Imrahil

My manservant, Herion, came to me before I had finished breakfast to inform me that my nephew had come to visit me. Always have I enjoyed Faramir's quiet company, and as I was eating in my room this morning, shunning the public room for the quiet solitude that I often enjoy, I poured us both some tea while I waited for him to be ushered inside. But as he entered, and I rose to greet him, I knew immediately that something was dreadfully wrong.

Faramir was as pale as he had been almost two weeks ago when Éowyn, Thíri, and I had brought him home from his punishing stay upon the River Poros. I immediately asked him what was wrong as I pushed him into one of the armchairs.

"Uncle," he began, his tone flat despite his harried appearance. "It is Éowyn. She is not well."

This was ill news indeed. "My boy, what ails her?"

His voice grew more frantic as he swept his hand through his hair. "I know not. She burns with fever, and she swooned on her way down to join me for breakfast. I should never have left her side!" He hid his face with his hand for a moment, and I waited patiently for him to regain his composure. At last his face rose again, though his gaze remained upon the floor. "She does not recognize me, Uncle," he said quietly. "She called me a worm."

"Fever can be a cruel symptom, my boy. But when it wanes, she shall know your face again."

"But what of our son?" The words were spoken so softly that I had almost not heard them.

I sighed, unable to offer any reassuring words to him as the enormity of the torment that he was suffering at last occurred to me. I placed my hand upon his shoulder and squeezed it briefly. "I am glad that you came to me, Faramir, for ever do I think of you as one of my own sons. Whatever happens, I shall be here with you."

He nodded, yet did not meet my eyes. "Thank you, Uncle," he murmured, and I took up a cup of tea, thrusting it into his hands.

"Drink this, my boy. No, do not argue," I added quickly as it seemed he would refuse. "Rest here if you can. I have a small errand to complete, and then I shall accompany you back to your home, all right?"

Holding the cup, he nodded absently, his thoughts obviously with Éowyn. I hurried into the corridor, calling to Herion. He appeared almost instantly in the hallway, and I told him to have the queen fetched to the steward's house immediately and to have Thíri and Èomer found as soon as possible, for they had departed quite early to go riding again. Faramir would need every friend who was available close to him that day, I knew.

When I had finished speaking with Herion, and he had assured me that he would send the fastest messengers in my retinue, I returned to my room, finding my nephew yet motionless in the chair, a haunted expression upon his pale face, his tea untouched. I worried for his health, wondering if he might have a relapse of some sort after being placed under this sudden, terrible strain.

"My boy," I said softly, hoping to wake him from his brooding as I gently took the cup from his trembling hand. "Come. Let us see how your lady and son are faring."

He nodded and stood slowly. I thought that he might have to be led home like a child, but as we walked together down the stairs, stepping from the inn and onto the public street, I witnessed a startling transformation as if he had drawn an invisible mantle of strength about his shoulders. Suddenly Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien walked silently by my side, no longer showing his fear or any outward sign of weakness. It was quite a remarkable feat of self-control, but I shuddered as I thought of how much he reminded me of Denethor at that moment.


Arwen

The guard who strode into my garden at some speed was apologetic for interrupting my morning walk, though I could see immediately from his expression that his arrival was due to a matter of grave importance.

"My queen," he spoke as he bowed. "The Prince of Dol Amroth requests your immediate presence at the steward's residence."

"Lord Faramir?" I guessed.

"Nay, my queen. It is Lady Éowyn. She has been injured somehow."

"Injured? Go forth, and inform them that I shall arrive presently."

He bowed and ran from my presence as I rushed back into the Citadel to gather together what few herbs I possessed. Within minutes I was upon the doorstep of the steward's residence, and I was quickly shown to the room where Éowyn had been taken.

She was delirious and would not allow Gethron to come anywhere near her, though her handmaiden was attempting to assure her mistress that no one there meant her any harm. I spoke her name in the manner that Ada had taught me centuries ago, and her attention immediately came fully upon me, her eyes wide in either fear or awe as I slowly approached her bed.

"Éowyn, what has happened?" I asked her gently, but she did not answer me. Her maid supplied me with the information of the events of the morning, and I gently examined the steward's wife, caressing her limbs reassuringly, quelling her fears, though she appeared not to recognize me, nor indeed anyone else around her. The lady had some bruises, but they did not worry me nearly as much as the heat of the high fever that radiated from her body.

"Where is Lord Faramir?" I asked her.

Her brow furrowed. "I know no Lord Faramir, my lady," she murmured.

Gethron replied. "I suggested to him that she might be more comfortable if he was not here, for she seemed genuinely afraid of him, Lady Arwen."

I nodded. "It might be better for her if you would leave also, Gethron. Send to me a female healer. Her presence should be much more soothing for the Lady Éowyn in this state."

"Yes, my lady," said Gethron, gathering his bag from the bedside table and rapidly departing without another word.

"Éowyn, what has happened?" I repeated.

"Éomer," she moaned quietly. "Where is my brother?"

"I know not, though he shall be brought to you as soon as he is found." I sent a querying glance toward the maid, and she informed me that Lord Èomer had left the city to ride upon the Pelennor Fields with Lady Lothíriel.

"Who are you, my lady?" asked Éowyn.

"I am Arwen, daughter of Lord Elrond of Imladris." She appeared so confused, and I knew that indeed she did not remember me.

Her eyes widened in amazement. "An Elf? Why does one of your fair folk come to us here in Edoras? Do you bring forth a message from your father?"

"Nay, my lady. There is no message. I have simply come to help you, Lady Éowyn."

Her confusion was complete, and as I worked to lower her fever, I worried.

"Did my uncle send for you?"

"Nay, he did not. I was sent to you by Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth on behalf of Faramir of Gondor."

She did not seem to recognize either name. "And what do these men know of me? What help do you offer?"

"Only my skill as a healer, my lady. You are quite ill."

She did not believe me. "I am tired in truth, but I do not feel ill. Who is this Prince Imrahil, this Faramir?"

"Éowyn, Imrahil is Faramir's uncle." I paused.

"And Faramir?"

I decided that a half-truth might be less alarming for her. "He is your betrothed, my lady."

"What? How is this possible? Uncle Théoden said naught of arranging a marriage for me. He would not do that without informing me first!"

As the shock washed through her, I did what I could to soothe her. "Peace, Éowyn. All is well. You shall see when you meet him at last that he is a most agreeable man."

"That may be, but I do not wish to wed someone whom I do not know! I do not wish to be betrothed to someone without my knowledge! I do not wish to be chained to some man who knows naught of me nor what I wish to accomplish with my life!"

"Faramir is not a man like that," I said softly, trying to calm her. "Lady Éowyn, will you not rest now? I do not wish to tax your remaining strength."

Though she was yet restless, she seemed to be tiring herself quickly, and her protests faded to weak mumbling as her maid and I removed her clothing and then covered her in cool cloths to lower her temperature while we awaited the healer.


Lothíriel

We had gone riding again, Éomer and I, since we had enjoyed ourselves so much the day before despite our unexpected dip into the Anduin. I no longer thought of him as an oaf and in truth, had not since the day before yesterday when I had first opened the door to him and had seen the unease in his eyes transform quickly to wonder as he had gazed upon my face.

Later that same day, he had complimented my riding, which coming from a Horse-Lord of Rohan was flattering indeed. But my temper had flared when he made a poor jest, and I had abandoned him to return to my room at the inn, feeling foolish for my hasty retreat by the time I arrived there. Luckily, Lord Éomer is a persistent man, and he had suggested (I am kind in using that word, I think.) that I accompany him once more. We had been more cautious of one another after our "swim," and surprisingly, he had agreed to accompany me to a tailor, where I chose some cloth that I thought would complement his eyes, and he ordered a shirt to be made from it. The tailor had placed the King of Rohan's request above his other work and after he had taken Lord Éomer's measurements, he made the shirt in record time. I had felt sad when the day eventually had to end, and he must have as well, because after dinner that evening when I had suggested yet more riding on the morrow and another picnic lunch, he had gladly agreed.

And so today we had departed Minas Tirith even earlier, closer to dawn, and for the third morning in a row, I had relished the look in the King of Rohan's eyes when he rested them upon me as I opened the door to my room. "The dawn becomes you, my lady," he said, and I smiled at him, his simple words bringing me immense pleasure.

"I am surprised to hear you say that, my lord."

He raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Why so?"

"Because I could not sleep at all last night for thinking about you."

His expression melted into one of great tenderness. "No one could tell it to gaze upon you, Lady Lothíriel. You are as lovely as ever." He bowed over my hand and kissed it much as he had done when my father had presented me to him three days ago, before he smiled at me and led me to our mounts once again.

Today, after he lifted me onto Roäc's back, I allowed him to set the pace and choose the path that we traveled. We soon found ourselves under the same oak tree where we had eaten lunch two days before, though it was nowhere near noon. He spoke to me in his rich, baritone voice, as he circled his stallion around my gelding until he was beside me, facing the direction whence we had come. "My lady, since I first discovered your beauty and grace two days ago, I have longed to taste your lips. Would you allow me to kiss you?"

The request struck me dumb. We had come so close to kissing last night, and I had wondered as I had tossed and turned in my bed, waiting for morning, if he might kiss me today. Never would I have expected the King of Rohan to ask my permission first. But I was quite willing, and so I just nodded to him, and Éomer moved Firefoot so close to Roäc that our legs were touching before he leaned toward me ever so slowly, his brown eyes searching mine at first and then closing as his lips brushed against mine with the barest whisper of contact. He drew back slightly as if judging my reaction, and then I realized that he was savoring this moment as much as I was, as he finally leaned in, and captured my lips with his own, gently kissing me.

My heart was pounding so hard, I thought that I could hear it in my own ears, until Éomer abruptly broke off, looking over my shoulder with no little annoyance upon his face. I turned Roäc around until I was facing in the same direction as the king and saw a rider approaching at breakneck speed, shouting to us. As the man drew near, I saw that he was dressed in the livery of a Guard of the Citadel, and the words that he spoke made my head spin faster than Lord Éomer's kiss had. Without another word we departed for Minas Tirith at a gallop, hoping that Éowyn was all right, our kiss all but forgotten.


Faramir

I could hear Éowyn's screams before we even entered the house, and had my uncle not been with me, I might have lost my self-control. As we stepped inside the front entrance, I was met by Serni who curtsied before informing me in a trembling voice that a female healer who had arrived not long before I had, had told her that should she and the queen not be able to reduce Éowyn's fever ere two or three more hours had passed, I should most likely lose her.

I felt the floor lurch beneath my feet, and then I found myself in a chair in the great hall, Uncle Imrahil looking down at me, a cup of water in one hand, a thin book in the other that he was using to fan air into my face. His expression emphasized that this was not a nightmare, and I knew not what to do. I closed my eyes against the harsh light of day, unable to bear the look upon my uncle's face any longer.

"Faramir, be strong," he whispered, and then Lothíriel was there with us, grasping my hand, praying aloud for Éowyn. Opening my eyes, I looked up at her and realized that the fear etched upon her face was for me as well as my wife. Éowyn's frantic cries tore at my heart, and her maid sat apart from us, sobbing quietly into her hands.

When Éomer arrived, he was ushered directly into Éowyn's room, and I stupidly resented the fact that Éowyn's brother was allowed to go to her when I could not. I stood up abruptly and, ignoring everyone around me, moved into the corridor outside of her room, placing my hand upon the closed door, wishing that my presence did not frighten her when it was meant only to comfort.

I could hear her speaking now, her screams thankfully quieted, and Éomer replied to her, his voice strong and sure, though I could not hear their words. I was glad, though, for it seemed that he was giving her some measure of peace.


Éomer

Though the messenger had ridden to us with the terrible news, nothing could have prepared me for the moment when I arrived again at the steward's residence, hearing Éowyn's shrill voice before I ever entered her room. But I was nearly shocked speechless when I laid eyes upon her. She was fevered, her eyes filled with a frightened, angry intensity that I had not witnessed in her before, and she ranted against the queen and the other woman who was there trying to tend her.

"Sister, what troubles you?" I asked, drawing her attention toward me with my voice, and she immediately reached forth her hands to me. As I stepped forward, she took my hand, holding on as if she were a drowning woman hoping to be pulled from a raging river.

"Oh, Éomer, you came back!"

"Yes," I said, pulling the chair closer to the bed and sitting in it. "I am here, Éowyn. What is wrong?"

"Éomer," she began quietly, her eyes wild with delirium, both of her hands tightening upon mine. "He is returned."

"Who is returned?"

"Grima. He is back."

I could not believe my ears. With one word she had sent us both back more than two years in time. Dread filled my heart. "Éowyn, he is dead. He is not coming back."

"I saw him," she explained, as if I had not understood her words the first time. "He was telling me lies again, trying to trick me into marrying him. But I saw through his ruse, Brother."

I knew not what to say, and I looked to Lady Arwen for some guidance. She offered none, and I could see that she was worried as she prepared some brew for my sister.

"Éowyn, all shall be well," I told her, my heart filled with dread. I knew the truth was all that she would accept. "You must rest now or you may not live to see the morrow, my sister. There are a good many people worried about you. Will you not try to sleep?"

"I cannot," she breathed frantically. Finally, she asked, "Will you watch over me, Brother?"

I nodded. "I will," I managed to say, gazing steadily into her bright grey eyes. "I will guard you until you have no further need of me, Éowyn." With a sigh, she relaxed into unconsciousness, and I swallowed my emotion at seeing her so ill, keeping hold of her hand as I silently watched Arwen coax her finished potion into my sister.

"Should I go?" I asked, never having spent much time in sickrooms.

"Nay, Lord Éomer, I think your presence is the best medicine for your sister at the moment," said Arwen, and so I settled into the chair and waited to see what might happen, praying that Éowyn's strength would see her through this.


Arwen

It was a couple of hours before we forced Éowyn's fever to a tolerable level, but many hours passed before it finally broke. Her brother had left the room to refresh himself when he learned that she would live, though I was certain that he merely felt a need to express his emotion somewhere away from other eyes. I sent the healer home to rest, and I remained with the lady. When I was completely certain that she was stable, I went to her husband, finding him in his own darkened great hall, resting in an armchair, while his uncle and cousin napped upon the nearby couches.

"Faramir," I whispered to him, waking him from the slight doze into which he had fallen.

"Éowyn?" Too quickly he was upon his feet, and though I did not wish to anger him, I laid a hand upon his shoulder, bidding him wordlessly to slow down. He turned his weary face toward me and nodded slightly as I pressed him back down into the chair, lowering myself into the one opposite him.

"Her fever is broken, my lord."

He released a pent up breath of relief as he studied my face in the dim light from the fireplace. "There is more," he stated flatly.

I nodded, but before I could speak, he knew what I would say. His face fell, as his chin dropped to his chest, and though he tried, a quiet sob escaped his lips before he could stop it. "Faramir, do not forget that your wife shall live. I am certain that it is difficult for you, but there shall be other children. You still have each other."

After a few moments, he looked up at me, the tracks of his tears visible upon his cheeks. "Does she know?" he asked, and I shook my head.

"No, she has not been told yet. Would you like to see her now?"

He nodded, and rose a little unsteadily, before he shambled forth into the corridor, stopping briefly at the closed door to compose himself before he entered and went directly to Éowyn, her name upon his lips before he pressed them gently against her brow. He sat in the bedside chair and pulled her limp hand into his grasp.

I made myself unobtrusive by sitting in the chair nearest the windows and watched as Éowyn opened her eyes, slowly turning her face toward Faramir, his haggard face lightening a bit as he smiled wanly at her.

"Faramir," she croaked weakly and a smile touched her lips.

His relief was palpable as he realized that she once again recognized him. "My love," he spoke, "can you ever forgive me?"

Confusion creased her features for a moment, but then she smiled again. Her voice was barely audible even in the silence of the room. "Faramir, I know not why you ask that."

"I ask it because I love you."

"And I love you, husband." She winced as she tried to move and Faramir gently stilled her with his hands. "I feel wretched," she said. "What happened to me?" she asked, and his gaze flicked to my face.

Even centuries of living cannot soften the blow of the death of one's own child, even an unborn one, and I hoped that Estel and I should never have to face such a horrible time. Faramir's haunted silver eyes moved back to his wife's face, and he asked her what she could remember. After some thought, she told him that she remembered naught past when he had left her in their bedchamber with Serni.

Faramir nodded, took a breath and then explained that she had been terribly ill, though no one had realized it at the time, and she had fallen down the stairs before anyone could stop it. She listened quietly, her gaze unfaltering upon his grief-stricken face, and I knew she must be terribly aware of his sadness, she must know what news was coming. But as the words of their loss passed his lips, I could see how shocked that she was. Her face crumpled in her distress, and it was apparent that Faramir knew not what to do for her as she seemed to cave in upon herself, withdrawing even from him.

"Éowyn?" he questioned as she pulled her hand away from him.

"Go," she said, turning her face away. Faramir was hurt by her as surely as if she had slapped him across the face. I wished to go to him, but I knew that I should not interfere as he sat motionlessly, his mouth agape, so obviously wishing that he could do something for his wife.

"But, why?" he asked innocently.

"Go," she repeated more insistently.

"Please, Éowyn," he tried.

Her grief lent her strength, and from between gritted teeth, she said, "I told you to go. Go from me, and do not return until I ask for you."

He sat for a moment longer, as he dropped his chin to his chest and squeezed his eyelids closed against the threatening tears. He looked utterly defeated. "As you wish," he finally murmured, and I thought that I saw her flinch. He slowly stood up, his eyes meeting mine across the room for just a moment, the depths of his pain and confusion fathomless.

"Come back in the morning, Faramir. Perhaps she shall feel more herself then," I told him, standing from my seat.

"Arwen, I have asked you before not speak as if I am not here," said Èowyn bitterly. "My decision is made. I do not wish to see Faramir until I call for him."

Silently, he turned and departed the room, closing the door softly behind him.