Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof
Eowyn tried to sit still which, given her current location, proved quite difficult. She straightened her back and was thrown quite suddenly back against her brother: Eomer said nothing, but tasted coppery blood. He had bit his tongue. Eowyn relaxed her body, realizing the futility of sitting up and not moving, and let herself be like water. She did not understand that phrase, to be like water, but had heard it many times, so imagined herself flowing off the horse as a river. At least she did not bounce so much.
For some time she had been riding, but she was not sore. Rohirrim, Eowyn believed, never grew sore from horses. She felt very safe, and as happy as she imagined she would ever be. Her safety could largely be attributed to her brother: Eomer cradled his sister as much as he could, holding both to her and the reins. Though she could not, in her youth, understand it, Eowyn sensed her brother's protective nature.
Winter was coming to Rohan, and a steady rain fell upon the riding party. For Eowyn, at least, this eased the pretending game: with each cold droplet slithering over her she imagined a runnel carved into her flesh, a bit of her sliding away. Much of the pounding and the icy needles focused their rage on Eomer, who gritted his teeth, glad at least that Eowyn was protected.
As the younger sibling gazed in wonder, able to do so now that they had slowed to a walk and entered Edoras, the elder scowled quite pointedly. Eomer scowled at the watching people, whispering, keeping a respectful distance; he scowled at the guards who had ridden with him and Eowyn; he even scowled at the warm comfort of the stable with its familiar smell of horse, hay and dung. Eomer of Rohan did not want to be happy, and today he was having what he wanted. He frightened Eowyn, a little. "Why are you angry with them?" she asked. "What did they do?"
"Nothing you need concern yourself with," Eomer replied shortly. Eowyn balked.
"Are you angry with me?" she asked in a tiny voice.
Eomer stopped and looked at his sister. Her blue eyes wobbled with fear an unshed tears. She's only a child, after all, he realized, a thing he had known all along. "Of course not, Eowyn. I could never be angry with you."
She smiled in a tight way, as though her muscles were far more accustomed to frowning.
The guards escorted their young charges to the Golden Hall. Still Eomer scowled, but he held tightly to Eowyn's hand so that she could not think herself the target of his displeasure. She bit at the skin around the nail of her free thumb. "Stop that," Eomer hissed, pushing her hand away from her mouth. Eowyn responded by moving closer to her brother. This new place frightened her; it all seemed so like home, yet so different.
"Are we going to live here now, Eomer?" she asked in a voice higher than her usual childishly shrill tone.
"Yes," Eomer answered. Eowyn moved closer to him. "Do you remember?" Eomer whispered. "We've come before, but you were very small."
"I don't a'member. Let's go home soon."
Eomer put his arm around Eowyn's shoulders and held her protectively. He hardly cared for the guards around them: someone needed to protect his sister properly, forever, and only he could do that.
In the Golden Hall they stopped, and listened briefly to the conference of the guards and the King. Eowyn felt her eyes begin to close: the hall was so warm, and she was sleepy after riding and trying not to cry. She swayed. Noticing this, Eomer glanced at his sister. Most would have felt some mixed feelings, not wishing to disrespect or offend a new guardian but equally loyal to a younger sibling. Eomer felt no such tearing.
"I beg your pardon," he said, in as loud and adult a voice as he could muster, "but we have been riding since near sunrise. My sister needs rest and, as she has no part in these discussions, it would be cruel to deny her this." On the last word Eomer's voice broke, and though he kept his chin high he colored deeply. One of the guards snickered.
Theoden glared the man to silence, then nodded to Eomer. The boy was angry. This Theoden had anticipated. He had forgotten, however, how small children were. There is another matter to see to, he thought.
Eowyn slept for most of the afternoon and early evening. When she awoke Eomer was sitting near her, reading. "Where am I?" she asked.
Eomer closed his book. "You are in Edoras," he said.
She whimpered, and swallowed a rising lump in her throat that she knew to be a sob. She had been waging war on that same sob for days now. Wanna g'home, she thought incoherently. Aloud, she said, "I'm hungry."
"That's as well," Eomer said, "because it's supper, and we are already late. I will meet you in the corridor."
He left, and Eowyn rose. She looked about the room for a moment--it was not large, which pleased Eowyn well. Other than the bed in which she had slept, it included a small worktable and a chair, which Eomer had dragged over to the bed to sit nearer his sister, and a trunk, through which Eowyn rifled to find among her belongings dry clothing. She was wearing a nightshift, and chose not to think who had put it on her. Hunger encouraged speed, and Eowyn dressed quickly and met her brother in the corridor.
It had taken some time for Faramir to adjust to the familial mood of suppers in Rohan, but Eowyn and Eomer, having grown up in such an atmosphere, were uncomfortable only for the new company. Eomer, however, seemed determined not to show his discomfort. Eowyn had no such qualms. She stared openly at the two huge dogs unlike any she had ever seen, which lounged lazily by the fire; at her cousin and uncle, whom she remembered vaguely; and in especial at the dark-haired young man beside Theodred, who seemed equally interested in her and Eomer, though he was far more polite with his interest. These five accounted for the entire company, and Eowyn was glad of that. More strangers would have been more intimidating.
No one spoke. The newness of every person to the others kept a tension between them enough that after a few well-meant attempts at conversation, even Theoden accepted the silence. Eowyn watched the dark boy as she ate, obsessed with him. She had seen men before with bay hair, but only twice and they had seemed odd enough. This man's hair was like a raven's wing, and his eyes like stone, yet so much softer. At last she leaned over to Eomer and whispered, in what she did not know was a quite loud voice, "Eomer, who is he?"
Theodred answered. "This is Daisy," he said. "He comes from Gondor."
"Gondor!" Eowyn gasped, and her eyes grew wide but she seemed to shrink away. "Gondor." She said the name in a tone almost reverent, it was so filled with fear. "Gondor." When she recovered from her awe, she had another question. "Your name is Daisy?" Eowyn asked, hardly believing. "Is that not rather a strange name?"
"Eowyn," Theoden said, gently but firmly enough that she knew he was serious, "that was a very rude question."
"I'm sorry," Eowyn said to Faramir. He smiled.
"Your name is Eowyn?" he asked, and she nodded. "That is a very pretty name."
She giggled, blushed, then seemed at Eomer's glare to catch herself and grew suddenly solemn.
"What about the dogs?" Eowyn asked. "They are different from any I have ever seen."
At that Theoden looked with a shadowed darkness at Faramir, a whisper only of an old argument. "They are wolves," Faramir answered, after a pause. The children stiffened, both suddenly afraid. Wolves killed--they knew that well. "Calisaya and Larkspur they are called, and they will not harm you. You have my word."
"You are yet a stranger and we know not the value of your word," Eowyn stated matter-of-factly.
Theodred began to laugh. "Did I not say it, Daisy?" he asked. "Did I not say to you that Eowyn was a child of brass?"
It was a nasty business, Theoden knew, but a necessary one. He listened to the clicking sounds coming from the corridor and steeled himself, thinking of Eowyn and Eomer. They were only children, and must miss their parents terribly, yet they tried to be strong and frankly succeeded. Theoden was responsible for them. They were blood. Little as Theoden liked what he was about to do, the children's safety proved sufficient motivation.
"Theoden, sir? You asked to see me?" Faramir peered round the door. For months Theoden had asked him to simply say 'Theoden,' but Faramir had not been able to so abandon the courtesies ground into his mind. 'Theoden, sir,' was the middle ground the two had reached.
"Yes; come in, please."
Faramir entered and stood facing Theoden, carefully appearing neither subservient nor defiant. He kept his chin raised only enough to show certainty and locked his hands behind him, carefully straightened his back, then bent forward in an informal bow and straightened again. Calisaya and Larkspur flanked him, watching Faramir with a predator's triangulating gaze down their long snouts. Larkspur yawned, tossing her white head in a wide circle. Like her mother, she was fully white. Calisaya was darker, mostly grey, leading Faramir to guess that they were half-breeds.
"I never have been easy with those wolves in my hall, Daisy. With Eowyn and Eomer here now, the wolves are too much a danger. They cannot remain. I am sorry." He meant every word, and it hurt him to give the order.
Faramir's eyes flashed, like a gate drawn quite suddenly closed. "Give them one more chance, sir, and if they harm Eowyn or Eomer in the slightest I will kill them both myself." He would not release them into the wild. The wolves were domesticated. He would make their deaths quick and painless, as their mother's death had been.
Theoden accepted this. "I have your word?" he asked.
"You have my word." He held out his hands, palms towards the ground. Calisaya and Larkspur pressed their noses against his open palms, and Faramir relaxed, inwardly if showing no signs with his posture or facial expression. The wolves were all but domesticated: all that remained of their feral nature was the occasional howl, and that only a lonely bay late at night. During the dry, electric nights of midsummer, Theoden wondered if those howls did not come from the homesick and half-feral Faramir. The young son of Gondor was not tame, and within was more wildness than the wolves combined. Theoden knew this, and watched Faramir carefully because of it.
"Good night, Faramir."
"Good night, Theoden, sir."
But such a thing was not to be. Faramir woke but remained asleep, as one who pulls taut cloth may see through but not truly see. Teetering on the edge of sleep, half of him urged his muscles to stand while the other half remained firmly in bed. He tried to recall what had wakened him--ah! The sound came again, and immediately Faramir was wide awake.
"Calisaya, Larkspur." He thrust out his hands. After brief scampering, the wolves licked his palms reassuringly. Faramir was puzzled. The pups (now grown, he yet considered them pups) were well. Then who...?
A shattering, muffled cry rent the air. "Eowyn." Faramir stumbled to his feet and into the corridor, his legs waking as he forced them to work. Two wolves padded beside him, worried by their fosterer's strange behavior.
"Lady Eowyn?" Faramir knocked on her bower door, thinking how odd that 'bower' applied only to the sleeping places of women. The word rolled over and over in his head, and he desired terribly to use it. He recalled Boromir's shining eyes when the brothers once slipped away from their duties and goggled at the wares in a smithy. Faramir had not been terribly interested, but he had known how Boromir would have loved to just touch one of the curved blades, notch-tipped knives, even one manicured hilt. So did Faramir now wish to speak aloud a strange word, but kept this desire within him.
No answer came from Eowyn save muffled sobs, similar sounds hailing Faramir from the room across the corridor where Eomer pretended he did not weep for his parents. Faramir froze, torn. He could not go to both of them, and though he wondered what they would make of his presence, he could not allow these children to cry alone. His heart would not allow such an injustice.
"Daisy."
"Theodred!"
The Rohir scoffed, teasing, "Do you suppose you might add a tiny bit of relief to your voice?"
"Forgive me. Where is your father? Your cousins..."
"I know. Father is sleeping--you know how he works, Daisy. Let him rest. Will you see to Eowyn?"
"Of course." Faramir was surprised. He knew how Theoden worked to keep the peace of Rohan, but, from Theodred's constant jesting, never knew the prince saw his father's struggle.
Faramir slipped into Eowyn's bower, motioning to the wolves, stay! In the darkness he could only feel his way around, so called softly, "Eowyn?"
"Who is here? Get out!" Her voice was thick and raw from crying.
"'Tis I, Daisy. Eowyn, are you all right?" His shin found Eowyn's bed. Faramir bit his lip to keep from crying out and knelt down, closer to her level.
Eowyn sniffed, trying not to cry. "You are a stone," she accused. "What do you know? You do not feel nor bleed, for you are of stone."
The insult cut deeper than she could imagine or intend, but Faramir bore it well, hiding his pain, ignoring it. "I lost my mama, too," he whispered, a fact he spoke of rarely, even with Boromir, never with Theodred. Eowyn grew suddenly quiet.
"When?" she asked in a small voice.
"I was five summers, younger than you are now. I miss her."
"I miss my mama," Eowyn said, more a fact than a complaint or lament. "I want her back."
"I know you do, little daughter of Rohan."
"What did you call me?"
"Little daughter of Rohan," Faramir repeated.
Eowyn pondered this for a moment, then asked, "Why?"
"When I was ever very sad, my brother said to me that all would be well for I had the strength to endure, for I was a son of Gondor. If sons of Gondor have quiet strength, daughters of Rohan must have an incredible, shouting strength, one to respect."
The little girl giggled, then gasped. She lunged forward and wrapped her arms around Faramir. "I want my mama and my papa and I want to go home!" she wailed, and Faramir knew that though he might momentarily distract her, this child's grief ran deep and inconsistent. He held Eowyn the way his brother had always held him for strength, cradling and supporting at once. She shook and sobbed, biting him to muffle a sound she could not fight.
Faramir, without realizing what he was doing, began to sing a gentle lullaby, one he knew, but knew not whence nor how this knowledge came. Yet as he sang a picture formed in his mind's eye: a woman, young but not a girl, a woman fully. She smiled and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Her brown eyes sparkled, and she too sang the song.
When had Finduilas looked so happy? Faramir could not recall. Always she had seemed haunted, harried, or even just sad. Faramir remembered her happy, singing to her sons--no, singing to her son, and only for him. The song ended, and he thought to cry.
Eowyn gave a startled yelp. Larkspur had nosed her way into the room, and the dregs of light gathered on her white coat. "Do not be afraid," Faramir besought her. "It is only Larkspur; she will not hurt you."
"Is she not a wolf?" the girl demanded meekly.
"She is a friend. Will you give her but one chance?"
"If I am hurt Uncle will kill her," Eowyn warned.
'Ah, no,' thought Faramir, 'I will kill her.' It was a right he fiercely guarded. "Come here, Larkspur," he said, alerting Eowyn, for he knew that the wolf did not hear. Larkspur came to Faramir's open palm and nuzzled him, then at the young man's signal Larkspur rested her head on Eowyn's knee. The rough, warm fur of the creature interested her, and she could not help but stroke Larkspur, if only a little and fearfully. Eowyn giggled, a bubbly sound filled with tears.
"Daisy?" she asked, after a long moment of quiet.
"I'm here."
"Stay with me?"
"You know that I cannot," Faramir answered, trying not to hurt her. He could feel a tantrum, or possibly a sobbing fit, approaching fast. "But Larkspur will. She will guard you."
This satisfied the little girl. Faramir sat beside her until she had fallen asleep, then wandered out of the bower, exhausted. The sky was beginning to lighten. Faramir collapsed into his bed, pulled the covers over him and slept in a dark dreamlessness.
To be continued
I'm sorry updates are taking so long: between finals and community service requirements my time is thinly stretched. Hopefully, if not before, I will be able to update (and complete!) this story over winter holiday. Thanks for your patience.