon a warrior, since my husband left before the War."
"Mother,"began the boy, but she hushed him with a wave of her hand.
She had revealed to me that she was alone here with her children, but whether a calculated risk or an accidental admission, I could not say. I nodded dumbly.
"Madach, take Isilma and Erendia inside and bring a bowl of soup for the ranger."
Madach remained silent but sent me a look that might have killed me if such a thing had been possible, though he obeyed his mother. The soup arrived in due time, and the woman presented it to me, asking forgiveness for the thinness of the liquid. Though the fare was indeed meager, it was delicious, and it was difficult not to gulp it down all at once. Though I did spill a little because of my damnably shaking hand, I retained my propriety and sipped at it, complimenting the woman's ability to cook. She thanked me and remained standing before me, watching me eat. I grew uncomfortable under her gaze.
"Madam, will you and your son not join me?"
She looked at the ground, seemingly uncomfortable as well. "Nay, Sir Ranger, I must save the rest for my daughters."
I was dismayed that I had eaten their dinner and said as much. The woman waved off my apology and knelt next to me, gently folding my cloak back from my left shoulder to look at my broken arm. She noticed the bloodstains and that the lacing on my left side was missing as well.
"Would you allow me to see to your wounds, Sir Ranger?"
"I would indeed, madam, though I reckon your son thinks it a disagreeable idea." I asked the boy, "Is there aught that I might do to ease your fears, Master Madach?"
He seemed surprised that I had addressed him at all, not to mention that I had actually called him by his given name. He remembered himself quickly and resumed his defiant glare before he shrugged by way of an answer.
"Madach, do not be rude!" his mother scolded.
"Nay, madam, he is only worried for his family, no less than I would be if I were in his situation, faced with a strange man armed with a dagger." Clumsily, I unbuckled my sword belt and offered it, and the dagger attached to it, to the boy. "Here, take this, then you shall know that I cannot harm your mother while she tends me." His eyes lit in surprise, and he came forward slowly, taking the offering with a bow before he retreated a few feet from me and examined the dagger, pulling it from its sheath and checking its sharpness and shine in the afternoon sunlight as his mother took me by my right arm and slowly led me into their humble dwelling.
The hovel was dark but comfortable and warm. The woman offered me a seat at her table in front of the fire and set before me a bowl of water to wash in and a cloth. As she stepped away a moment, I awkwardly wet the cloth and began to wipe my face, and then I held the coolness against the lump upon my head, for it felt good.
Madach came into the house, bringing the chair back, and sat upon it in the corner, watching me warily, as he clutched my own knife in his hand. His two sisters rushed to his side, and they sat on the dirt floor next to his feet and watched me with wide-eyed stares. Their mother returned with some tea, and asked me if I would care to drink it.
"I defer to your will, madam," I murmured as she set the cup on the table before me.
"Please, my name is Almaria, Sir Ranger." She took the cloth from my trembling fingers and began to gently bathe my head wound.
"My name is Faramir, Almaria." My name seemed insignificant to her as she continued her work. "Can you tell me how far below the Crossing of Poros we are here?"
"Perhaps five or six leagues from there, Faramir."
I was shocked that the river had carried me such a distance, but said naught of it. Carefully, I lifted the tea to my lips and sipped it. It was willow bark, and bitter as sin, but I was not about to ask for honey to make it palatable. "I need to return to Ithilien as soon as I might."
"Of course."
She knelt on my left side and asked Madach to bring the dagger to her. He obeyed, and she began to carefully cut open the stitching on the sleeve of my surcoat, thoughtfully attempting to preserve the garment, though I wondered if she had any thread to sew it up again. Mardach came around to my right side and removed my cuirass as his mother worked.
It was not long before I could feel the pain lessening somewhat as the tea began to do its work. But I began to feel dizzy and lightheaded as well, and then my vision began to darken. I meant to warn Almaria that I was about to fall from the chair, but the words that I spoke were slurred too much to be understood. When I worriedly glanced up at her face in the dimness, I realized that there must have been something more than just willow bark in that tea, for she was smiling down at me, but the last words that I heard her utter were something to the effect of how trusting that Men of Gondor are inclined to be.