DISCLAIMER: All things LOTR belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I'm just attempting to wax lyrical with them.
XI
"They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the tufts of spring in the darkness."
James Wright, A Blessing.
Gold and white upon a green background.
Yes, these are the colours adorning the banners of Rohan, but they are also the shades that my eyes have dwelled on. The gold of my wife's hair, the white of her skin and the green of the grass that we have lain on. She lies slender and warm on her back, the sun catching the lively glints in her eyes, the shimmer of water on her hands, the flush of her lips, the result of my attentions. One arm stretches gracefully across the emerald ground and tapered fingers wind themselves gently around my hair. The other hand twirls a long blade of grass between two dextrous fingers. I watch, mesmerised by the movement of white fingers against the pale fabric of her slip. At last I move to gently kiss her swollen lips, and when I pull back, she smiles.
I wonder that she was not called the Fair Lady of Rohan, for so she is.
I have lost all sense of time from the moment she finished telling me of Edoras and I kissed her hand, and now, as we both lie sated beside the still-flowing brook. By the deepening hue of the sky, I can tell it must be early evening. Although the thought of seeing her thus by the light of a campfire is persuasive to say the least, I am still loathe to leave her side. Instead I go to Edoras, and look on from behind the corner of the stables, watching a brother and sister on the steps of the Golden Hall.
"You know better than to tend him by yourself. What made you do it?"
Small pale hands rub a bruised shoulder. Resentment in blue eyes forcing back hurt tears.
A white horse dances in a young boy's eyes. On the windswept steps of Meduseld he stands, gazing up at the flag that billows unceasingly in the bracing winds. On the step below him a girl with long flaxen hair, rebellious in its makeshift ribbon, stares out over Edoras, her little face white as the rearing horse, her eyes stern in such a young face. Her hand rubs her shoulder consolingly.
"You feed him on your own. And brush him. Why shouldn't I?"
Eomer sighs like a despairing adult. Something in his protective stance and sense of authority reminds me of Boromir.
"Because Snowmane is not used to you, Eowyn. His mother needs to be familiar with you before she lets you start grooming him, otherwise she'll shake her head or rear up and knock you down. You were lucky today; you may not move so quickly away the next time"
"How can they get used to me if no-one lets me near them? It's not fair, everyone tells me not to tend them and now so are you, Eomer"
He sits down beside his sister, drapes a brotherly hand around her shoulders.
"I'm sorry. If you like, we'll go tomorrow and change the feed in their manger, and then we can both brush and groom him. You can even braid his mane, if you like"
Eowyn looks into her older brother's face, a kind look planted on it. He is awkward but sincere in his affection. She smiles ruefully, dropping the hand from her shoulder.
"His mane looks better loose, anyway"
"We'll go tomorrow, I promise"
I smile and walk away, down the hilly slope and past the smaller dwellings. A strong wind blows through the gaps between the houses, sent down from the mountains, the taste of snow in its breath.
She is nestled in my arms now, her face at my neck. The evening seems to have drawn its velvety cloak around us, and I admit that we should begin to set up our tent for the night. Drawing my arm from her waist, I slip it under her legs. Eowyn opened her eyes and looked up at me questioningly. I grinned, and in one movement swung her up and around, standing so that she was cradled, one of my arms under her back, the other hooked around her knees. Taken by surprise, she let out a most unwarrior-like squeal, throwing her arms around my neck. I laughed as I carried her away from the brook, kicking her discarded gown up from the grass with my toe and letting her catch it, swinging her arm from my neck and grasping the garment before it escaped her clasp. Laughing breathlessly, she protested at my carrying her.
"Faramir!"
I ignored her protest and continued towards where the horses were patiently grazing. She struggled, attempting to reach the ground, her foot straining to make contact with the grass.
"Faramir, put me down-"
The rest was incoherent in her laughter. Relenting, I lowered her slowly down, her feet no longer suspended in the air. I was rewarded with a light cuff on the shoulder. I staggered back, hand on my injured flesh, an almost comical expression of pain exaggerated on my face. Eowyn placed a hand at her silky throat, laughing at my antics. I regained my composure, attempting to look dignified despite my 'wound'. Her hand moved to her mouth, trying desperately to stem the flow of giggling escaping her.
"You wound me, lady"
"Forgive me", she gasps, "but I required some satisfaction for the drenching you gave me earlier"
I have no answer to that. I walk back towards the brook, retrieving my tunic and boots, carrying them back towards her. I sat upon a hewn tree stump and pulled the boots up over my breeches before donning my tunic again. I sighed dramatically, watching the beautiful creature who appeared to be glowing with an ethereal light before me.
"I think that some sort of meal is needed now, Eowyn"
"Yes, I cannot remember when we last ate today"
She steps quickly into the dress, inserting her arms through the sleeves, adjusting the bodice. Walking over to the horses, she opens one of the packs, and after rummaging through it, pulls out two packages wrapped in dark green leaves.
"We still have some of the-" she pauses, testing out the unfamiliar name on her tongue, "-lembas that we were given"
She holds out the packages to me, and I take one. Eowyn brought over a blanket from the horse pack, and spreading it on the grass, we sat down and opened the strangely fragrant cool leaves.
"Do you remember when we were given this for the first time?" she asks, breaking off a corner of the bread.
"Indeed", I smiled, fondly remembering, "Legolas the Elf held out a portion for you, still wrapped in the leaves, and you looked at him as if he'd given you a horseshoe"
Eowyn laughed at the memory.
"I did not know what it was! It was only when he explained that it was food that I took it; how could you remind me of that, Faramir, I was so embarrassed!"
"I do not think he minded, my love, after all you were gracious in your acceptance once you realised what he was offering. If he had offered some to me, my reaction would not have differed much from yours; I had heard of the Elvish way bread, but would not have been able to recognise it"
"They are so ageless, the Elves"
"Yes, so old and yet so young"
"Did you speak with Legolas for long?"
I shook my head.
"Not at great length, but he praised me for my bravery and what he had heard of my skill with a bow; high praise I thought from such an archer, the tales that were told of his deeds seemed nigh impossible. But no, we did not converse for long; I confess I was a little in awe of him who seemed younger than I but yet had lived for generations of men"
"I was a little in awe as well. But -", here she broke off into muffled laughing as she swallowed the mouthful of lembas she had taken, "-I was also in awe of our hobbits, and the food they managed to consume!"
I grinned. Since my introduction to Merry and Eowyn's to Pippin, the two respective soldiers of Rohan and Gondor had frequently become, in conversations between Eowyn and myself, "our hobbits". Such great friends I shall miss the company of dearly. I remembered the friendly competition with another member of the Fellowship of the Ring and voiced this to Eowyn.
"Did you see the King admit defeat to Merry at the last banquet?'
"Yes! He said it was best to give up right then rather than collapse under the table later"
I shook with mirth at the memory, the newly crowned King of Gondor tossing down his napkin and shaking his head, resigned as Merry polished off his sixth plate and reached for another. Acknowledging his defeat, the King proceeded to fill the tankard of the diminutive figure with more ale, grinning broadly and shaking with silent laughter as another sizeable hunk of bread disappeared into the seemingly bottomless pit of Merry's stomach. I recalled looking on in disbelief, Eowyn's laughter mingling with that of the Queen's as she consoled her husband, her hand at his cheek.
"Thus a hobbit's stomach is less easily filled than a hungry Ranger's, I think he said also"
"I hope that is the first and last defeat he suffers" Eowyn said. I nodded my agreement; may his reign be long, peaceful and prosperous. I sent my hope up to the stars, which were emerging in the evening sky.
"Do you remember how Pippin sang with the men afterwards?" Eowyn moved closer, her shoulder at my arm.
"I do - despite what the song said, I think there was more than one mug of beer inside that particular Took that evening"
We laughed together as the image of Pippin, resplendent in his garb as Guard of the Citadel and stamping wildly with Merry as he sang raucously, surrounded by knights of Gondor passed through both our minds. Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain, another line that stood out in that merry song. As if on cue, slight drops of water began to descend from the heavens, dotting our clothes. Eowyn and I looked at each other before springing to our feet and racing against the onset of rain, pulled the materials for our tent from the horses' packs and hastily began to assemble it.
Some time later we descended into the shelter of our tent, partly drenched and breathlessly happy.