After the Storm 3
Trained as a ranger, Faramir never slept heavily. So it was that as soon as the door to his chamber began to open, even after a restless night, he was aware and tense, prepared to fend off any attack with the dagger kept under his pillow.
A pair of voices whispered together, but the shuffling of feet revealed at least three invaders. Faramir stayed still, biding his time. Eventually, two retreated, and the third approached the bed, halting at a respectful distance.
"My lord? My lord, 'tis time to rise." Ergadol's even and aged voice called to Faramir.
Without moving, Faramir observed, "I note you do not say awaken."
"My lord Steward is also Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien. I doubt his cat could wander by unheard." The butler's tone was respectfully ironic.
With a chuckle, Faramir sat up and rubbed his face. "I suppose I shall have to get used to this, eh, Ergadol?" The butler held out a fine robe, one Faramir recognized from Boromir's wardrobe. Faramir hesitated to take it, but practicality won out. He could not simply shut away all reminders of his brother, or his father. The Citadel was saturated with such memories, and the wastefulness of the impulse alone prevented him from doing it. He supposed he'd have to have a few of Boromir's tunics cut down for himself.
In short order, Ergadol had Faramir seated again at the desk, a damp warm towel presented to the Steward to wash his hands. A breakfast had been laid out, along with a sheaf of reports for Faramir's review.
"Honey only, correct, my lord?"
"Yes, thank you," Faramir replied distractedly, frowning over a report in an unfamiliar hand. Later he would recall with amazement that someone, anyone had known his preference for his tea, and wonder at it. Now he began to read the report in an oddly slanted script.
The report detailed the results of two patrols of mounted Rohirrim, one of which had happened upon a half a dozen fugitive orcs and dispatched them. Finally, Faramir recognized the report could only have been written for him by Lady Eowyn, and he marveled anew at the lady's abilities, for though the calligraphy was unpracticed, the report was in perfect Common Tongue, and contained every detail a commander would need to know, right down to the equipment deemed irretrievable from the skirmish. Faramir quickly ate as he reviewed the rest of the papers.
A maid tapped on the door to announce that the lord's bath was ready. Ergadol conducted Faramir to a previously unused chamber which contained the nearest bath. Previously, Faramir borrowed Boromir's facilities. As soon as Faramir was ready, Ergadol deftly assisted his lord in dressing.
"If his lordship wouldn't mind, arrangements could be made to move him into the Steward's Suite," Ergadol respectfully suggested.
Faramir froze. "No. No, I -- no." Ergadol bowed solemnly, but Faramir had already left, striding down the halls of the House. He made immediately for the small office off the Great Hall, crossing the courtyard quickly, deliberately shutting the thought of occupying his father's rooms out of his mind. He shied away from the move, as if his father would return to scold him. And if he did move to the traditional suite, then he would have to eventually arrange for Boromir's rooms to be cleared out, and that did not bear consideration.
Standing at a window, he stared at the struggling gardens. He knew that in treating him with the status and rank he now held, his people clung to their traditions even as they knew all would change once the King was crowned. He looked forward to that day with a sense of anticipation, longing for the time when he might finally escape. All his life, he had longed to be free of those obligations, those duties that were his by birth, never suited to the ways of war. And now that peace blanketed Middle Earth, he could be relieved of his burdens. He loved his City, his people, his history, all of it, but he had felt his soul crumble under the pressure of command, the weight of his father's disapproval, and at times had wanted nothing more than to flee. Soon, very soon now, he would see the King crowned, and then, he'd beg for his freedom. He recalled Aragorn's wish to keep him on as Steward, but Faramir hoped that once Aragorn's reign was established and stabilized, he could be released from the position. He'd travel down to Dol Amroth, to see his cousins and lie by the singing sea and count stars. He could wander the glens of Ithilien, simply enjoying the shade of the trees. Perhaps he'd even travel north to Rohan, to ride across the green plains and listen to the wind, as Lady Eowyn had described to him.
Lady Eowyn. He wondered if he dared speak to her of his admiration. But her brother was now King, and soon he himself would be naught but a citizen of Gondor, noble born but without rank. Wealthy though, if the private reports Hurin had presented him had any merit. The line of the Stewards had amassed a fortune in their own right over the centuries. Even without rank, Faramir would never want. But wealth was not enough to win the sister of a King, and there was the rumor amongst the Rohirrim of an attachment to Lord Aragorn. Were that true, he would have to flee Minas Tirith, because to see the lady who held his heart be wed to another would bear him down more than Denethor's ire and the black despair of Sauron combined.
Lost in these ruminations, he did not hear the initial knock at his door. A second, louder knock went unnoticed as well. Finally, Lord Hurin dared to enter unbidden.
"My lord!" Faramir started, surprised by the majordomo's voice. "My lord, are you well?"
"I am well, Hurin. It is nothing. What have you for me today?"
"Excellent!" Eowyn nodded her approval at the changes wrought in the King's House. Most of the building had been at least cleaned, and the vast majority of repairs affected as crews had worked through the night. This morning, more citizens had appeared to assist, and so Eowyn had set most of the women to sewing. Even the youngest girl of ten, giggling around her hand, was set to basting garments. "Tayriel, the linens are well, and your idea to move that good clothespress in was inspired." She smiled at the erstwhile laundry girl. "I am tempted to steal you away to Rohan with me when I go, so clever you are." Laughing, the girl moved on to her next task, leaving Eowyn to meet with the head cook.
The cook was another wise woman, and soon she and Eowyn had come to an agreement regarding the meals. A welcoming feast of simple fare would be prepared for the morrow, when the King and armies were expected to arrive. The coronation would occur a number of days hence, it was expected, and so more elaborate dishes could be prepared for then. Eowyn recalled Lord Legolas seemed to prefer lighter fare, and sent a request to the archive, to see if any volumes therein might contain recommendations to meet elven palates. When questioned, Eowyn remarked that the lord Gimli would only particularly require, "Ale, and plenty of it. Send to the alehouses if stock in the Citadel be low." Otherwise, the dwarf exhibited no dietary needs differing from that of Men or Hobbits.
A messenger found Eowyn then, to relay that the patrols had gone out again. Having time, Eowyn made her way to the Great Hall to inquire after Faramir. She wanted to be sure he'd received her report, and approved of her orders.
The door to the office was open when she arrived, allowing several councilors to depart. For a moment, she had the opportunity to observe Faramir unnoticed, and she frowned at the sight. He seemed tired, though the sun was not yet high in the sky. He rested his head on his fist, reading a page before him with a crease in his brow. Eowyn felt like she saw a side of him she never knew, a weary and worn side. Remembering the fragments of tales she'd heard the day before, she realized that Faramir had known little joy in his life. Could it be possible that the humor and serenity he displayed with her was only a mask? Or perhaps, he only felt such things with her? A foolish thought, she told herself.
She tapped on the door, and his face turned up to her, momentarily annoyed, but that expression fled rapidly as he recognized her. The lines on his face disappeared as he smiled at her, and the soft light she had come to expect from him shone in his eyes.
"My lady Eowyn," he greeted her warmly, rising. "Come in."
She entered the room, and he indicated she should take her ease in a nearby chair. "I am glad you are come," he continued. "The message riders returned at first light this morning." He presented a folded parchment to her.
She glanced at it, and seeing it was addressed to her from her brother, she opened it quickly. "Eomer is well," she said with relief. "We lost very few Riders. Meriadoc is well too, and apparently spends much time vying with Peregrin over who has acquitted himself better upon the field." Faramir smiled at her words.
"Indeed. The King has written to tell me that my 'Citadel Guard' is well, and that they make good time on their march home. They should arrive by tomorrow midday."
A clamor outside distracted them, and both Faramir and Eowyn exited the office. From the courtyard, raised voices drew them out, and Eowyn saw a noble couple crossing the greenery, a number of guards and servants milling around them. The lady, a trim and dark-haired beauty, saw them first, and cried out wordlessly in delight, pulling on the arm of the gentleman. "Faramir!" she shrieked, abandoning her escort to run across the courtyard.
Dumbfounded, Eowyn only watched as Faramir leapt down the stairs of the Hall to meet the lady's headlong rush. "Lothiriel!" he cried, gathering her into a close embrace. Eowyn could not move. When had she felt this feeling before, she wondered as she watched the happy reunion, this terrible falling feeling. She recalled it was when Aragorn had so gently told her he bore no love for her.
Faramir was shocked to see his cousins moving towards him, until Lothiriel's happy cry had broken through his surprise. When Amrothos reached them, Faramir embraced him as well.
"We knew as soon as it happened," Lothiriel explained breathlessly. "There seemed to be a hot wind from the East, though the breeze had been onshore all day."
"We gathered at the palace, and 'twas Elphir who said it must be victory. We put together our luggage and sailed at first light the next morning," Amrothos explained.
"Is it only you, or did Elphir and Elchirion come as well?"
"Only we two, though with guards and servants. And luggage for Father, who rode to war, not celebration." Lothiriel replied with a giggle. "Where are our uncle and our cousin? And who is the lady on the stairs who looks as if her heart were breaking?"
"Cousin." Faramir chided, not daring to look at Lady Eowyn. For despite Lothiriel's assessment, he was loath to read the lady of Rohan's heart, fearing what he would, or would not, see there. He took Lothiriel's arm and led his cousins up to meet Lady Eowyn.
Eowyn's face was as pale and chill as the first day he'd met her, and Faramir wondered at the change. "Lady Eowyn, may I present to you Prince Amrothos and Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, children of Prince Imrahil, my cousins on my mother's side. Amrothos, Lothiriel, this is the Lady Eowyn Wraithslayer, sister to Eomer-King of Rohan."
A hint of thaw touched Eowyn's face as she curtseyed to his cousins, and they made courtesies to her in turn.
"Wraithslayer?" Amrothos asked quickly.
"It was the lady Eowyn who slew the Witch King of Angmar on the Pelennor."
"You rode into battle?" Lothiriel asked, wide eyed. At Eowyn's frosty nod, Lothiriel gasped, "Oh, I am so jealous!" This seemed to surprise Eowyn as Lothiriel went on, "I always longed to learn the ways of the sword, but Gondor has no tradition of Sheildmaidens." Lothiriel took one of Eowyn's hands in both of hers. "You must tell me all, if you can bear it of course. Some do not wish to speak of battle, like my cousin here, and others cannot stop, like Cousin Boromir. He will tell you how wonderful he is for hours at the time." But before she could continue further, a noise of protest from Faramir halted her words.
"Cousin?" Amrothos laid a hand on Faramir's arm. Faramir felt the blood drain from his face.
"Faramir," Eowyn said softly, and Faramir looked up to see her eyes upon him. The chill was gone from her face, and he saw only care and concern for him in her expression. A surge of gratitude for her filled his heart as he drew upon her like an anchor, taking strength from her clear support, hesitating before speaking the dread words he must.
"Lothiriel, Amrothos. Boromir - Boromir is dead. And my father as well."
Lothiriel gasped as Amrothos gave a wordless cry of dismay. "Oh Boromir!" Lothiriel wailed as she embraced Faramir again. It was Eowyn who drew them to the Hall and into the small office. Amrothos took his sister and held her as she cried, while Faramir found himself staring at Lady Eowyn. She met his gaze evenly, and he could not read her eyes, could do nothing but stare and feel the hollow ache in his breast over the loss of his family.
Eventually, Lothiriel calmed. Eowyn slipped out of the office with a murmured excuse. Faramir assumed she gave orders for chambers to be prepared in the Steward's House for the newly arrived quests, for a servant soon arrived to conduct Amrothos and Lothiriel to their rooms. When Eowyn returned, she bore a tray of tea, and in silence, she poured a cup, added a dash of honey, and handed it to Faramir.
He thanked her absently, but stopped after one sip. Looking at the cup, he said, "It was you who told Ergadol how to prepare my tea."
She did not look at him, but poured herself a cup. After a measured moment, she replied, "I had noticed, at dinner in the Houses of Healing. They do not serve ale." Faramir nodded, and silence reigned between them for a time.
"Your sorrow is so great," Eowyn began, and he could hear the sympathy in her voice. "And yet I'm told - forgive me."
He shook his head, unwilling to meet her gaze. "That my father and I were at constant odds is no secret. He scorned that in me which did not serve the purposes of war. I think too, he blamed me for my mother's failing and death." Eowyn gasped at the unfairness of that assessment. "Though I learned to harden my heart to my father's criticisms, to let his harsh words wash over me, mostly unheard," he said ironically, "I loved my father, and followed his orders willingly and loyally." Faramir paused, halted by the ache within his breast. "And Boromir, my brother," he choked, his voice torn apart, the sound of a man too proud and stoic to weep, "he was everything to me - brother, father, mother, companion. Alas Boromir." He could not speak further, his throat too tight for words. He gripped his cup in silence.
Eventually, Eowyn said, "You have not allowed yourself to grieve for them."
Faramir swallowed before answering. "If I grieve, then they are gone. I must acknowledge the loss of them, and I cannot."
"If we do not grieve, then we do not heal from their loss."
"Wise words." He finally looked up at her, to see her expression was as bleak as his own felt. "So why do you not grieve either?"
She set her cup down, and to his horror, tears filled her eyes. "Because then they are gone. And I cannot let go yet either."
He set his cup down so quickly, he might have cracked it, but he cared little as he opened his arms to the lady, and she came to him swiftly, burying her face against the velvet of his surcote. She did not sob, but he felt her tears wet his coat, and even as he held her, he shed a few tears at last for his own losses.
They stood together for a long time, simply holding one another for comfort. Eowyn never thought about the propriety of her actions around Faramir. He was too good to judge her, and when she realized that he saw her pain as much as she saw his, she could not but go to him, taking what comfort she could even as she tried to give comfort to him. But eventually, her tears slowed, and his arms loosened, willing to release her if she should wish it.
But she did not. Eowyn felt as if she'd found refuge in Faramir's arms. Twice now, his embrace had helped her, succored her, given her strength. Just as she expected and found pleasure in his admiring expression when he saw her, she knew she could go to him to ease her heartache over the loss of her uncle, and that of her beloved cousin Theodred. That he was not bitter astounded her, and she longed to model herself upon his example. She expected to feel her heart beat a bit harder around him. She knew that when she saw his hurt, his burdens, she'd feel the lump in her throat, and feel the need to help him. She knew he'd listen to her, and respect her. He would never hurt her. Odd that his touch never worried or disturbed her, as Wormtongue's had. Instead, she seemed to seek out Faramir's touch. Contact between them had become a form of communication.
And Faramir was as noble and puissant a lord as Aragorn was, descended himself from princes, and as high of rank as it was possible for him to be, a warrior proven in battle and a lord beloved of his people.
She sighed, recalling his delight in greeting his cousin. Surely that was the lady Eowyn had imagined the night before. In Rohan, noble families were so few, it was not unlikely that one would marry one's own cousin. The blood of the Eorlingas was not so important as that of their horses, and only Theoden's sorcerous dotage and Grima's prurient interest had likely prevented Eowyn's marriage to her cousin Theodred, though it was probable that Theodred would have resisted mightily. So the idea of a bond of affection between Faramir and his beautiful cousin was not strange to Eowyn.
Remembering the dark-haired lady, Eowyn reluctantly pulled herself from Faramir's embrace. It was not sound that she should embrace him, when his supposed lady was now in residence. In fact, she had better begin to mind her behavior more closely. She turned to the desk, arranging the tea service absently. She could feel Faramir watching her, and though she longed to look at him, she dared not, for fear of what he might see writ upon her face.
For she loved him. She now knew her heart was not hardened as she'd fancied, riding off to war nursing a heart only bruised, not broken, full of vainglory in her thoughts, and vainly searching for honorable death. Here stood a man as noble as Lord Aragorn, if not more, for Faramir had spent his life fighting the darkness, whereas Lord Aragorn as far as she knew only rode out of the Northern wastes recently to reclaim his birthright. And more, Faramir had offered her friendship, trust, and respect, giving her duties and a position within his City that she could fill with pride and honor. Now once again, she seemed to have given her heart to a man who would not receive it.
Schooling her features, Eowyn finally turned to Faramir. His expression, initially sympathetic and grateful, slowly turned to puzzlement as he saw her calm and still face.
"Eowyn?" he asked quietly.
She felt a pang at the soft way he said her name. "There is still much to be done today. I have already arranged a welcoming feast for the morrow, and plans have begun for the Coronation feast. Garments are being made. Patrols of Riders headed out early, I shall have the reports brought to you again as soon as possible."
Faramir's brow creased at her formal tone. "That is fine." He waited, clearly expecting more.
Eowyn lifted the tea tray, and headed for the door. "I will not take up more of your time, my lord." She paused, knowing she had to acknowledge the comfort he'd given her. "Thank you," she whispered, then gave him a respectful nod, and left.
"Eowyn!" She heard him call out to her, but dared not turn, for she could not be sure she could hide her feelings any longer before him. Later, she promised him wordlessly. Later, when I might be able to hide my love and my pain, she thought.
Faramir leapt for the office door, only to be halted by the sudden appearance of a councilor, bowing unctuously and asking for his thoughts on the reconstruction of commercial shipping. The man's questions prevented Faramir from going after Lady Eowyn, but he only listened with desultory attention as the councilor began a litany of the advantages of restoring commerce as soon as possible. The rest of Faramir's attention was spent wondering what had changed so in the last few moments between him and the lady.
He had thought that she welcomed his embrace. Certainly he had not gone to her, but rather she had accepted his invitation to find comfort in his arms. He had only held her gently, as a brother might. Perhaps she was ashamed that he witnessed her tears, this brave sheildmaiden who had not hesitated before the dread Nazgul. But Faramir saw nothing shameful in her tears. He'd felt her pain as acutely as his own, and if her pain was eased by shedding tears, then so be it. He did not think any less of her.
Eventually, he had to set aside his ruminations. He read reports, wrote orders, and received return messages from Lord Aragorn, which mostly replied noncommittally to Faramir's respectful suggestions. He sighed and hoped that Aragorn would take interest in government. He'd read honor and nobility upon Aragorn's heart when they'd met in the Houses of Healing, and thought that the future king was all Faramir had hoped he would be, but now Faramir worried. What if Aragorn showed no interest in his people? What if he disappeared again, refusing the throne? Faramir may find himself trapped as a Ruling Steward of Gondor. There was none other who could rule.
The idea inspired a feeling of despair and almost panic through Faramir's mind, a feeling he'd not had since his very first skirmish twenty years before. His only consolation was the mad thought that should Aragorn disappear, Faramir could offer for Lady Eowyn's hand with a clear conscience.
Taking up his pen, he sent a note to Ergadol, passing on orders for a family meal to be served to himself and his cousins this evening. He thought to send an invitation to Eowyn, but preferred to wait. He wanted to speak with her, to find out how he might have offended, lest he anger her further by blithely inviting her to a family dinner.
He was about to abandon his desk and go in search of her when two staffwomen entered the office. Curtseying, the elder said, "My lord, would you be so kind as to allow us time for a fitting?"
"A fitting?" Faramir asked, surprised. "What for?"
"Your coronation garments, my lord. The Lady Eowyn was most specific in her orders."
A surge of hope went through him at those words, and he agreed to the fitting. The fabrics were very fine, and though richer than his usual taste, he guessed that Eowyn had chosen well, since the younger maid could not stop blushing. Flustered himself by her admiration, he remembered just before they left to ask after the gown he'd commissioned for Lady Eowyn.
"It is turning out very well, my lord," the seamstress assured him. "Elsbeth, that would be Tayriel's aunt, is handling the lady's fitting. And the coronation robes for His Majesty are almost complete, though there is some guessing to be done there." She was pleased to hear of the King's arrival on the morrow, and Faramir suspected the sewing staff would descend on Aragorn nearly the moment he arrived.
Finally, Faramir was able to make his escape from his duties and return to the Steward's House. His cousins greeted him, the warmth of their reception tempered by their knowledge of all that he had lost. Lothiriel assured him their rooms were perfect, and complimented him on the reorganization of his home.
"Lady Eowyn has taken over the Citadel, on my authority," Faramir told her. "All compliments are due her."
Lothiriel and Amrothos exchanged glances. "The lady is admirable indeed," Amrothos offered, a clear opening salvo. "Many of the guards had a great deal to say about her martial prowess."
"The maids are overcome with adoration for her," Lothiriel added. "Seems she put wretched Mirrill in her place, and fired that simpering Donnovair."
Donnovair had been Denethor's primary butler, but Faramir had not thought to inquire about the man since Denethor's passing. "What was that about Donnovair?"
Lothiriel paused to sip her tea slowly, letting her cousin wait. "Well, it seems when the Lady was arranging the schedule and staff of the house, Donnovair appeared less than enthusiastic about serving you, and according to one of the washergirls, repeated some of my uncle's less complimentary assessments of you. At which point, Lady Eowyn apparently pronounced a litany of your admirable qualities, and informed Donnovair that if he couldn't serve such a noble lord, then he couldn't serve at all. She turned him off completely."
"Barred him from the Citadel." Amrothos interjected.
"At any rate, everyone was in shock, until Ergadol started applauding, and went to his ancient knees to beg the lady to assign him as your senior butler." Lothiriel finished the tale with a disapproving look at her brother's interruption. They were the youngest of Prince Imrahil's four children, with Lothiriel only nineteen years of age. Amrothos had twenty-one winters, the next elder Elchirion, a born sailor with twenty-three, and Elphir the eldest, Imrahil's heir with a wife and heir of his own at twenty-six. Elphir was still Faramir's junior by almost ten years, but Faramir adored every one of his cousins, though he'd not seen them since Lothiriel was barely eleven. He had not received permission to attend Elphir's wedding, nor the naming of his son. To have his cousins here, when he had felt the lack of family so keenly, came as a blessing to Faramir.
"Quite the lady," Amrothos announced, with a sidelong glance at Faramir.
"I so long to become better acquainted with her. Will she not come to dinner?" Lothiriel asked.
"I had not invited her," Faramir admitted, thinking on the implications of Eowyn's fierce defense of him.
"Faramir! Shame on you! I shall have a page seek her out with an invitation immediately," Lothiriel said, rising to suit action to words.
"No, cousin," Faramir halted her. "No. I believe the lady had other intentions for the evening, so I did not tender an invitation." It was close enough to the truth, he imagined, for she had been so eager to leave him, he did not think Lady Eowyn would relish more of his company today. "Tomorrow the King returns and Lady Eowyn's brother. There will be plenty of time between tomorrow and the coronation for you to befriend Lady Eowyn."
When Eowyn returned to the Houses in the evening, the Warden admitted surprise that she should do so. "Where would you expect me to stay?" Eowyn asked.
"I had expected to receive word that you were the guest of the Steward." The Warden replied.
"It is not so," Eowyn told him, subdued. "Here was I left by my brother, to heal, and here I shall remain."
She paused to look in on Master Samwise and Lord Frodo, only to find the former had repaired to the common room for company and the latter still slept, watched over by the wizard. She took a tray of food, cooling due to the lateness of the hour, back to her room, but only picked at the food, and could not eat. Again she stood by the window, and contemplated the night, imagining she could see the flickers of campfires beyond Osgiliath, where her brother surely camped this evening.
Merely days ago, she had fled her country in disguise, longing to flee from her hurt and her people like a wild thing fleeing a cage. Now she wished to flee back to Rohan, to take up whatever duties were needed and so bury her pain in honorable activity. Leave Gondor, she told herself, and make certain Eomer does not wed you back again. Go, and try to forget the look in his eyes when he sees you. Forget the way he says your name.
Eowyn laid her forehead against the stone casement of the window and wept. Wept for her cousin, killed by orcs on the very borders of Rohan; wept for her uncle dead on the field of battle only days after being freed from Saruman's fell curse. Wept for the Riders dead here and before the Black Gate. And most of all, she wept for herself, berating her treacherous heart, and the vain hopes she'd had for her life, and for the futile love she bore for Faramir of Gondor.