~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~
I don't own the characters, just the plot.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Just want to clarify a few things:
---------
To Egleriel and Common Welsh Green:
This chapter will be right up your alley.
---------
To Lyra Belacqua:
[I love HDM, too!] Thanks for reviewing, but please try not to type in SMS language. What's "cnxn"? :)
---------
To writerbrat:
I'm sorry you feel that way, but he's supposed to be maddened by - well, a lot of things. Faramir has faced the deaths of his entire family and the wounding of the woman he loves. Now she (in his eyes) is playing games saying she doesn't know why it hurts. Plus, spending 2 days sitting alone in a sick-room can't be good for a person's mental health. And Faramir does try to master his temper. If you really don't like it, well, free speech and flaming are still legal... ;) [Darn...]
---------
To Rosa Cotton: Getting there...
===================
--+-- The Houses of Healing: Gatelodge --+--
Faramir sighed. He had not lost control like that in a very long time. As Steward, by right he should be out greeting the Lord Aragorn, but he had not the heart. Not long before, Lady Éowyn had heard the news of the King's arrival and rushed out onto the walls.
The noise in the streets was deafening, even from up here in the Citadel. Faramir's heart twisted as he thought of her words. "I wait for the Lord Aragorn." How had he not seen it before? He had given little thought to anything other than Éowyn's health during the two days of his vigil, least of all to her comment that her heart lay elsewhere. It had slipped his mind. Now it obsessed him.
A glum bitterness enshrouded Faramir's thoughts. Aragorn had his choice of any woman in the West of Middle-earth - even among the Elves, it seemed. And yet he spurned an Elven-princess for the woman that Faramir, too, loved. Faramir knew that affairs of the heart could not be controlled, that it was not Aragorn's fault, but it still slightly soured the new King in Faramir's eyes.
The Steward of Gondor started. A wild clip-clop burst into the courtyard.
Forcing a gracious smile to his face, Faramir opened the door. For four days he had dwelt on his own outburst and Éowyn's response. The smile was graven upon his face like a scar. The King of the West-lands slid lopsidedly onto the cobbles. Faramir could see that his side pained him and though it did not cheer Faramir (for he was not that sort of man), it increased his sympathy for Aragorn.
The image Faramir had built up in his head was immediately dispelled. The sourness vanished. Looking as though for the first time, he saw not the brutish warrior he had envisioned over the past week, but a man aged beyond his years; burdened with cares enough to crush him; resentful of the battlefield but unafraid; worried about his own aptitude for the kingship; and Faramir was proud to be his second-in-command. He could not have released Éowyn to a better; indeed he would have fought a lesser man.
Instead, Faramir stepped out into the plaza. "My lord," he said, bowing as best he could. Aragorn nodded slightly.
"Take me to Éowyn," gasped Aragorn, and Faramir understood that even talking took effort for the king. He nodded with implicit sorrow and led the way.
--+-- The Houses of Healing: Halls --+--
The corridors of the Houses of Healing were abuzz; wise women and healers smartened themselves up and scrubbed floors for the King's arrival.
Aragorn took his time; he could not walk very fast. There was the sound of smashing glass from upstairs and muffled raised voices. Faramir stopped and stared at the ceiling, but Aragorn kept concentrating on each step.
Suddenly a door burst open at the end of the corridor. The chief healer stood there, ruddy-cheeked and wheezing. He strode, almost ran, to where the two most powerful men in Gondor stood. In his hand he clutched some leaves of athelas.
Aragorn gave a shuddering sigh and took the leaves. He crushed one of them and seemed to gain a new clarity. "Athelas," he said with the barest hint of his former weakness, "is undoubtedly the most extraordinary plant in all of Middle-earth."
"You are healed," said Faramir, gobsmacked, "by that one leaf?"
"For a little while. It does not destroy the wound, but it quells the pain for some time. It inspires the brain and body to fulfil its utmost potential. These herbs are very fresh," added Aragorn to the healer.
"We sent a rider when we heard of your coming," said the healer proudly. "He has just returned."
"Thank you." Aragorn glanced out the window. High above, he caught the glint of gold hair. "I must go."
He sprinted up the hallway, wincing very slightly every time he set down his right foot, like one with a stitch in the side, not a gaping wound.
--+-- The Houses of Healing: Walls --+--
The walls of the Citadel towered above the Houses of Healing, and cast a shadow over the gardens in morning. But in the afternoon, the white walls were dyed gold and reflected the sky like a mesh catching the colours of the heavens.
Éowyn stood, clad as always in white. Her heart leapt at the glimmer of metal at the edge of the Pelennor; it fell when she saw Aragorn riding beneath the banner of Arwen. Had she rejected Faramir only to be snubbed herself?
--+--^--+--
On the third-to-top floor of the Houses of Healing there is a door. If one were to open it on a fresh afternoon of early spring, one would see a mail- clad man toiling up the stone staircase that lies beyond it. If one were to follow that man, one would have emerged at the top of the staircase into the bright light of day and witnessed the following exchange...
Aragorn stood atop the steps. Éowyn remained motionless, staring out over the Pelennor, green no more. He made to step forward onto the main walkway, but faltered. Éowyn heard the clatter of boot on stone and turned. Aragorn drew breath, marvelling at her beauty. Éowyn tilted her head, seeing in clearness his. They began to move towards one another.
===================
I don't own the characters, just the plot.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Just want to clarify a few things:
---------
To Egleriel and Common Welsh Green:
This chapter will be right up your alley.
---------
To Lyra Belacqua:
[I love HDM, too!] Thanks for reviewing, but please try not to type in SMS language. What's "cnxn"? :)
---------
To writerbrat:
I'm sorry you feel that way, but he's supposed to be maddened by - well, a lot of things. Faramir has faced the deaths of his entire family and the wounding of the woman he loves. Now she (in his eyes) is playing games saying she doesn't know why it hurts. Plus, spending 2 days sitting alone in a sick-room can't be good for a person's mental health. And Faramir does try to master his temper. If you really don't like it, well, free speech and flaming are still legal... ;) [Darn...]
---------
To Rosa Cotton: Getting there...
===================
--+-- The Houses of Healing: Gatelodge --+--
Faramir sighed. He had not lost control like that in a very long time. As Steward, by right he should be out greeting the Lord Aragorn, but he had not the heart. Not long before, Lady Éowyn had heard the news of the King's arrival and rushed out onto the walls.
The noise in the streets was deafening, even from up here in the Citadel. Faramir's heart twisted as he thought of her words. "I wait for the Lord Aragorn." How had he not seen it before? He had given little thought to anything other than Éowyn's health during the two days of his vigil, least of all to her comment that her heart lay elsewhere. It had slipped his mind. Now it obsessed him.
A glum bitterness enshrouded Faramir's thoughts. Aragorn had his choice of any woman in the West of Middle-earth - even among the Elves, it seemed. And yet he spurned an Elven-princess for the woman that Faramir, too, loved. Faramir knew that affairs of the heart could not be controlled, that it was not Aragorn's fault, but it still slightly soured the new King in Faramir's eyes.
The Steward of Gondor started. A wild clip-clop burst into the courtyard.
Forcing a gracious smile to his face, Faramir opened the door. For four days he had dwelt on his own outburst and Éowyn's response. The smile was graven upon his face like a scar. The King of the West-lands slid lopsidedly onto the cobbles. Faramir could see that his side pained him and though it did not cheer Faramir (for he was not that sort of man), it increased his sympathy for Aragorn.
The image Faramir had built up in his head was immediately dispelled. The sourness vanished. Looking as though for the first time, he saw not the brutish warrior he had envisioned over the past week, but a man aged beyond his years; burdened with cares enough to crush him; resentful of the battlefield but unafraid; worried about his own aptitude for the kingship; and Faramir was proud to be his second-in-command. He could not have released Éowyn to a better; indeed he would have fought a lesser man.
Instead, Faramir stepped out into the plaza. "My lord," he said, bowing as best he could. Aragorn nodded slightly.
"Take me to Éowyn," gasped Aragorn, and Faramir understood that even talking took effort for the king. He nodded with implicit sorrow and led the way.
--+-- The Houses of Healing: Halls --+--
The corridors of the Houses of Healing were abuzz; wise women and healers smartened themselves up and scrubbed floors for the King's arrival.
Aragorn took his time; he could not walk very fast. There was the sound of smashing glass from upstairs and muffled raised voices. Faramir stopped and stared at the ceiling, but Aragorn kept concentrating on each step.
Suddenly a door burst open at the end of the corridor. The chief healer stood there, ruddy-cheeked and wheezing. He strode, almost ran, to where the two most powerful men in Gondor stood. In his hand he clutched some leaves of athelas.
Aragorn gave a shuddering sigh and took the leaves. He crushed one of them and seemed to gain a new clarity. "Athelas," he said with the barest hint of his former weakness, "is undoubtedly the most extraordinary plant in all of Middle-earth."
"You are healed," said Faramir, gobsmacked, "by that one leaf?"
"For a little while. It does not destroy the wound, but it quells the pain for some time. It inspires the brain and body to fulfil its utmost potential. These herbs are very fresh," added Aragorn to the healer.
"We sent a rider when we heard of your coming," said the healer proudly. "He has just returned."
"Thank you." Aragorn glanced out the window. High above, he caught the glint of gold hair. "I must go."
He sprinted up the hallway, wincing very slightly every time he set down his right foot, like one with a stitch in the side, not a gaping wound.
--+-- The Houses of Healing: Walls --+--
The walls of the Citadel towered above the Houses of Healing, and cast a shadow over the gardens in morning. But in the afternoon, the white walls were dyed gold and reflected the sky like a mesh catching the colours of the heavens.
Éowyn stood, clad as always in white. Her heart leapt at the glimmer of metal at the edge of the Pelennor; it fell when she saw Aragorn riding beneath the banner of Arwen. Had she rejected Faramir only to be snubbed herself?
--+--^--+--
On the third-to-top floor of the Houses of Healing there is a door. If one were to open it on a fresh afternoon of early spring, one would see a mail- clad man toiling up the stone staircase that lies beyond it. If one were to follow that man, one would have emerged at the top of the staircase into the bright light of day and witnessed the following exchange...
Aragorn stood atop the steps. Éowyn remained motionless, staring out over the Pelennor, green no more. He made to step forward onto the main walkway, but faltered. Éowyn heard the clatter of boot on stone and turned. Aragorn drew breath, marvelling at her beauty. Éowyn tilted her head, seeing in clearness his. They began to move towards one another.
===================