Summary: Faramir battles with angst and self-denial after he fails to recapture Osgiliath.
A/N: Thank you all for the beautiful, beautiful reviews. I changed the title and summary for the obvious reasons. I originally meant for this to be a one-shot, but what the heck? I'm enjoying this story meself!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters.
to Dimfuin, who wanted me to continue.
I see many things. An oily darkness with her foul tendrils reached up and clung to me. It fills my hair and darkens my vision. Then, a slender beam of light appears, and I see my brother and my mother. My mother is holding someone, and I realize that it is me when I was yet an infant. I walk toward them, wanting to join them. Their backs are turned to me, and when I call out, "Mother! Boromir, my brother!" they turn around, and I see skulls with their horrorible empty sockets.
I hear many things. Unseen voices speak to me. They taunt me, mock me, jeer at me. "You have failed him, Faramir. You have failed him--again!" "Your father is not going to be happy with you, Faramir!" Their laughter fills my ears and I turn and crawl on all fours, away from them.
"No!" I cry.
Dark shapes arise. They have shapeless faces, and their eyes are ruby-red. "Come with us," they say, beckoning me with their smoky, misty fingers. "Come with us."
"Where?"
They do not tell me. They tell me, "Come with us. Come with us."
I want to follow them. I think that if I follow them, I would not have to face him. I am not sure where it would lead. I am not afraid to die. A shape offers me his hand, and I am almost ready to offer them mine when I hear a voice calling my name.
"Faramir! Faramir!"
There is a faint breeze, and the dark shapes scream and disappear. The skulls crumble and are swept away. My head pounds and I wonder who is calling me. The voice does not cease to call me, and I see the light appear again. I walk toward the light.
My eyes open.
There are a pair of kind, grey eyes looking down upon me. It is eyes filled with wisdom and understanding. For a moment, I think it is my father, but I do not say anything. My head clears. It seems like the sweet scent in the room is helping me clear my head. Who is this man? I gaze at him.
And I know.
"My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?" I ask.
"Walk no more in the shadows, but awake!" says the king. He is smiling, and I wonder if he had seen my brother die. "You are weary. Rest a while, and take food, and be ready when I return."
"I will, lord," I say. "For who would lie idle when the king has returned?"
"Farewell then for a while!" says the king. Aragorn, I remember his name from a conversation long past. ""I must go to others who need me." And he departs.
With a sigh, I fall back onto the bed. I feel so weary, and I close my eyes.
The dark shapes return again. They do not let me go this time. They bind me tightly like chains, and they scream in my ear. I see my father. I cry out to him, "Adar! Adar!" He gazes at me with his stone-cold glare, and he says, "You failed, Faramir. You failed."
I brush away the shapes and I awaken. I am sweating, my sweat soaking through my bandages. My wounds are aching. Slowly, I take in the surroundings around me. Someone has lit a candle, and I see Peregrin. He is standing there, and he looks at me with his unfathomable eyes. The last time I saw him, his eyes were filled with mirth and a happy-go-lucky air, two things I wished I posessed. Now, they are...
I am frightened.
Fear.
Panic.
"Peregrin," I breathe. "What brings you here at this ungodly hour of the night?"
"Gandalf - I mean, Mithrandir," says Peregrin, "heard you tossing and turning, lord. He asked me to watch you, just in case."
"Thank you," I say, not feeling grateful at all. "Thank you." Peregrin does not move. I ask, "Peregrin, what of my father? Is he safe? Has he asked for me."
Peregrin's eyes are now filled with emotion, and he says slowly, softly, "Your father, lord? He is dead."
He is dead? My father is dead? Why? No, it is I that should be dead, is it not? My father does not deserve to die. Did the enemy break into the City and slay him? Or did his own men turn on him and... and...
"Dead?" I repeat.
"Yes, lord," says Peregrin. "I was instructed not to tell you, sir, but I think that you have the right to know."
"H-how?" I stammer. "W-when?"
"Not two nights pass," says Peregrin, as if he is saying something he is not supposed to. "He - he..." Peregrin stops. "I have said to much, lord. Good evening." He turns to leave. And I remember that I have the power to stop him.
"No," I say. I never liked to command men, and the word comes out awkward and strange. "Stay. Tell me, Peregrin. I bid you tell me."
Peregrin says, "Gandalf bid me not tell you."
"Tell me." I narrow my eyes, and I stare at him. And then I see it: pure fear and horror in his eyes, as if talking about my father's death is also churning up terrible images for him. I regret my words, but Peregrin is already speaking.
"Your father built a pyre in the tombs," says Peregrin. "He wanted to burn himself - alive, because he was so sure that the enemy would break through. He burned himself. A-and the palantir he posessed."
My father posessed a palantir?
Something in Peregrin's eyes told me that he is not telling me everything. I say, "Why are you not telling me everything? Why did Mithrandir want to keep this from me?"
Peregrin says, "Because your father wanted to kill you." He looks at me for a few moments, and he turns and is out of my chamber.
He wanted to kill you.
Kill you.
You.
Me.
I see it now. I see why he went against the Council's decisions and went ahead in sending me to Osgiliath. He knew that I would not return, and when I returned to Minas Tirith - alive, yet barely - he wanted to see that the task he had set out to do was done right.
"... as Boromir would have done."
I feel like my heart has been torn out and ripped into a million pieces. Thoughts run through my mind. What if the halfling was lying? What if Mithrandir had bid him to lie to me, to hide the real truth from me?
No: Mithrandir never lies.
But there is always a first time.
I pick up my pillow and I fling it across the room. It knocks a earthenware cup off a table, and with a crack, the cup shatters into pieces. I stare at the cup.
To be alone in this world... I have always felt alone, even though Father was still alive. But I loved him. Now, with the knowlege that he is gone and he had tried to kill me... living is worse than death.
I am not afraid to die, I remind myself.
A few mornings later, I go the gardens. It is empty, and I am glad: I want some time to sort out my thoughts, and to take in everything that has happened. I find myself looking East, to the craggy black mountains and the red light behind them. Evil does not sleep. What if the Shadow does come and takes over the City? What, then, shall I do? Fight? I am weary of fighting. Flee? Where shall I flee? If the Shadow comes, there shall be no place to flee to.
"My lord Faramir."
I turn and I see the Warden standing there. I find myself asking wearily, What does he want now?
"My lord, here is the lady Éowyn of Rohan," says the Warden, stepping aside. "She rode with the king and dwells now in my keeping. But she is not content, and she wishes to speak to the Steward of the City."
The woman - nay, I would not call her a woman; for she is a girl barely out of her childhood. But when she raises her eyes to me, I see so much pain and sorrow in it that I am surprised that she is so young. I am afraid: those were the eyes of my mother. I signal for the Warden to leave.
"Do not misunderstand him, lord," says Éowyn politely. "It is not the lack of care that grieves me. No houses could be fairer, for those who desire to be healed. But I cannot lie in sloth, idle, caged. I looked for death in battle. But I have not died, and battle still goes on."
I looked for death in battle.
I nearly gasp. However, I manage to control myself, and I speak.
"What would you have me do, lady?" I ask. "I also am a prisoner of the healers."
She does not reply. Can she see it in my eyes, too, that I am one tired of... of... all this? I try again, "What do you wish? If it lies within my power, I will do it."
There is the soft light of triumph in her eyes, and she says with an elusive smile. "I would have you command this Warden, and bid him let me go."
Go? Go where?
"I myself am in the Warden's keeping," I say softly. I feel as if I am afraid to disappoint this child. "Nor have I yet taken up my authority in the City." The triumphant light dies, and I continue, "But had I done so, I should listen to his counsel, and not cross his will in matters of his craft, unless in some great need."
"I do not desire healing," Éowyn says. "I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Theoden King, for he died and has both honor and peace."
Perhaps we are not so alike: she wishes to ride to war when I am tired of it. And she wishes honor, when I just desire peace.
"It is too late, lady," I say, "to follow the Captains, even if you had the strength." Suddenly, I find that I am speaking more to myself, "But death in battle may come to us all yet, willing or unwilling. You will be better prepared to face it in your own manner, if while there is still time you do as the healer commanded. You and I, we must endure the hours of waiting."
Am I willing or unwilling?
I am not afraid to die.
Am I?
A sudden tear rolls down her cheek, and I am surprised.
"But the healers would have me lie abed for seven days," she says softly. "And my window does not look eastward."
I feel pity for Éowyn: so young yet so sorrowful and pained. And devoid of hope.
What about me?
"Your window does not look eastward?" I say. "That can be amended, lady. In this I will command the Warden." I decided to help the Warden, just a bit. "If you will stay in this house in our care, lady, and take your rest, then you shall walk in this garden in the sun, as you will; and you shall look East, whither all our hopes have gone. And here you will find me, walking and waiting, also looking East. It would ease my care, if you would speak to me, or walk at whiles with me."
Éowyn looks me in the eye, and I hold her gaze. She is challenging me.
"How should I ease your care, my lord?" she asks with a mocking tone in her voice. "And I do not desire the speech of living men."
I look at her in the eye, and her gaze does not waver. "Would you have my plain answer?" I ask, wondering if she was teasing me.
"I would."
I feel a sudden burst in me, and I say, "Then, Éowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful." I take a step toward her; she does not flinch. "In the valleys of our hills there are flowers fair and bright, and maidens fairer still; but neither flowers nor lady have I seen till now in Gondor so lovely and so sorrowful. It may be that only a few days are left ere darkness falls upon our world, and when it comes I hope to face it steadily; but it would ease my heart, if while the sun yet shines, I could see you still. For you and I have both passed under the wings of the Shadow, and the same hand drew us back."
Éowyn's gaze softens, and she says sadly, "Alas, not me, lord! Shadow lies on me still. Look not to me for healing! I am a shieldmaiden and my hand is ungentle. But I thank you for this, at least, that I need not keep to my chamber. I will walk abroad by the grace of the Steward of the City." Éowyn sweeps into a graceful curtsy, and she turns around and walks away.
My mind is spinning, and the lies I spoke feel bitter in my mouth. Yes, she is beatiful; yes she is sorrowful; yes it may that only a few days are left. But am I ready to face it steadily? Am I ready to watch my world be devoured by the Dark Lord's forces? What would have Boromir done?
Why are you trying to hard to live up to me? Boromirs asks me again. I hear an audible voice, and I whirl around to see if anyone is standing there. No, no one is.
But I reply, "I don't know."
I don't know.
A/N: Will update as soon as I can. Hope y'all liked this chaper. Please R&R!
