Ouf... sorry for not updating for what must be ages...
This was quite a tough chapter to write - I am really no good at writing about hobbits, so Merry was some kind of a challenge. I would appreciate anybody criticizing me so next time I can do better...
@Picture Girl: Sorry for the spelling mistakes ;) I try to check but correcting english texts does not come THAT easily (too bad) Anyhow, great that you like the story
@everyone else: thx for reviewing, I will try to keep updating a little bit more regularly, still.. writing in english is painful sometimes ;)
greetz
Shadow
"Tell me about... the Lady of Rohan."
Merry lifted his head, surprised, removing the long pipe from his mouth to eye the man next to him. So he finally had mustered up the courage to talk about why he had come to see the hobbit. They had been talking at length about what had happened at Amun Hem, about the death of Boromir, and even though it had been plain through Faramirs desperate attempts to maintain his composure, that this was not a topic he was at ease to talk about, the notion that this had not been the only reason for him to come to see Merry never really left the hobbit.
He blinked at the Steward through the smokes of his pipe, the sunlight's bright beams making his nose tickle. They were sitting in the gardens, the grass warm under their feet and hands, as a soft wind rustled through the trees shading the place they sat.
"Eowyn", he mused, resting his hand on his knee. He was unsure of what to tell to the Steward that kept looking at him with the same, stern expression that could not completely mask his interest.
"Well, she is a lady as there is no other in our time", he answered, since this was what described Eowyn best, the simplest words he could find to tell the man who she was. There was the ghost of a smile on Faramir's lips that made him wonder why he was asking the question.
"That I think can be assured..." The catch in his voice made Merry frown slightly, as Faramir's gaze strayed eastward, then to the bushes behind which the Houses lay.. the Houses where Eowyn surely was at the moment.
Merry felt unsure of what to say. The Steward seemed eager to have an answer to his question, but he did not know what answer to give him. He would not feel well betraying the lady's secret, thoughts confided to him on the eve of battle, under the shadow of what seemed almost certain death.
He must know that notion, too, from all that he had heared about the Steward. The darkness had almost covered him as well, as Gondor found itself on the eve of destruction.
And all of a sudden, Merry knew where to begin.
"She has known nothing but shadow for a very long time", he said thoughtfully. "She has seen Rohan fall under the shadow and could not do anything to hinder it, while the poison of Saruman consumed her land."
He sighed, recalling events that he had not even witnessed, although he had all but relived them through Eowyn's eyes.
"I think, maybe it is the waiting she can not take."
It seemed to Merry, that there was a small laugh from his companion, bitter though it may have been, the first expression of emotion, that he was freely allowing himself.
"Who does?" Faramir asked softly, watching the eastern walls and thus bringing Merry to do the same. He could not help thinking about the Black Gate, could not help that everyone that might represent home in this city so far from the Shire, was right now facing the ultimate force of Mordor.He could not help agreeing with Faramir, although there was no bitterness in that emotion but merely fear and a sadness difficult to bear.
"No one, I guess", he answered, then shrugged again, taking another breath of his pipe. "But Eowyn has spirits, my Lord, as surely as I live and breathe. She is as brave as any man among the Rohirrim, and she should have had the same right to defend what she loved as anyone else. She did not waver, and she proved everyone right. She had to be there, at the battle before this city, even though nobody would have her do this. She had to hide herself, desguise herself as a Rider of the Mark to be able to get here, to be able to fulfill what she felt she had to do." Merry's eyes were glittering, as he passionately spoke of what he had felt himself, the utter despair of not being able to ride to battle when everyone else did, of feeling the helplessness that Eowyn - or better - Dernhelm - had rescued him from. "She spared me that. She had the strength to do what she thought was right and the kindness to see me and do what I could not do alone."
Faramir nodded, slowly, as if deep in thought. Merry bit his lip, wondering, whether he had given away too much, but before he could dwell on that, the Steward spoke again.
"She is very proud, is she not?"
"You can be sure she is!" This question was more than easy to answer for the hobbit, and a smile clearly showed on his features. "She took many blows and still she is standing, proud and strong." Admiration clearly in his voice, Merry stomped the grass with his bare foot. "And even when she thought, she could go no more, she meant to go fighting, not fading..."
His voice trailed off, as he found Faramir looking eagerly at him, something in his eyes told him clearly, that he had the Steward's full attention. At the same time, he wondered, if he had not given away too much, and so he avoided the man's glaze again to look to the houses, a shrug only badly masking that he felt, that he had talked too long. For at last, the notion in Faramirs expression had told Merry, why this interview had begun in the first place.
The Steward had begun to fall for the Lady of Rohan, whether he already realized it or not. And Merry was not sure, if Eowyn would approve of such an attention. She seemed even colder since Aragorn had ridden away, as if the knights had taken part of her with them to die before the Black Gate of Mordor. Faramir was on the verge of losing himself to a ghost of a lady, but there was nothing, that Merry could have said, since proud and stern and in pain the Steward was, too. He could not have talked Eowyn out of looking to Aragorn for salvation, and he could not keep Faramir from trying to see the little hope that could be found in the face of the Lady of Rohan.
Still... the situation seemed to be as painfully hopeless as the whole war.
Pessimism had never been Merry's domain, but at the moment, anything other was hard to find. He sighed as he looked upon the Steward, mustering up his courage to say, whatever it was that came to his mind. Faramir gazed into nothingness, lost in his own thoughts, which made it easy for the hobbit to assume a light tone.
"One might think you are questioning me, my Lord, for what sake, only the Valar may tell."
There was a smile on his lips that seemed almost earnest, that made Merry think of somebody caught sneaking.
"Indeed, Master Perian", he said, a touch of humor in his voice. "I hope you will excuse me for being so bold."
"Oh, I would not worry, if I were you"; Merry answered lightly, taking another breath of his pipe realizing that the weed had gone cold and ashen. "We hobbits love to talk about our friends. In fact, back home in the Shire, we hardly talk about anything else..."
He raised his brows, astonished, though Merry could not tell whether he was feigned. Yet his voice betrayed amusement.
"Well then I should deem myself lucky, that I came to ask you about her..."
Merry laughed.
"You surely should. Whatever your people excel at, gossip is surely something of great tradition in the Shire..."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She did not come...
Disappointment washed through him freely as he finally gave in and went back to the house. Merry and he had been waiting for Eowyn for quite some time, unless nightfall had softly enwrapped the city of Gondor as the houses dreamed, hoping for another sunrise.
Whatever her motives were, she had not come.
And Faramir was shocked at what this did to him. He had not realized how much he had hoped to see her during this day. This was a vulnerability that he had not seen coming.
One of his main goals had always been to avoid pain. He was too well a target already, too well a target for his father's spite, too well a target for his own reproaches that would come often enough.
The iron door to the houses felt heavier than it was, as he pushed open one of the wings. The corridors, lit with flickering candles that spread a warm light, welcomed him together with the silence of the halls. The picture could not have been a better mirror of what he was thinking, what he was feeling.
He felt the loneliness right to the bone.
He began the painful walk back to his room. He did not count much for some hours of sleep, but maybe it was the respect for the healers' work, some sense of duty that told him he should at least try and find some rest.
"Mylord?"
He froze in his step, ever so slowly turning around to the source of the voice, somewhere in the corridors behind him.
She was there.
Standing in the candlelight, she looked less cold, less like a flower made of ice, reminding him more of a ghost in the darkest hours of the night. He felt a small smile find its way to his lips and thought he could see its reflection in her features, although he was not sure, whether this was not due to the unsteady light.
"Lady..."
He bowed curtly, taking his time to look for words fitting to say to her.
"I thought you were long abed already."
"Well, as a matter of fact I am not."
Again the shrewd answers he had met so often yet. It hurt, but he decided not to show.
"The healers will not approve, I fear", he answered carefully, taking a cautious step towards her.
There was a flicker in her face, a notion he mistook for rage first, bracing himself for another harsh reply, until he realized, he was wrong.
"Neither they will of you, my Lord."
The soft wink of companionship made his smile get wider, as he half-absently marveled at the ease with which her emotions mirrored in him.
"In this, you might be right, Lady. We are both under the same command, I deem."
She nodded.
"Yet it can bring release to spread one's wings now and then."
Her tone was measured and Faramir wondered, what she was actually trying to tell him. Anyhow, he could not help, but agree, even if he had never been much for overstepping the boundaries imposed to him - this would not have been overly wise concerning Denethor's temper.
"It can... at times."
She nodded.
"Yet, maybe it would be wiser if you and I again did as we were commanded, since if we intend to break rules at will we might as well ride out to the Gate to meet the friends we still miss."
He dropped his head, trying not to show that the arrow had hit, as he nodded.
"I can not speak against your words", he said softly, half already turning around. "I bid you goodnight, my Lady."
"My Lord..", He stopped in his tracks, yet not turning around.
"Will you be walking tomorrow?"
He smiled, though she could not see him, and nodded, feeling the hurt lessen at the implications of her question.
"I surely will."
"Then maybe you will find me in the gardens, if you wish", Eowyn offered in a voice, that seemed calmer than everything he had ever heared of her.
"I would be delighted", he said, managing to keep his voice calm. She nodded.
"Very well then. I bid you goodnight, my Lord Steward."
Faramir continued to his room, watching the flames dance along the walls as he passed.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Houses of Healing were a calm place during the night. Silent healers and dancing candleflames watched over the empty corridors, that linked the parts of the houses together. The sky was clear and moonlight shone into the rooms, painting a pale, tender light onto the patients.
Faramir slept, his face bathed in moonlight, his breath calm, as he found rest in oblivion.
Because for once, he did not dream......
This was quite a tough chapter to write - I am really no good at writing about hobbits, so Merry was some kind of a challenge. I would appreciate anybody criticizing me so next time I can do better...
@Picture Girl: Sorry for the spelling mistakes ;) I try to check but correcting english texts does not come THAT easily (too bad) Anyhow, great that you like the story
@everyone else: thx for reviewing, I will try to keep updating a little bit more regularly, still.. writing in english is painful sometimes ;)
greetz
Shadow
"Tell me about... the Lady of Rohan."
Merry lifted his head, surprised, removing the long pipe from his mouth to eye the man next to him. So he finally had mustered up the courage to talk about why he had come to see the hobbit. They had been talking at length about what had happened at Amun Hem, about the death of Boromir, and even though it had been plain through Faramirs desperate attempts to maintain his composure, that this was not a topic he was at ease to talk about, the notion that this had not been the only reason for him to come to see Merry never really left the hobbit.
He blinked at the Steward through the smokes of his pipe, the sunlight's bright beams making his nose tickle. They were sitting in the gardens, the grass warm under their feet and hands, as a soft wind rustled through the trees shading the place they sat.
"Eowyn", he mused, resting his hand on his knee. He was unsure of what to tell to the Steward that kept looking at him with the same, stern expression that could not completely mask his interest.
"Well, she is a lady as there is no other in our time", he answered, since this was what described Eowyn best, the simplest words he could find to tell the man who she was. There was the ghost of a smile on Faramir's lips that made him wonder why he was asking the question.
"That I think can be assured..." The catch in his voice made Merry frown slightly, as Faramir's gaze strayed eastward, then to the bushes behind which the Houses lay.. the Houses where Eowyn surely was at the moment.
Merry felt unsure of what to say. The Steward seemed eager to have an answer to his question, but he did not know what answer to give him. He would not feel well betraying the lady's secret, thoughts confided to him on the eve of battle, under the shadow of what seemed almost certain death.
He must know that notion, too, from all that he had heared about the Steward. The darkness had almost covered him as well, as Gondor found itself on the eve of destruction.
And all of a sudden, Merry knew where to begin.
"She has known nothing but shadow for a very long time", he said thoughtfully. "She has seen Rohan fall under the shadow and could not do anything to hinder it, while the poison of Saruman consumed her land."
He sighed, recalling events that he had not even witnessed, although he had all but relived them through Eowyn's eyes.
"I think, maybe it is the waiting she can not take."
It seemed to Merry, that there was a small laugh from his companion, bitter though it may have been, the first expression of emotion, that he was freely allowing himself.
"Who does?" Faramir asked softly, watching the eastern walls and thus bringing Merry to do the same. He could not help thinking about the Black Gate, could not help that everyone that might represent home in this city so far from the Shire, was right now facing the ultimate force of Mordor.He could not help agreeing with Faramir, although there was no bitterness in that emotion but merely fear and a sadness difficult to bear.
"No one, I guess", he answered, then shrugged again, taking another breath of his pipe. "But Eowyn has spirits, my Lord, as surely as I live and breathe. She is as brave as any man among the Rohirrim, and she should have had the same right to defend what she loved as anyone else. She did not waver, and she proved everyone right. She had to be there, at the battle before this city, even though nobody would have her do this. She had to hide herself, desguise herself as a Rider of the Mark to be able to get here, to be able to fulfill what she felt she had to do." Merry's eyes were glittering, as he passionately spoke of what he had felt himself, the utter despair of not being able to ride to battle when everyone else did, of feeling the helplessness that Eowyn - or better - Dernhelm - had rescued him from. "She spared me that. She had the strength to do what she thought was right and the kindness to see me and do what I could not do alone."
Faramir nodded, slowly, as if deep in thought. Merry bit his lip, wondering, whether he had given away too much, but before he could dwell on that, the Steward spoke again.
"She is very proud, is she not?"
"You can be sure she is!" This question was more than easy to answer for the hobbit, and a smile clearly showed on his features. "She took many blows and still she is standing, proud and strong." Admiration clearly in his voice, Merry stomped the grass with his bare foot. "And even when she thought, she could go no more, she meant to go fighting, not fading..."
His voice trailed off, as he found Faramir looking eagerly at him, something in his eyes told him clearly, that he had the Steward's full attention. At the same time, he wondered, if he had not given away too much, and so he avoided the man's glaze again to look to the houses, a shrug only badly masking that he felt, that he had talked too long. For at last, the notion in Faramirs expression had told Merry, why this interview had begun in the first place.
The Steward had begun to fall for the Lady of Rohan, whether he already realized it or not. And Merry was not sure, if Eowyn would approve of such an attention. She seemed even colder since Aragorn had ridden away, as if the knights had taken part of her with them to die before the Black Gate of Mordor. Faramir was on the verge of losing himself to a ghost of a lady, but there was nothing, that Merry could have said, since proud and stern and in pain the Steward was, too. He could not have talked Eowyn out of looking to Aragorn for salvation, and he could not keep Faramir from trying to see the little hope that could be found in the face of the Lady of Rohan.
Still... the situation seemed to be as painfully hopeless as the whole war.
Pessimism had never been Merry's domain, but at the moment, anything other was hard to find. He sighed as he looked upon the Steward, mustering up his courage to say, whatever it was that came to his mind. Faramir gazed into nothingness, lost in his own thoughts, which made it easy for the hobbit to assume a light tone.
"One might think you are questioning me, my Lord, for what sake, only the Valar may tell."
There was a smile on his lips that seemed almost earnest, that made Merry think of somebody caught sneaking.
"Indeed, Master Perian", he said, a touch of humor in his voice. "I hope you will excuse me for being so bold."
"Oh, I would not worry, if I were you"; Merry answered lightly, taking another breath of his pipe realizing that the weed had gone cold and ashen. "We hobbits love to talk about our friends. In fact, back home in the Shire, we hardly talk about anything else..."
He raised his brows, astonished, though Merry could not tell whether he was feigned. Yet his voice betrayed amusement.
"Well then I should deem myself lucky, that I came to ask you about her..."
Merry laughed.
"You surely should. Whatever your people excel at, gossip is surely something of great tradition in the Shire..."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She did not come...
Disappointment washed through him freely as he finally gave in and went back to the house. Merry and he had been waiting for Eowyn for quite some time, unless nightfall had softly enwrapped the city of Gondor as the houses dreamed, hoping for another sunrise.
Whatever her motives were, she had not come.
And Faramir was shocked at what this did to him. He had not realized how much he had hoped to see her during this day. This was a vulnerability that he had not seen coming.
One of his main goals had always been to avoid pain. He was too well a target already, too well a target for his father's spite, too well a target for his own reproaches that would come often enough.
The iron door to the houses felt heavier than it was, as he pushed open one of the wings. The corridors, lit with flickering candles that spread a warm light, welcomed him together with the silence of the halls. The picture could not have been a better mirror of what he was thinking, what he was feeling.
He felt the loneliness right to the bone.
He began the painful walk back to his room. He did not count much for some hours of sleep, but maybe it was the respect for the healers' work, some sense of duty that told him he should at least try and find some rest.
"Mylord?"
He froze in his step, ever so slowly turning around to the source of the voice, somewhere in the corridors behind him.
She was there.
Standing in the candlelight, she looked less cold, less like a flower made of ice, reminding him more of a ghost in the darkest hours of the night. He felt a small smile find its way to his lips and thought he could see its reflection in her features, although he was not sure, whether this was not due to the unsteady light.
"Lady..."
He bowed curtly, taking his time to look for words fitting to say to her.
"I thought you were long abed already."
"Well, as a matter of fact I am not."
Again the shrewd answers he had met so often yet. It hurt, but he decided not to show.
"The healers will not approve, I fear", he answered carefully, taking a cautious step towards her.
There was a flicker in her face, a notion he mistook for rage first, bracing himself for another harsh reply, until he realized, he was wrong.
"Neither they will of you, my Lord."
The soft wink of companionship made his smile get wider, as he half-absently marveled at the ease with which her emotions mirrored in him.
"In this, you might be right, Lady. We are both under the same command, I deem."
She nodded.
"Yet it can bring release to spread one's wings now and then."
Her tone was measured and Faramir wondered, what she was actually trying to tell him. Anyhow, he could not help, but agree, even if he had never been much for overstepping the boundaries imposed to him - this would not have been overly wise concerning Denethor's temper.
"It can... at times."
She nodded.
"Yet, maybe it would be wiser if you and I again did as we were commanded, since if we intend to break rules at will we might as well ride out to the Gate to meet the friends we still miss."
He dropped his head, trying not to show that the arrow had hit, as he nodded.
"I can not speak against your words", he said softly, half already turning around. "I bid you goodnight, my Lady."
"My Lord..", He stopped in his tracks, yet not turning around.
"Will you be walking tomorrow?"
He smiled, though she could not see him, and nodded, feeling the hurt lessen at the implications of her question.
"I surely will."
"Then maybe you will find me in the gardens, if you wish", Eowyn offered in a voice, that seemed calmer than everything he had ever heared of her.
"I would be delighted", he said, managing to keep his voice calm. She nodded.
"Very well then. I bid you goodnight, my Lord Steward."
Faramir continued to his room, watching the flames dance along the walls as he passed.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Houses of Healing were a calm place during the night. Silent healers and dancing candleflames watched over the empty corridors, that linked the parts of the houses together. The sky was clear and moonlight shone into the rooms, painting a pale, tender light onto the patients.
Faramir slept, his face bathed in moonlight, his breath calm, as he found rest in oblivion.
Because for once, he did not dream......