a) I get very excited about a story and spend all my time thinking about it and writing it UNTIL the story peaks, and then I lose interest VERY fast
and
b) I have a rather hard time writing these end chapter where you tie up all the lose ends.
But ah well! That's life. There will be one more chapter on this story, and when I get enough reviews I'll add it. Ta!
About half an hour ago one of his men, Arthin, had tried to dissuade him and get him to return home, but Beregond was adamant.
"I search until either I find them or I drop from trying," he had said. "You may come or go as you wish." The men had looked at each other, resigned to their fates, and kept right along with him.
In truth it didn't look hopeful. They had been searching all day long, and now it was close to seven o' clock in the evening. Beregond knew he couldn't make his men stay out all night. But he couldn't stop hoping! To stop hoping is to be defeated, he told himself. And I am not defeated!
As they entered a thicket of trees, Beregond set his mind on something to distract the worries. He thought of Duliet back at home, of Bergil. He thought of the blasted cold that had crept across the land in the last few days, he thought of...
Was that smoke?
He squinted at the outline of the hills, trying to make it out in the failing light. His throat suddenly grew tight, but he took a deep breath. He would NOT allow himself to raise false hopes. No.
"Arthin!" he called quietly, "Come here."
The man rode up, asking, "Captain?"
Beregond pointed. "What do you see over yonder?"
Arthin shaded his eyes and peered at it for a long minute. Arthin was renowned to have the keenest eyes of the guards dwelling in Emyn Arnen. Some had even knick-named him "Elf eyes" though that was far off the mark, as anyone who knew elves would know immediately. "It looks like smoke, Captain," he finally said.
Beregond sighed deeply. "Any ideas?"
"Could be a traveler---could be a cottage. We'll have to find out," Arthin said, his voice rising in eagerness. Beregond grinned at him.
"Careful soldier...we can't get out hopes up. Nor those of the rest," he said softly. Arthin nodded and fell back. Beregond turned his horse out of the thicket of trees and called, "We will try this way!"
As they rode down the hillside, Beregond heard his men give exclamations of surprise upon seeing the house that came into view. His own heart sped up, but he calmed it. There was nothing to tell him that Faramir and Èowyn were anywhere near here. Nothing but...
Laurëa.
He would know that horse anywhere, and Beregond's mouth immediately went dry. A man with light flaxen hair stood brushing the mare gently, speaking to it in elvish. He looked up upon hearing the men and horses, and his eyes grew wide.
Beregond reigned in at the gate, signaling his men to stay seated and ready. Murmurs spread through the group, and he knew the others recognized their Lord's horse as well.
"Hello there," Beregond began. The man nodded and reached a hand up to pat Laurëa.
"Greetings," he smiled. "How may I help you?"
"We seek the Prince and Princess of Ithilien. Have you made contact of any sort with them? They have been missing three days now, and we fear they were abducted or ran into grave danger," Beregond's words were said in a steady but eager voice.
Nereus shook his head. "I don't think---no---well, you see..."
In the blink of an eye Beregond was off his horse and had Nereus by the collar. "Have you seen the Lord Faramir and the Lady Èowyn, man? Speak!"
Nereus shook Beregond off and crossed his arms. "Faramir and Èowyn? Aye, they're inside the house. We found them a few days ago and---"
"Inside?" Beregond gasped. "Take me to them, I beg of you!"
Nereus glanced at the half a dozen or so men behind him. Beregond quickly said, "Arthin, Gildring, come with me. The rest of you stay here." Two men dismounted and approached, and Beregond turned back to Nereus.
"Follow me," Nereus said, and he began walking toward the door. Beregond and his men followed.
In the kitchen, Èowyn held a dishtowel in one hand and a bowl in the other and watched through the door to Faramir's room. Her husband lay on the bed watching Nympha teach him how to play Liante natse...spider's web. She held a string in her delicate hand and wove her fingers through it to make patterns and shapes.
"This is a bed," she was saying. "See the frame?"
Faramir nodded. "Yes, I do. That's very clever."
Nympha undid it and began again. "My Amme taught me this one. It's a broom...First you cross your fingers so, Then you thread and let it flow. Next you pull it up away, and now you have a broom for play!" Nympha held up the string structure proudly. "Only...brooms aren't for play, really," she went on. "They're for work. I always got confused about that part, but Amme said it was just a rhyme and that's how it went."
Faramir smiled and touched the string. "Brooms can very well be for play," he said. "It's all in the attitude. When you sweep, Nympha, what do you think of?"
"Well, usually how fast I can get done!" she said.
Faramir nodded. "But if you really want to make it fun, you can pretend you are a captive princess, locked away in a dungeon. You can pretend they are forcing you to clean the castle, and this is the only way you can save yourself. Or maybe..." he held out a hand to Nympha, who took it and sat next to him. "...you can pretend that the broom is a magic broom, and it will give you whatever you want! But nobody knows about it but you, and you can't tell anyone or they'll take it away. That way, only when no one is looking, of course, you can ask it to give you things while you're sweeping, and it will."
Nympha laughed. "I never thought of that! That sounds like so much fun!"
"You see Nympha, it's all in the mind of the pretender," Faramir smiled.
Èowyn smiled herself, again thinking about what a wonderful man she was married to. She tried to picture Boromir or Denethor doing the same thing and she shook her head. Never in a million years!
"My lady!"
Èowyn started at the voice and half turned. In a millisecond Beregond was kneeling at her feet and she had dropped the dish towel. The bowl (thankfully) she did not drop, and she set it on the counter.
"Beregond! What are you doing here?" she asked, somewhat dazed.
Beregond took her hand. "I must ask you the same, Lady Èowyn! We have been searching for days." He looked around. "I will be happy to know the tale, but please, is Lord Faramir here too?"
Èowyn nodded and pulled Beregond to his feet. "Yes, yes he's here. He's in the next room. He was wounded and was gravely ill for a few days, but is on the road to recovery now." Èowyn shook her head. "I cannot believe you found us!" Suddenly, Èowyn saw Nereus and Loomi behind Beregond, wearing shocked and dismayed expressions.
"My lady..." Loomi began, sinking to one knee. "You are the Princess of Ithilien?"
Èowyn smiled. "Please, don't be alarmed. I did not tell you for reasons I will explain later."
"Oh, but if we had known..." Nereus started.
"Nonsense! You did just as much for us as common travelers than if you had known we were nobility. And I thank you," Èowyn said. Then she grabbed Beregond's hand. "Come, I will take you to Faramir. He will be so happy!" She turned and led Beregond to the door.
As they approached, Nympha turned her head and gasped. "Somebody's coming!" she murmured, and hurried to get off the bed. Faramir straightened a tiny bit. As Èowyn and Beregond came through the door, Faramir's face expressed joy and a tiny bit of self-consciousness, but Beregond dropped to one knee again, and said, "My lord! I cannot tell you how glad I am to find you safe."
Faramir smiled. "And I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you again." A shadow crossed his face. "Is all well back in Emyn Arnen?"
Beregond nodded. "And 'twill be better with you both safely at home, Lord Faramir."
................
It was late at night and Faramir slept peacefully in the next room. Èowyn had been unable to rest herself, so instead she watched him as he slept.
She often did this, at home. She had found at a very young age that she did not require much sleep, and had often stayed up late into the night and gotten up with the sun with no problem. Her husband, too, was like that...but Èowyn believed that it was because he pushed himself to do more work. Perhaps it was out of habit, too. He had had so much to do for the first thirty or so years of his life, that he must have gotten very little rest.
But many nights since they were married Èowyn would watch him as he slept. She liked doing it; it felt as if she could protect him and keep him from harm's way when she was watching him.
This night she was especially watchful, as she sat next to him in the chair. The others had long since gone to bed. Beregond was gone---he had left for Emyn Arnen shortly after they had been found. In a few days time, when Faramir was sufficiently recovered, he would return and bring them home. Èowyn smiled. He'll probably be back sooner, she thought. Never was there a servant more devoted than Beregond.
The thought of seeing her child again sent chills up Èowyn's spine. While she knew that he was being cared for, she was nearly depressed in wishing for him. She had even entertained the thought of going back with Beregond or asking him to bring her child back...but that was foolishness. For all she knew, Faramir could have a relapse. And she didn't think she could bear separation from him anyway.
The moon crept out from behind a cloud and beamed a slender sliver of light across the room, illuminating Faramir and Èowyn's features. She bent forward, tenderly, and kissed his high brow. "No woman could ask for a better husband than you, my love," she whispered in his ear. "I love you so much."
Someone stirred outside the door, and Èowyn looked up. "Who's there?" she murmured. "Please, come in!"
A shadowy shape crept across the floor, and the next moment Nympha was beside her. "Hello," she said awkwardly. Then she threw her arms around Èowyn. "I don't want you to leave!"
Èowyn smiled to the dark night and watched the moon slip behind another cloud. "I like you too, Nympha." After a moment she added, "Would you like to speak in elvish, child? It must be easier for you."
Nympha laughed, then covered her mouth. "I don't want to wake him," she whispered in elvish. Then: "Yes, elvish is easier for me. We always speak it at home."
Èowyn nodded. They fell silent for a while, and Èowyn began to hum softly.
"What are you humming?" Nympha asked. Èowyn sighed.
"It's just a lullaby I used to sing to my son," she said.
"You have a son?" Nympha asked. "How old is he?"
"Not yet one year old," Èowyn smiled. "And I haven't seen him for days. But I'm going to go home to him soon."
"Can I---" Nympha trailed off and shook her head.
"What?" Èowyn asked with a smile. "Ask, darling."
"Can I maybe come to visit you?" Nympha blurted out.
Èowyn hugged the girl. "Of course Nympha! You must come to visit often, and you may see Elboron, my son. He'll like you."
Nympha reached out and patted Faramir. "And he's going to be alright?"
"Yes," Èowyn said firmly. "He's going to be just fine."
With another hug, Nympha scampered out of the room and went back to her bed. Èowyn herself stood up, preparing to return to her room, but she turned back at the last minute. With a smile, she slipped into bed beside her husband and put her arms around his thin form.
"I'll never let you get hurt again, my Faramir," she murmured into his ear. And as if he had heard her, he smiled to the darkness.
......................
Liante natse is Middle Earth's version of Cat's Cradle.