I forgot to mention two things. One: this story is actually more book verse/AU than movie. I just have some things like the Evenstar from the movie that wasn't in the book. Two: Italics can stand for either thoughts or quotes. I'll leave it to your judgment to figure out which is which.

Also, in this chapter, I'm altering one other detail. Here Faramir doesn't know about his father's death until…well until.

Responses:

Telhyandowen: Yes, he can be rather stupid. That's why I like him so much. I can bend him to my will (hehehehe). Yep, angst, though this chapter wasn't exactly what I planned, there is just as much angst.

Eowyn0734: Oh, believe me, he'll get hurt, and not all right here either! Hehehehe.

EllowynTinuviel: Thanks for the review, it's always great to get a review from you. I still can't believe GHS is done by the way, do some more LotR! I'm waiting, and I don't know anything about this other thing you're doing!

Vor Tirla Laime: I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Okay, sorry it took so long. There are three reasons: school, Faramir's hard to write because he talks too much, and I got sick just as I was about to post this. That should be good enough for you all!

Someone To Catch My Tears

Part Four: Faramir

How does one describe such feelings that go beyond words? Since I was a small child, I had a passion for words. For what was speech without words? What was communication without speech? What was life without communication? What was man without life? And of course, we are men. There is nothing more infinite than words. One mere vocabulary is amazingly complete. We speak so fluently that we don't even realize that we are speaking sometimes. We let habit take over our words, or our emotions, and we speak without stopping to think. When the butcher says "G'day, sir, 'ow can I 'elp ya", he does not think of his words. If he thought about it, and spoke slowly, he might say "Good day, how may I help you?" His grammar would be accurate, and his words would be complete and well formed.

I used to play games with my friends or the soldiers on long nights, and I sometimes still do. I used to ask them to fine something that no amount of words could describe. The more words I had to use to describe it, the more points the person could get. The problem was that the men would have difficulty explaining what they were meaning. I would also ask riddles, the kind where the answer is all in one mere word. I loved those kind, or beating-around-the-bush type of riddles. One of my favorite games was when one person would whisper a word into my ear, and another would whisper a different word. They could be similar, or they could be completely different. Nobody knows until the words have both been whispered. Then I would tell everyone the two words, and then try to link them in some way. For example, there might be "window" and "basket." I could say that windows have shutters made from wood, and baskets are also made from wood. Well, that may not be the best example, but I'm rather distracted by Eowyn right now.

Anyway, back to my account of this story. This was a time when I had found something that could not be put into simple words. Not even Elvish words, which go beyond simple Common. No, in fact, set next to Eowyn of Rohan, words became dull and unsatisfactory. For Eowyn was beyond them, yet they were certainly not beyond her.

Eowyn had a way with words. When she spoke, a blunt, harsh voice came from her. Her words were just as blunt. They lacked rhythm and melody, they even lacked caution. But her words did not lack power. Eowyn thrust me under her sway by the first syllable she uttered. Already, ere she spoke, Eowyn had enraptured me. Her beauty was beyond…well…beyond words, to use the expression again. And her sorrow saddened me. I wondered how dead she already was, for she lacked any desire on that face. She was simply there.

But when she spoke, I understood. She had been left behind like I. We were one in a sense. Perhaps in more ways than one. Suddenly, I wanted to know everything that had ever happened to her. I wanted to know who she was, what she wanted, and why nobody gave it to her. I was willing to strangle the first name that was mentioned as to denying this women her every desire when I realized that I too could not abide her. I have never realized how hard it is to strangle oneself. I denied her. I could not let her go from the Houses, for she was so far from healed. I knew if I did abide by her will, then she would die. I would want anything but that. I would even wish her unhappiness than her death. I wondered if perhaps the reason I did this was partially selfish. I could not let her go now, not when I had just found her, but it wasn't. Not then anyway. I merely worried for her. And she wouldn't be safe away from the care of the healers.

Yet I did act then, out of instinct. I begged her to walk with me. I didn't want her to disappear back into the Houses without a promise that I might again see her. Reluctantly, she agreed. Oh, the pain she caused in me by her hesitation! I did not wish to ever hear her speak to me again for I knew that I would not receive what I wanted. As I continued my walk alone, I thought about this. I did not want her to leave me, but I knew she would. Yet, there was something I could do. I would ask if any knew anything of her, perhaps then I would learn how to cure Eowyn. Already, I called her Eowyn. I was appalled by my own forwardness. Never before had I even thought of a woman. None seemed to take my interest. They were all the same as the last, and the next. When would there be something different? Something that would shake the court of Gondor? Why could a man find no discussions of issues in his wife? Why could the women not think for themselves? They were educated! Sometimes I wondered if perhaps education was exactly what silenced their reason. Education filled their heads with fluff and tidbits so that they could "politely partake in a polite conversation about polite society." Three out of nine words being "polite" in one tutor's, who happened to also be a friend of mine, favorite saying to the ladies, it is a ridiculous education. Of course, it is true that if the ladies here did not receive this polite education on how to politely partake in a polite conversation about polite society they would have nothing of which to speak whatsoever. Polite society no longer suffices, so what then? They sit in silence, smiling on in that ever annoying way of theirs.

But Eowyn was that refreshing soul. She could shake the court by even glancing there from a mile away if she wanted to. Eowyn had a power. I didn't know if she realized it, but she did. She could move a mountain with a word. And, if she asked, I would move a thousand mountains for her.

This was crazy. I couldn't be in love with someone I had just met! But then her lovely blue eyes drifted back into my mind, and once again I knew that I loved her already. Her eyes were an amazing color. I had never seen such a color before. It was such a pure, light blue, without any other color. I imagined her happy, her eyes glowing and glittering. When I had met her, her eyes were blank, giving no hint to her thoughts. This surprised me. Most have not already learned to hide their feelings by that age. I knew then that Eowyn had suffered more than most. I didn't know what, but how I wanted to know. As we spoke, I struggled to learn how to read her. I wanted to know how to read her. Eowyn was like a book that I couldn't put down. But yet, she was also like nothing I had ever known or could possibly understand. She lured me in and I was trapped, like a fly in a spider's web, in the mystery of Eowyn.

Finally, I reached the Warden. I figured that he would be the best place to start. I did not want to hear the nurses' gossip. I wanted the truth. I wanted to understand Eowyn for who she was, is, and will be, not what some silly young woman thinks of her.

"Tell me of Eowyn of Rohan," I commanded as I came upon him.

The warden appeared startled by my desire. Perhaps he thought me mad and wanted to humor me. I was not mad, but I didn't care what he thought so long as he told me.

And tell me he did.

"Well…well sir, Eowyn of Rohan. Well, she was brought by the Prince Imrahil, your uncle, if I rightly recall, the son of Arahil, son of…" Here I cut him off.

"I know my uncle's history, for it is also my own. The Lady Eowyn, warden." I had decided to keep this official. The warden had a tendency to meander for many hours around the subject before finally reaching the point. I suppose, looking back on all I have written here, I have such a tendency myself, but that is beside the point again.

"Sir. Prince Imrahil brought her in. She had been fighting. She was in the battle. A hobbit, Meriadoc Brandybuck, has been associated with her. He'd be the one to ask, I don't know much about her. She had a broken arm, and was under the Black Breath. She was thought to be dead. Even I did not think I could help her. But she did heal. A man, Ioreth mentioned something about him being King, came and healed her, just as he did you. He also visited her shortly before he left. I know not of what passed between them, but I know that she did not know that he was going to ride without her. He ensured that the fact was kept from her until the men were gone. When they were gone she became even more sorrowful…."

I had heard enough. I knew where my true resource lay. Meriadoc Brandybuck. And I had an advantage with making his acquaintance.

I entered the room in which he was staying, and I saw him sitting on the bed, staring out the window. I had heard from Ioreth that he was almost healed, but he still tired easily, and he had nowhere else to go, so he remained in the Houses.

"Meriadoc?" I said softly.

He jumped; he had not heard me enter. I remembered then that I had a tendency to go softly when I was about to enter unknown territory. A strange hobbit was what I included as such territory. Particularly approaching him on the subject of Eowyn. I looked at his face, and I thought could she be in love with him? He is certainly handsome enough. But I drove the thought from my head. It only made things more complicated. Besides, I knew enough about Eowyn to know that she would not fall for this hobbit.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Master Meriadoc. I merely wished to meet you, for I have heard much about you. My name is Faramir. I am a…friend… of your friend Pippin. He talks about you so frequently, and I thought that, us being in the same Houses for however long, I should meet you ere the end. Do…do you mind?"

He regarded at me thoughtfully, and then leapt, no, sprung, injured as he was, from his position on the bed to right in front of me.

"'Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, milord! Pippin's spoken highly of you to me as well! I have oft wished to meet you! Please, sit down. Would you like some pipe-weed, perhaps? I have some in my pack, I don't have an extra pipe, however. Do you have one on you?"

I smiled. How he reminded me of Pippin, my dear friend. I had hesitated when I called Pippin a friend, because it was hard to say that I had a friend. I had always been so cautious around my father not to mention friendships with any of the rangers, lest he take me away from them. I supposed I would have to go back to that someday soon, but for now I was in the Houses of Healing, away from my father, and so near Eowyn.

Also, I hardly saw Pippin as a friend. It was strange. Pippin had always made me feel as though I was his father, and he were my son. I couldn't explain it, but I truly felt that way.

Meriadoc, on the other hand, was much more controlled and thoughtful.

"Nay, Master Meriadoc, I don't have a pipe on me, however, I would not smoke if I did, for it would ruin my dinner."

The truth is, I have never quite been fond of smoking since my brother died.

He smiled. "Of course. Please sit! And there is no need for formalities between us, for you are a friend of Pippin's, thus you are a friend of mine. Call me Merry. Sit!"

I obeyed. I spent several minutes making common conversation, before cutting to the chase and asking of Eowyn.

"Merry, you are a friend of Lady Eowyn's, are you not?"

He smiled. "Aye, I am. You have met her then?"

I only nodded.

"You wish to understand her?"

Again, I nodded.

He sighed. "I will not tell you everything, for some things you must come to understand on your own. I also do not wish to be the one to… to tell you of these things. However, I will help you to understand her.

"When I first met her, Eowyn had already suffered much. I know not all of her troubles, but I can figure how tragic they must have been in order to provoke such a severe reaction from her. To add to her troubles, it seems as though Eowyn had fallen in love with someone. Strider, we call him. You might know him by the name of Aragorn. I know not. However…"

Merry glanced at me and stopped. "Is there something the matter, milord?"

I caught his eye, searching for what he meant. I was too flustered to even heed the fact that I had yet to tell him not to call me "milord," something I commonly do upon meeting someone, particularly since Merry had already asked for me to abandon titles.

"Milord, you suddenly went pale. Have I said something that has offended you?"

I shook my head, more to clear it than to negate his question. "Nay, Merry, I am well. I merely tire easily still."

He nodded, but still he hesitated. He looked to his feet while biting his lower lip. However, just as I was opening my mouth to say something, I didn't know what, he resumed his story.

"She fell in love with him. Yet, for all the love she gave to him, Strider loved her not. He had another, he loved an Elf maid, so he would not return her feelings. I sense, but do not know, that bitter emotions were exchanged between them. That is, until, quite suddenly, the…" He paused, and caught my eye, but I pretended not to notice. "Until the strangest thing happened. Eowyn seemed to care no longer for Aragorn. She found no other, but she did not seem to hold any lingering feelings for him. However, something, probably despair over the lack of hope; for that is what despair always is, hope minus hope equals despair; she rode to battle. She was raised as a Shieldmaiden. She fights as well as any man, even with her lack of training. She was going to be left behind, but she would not stand for it. I, too, was not to ride, so she took me along. She went under the name of Dernhelm, and I went under the disguise of a bag, it seemed. We rode into the battle, I'm sure you know of it, when the Rohirrim came, we went too." He paused again, but this time, I could see the anguish on his face, this was a moment that caused him pain. I briefly considered mentioning that I did not know of the coming of the Rohirrim, but I instantly decided not. Instead I spoke to him gently, trying to calm him.

"You need not tell me more, if you do not wish. I have learned more from you than I expected to, and that is enough."

To my surprise, the hobbit shook his head. I was amazed to see, in this fourth hobbit I had met in my life, that the trait of strong will ran strongly in their kind. Why were men not more like these impressive, honorable beings? If only I came from a race of truer, greater, hearts. For all of our height, men are weak and blind, unlike these persevering creatures.

"No," he said, "I will continue, for it would be good for me as well as provide you with the answers to your questions.

"We rode too. I will always remember the terror I felt, seeing so many Orcs. There are no words to describe my feelings." Funny he should put it that way. I was finding a lot of feelings that day that could not be described. " But, for all of my fear, I also felt safe, for I had Eowyn there, behind me. She did not even shudder. I don't know what she thought, but her feelings were hidden from her stance. She was as calm as…as calm as…I don't know. She was just calm. She didn't seem to care. Now I understand more completely why. Then, I thought it was inevitable that we would all die in that battle. I didn't think anyone would live through it. Minas Tirith would fall, the Orcs would reign over the few pitiful survivors. Now, after the battle, I see what Eowyn was thinking. That was what she wanted for herself. She rode into battle for death, because she could no longer bear life. It's too complex to understand by someone who has never felt this way. I understand because I was under the Black Breath. I felt the same way. The utter despair that was thrust upon me was like the one that had already fallen upon her. Sad. She suffered both her own pain and that given to her by the Witch King. She didn't deserve it."

She doesn't deserve any pain or anguish of any kind, I agreed in my mind. But I kept my thoughts to myself, to be sorted out later, and let Merry continue.

He took a deep breath, and then resumed he tail. "The king, Eowyn's uncle, had been thrown from his horse. No, really, his horse had collapsed upon him. It was horrid to see, I couldn't bear look at him, but I couldn't even if I would. I was left in horror instead by the Nagul King, who came upon Theoden. But ere he reached my king, I heard someone crying out. And there was Dernhelm, yet it was not. For Eowyn had forsaken her disguise. She stood between the Nazgul and my king like a lily separating the fox from the rabbit. She was nothing compared to this thing. There was nothing she could do. Yet, though she knew this, for Eowyn does not hold false ideals about herself, she stood her ground. She killed the monster upon which the Witch King rides…rode. But then, The Nazgul was even more terrifying in his anger than in his irritation, as you would imagine. He wounded her arm, and was about to kill her. Then I knew that I had to do something. I couldn't let something so fair and selfless die so easily. I would sacrifice myself for her, as she had sacrificed herself for our king. I remember thinking as I rose, "For Eowyn! For she is my lady, for none other can match her in skill!" poetic words, and I knew not from where they had come. All I knew, and still know, is that I swore my allegiance to Eowyn in that moment. So I did all I could do. I distracted the Witch King. I stabbed him. I was surprised that my sword held as it did. I no longer have it, thank goodness, but I sometimes wonder what luck brought me upon it. Anyway, this was all the chance Eowyn needed. Instead of doing what I expected, trying to escape the grasping hand, she cut it off. She killed the Witch King by thrusting her sword into his face…where his face would be, had he one. He died, and she fainted, not out of weakness, mind, simply out of exhaustion and lack of will to continue on. The Black Breath played a part in it too, I'd imagine. I went to Theoden, but this is not my tale, so I will not go on. That is all I know of Eowyn. We have spoken seldom since being in the Houses, for I have spent much time with my friends. Though, I also spend time mourning over my king."

I had noticed in Merry's tale how he had referred to King Theoden as "my king." I was interested in this, but I decided to wait to think upon any of this until later, for there was so much upon which to think.

"Thank you Merry, I am very grateful for your tale. You did not need to tell me of this, and you hardly know me, but you did it. Thank you. I believe that you are a great, selfless person for what you did for Eowyn, and I am honored to meet someone of your nobility. Thank you."

"Really, milord, it was nothing. I have never done much, just lived by what I believed or knew at any given time."

"And a good way to live that is. I'm sorry, but I must leave you now, for I have much to ponder."

He bowed his head in acknowledgement and I returned the gesture. I turned for the door, and began to exit, but ere I left, I thought back to his last words.

"Merry?"

His head snapped up in a surprised reaction.

"Aye, milord?"

"You need not call me "milord." I am not. I am simply the second son of the steward, and now Gondor has a king. Besides, we are friends. Faramir. That is my name."

"Faramir then," he said with a smile. He frowned slightly, and seemed to consider mentioning something else to me, but instead he shook his head and smiled again. "Faramir."

I smiled in return, and left the room.

I retreated to the garden, where I could think through all that Merry had said. The first thing that came to my mind was the fact that Eowyn must be lonely. Her brother was gone, her uncle was dead, she seemed to have few friends at all, and here she was in a strange country knowing only one person, and that person did not spend hardly any time with her. Not that I was blaming Merry, only, I wanted to make Eowyn happy. She had a companion out there.

This thought was quickly followed by the question of Eowyn and Aragorn. Merry had not told me the entire truth about this matter, I knew. Either they had had a painful fight, or perhaps she did not truly fall out of love with him. But no. I would take Merry's words at face value. I could find out more from Eowyn. She is the true person I should talk to.

I did not see her again all evening. And frankly, I was glad. I had to get myself together before I could. But in the morning, things had changed.

I woke up, and immediately wondered what I had been thinking. I knew what I had felt for Eowyn. I had felt companionship and pity for her. There was no love. I could tell that now. Eowyn was a wonderful woman, and I had mistaken my sorrow over her predicament for more than mere compassion. I thought back upon everything I had said the day before and tried to recall if I had said anything that might hint that I had loved her. But I decided I was safe. I hardly spoke to Eowyn, and my conversation with Merry never went there. There was nothing for me to fear.

I rose and dressed myself, a task I was still struggling with but refused to let be down for me, and then I went to the gardens. I hoped against hope that Eowyn would remember me. Surely she wouldn't, but I still convinced myself that she would.

To my surprise and delight, she did join me. But she joined me in silence. She would not speak throughout our entire walk. Yet, when I asked her to join me again, whatever may have inspired me to do that, she said yes. I searched to see if she was truly saying yes, or if she was merely accepting. There is a great difference between the two. There are no two words that mean the exact same thing. That is why it is so hard to explain what something means, because there is no other word like it. They may be similar in translation, but technically, they are different. Yes would mean that she truly wanted to walk with me again, and accepting would mean that she simply agreed to it.

We walked almost every day following, and I finally began to learn about her. However, more than speaking of herself, Eowyn spoke of a man. A man whose name I had learned to hate. I should not, but he was all Eowyn cared for, and it was too much for me to bear. And how was I to be this man's steward someday? When my father died, I would be left to take over. How could I go on knowing that Eowyn had married this man? Of course, there was a possibility that he loved her not back, but those hopes of mine, as well as other beliefs that I had held in my heart were dashed one day when I was talking to Eowyn.

She was talking about herself, for I had begged her again to tell me more, and she mentioned Aragorn's name again. I interrupted her. "Eowyn, what is between you and Aragorn? You need not answer, if you do not wish it."

She was silent for a while, for Eowyn does not like to talk all that often, and she likes to think about what she says first. Then she replied. "I love him."

I should have expected it, but I was surprised and disappointed all the same. But she didn't stop there. Not knowing what she was doing to me, in fact, I didn't hardly know what she was doing to me, she continued.

"I loved him almost as long as I knew him. But he loved another. An elf maid. But, suddenly, to both of our surprises, she left him. She sailed into the west. He came to me, and I cared for him. Soon after, he realized that he was in love with me. He asked me to marry him, and I said yes. We are engaged."

So this was the story that Merry had left out. He had lied to me because he had seen through my thin disguise. Probably the only one who had not yet was Eowyn herself. She was betrothed to my king. My tears threatened, but I forbad them to come yet. I was good at controlling my tears by now. Very good. I decided to keep any thoughts to myself about the story sounding rather like a rebound relationship, Aragorn needed to escape the former lover, so he went to Eowyn. I didn't say anything about the fact that the whole story sounded fabricated to help Eowyn deal with the fact that this was not real. She had to force herself to believe this. She could believe whatever she wanted. I didn't care one way or another.

Instead I changed the subject.

"I'm scared of becoming the steward. When my father dies, it will be up to me to take his place. I was never prepared for this. My brother was always the heir. Naturally, one would think that I would be prepared in case my brother died, as he did, but my father was convinced that I couldn't do it, so he clung to the believe that Boromir would return each time, even after he died, and save the kingdom from my stewardship."

Eowyn looked at me strangely. Had I changed the subject to quickly? "Eowyn?"

"Faramir, are you not aware of your father's current…situation?" She asked.

I shook my head, bewildered.

"Faramir, I can't believe that they haven't told you yet. Faramir…your father is…he…he has moved on."

"What?"

"He has gone to the halls of Man…"

I don't know what I did next. I completely blanked out from that syllable on. Eowyn told me later that I screamed at her, she even remembers what I said, but as this is my tale, I will not include it here.

The next thing I remember is waking up in my bed, and Ioreth bending over me, making some soothing noises.

"Is it true?" I sobbed. I probably sounded like a little boy, but I didn't care. I wanted to be a little boy again. I wanted my mother.

"Hush, dear, yes, it is true. Don't worry. He died peacefully. He could not face the end hopeless, for hopeless he was. He knew Boromir to be dead, and he thought you to be dying as well. When he saw you, he instantly went into a feverish worry. He couldn't continue. But I will not recount the whole story; it would not do to have you pass out again. It was not healthy for you to know what happened yet. That is why we kept it from you. Eowyn did not know this however, and…" She continued talking to me, but I did not continue listening. Ioreth is one of those people who can talk forever, and she doesn't really expect anyone to listen. She simply finds it comforting to her patients to hear a gentle voice. Which is true. It lulled me to sleep finally, before I could ask any questions about what she had said. She reminded me of my mother. She was so gentle and kind. She could care for small babies and great warriors alike. Just like mother. Mother knew how to sooth my father's pride, which is extremely hard, I can tell you, and at the same time, she would care for Boromir and me. Yet, for all her gentleness, she was respected. Nobody dared to cross the stewardess. She was the power of Gondor. When she weakened, Gondor weakened, when she died, Gondor died. At least, that was what I had always thought. I expressed these opinions to Boromir once, and he called it nonsense. But later, when we were away from all other ears, he told me that I was right, and that only I could bring Gondor to life again. I told him that no one could bring mother to life again, thus Gondor could not be revived, and he told me that I already had brought mother back to life.