EllowynTinuviel: I liked that chapter a lot too. In fact, I think it's my favorite. I agree with you on the thoughts about words. That was one of the things that I always thought about when I thought about Faramir. His fascination with words.

Rebby-Eowyn: He'll have a hard time dealing with it.

Elvishgurl: I agree. I really wanted for him to find out in a more dramatic way than he did in the books. I felt that Eowyn telling him would be very interesting.

Eowyn0734: Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Xx.EvenStar.xX: I have thought about a chapter on Arwen, but I'm not sure if I'll do it. I've also thought about her coming back, and I keep thinking how funny it would be, but then things would work out too well…

Vor Tirla Laime: Thank you for your complements on Faramir's POV. It's funny how angst can put poor souls like ourselves in a good mood.

Tellhyandowen: I'm glad you liked Merry's character. I was worried that it wasn't very hobbitish, so thank you for your reassurance. My second favorite part of that chapter was when he found out about his father and the engagement, but I have to say that my favorite is what Boromir said. As for your story, it was truly wonderful. PLEASE WRITE MORE! Here we go with more Eowyn.

Sorry it took so long everybody. I wrote this awhile back, but just haven't gotten it posted. Thanks for reading! Also, in case you are wondering, I have decided what is going to happen. This probably won't be much longer, even though it is only five chapters long.

Someone To Catch My Tears

Part Five: Eowyn

To wake up; after I thought I was lost in that horrid darkness, alone, forever; to Eomer's face, filled with fear and anguish, and to see his face break into a smile, that was the perhaps the greatest moment of my life. There were few moments that could possibly amount to, let alone surpass, that moment. However, I fell back wondering if it could have just been a dream, and I was again lost in those fears, where the Nagul King lived, and had done as he promised me ere he died, to lay my mind naked before the Dark Lord himself. But that was far from my greatest fear. All of the horrors I had imagined, experienced, or been threatened with swarmed against me again, as I fought to resurface. Then, to wake up a second time, this time to his face, that came as close as anything I had yet experienced. Aragorn. He was there, with me. He spoke to me. We did not speak of anything of great importance. Towards the end of the conversation, he mentioned something about our engagement.

"Eowyn, I wanted to know if this is really what you want…"

I looked at him, puzzled, for he had said this without previously introducing the subject.

"The engagement…"

I sighed. "Have you spoken to Eomer…"

"Yes."

This time, I rolled my eyes. "Eomer knows not of what he speaks. I have told you of my sufferings and of my loves. Eomer believes that I seek you as light with which to ward my night. He is wrong. I love you. I will marry you. I want to marry you." I said these words, but my soul filled with doubt. Was this true? Did Aragorn truly love me? Or was he merely turning to me when there was nobody else? I shook myself. Of course he was turning to me when there was nobody else. That was what true love was. I was there when nobody else could be, as he was there for me. That was how it would always be. Aragorn truly loved me, and I him. We had to learn how to handle each other, we didn't understand one another's needs quite yet, but we would make it through. We were similar enough that it couldn't be that hard…could it?

What I didn't understand is that I shouldn't just be a last resort. I had never had the opportunity to understand a true relationship. I didn't see that he should turn to me in times of need, but he should also turn to me in times of happiness. He should want to turn to me. I did not need his comfort, for it meant nothing if it was not fully given. But I did not see this at the time. I did not see it until a good deal of time had passed, and wounds that would perhaps never be healed had been inflicted.

He smiled at me in response to my assurances, but he did not seem to mean it. However, I refused to let myself see his hesitation. Here, on the brink of disaster, the last think one needs is hesitation. The slightest trace of regret and I would tumble into the darkness that still threatened me; my heart would be trampled upon without a thought. And Aragorn would not even know what he had done!

He kissed me gently, and then rose to leave; as he reached the door, he turned back to me.

"Eowyn…"

"Aragorn, I'm sure. I will become your queen and a lady of your people," I said in response. I hesitated, and then murmured, "if indeed you will still have me."

He smiled. "I see, for all that the Witch King might have taken from you, he could not steal your wit. Indeed, I will return for you." With those words, he left me.

I assumed at first that he meant that he would return to the Houses of Healing for me. I learned too late that what the elders always said was true. Never assume. I assumed this, but I found I was wrong. Ere I knew it, Aragorn had ridden into the east with the other lords of the west. I was destroyed. How could he abandon me? I wondered. How could he speak to me of nothing, and then leave as though he had told me everything. I knew in my heart that when he returned things would not be the same. I was sure that he was going to die. This mission would ruin all of our chances. I would not marry Aragorn.

Then I met the Steward of Gondor. I had heard of Denethor, and not all of the things I heard were as noble as one would think. For all my nobility, I was not too high to listen to the rumors and stories that were passed through the lowest places of the Golden Hall. For, amid the lies and fancies, there was often truth. One merely needed to know where to search for it.

I understood Denethor to be a cold man, a harsh ruler, and a fearsome enemy. For all that I knew him to be, I respected him. He was a mighty warrior, even at his age.

But when I met Faramir, I understood a different side of Denethor, a different side of Gondor, and, as insane as it might sound, a different side of myself. Aragorn, I thought to be akin to me in many ways, but Faramir was like me in a way completely different.

I did not see it at first. I knew not what to look for, but slowly, as we spoke together, for he begged that we do so, I learned who he was.

Faramir was a noble man, but those words do not describe him, for there can be many different types of nobility. He did not speak oft, not because he did not care for speech or was unused to it, as was the case for me, but because he preferred contemplation. His dreams often reflected in his eyes, and I heard his voice speaking even when his lips did not move. He dreamt of happiness, and of peace. No more war. He dreamt of a garden, flourishing and bright. But the strangest dream he had was a dream of love. Surely, I thought, he had a woman, somewhere, whom he loved. Of course, I reasoned, he might have not had time for such things, but most men did. Why was Faramir different?

But I began to see more clearly what he was thinking. He missed his brother; he missed his father. I knew that there was great love between Faramir and his brother Boromir, and I saw how great the loss of Boromir was to Faramir. I learned of his father too, through both true speech and that strange speech that we shared in times of silence. He had not shown Faramir any love, but Faramir truly believed that he did not deserve it. He saw his father as a great person, greater than any other he knew, besides perhaps Boromir and Aragorn, albeit, he hardly knew Aragorn, but he maintained a great respect for the man. He thought that he was truly worthless to his father.

However, I always felt as though he thought that Denethor yet lived. Of course, he knew that he did not, but he dreamed about his father as though was alive. It awoke a pity in me that I thought did not exist. His misery was beyond that I had seen before.

But then, I understood one day.

Our conversation was fine. I was telling him about my brother's protective personality. I thought of every time I could when Eomer had tried to guard me from dangers; I tried mostly to tell the ones in which Eomer ended up making a fool out of himself, for it made Faramir laugh. How I liked it when he laughed! It drew me out of my sorrow for a moment, that little chuckle of his.

But then, I became somber, for a moment, and I said, almost to myself, thinking upon my regret, "Of course, he tried to protect me from Aragorn, though there was no danger."

I was startled when he suddenly used that line to move the conversation in a different direction. One I was not so fond of recounting to him.

"What is between you and Aragorn?" he asked. I must have appeared surprised, for he added, "you do not have to answer."

I thought. How much was I ready to tell this man? Faramir, who had rescued me from my solitude without allowing me to even acknowledge it. For certain, if I had realized that this was Faramir's intention in the beginning, when he asked me to walk with him, I would have never allowed him to continue in our friendship, but as it was, he managed to hide from my eyes that my cold heart was melting.

But did I trust him? Yes, more than anyone else. I understood him in a way that I guessed no one else could, thought perhaps his brother could, so it was only fair that he understand me in the same way.

"I love him." I thought about my love, Aragorn. When would he return? I knew that he would like Faramir. They would talk about things for hours, they were a lot alike in some ways. It would be a great friendship. I couldn't wait to introduce them!

But then I continued. "I've loved him for almost as long as I've known him…" again, I hesitated, and then I proceeded to recount the story to Faramir. I will not do so here, for I do not remember exactly what I said, and I'm sure that any readers of this writing has already heard this story more times than they wish to. I have spoken it more than I wished to, for it fills me with sorrow, though not regret, to think upon what could have been, and what I almost did. I do not like to think upon my mistaken illusions.

Swiftly, Faramir changed the subject. I was startled yet again, but I hid it. I suppose that there is no more chance of finishing that story… what was it again? Oh yes, I was going to tell him about the time when I told Eomer that I was raising a baby wolf and he believed me…

But, more than being surprised by the change of subject, I was surprised by what the subject changed to. Faramir began expressing his fears of becoming Steward of Gondor. We had both spoken of our fears and hopes before, but what surprised me was this phrase: when my father dies…

I looked at him, horrified. Surely he knew! Surely he had not spent all this time in the dark about his father's fate! How horrid! He must have wondered why his father did not come to see him. I understood what I had seen in his eyes before. He did think that Denethor was alive! And now I would be the one who would have to break the truth to him.

I supposed it was better that way. At least he trusted and cared about me. I wasn't some random healer or official, coming to tell him the horrible news. I could just imagine what it would be like if I had stayed behind in Edoras, and some soldier had come and told me, "King Theoden, your uncle, is dead." I would have to be calm and courteous in front of this man, I could not cry to him "How? HOW?" Faramir could do that to me. And he knew it too.

"Faramir… your father, he has… he has moved on…"

Puzzlement struck his face, mixed with the dread of understanding what I had said. "What?" was his only response.

I took a deep breath and continued. "He has gone to the halls of Mandos. I'm sorry Faramir, I didn't want to be the one to tell you. I didn't realize that you didn't…"

His eyes were blank. He didn't know what I had said. He didn't know what he was doing. I forgave him in full for the way he reacted. Really, he took it rather well compared to some I've seen.

"No… No…" he murmured to himself. His face was stricken with grief.

Then he began to shout. I do not know if he was shouting at me or some unseen enemy, but he would not look at me, for all my efforts to force him to.

"No! It cannot be true! You're lying. He isn't dead. He can't be! I didn't get to say goodbye!" He cried. It tore my heart. How sad he was! He fled the garden at those words, and went inside.

I only heard later what happened after. Apparently, he was very upset. The warden told me that he went into a hysterical fit, and then he finally passed out.

The warden was irritated at me for telling Faramir. I told him that I didn't know I was not supposed to, and he asked me why I couldn't use my brains to figure out what would happen. I hid my anger over my treatment through sorrow. It was one of the different ways I got rid of my anger, for I had learned early on that "it did not do to be an angry woman. You need to lighten up Eowyn…" Of course, I could not lighten up, so I pretended instead. I was surprised, however, to find that when I bowed my head, the warden suddenly said,

"No, Eowyn… I'm sorry. I should not have lectured you so. Go. You did the right thing."

I could tell he was lying, but that was not the point. The point was I had won an argument with the warden. I guessed that it probably had something to do with the fact that he didn't want another emotional breakdown. Which, of course, I understood. Inwardly, I grinned. I hadn't meant to break him down so, but that did not deter my triumph. In fact, few things could at this point. In times of victory, all I cared about was victory.

Before I continue, I would like to stop and mention something about myself, for Faramir was reading over my shoulder, to my great irritation, and mentioned that this story that I have recounted was not at all the way it happened, and many of the feelings of which I have talked were not within my personality. This is an honest account of my part in this drama that played out, for good or bad. Call me a conniving, heartless girl if you honestly get that from this story. Perhaps what you would call me is accurate to who I truly am. But that is not my concern. Each person with whom I come into contact will take away a different interpretation of me. All I can do is give them what I can, and allow them to think what they will about it. I do not think of myself as heartless, nor loving. I am merely Eowyn, and I cannot judge my personality any better than you. Situations can change the personality of a person, thus rendering it impossible to tell who a person truly, honestly, is.

So saying, I shall continue.

The moment I was thus dismissed, I fled the warden's presence, relieved. I retreated to my room, where I sat alone for many hours. I stayed there until someone knocked on my door with my dinner.

"Enter," I said as loudly as I could manage. I had felt worn out after my excitement over my winning had died.

To my surprise, no maid or nurse entered. Instead, it was a short, almost half my height, redhead who carried the try with a good bit of difficulty.

"Merry!" I exclaimed.

He smiled. "Milady, I thought to bring you your dinner, so as to talk to you."

"Please, sit. I do hope you brought enough to share," I said, again elated.

He smiled at me, his face admitting that he had. Of course, I expected him too. Would a hobbit ever consider bringing food to another person and not bring some for himself as well? I highly doubted it.

He sat down at the small table, which occupied my room.

I shall take this time to describe my room, for I don't believe I shall have another chance. It was furnished thus: in the center of the room, somewhat over near the fire, there was a wooden table and two wooden chairs. This is where I ate. Before, I had healed, I had eaten in bed, but I quickly managed to gain permission to eat at the table. I was glad, at times like these, that I was right handed, for my left arm was still broken. Of course, had I been left handed, then my sword arm would have been broken, for the Nazgul swung the mace at my left arm because it was opposite his right, and there would have been no chance to slay the Witch King.

In one corner, against one wall, and next to the door there was a small bed. Moving counter-clockwise around the room, the next wall was occupied by a fireplace with an armchair beside it. This armchair was extremely uncomfortable, for all its cozy appearance. I frequently had to dismiss the desire to sit by the fire, for I could not stand the chair. It was hard, and sunken in. The arms were too high up for the seat of the chair, and the back was too forward.

On the next wall, there was a large window, beneath which was a just as large window seat. This is where I spent most of my time, for I did not want to be in bed, but I also did not want to sit in that horrid armchair. The table chairs were merely sufficient for eating, for they, too, were quite uncomfortable. This window seat, on the other hand, was a nice place to sit, and I could see the east, as Faramir had promised me when we first met. Next to the window, there was also a wash stand and basin, for it would not fit next to the bedside table.

The next wall was the most furnished. The head of the bed was in one corner, where this wall and the first met, and there was a small table next to it, on which I could keep some small things. Usually, however, this table was used for medicines. Beside these two items, the rest of the room was filled with books, mostly herb books. Apparently, the warden, or somebody, had found that being in the Houses for so long could be quite dull, for often people would have to stay In the Houses long after they were healed, for they did not live in Minas Tirith, they were not able to fight still, and it was too dangerous for them to travel back home. I read some of these books, the simpler ones, for I did not read very well, but most of them I merely looked at the pictures. I cared not for flowers, but flipping through the images, each drawn by a careful hand, was a fine way to pass the time.

Merry sat down in one of the chairs, to my slight annoyance he picked the one in which I usually sit, and settled the tray down on the table. I took the other chair.

As we were sorting the food out, we were silent. It wasn't until we had already been eating for a while that Merry finally broke it and said.

"Eowyn?"

I glanced up at him in response.

He took a deep breath. "Have you and Faramir…Are you…are you good friends?"

I paused, trying to discern his true meaning. "Rather…" I said, hesitantly.

"You're rather good friends, you mean?" he asked.

I nodded.

He breathed out. My mind was screaming, why do you ask? Is there something wrong? Why can we not be friends?

But I didn't. And Merry didn't offer any of the answers until later.

"Did you hear about Faramir?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Perhaps you should go to him. He spoke to Ioreth at first, but he hasn't spoken since. It happened this morning. He hasn't spoken since one, when he woke up for the second time. I tried to speak to him, but he didn't seem to hear me. He seemed completely exhausted…"

"Merry, is that why you came?"

He paused, and then shook his head. "I came because…well, that was part of it. I came because I was wondering whether he spoke to you. We became friends a few days ago, and I was wondering if you two had too."

"What do you mean, you wondered if he had spoken to me?"

Again he paused. "Faramir came to me a few days ago, asking about you. He had met you, and he wanted to know more about you, what your story was, you know. I told him some things, but not everything. I didn't tell him about Aragorn for one thing. There were some things that I had no right to mention. Besides, he should learn them from you. If he knew everything about you, then there would be no friendship between you. Of course he knew this too."

I didn't say anything in response, not sure what to think about what I had learned. How did this affect my opinions of Faramir? I'm not sure that it did. It changed things, but not for good or back, not for anything. It wouldn't even be worth bringing it up to Faramir. It just added another mystery to ponder at night.

Merry waited for a response, and when I didn't give one, he relaxed. We ate the rest of our meal in companionable silence.

As we finished, Merry asked me a question. "Eowyn, do you still love Aragorn?"

I hesitated, wanting to give him the most honest answer possible. I searched deep inside for the complete truth. I don't want to admit it, but I ignored what I found.

"Yes."