~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~
I don't own the characters, just the plot. Inspired by Egleriel's excellent 'Éowyn Nimbeinaith' so kudos Egleriel! Please write a sequel! (I'm saying that so he/she doesn't sue...)
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--+-- The Houses of Healing --+-
"Aragorn?" repeated Faramir. He turned to the Warden. "She is fey with fever. Touch her brow, it burns."
Verily, warmth had surged back through Éowyn's body, but she had no fever; sitting by her, Faramir had become accustomed to cold skin.
"She feels healthy, lord," said the Warden. "And look, her arm has also healed."
Faramir scowled. "Leave us." The Warden obeyed. He had never seen the son of Denethor in such a mood.
"Why do you fume so, my lord?" asked Éowyn, taken aback.
"You may speak freely now, my lady," said Faramir, trying to keep his voice level. "What has really happened to you?"
Éowyn thought. Images flashed in her mind - images that she had never seen before. Someone stood alone before a great army amid a cloud of white light. The image changed - a monstrous black gate was opening, spilling forth a huge host. There came the echoes of pounding feet, and the ground flashing beneath fleeing feet. An arrow pinged against armour. Two banners rose in a cloud of foul dust. A man thrust a sword deep into the flesh-
"I know not, lord," she said quietly. "I remember things that have not happened to me."
"Where does it hurt?"
"It feels as though a sword has pierced my side," said Éowyn, "but there is nothing there."
"What truly ails you?" he demanded, not knowing why his anger rose. "What are you hiding from me?"
"I- I hide nothing," she stammered.
"Have I not given you all that you desired in this city?" Faramir hissed, rising from his seat and stepping towards her. "Comfort, companionship, care? How am I repaid? Petty lies and stupid secrets!"
His fist smashed upon the bedside table, but then the spasm passed. He turned to the window and placed his hands upon the sill. His voice shook slightly. "What is it you wait for, lady?"
"An end," said Éowyn. "An end to the pain that has dominated my life. My parents died, and my dear cousin. I spent years as a serving-girl, stalked by a traitor, watching the only father I knew slip into insanity. And the one ray of hope that entered my life-" She stopped.
"I am sorry," said Faramir, misunderstanding her words. "I did not mean to lose my temper. But it is a comfort to know... surely you have noticed... I cannot hide my affection for you."
With a thrill of horror, Éowyn realised what he thought. "My lord, I am flattered, but-"
"But you have just told me you feel the same," smiled Faramir.
"No. You are mistaken, my lord," said Éowyn softly. "I wait for the Lord Aragorn."
~*~*~*~^~*~*~*~
FOUR DAYS LATER
--+-- Minas Tirith --+--
The news was spreading like wildfire: the King is coming! He is in Osgiliath, they said; he has reached the Crossroads, said others. But all were surprised when the gleam of many armoured men was seen in the distance at the fourth hour. By sunset, a host of over five thousand had arrived at the gates.
The crowd roared; the streets of the White City were thronged. "The King has returned!" they chanted, but the King could barely ride. Halfway across the Pelennor, he had left the wagon in which he had rested for the latter part of the journey and mounted.
The new king rode up through the gates of the City, faster than he would have in ordinary circumstances. He rounded the Sixth Gate - and there she stood. Her arm was no longer in a sling; she stood upon the wall of the Citadel, clad in white, hair flowing out behind in the wind. He felt a surge of guilt, thinking of the pain he had put her through, and broke into a gallop.
===================
I don't own the characters, just the plot. Inspired by Egleriel's excellent 'Éowyn Nimbeinaith' so kudos Egleriel! Please write a sequel! (I'm saying that so he/she doesn't sue...)
===================
--+-- The Houses of Healing --+-
"Aragorn?" repeated Faramir. He turned to the Warden. "She is fey with fever. Touch her brow, it burns."
Verily, warmth had surged back through Éowyn's body, but she had no fever; sitting by her, Faramir had become accustomed to cold skin.
"She feels healthy, lord," said the Warden. "And look, her arm has also healed."
Faramir scowled. "Leave us." The Warden obeyed. He had never seen the son of Denethor in such a mood.
"Why do you fume so, my lord?" asked Éowyn, taken aback.
"You may speak freely now, my lady," said Faramir, trying to keep his voice level. "What has really happened to you?"
Éowyn thought. Images flashed in her mind - images that she had never seen before. Someone stood alone before a great army amid a cloud of white light. The image changed - a monstrous black gate was opening, spilling forth a huge host. There came the echoes of pounding feet, and the ground flashing beneath fleeing feet. An arrow pinged against armour. Two banners rose in a cloud of foul dust. A man thrust a sword deep into the flesh-
"I know not, lord," she said quietly. "I remember things that have not happened to me."
"Where does it hurt?"
"It feels as though a sword has pierced my side," said Éowyn, "but there is nothing there."
"What truly ails you?" he demanded, not knowing why his anger rose. "What are you hiding from me?"
"I- I hide nothing," she stammered.
"Have I not given you all that you desired in this city?" Faramir hissed, rising from his seat and stepping towards her. "Comfort, companionship, care? How am I repaid? Petty lies and stupid secrets!"
His fist smashed upon the bedside table, but then the spasm passed. He turned to the window and placed his hands upon the sill. His voice shook slightly. "What is it you wait for, lady?"
"An end," said Éowyn. "An end to the pain that has dominated my life. My parents died, and my dear cousin. I spent years as a serving-girl, stalked by a traitor, watching the only father I knew slip into insanity. And the one ray of hope that entered my life-" She stopped.
"I am sorry," said Faramir, misunderstanding her words. "I did not mean to lose my temper. But it is a comfort to know... surely you have noticed... I cannot hide my affection for you."
With a thrill of horror, Éowyn realised what he thought. "My lord, I am flattered, but-"
"But you have just told me you feel the same," smiled Faramir.
"No. You are mistaken, my lord," said Éowyn softly. "I wait for the Lord Aragorn."
~*~*~*~^~*~*~*~
FOUR DAYS LATER
--+-- Minas Tirith --+--
The news was spreading like wildfire: the King is coming! He is in Osgiliath, they said; he has reached the Crossroads, said others. But all were surprised when the gleam of many armoured men was seen in the distance at the fourth hour. By sunset, a host of over five thousand had arrived at the gates.
The crowd roared; the streets of the White City were thronged. "The King has returned!" they chanted, but the King could barely ride. Halfway across the Pelennor, he had left the wagon in which he had rested for the latter part of the journey and mounted.
The new king rode up through the gates of the City, faster than he would have in ordinary circumstances. He rounded the Sixth Gate - and there she stood. Her arm was no longer in a sling; she stood upon the wall of the Citadel, clad in white, hair flowing out behind in the wind. He felt a surge of guilt, thinking of the pain he had put her through, and broke into a gallop.
===================