A/N: Again some of the dialouge is mine but most is Tolkien's. I'm proud to say that the bit between Eowyn and Faramir about his hope and her desperation is mine. LetÕs just say that all dialogue that is punctuated correctly is TolkienÕs and weÕll leave it at that, savvy? I wrote this all this morning though it took me over an hour. It is good and I am often very critical of myself so it is very rare that I'll admit something of mine is good...
Thank you to all my lovely reviewers and I would comment to all of you if I didn't have homework to do.
My infatuation with Faramir is rather obvious, is it not?
Read 'n Review, savvy?
Lauren
Chapter 6
Eowyn
* * * * * * *
As I stood there, amidst all things in vivid bloom, though all was uncertain, a doubt in everyoneÕs quaking heart, I was conscience of a single tear trailing down my cheek. I closed my eyes, willing myself not to openly weep, but felt a coarse yet warm touch on my cheek, brushing away the lone tear that was winding down the contours of my face. There the touch lingered, stroking my cheeks sunken from days of despair and little appetite. Fatigue, though I was remedied in body, overwhelmed me, and with a faint tremble I reached up to grasp the touch. But it had vanished ere my eyes fluttered open, leaving my hand merely dwelling on my glacial cheekbone.
ÒThe healers would have me lie abed seven days yet,Ó I murmured, bowing my head. ÒAnd my window does not look eastward,Ó a voice muttered, faltering and falling to a whisper. The voice did not sound to be mine, but it was oddly familiar though it had not graced the ears of the living in many years. It is a voice I hear often, a tone that escapes my lips in the dead watches on the night, when I cry out to those departed for no mortal can satisfy me now. It is the voice desperation, of inescapable woe, of final anguish. It is the voice of my pure mournfulness, a voice hardly ever unearthed, a voice I hide even from my closest kin, from those I love most. It is a voice that betrays and mocks my pride and coldness. A voice that bares my soul. Yet there I stood with one I knew so little of, one so stern, yet so gentle and the weak voice escaped through my lips, uttering syllables of a girl, young, naive and melancholy.
A faint smile played on the Lord FaramirÕs lips, I saw when I dared to meet his gaze, but it was not a smile of derision but rather a bitter sweet smile of pity. ÒYour window does not look eastward?Ó he inquired, though he very well knew the answer.
I gave a vague, weak nod ere staring to the ground once again.
ÒThat can be amended. In this I will command the Warden,Ó the lord stated.
I desperately hunted for the words to show my gratitude but my quest was in vain for even if I found the words nothing could pass through my lips.
ÒIf you will stay in this house in our care, lady, and take your rest, then you shall walk in this garden in the sun, as you will; and you shall look east whither out hopes have gone. And here you will find me, walking and waiting, and also looking east. It would ease my care, if you would speak to me, or walk at whiles with me.Ó
I turned my eyes upward and they met his stern yet benign gaze, and I felt a twinge of warmth upon my icy cheeks. ÒHow should I ease you care, my lord? I do not desire the speech of living men,Ó I confessed. ÒFor life holds no comfort for me. The only peace I see now will be in death but not a death as I skulk in a once besieged city as others seek valor but a quietus in vying for honor. No, lord, you can not solace me, can not ease my troubled mind, plagued with despair and doubt,Ó I avowed.
ÒWould you have my plain answer?Ó the Lord Faramir asked.
Ò I would.Ó
ÒThen, Eowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful. In the valleys of our hills there are flowers fair and bright, and maidenÕs fairer still; but neither flower of lady I have seen till now in Gondor so lovely, and so sorrowful,Ó he stated.
These were not the false, poison laced words of Wormtongue or the hollow, irrational utterances of political suitors but heart felt words from a man who judges souls, true words and in my heart I knew he meant every syllable of his declaration.
ÒIt may be that only a few days are left ere darkness falls upon our world, and when it comes I hope to face is steadily; but it would ease my heart, if while the Sun yet shines, I could see you still. For you and I have both passed under the wings of the Shadow, and the same hand as drawn us back,Ó he said.
ÒI can not comprehend how you hold so much hope when all in this world has gone horribly awry and nothing, save perhaps out inevitable doom, is sure. Why do you dream, why do you aspire, when you know those hopes are in vain, are futile? Bittersweet is denial, for it shall flee you soon, and make the cold, harsh reality even more bitter to taste. What will you do then, when all your hopes have diminished, when the walls of Minas Tirith crumble and you are left alone? Will you then still hold on to your foolish hopes?Ó said I.
ÒHopes they are, yet fatuous they are not. They are the aspirations of a kind heart, the dreams of one, who though in the midst of war, despises it and cares only for the cause we acrimoniously fight for, what we bitterly fight to preserve. Nay, my heart and will shall not falter even when I stand alone in the Citadel and watch the Dark Lord himself enter and the City of the Guard. I would fight him myself, dying for Gondor even if itÕs collapse was certain,Ó Faramir stated.
ÒThat may be true, lord, but do not look to me for healing. Shadow lies on me still. I am a shieldmaiden and my hand is ungentle. But I thank you for this at least, that I need not keep to my chamber. I shall walk abroad by the grace of the Steward of the City,Ó I said and curtsied ere I retreated into the House of Healing. But I glanced behind my shoulder and saw Faramir, his piercing gaze now focused on my disappearing frame. A weak smile played on my lips and as I turned and fled I was aware of the thudding cadence of my pounding heart.
* * * * * * *
All through the dead watches of the night sleep evaded me, it would not bestow itÕs blissful escape from the troubles that plagued me during my waking hours upon me. So I ventured out to the balcony adjoining my room, shivering though the breeze blew up traces of the warm sea from the south. By habit my eyes locked on the shadow in the east and I closed my eyes, pleading to be with him, he that is marching to doom. I saw him, images of him danced past my eyes, images of happier times, memories I thought long forgotten. I feel his the last kiss he bestowed upon me, his beard scratching against my forehead as he brushed his lips against my brow. A kiss full of sadness and regret... and brotherly love.
ÒEomer,Ó I whispered. ÒI hope this night finds you save, brother.Ó
It was not Aragorn who my heart goes out to, across the leagues to the Gates of the Black Land but to my brother, who I love unconditionally.
Then my thoughts turned and I glimpsed a noble and stern face... Faramir. I clutched the railing, my head swimming. Faramir.... Why did his face occupy my thoughts this night? Why did I recall his words with a faltering heart? Why did reliving our time together today pierce the very confines of my soul? Why did I feel he sensed all, and by just merely being around him I was baring my soul?
Faramir....
And why did I feel that he loved me?
Faramir...
And I him?
Thank you to all my lovely reviewers and I would comment to all of you if I didn't have homework to do.
My infatuation with Faramir is rather obvious, is it not?
Read 'n Review, savvy?
Lauren
Chapter 6
Eowyn
* * * * * * *
As I stood there, amidst all things in vivid bloom, though all was uncertain, a doubt in everyoneÕs quaking heart, I was conscience of a single tear trailing down my cheek. I closed my eyes, willing myself not to openly weep, but felt a coarse yet warm touch on my cheek, brushing away the lone tear that was winding down the contours of my face. There the touch lingered, stroking my cheeks sunken from days of despair and little appetite. Fatigue, though I was remedied in body, overwhelmed me, and with a faint tremble I reached up to grasp the touch. But it had vanished ere my eyes fluttered open, leaving my hand merely dwelling on my glacial cheekbone.
ÒThe healers would have me lie abed seven days yet,Ó I murmured, bowing my head. ÒAnd my window does not look eastward,Ó a voice muttered, faltering and falling to a whisper. The voice did not sound to be mine, but it was oddly familiar though it had not graced the ears of the living in many years. It is a voice I hear often, a tone that escapes my lips in the dead watches on the night, when I cry out to those departed for no mortal can satisfy me now. It is the voice desperation, of inescapable woe, of final anguish. It is the voice of my pure mournfulness, a voice hardly ever unearthed, a voice I hide even from my closest kin, from those I love most. It is a voice that betrays and mocks my pride and coldness. A voice that bares my soul. Yet there I stood with one I knew so little of, one so stern, yet so gentle and the weak voice escaped through my lips, uttering syllables of a girl, young, naive and melancholy.
A faint smile played on the Lord FaramirÕs lips, I saw when I dared to meet his gaze, but it was not a smile of derision but rather a bitter sweet smile of pity. ÒYour window does not look eastward?Ó he inquired, though he very well knew the answer.
I gave a vague, weak nod ere staring to the ground once again.
ÒThat can be amended. In this I will command the Warden,Ó the lord stated.
I desperately hunted for the words to show my gratitude but my quest was in vain for even if I found the words nothing could pass through my lips.
ÒIf you will stay in this house in our care, lady, and take your rest, then you shall walk in this garden in the sun, as you will; and you shall look east whither out hopes have gone. And here you will find me, walking and waiting, and also looking east. It would ease my care, if you would speak to me, or walk at whiles with me.Ó
I turned my eyes upward and they met his stern yet benign gaze, and I felt a twinge of warmth upon my icy cheeks. ÒHow should I ease you care, my lord? I do not desire the speech of living men,Ó I confessed. ÒFor life holds no comfort for me. The only peace I see now will be in death but not a death as I skulk in a once besieged city as others seek valor but a quietus in vying for honor. No, lord, you can not solace me, can not ease my troubled mind, plagued with despair and doubt,Ó I avowed.
ÒWould you have my plain answer?Ó the Lord Faramir asked.
Ò I would.Ó
ÒThen, Eowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful. In the valleys of our hills there are flowers fair and bright, and maidenÕs fairer still; but neither flower of lady I have seen till now in Gondor so lovely, and so sorrowful,Ó he stated.
These were not the false, poison laced words of Wormtongue or the hollow, irrational utterances of political suitors but heart felt words from a man who judges souls, true words and in my heart I knew he meant every syllable of his declaration.
ÒIt may be that only a few days are left ere darkness falls upon our world, and when it comes I hope to face is steadily; but it would ease my heart, if while the Sun yet shines, I could see you still. For you and I have both passed under the wings of the Shadow, and the same hand as drawn us back,Ó he said.
ÒI can not comprehend how you hold so much hope when all in this world has gone horribly awry and nothing, save perhaps out inevitable doom, is sure. Why do you dream, why do you aspire, when you know those hopes are in vain, are futile? Bittersweet is denial, for it shall flee you soon, and make the cold, harsh reality even more bitter to taste. What will you do then, when all your hopes have diminished, when the walls of Minas Tirith crumble and you are left alone? Will you then still hold on to your foolish hopes?Ó said I.
ÒHopes they are, yet fatuous they are not. They are the aspirations of a kind heart, the dreams of one, who though in the midst of war, despises it and cares only for the cause we acrimoniously fight for, what we bitterly fight to preserve. Nay, my heart and will shall not falter even when I stand alone in the Citadel and watch the Dark Lord himself enter and the City of the Guard. I would fight him myself, dying for Gondor even if itÕs collapse was certain,Ó Faramir stated.
ÒThat may be true, lord, but do not look to me for healing. Shadow lies on me still. I am a shieldmaiden and my hand is ungentle. But I thank you for this at least, that I need not keep to my chamber. I shall walk abroad by the grace of the Steward of the City,Ó I said and curtsied ere I retreated into the House of Healing. But I glanced behind my shoulder and saw Faramir, his piercing gaze now focused on my disappearing frame. A weak smile played on my lips and as I turned and fled I was aware of the thudding cadence of my pounding heart.
* * * * * * *
All through the dead watches of the night sleep evaded me, it would not bestow itÕs blissful escape from the troubles that plagued me during my waking hours upon me. So I ventured out to the balcony adjoining my room, shivering though the breeze blew up traces of the warm sea from the south. By habit my eyes locked on the shadow in the east and I closed my eyes, pleading to be with him, he that is marching to doom. I saw him, images of him danced past my eyes, images of happier times, memories I thought long forgotten. I feel his the last kiss he bestowed upon me, his beard scratching against my forehead as he brushed his lips against my brow. A kiss full of sadness and regret... and brotherly love.
ÒEomer,Ó I whispered. ÒI hope this night finds you save, brother.Ó
It was not Aragorn who my heart goes out to, across the leagues to the Gates of the Black Land but to my brother, who I love unconditionally.
Then my thoughts turned and I glimpsed a noble and stern face... Faramir. I clutched the railing, my head swimming. Faramir.... Why did his face occupy my thoughts this night? Why did I recall his words with a faltering heart? Why did reliving our time together today pierce the very confines of my soul? Why did I feel he sensed all, and by just merely being around him I was baring my soul?
Faramir....
And why did I feel that he loved me?
Faramir...
And I him?