Chapter 3: I Stand On the Precipice
The next morning, Éowyn woke early, dressed herself and left her chamber before Ranna entered to tend to her. The bandages were still very secure on her shield arm as she walked out into the morning air dressed in a pale gown that Ranna had laid out for her the night before, as the other one was stained from tending the wounded the previous day. The bandages on her neck had been removed the previous night since the salve the healers used had closed the wounds completely. Her golden hair had been brushed earlier last evening, and it fell freely around her shoulders. There was no one about and before Ranna and the others came in to fuss over her, Éowyn went directly to the Eastern wall and looked into the gloom. Her stomach was uneasy, and her palms grew cold as she thought about what her brother was doing, and whether or not he was still alive. The last thought made her pull her fur lined cloak closer to her.
Early risers who walked past the Houses of Healing were bewildered and slightly calmed by the sight of the White Lady of Rohan standing on the wall, pale golden hair catching whatever light there was in the dawn. They had heard she slew the Witch King of Angmar, and that she was a valiant heart. Surely, with such a lady in their City, they could make a stand against evil and darkness, should that time come.
Éowyn looked up at the sky and prayed to the guardian gods that her people believed in. The Rohirrim had been a wandering people, though their bloodlines could be traced to ancestral beginnings with the Atani. However, their histories were sung and not written until recently in her grandfather's day. Unlike the Elves and Gondorians, they were not necessarily believers in the Valar, though they all knew there were powerful forces that moved Middle Earth and their fates. Her people had names for the natural forces of the earth, and named these gods in their own tongue.
The wind blew a clearing in the cloudiness that hung above the city, and she felt some warmth touch her skin standing amid a single ray of light. Éowyn hoped that this ray would linger for a while and keep her company. It had been long since she felt the sunlight on her face and in her golden hair. The light, along with the fresh morning air that smelled of grass and dew filled her lungs and renewed her spirit. She was lost in the silence of that moment and did not realize that she was no longer alone in the gardens.
"My Lady, will you not come down? The Warden would be fretting if he saw you so high aloft, though your brilliance in the sunlight is fair to behold and I would have you stand there longer for my own enjoyment," said the voice of Lord Faramir from a ways behind her. She came back from her silent reverie and looked behind to see Lord Faramir dressed exactly as she had seen him yesterday, with a simple and somewhat endearing smile on his face. Éowyn followed the steps down from the wall and grudgingly went over to him. She wondered at what she should say and whether she should now take her leave.
That would be rude, she thought to herself. I do not desire his company, or the company of any other person, and yet…I cannot willingly bring myself to leave so suddenly, he is the Steward after all. She reasoned that this logical course of action was out of diplomacy between two allied countries, as opposed to any curiosity towards the man on her part.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked, rather sheepishly. He did not meet her gaze this time.
"Aye, I thank you," she responded, and in her own opinion rather dully. This was followed by an awkward silence. But to her relief, he started to speak again.
He spoke mostly of trifling things, like the way she appeared to be on the mend, and sarcastically commented on how flavorful the morning porridge seemed to him today as if he was purposefully diverting her attention from the gloomy Eastern horizon. His voice was soothing and though she did not really pay attention to his words, the sound of his voice was a comfort and she decided this was better than being alone. What she liked about Lord Faramir was that he did not force himself to speak. This was unlike Rohirrim warriors who would, in front of a lady, attempt some boasting, and talk in a loud voice and heartily laugh in merriment at everything the lady said. Lord Faramir spoke whatever was on his mind but then would fall silent for lengths of time when he had nothing further to say. It was as if he was subtly and gently inviting her to converse with him without asking her to do so. And she did not resist. Éowyn knew then that they could at least be friends at a time such as this, which made her feel more at ease in his presence.
From their conversation throughout the day, for they also took their noon meal together in the garden, Éowyn discovered may things about Lord Faramir. He was over twelve years her senior, and he was the second son of the late Steward, of a bloodline that was direct from Númenor, and next in line for the Stewardship as his brother had died recently on a quest that was mostly a mystery to him. Numenorians, she learned, had long life lines long ago, but not so much now, in contemporary times. Still, Faramir's family tree had a few long living members, and he did not look much older than she.
She saw in his eyes that he was still grieving for the loss of his brother. Éowyn understood that he had looked up to Boromir, just as she looked up to Eómer. Though he did not say it, she gathered that Lord Faramir was not his father's favorite. And yet, Faramir loved them both. The sudden death of his father greatly troubled him and for a long moment he was silent when he mentioned his father's recent passing, as he slowly swallowed the lump which she knew had caught in his throat.
She then understood that though she had often wished she was born male, it was difficult being a man as men are seldom allowed to shed visible tears for loved ones lost or show emotion out of fear for being seen as weak. Éowyn suddenly felt grateful that she had noisily cried herself dry the previous night in the company of the darkness so that Faramir would not see her openly cry again.
But she also felt sorrow on his behalf that this War had brought him such grief, and the look in his eyes was ever so in need of consoling. They were friendly acquaintances now, were they not? Éowyn looked out into the darkening sky in the East and she felt fear creeping into her heart and she sighed aloud as if to try to force it away somehow.
This is the most I can do for you at a time like this, my lord Faramir, she thought to herself. Éowyn briefly touched his hand at his side. He looked up at her as if surprised by her gesture.
"I too have lost loved ones to this War, and earlier. My father died ambushed by a league of orcs when I was but a child. I know that I brought him joy, but I cannot remember one particular moment with him. My memories of him seem to have departed with his burial. My mother died so suddenly afterwards consumed by her grief. I barely remember what she looked like. My brother and I were then removed to the king's court, and with his own son, my cousin Théodred, he raised us as his own children. Now, my dear uncle and cousin are dead; he who was like a father to me, and my dear cousin who was like a brother. We must find solace in the happy memories we have left, if there are any." She sighed again at Eastern horizon, but did not remove her hand. "We both have lost loved ones to this darkness. Such are the times in which we find ourselves…." Éowyn let her voice trail off.
She looked at him again. It was if she finally understood her past full of grief as a whole as she stared into his eyes. They had both lived with that same burden. "But we do not suffer alone. The dead we keep in with us and in us they live on. We must not carry this as a burden, but as a blessing. Even in this dark hour… They would not have us so discouraged by their deaths, for it is said by the Eorl that those who live and die with just cause will find themselves in the marvelous halls of their forefathers and be merry in them forever more," she paused to think of how to finish her sentence. She looked at him, giving him the smallest of smiles and said, "They never truly leave us. Perhaps one day, we will see them again." This was a roundabout way of saying what she wanted; she wanted to relate to him some akin to hope, though she did not think she had any of her own to give.
Éowyn did not know it at the time, but her words deeply touched Faramir to the point where could not say another word to her that day.
To Éowyn, it felt strange to smile at Faramir. It was not that she did not enjoy smiling, but she seldom smiled, as her brother often reminded her not to look so stern in front of their people. When she smiled at Faramir, even the smallest turn of her lips evoked wonder and delight in his eyes. She felt him respond to her. The looks he gave her almost made her blush, but she saw him only as a friend, or so she would convince herself, and the feeling would pass. After all, there was nothing to smile about in times such as these. Her uncle lay in state somewhere in the City, her brother's fate was unknown, and the one she loved was forever out of her reach. She had nothing to smile about, really.
That night, Éowyn looked in the water basin at her reflection in the candlelight. She felt that her eyes were a little too close and her chin a bit too sharp. Éowyn had never seen an elf maid. She wondered if she too would be in awe of that beauty as the folk songs told. She sighed again, and looked out her window towards the East. As Ranna had said earlier when Éowyn was taking her meal in her chambers, the Lady Éowyn was obsessed with gazing towards the East. The servant woman herself insisted that she would not look in that way for whatever fate was meant to be could not be changed by looking in that direction. Ranna suggested that Éowyn divert herself and think about other things for the lady's brooding was not good for her health. But Éowyn could not heed the advice. How could she not think about the dire situation that her brother and Lord Aragorn found themselves in at this very moment? How could she sit still in her warm bed while she knew other men were going before the Black Gate itself on this cold March evening? She who was trained as a fighter and defender, was now useless.
Before she knew it, Éowyn was again subdued by her self pity and scorn for the situation she found herself in. It was ever this way, for as long as she could remember. When her uncle began to fade in the growing power of Saruman and his loathsome servant Wormtongue, there was nothing she could do to prevent it so she could only resort to watching. Her uncle had been visibly dying before her and all she could do was make sure he was warm at night, that he had comfortable slippers to walk in, and that he took his soft gruel for meals. At the height of Wormtongue's power, he did not recognize even his own kin, and this went on for years.
Theódred and Eómer found solace in riding out and facing the enemy that they could see invading their lands. But Éowyn's enemy was invisible, and often silent. It was bred in part by Wormtongue's treachery and silky words that slithered into her heart when he spoke, and in part by the closeness of Edoras and how it seemed to get smaller as she got older. Her only defense was to grow cold to everything so she would not be lured by Wormtongue's words. But with the decline of her uncle and subsequently the death of her cousin, Éowyn felt even colder and more alone, as though she were standing on a precipice with cold lashing winds constantly upon her face and body.
She was such a proud woman; proud of her rich history and origin and of her country. But still, she wished that Edoras was greater than what it was. Éowyn had quietly wished that they were stronger and more valiant and that all Middle Earth knew them as heroes of valiant deeds. As a member of the royal house, she wanted to bring renown and glory to her people just as the heroes did in the tales that were sung in the Golden Hall when she was a child. Éowyn looked out the window and saw lightning strike in the eastern horizon. The sudden burst of light illuminated tall stone walls and carved figures decorating the City. She had seen some of Minas Tirith from the gardens and it was beyond anything she had ever seen. Gondor was indeed a great country, with a history that was older and richer than that of her own. She realized that though she had come to fight for Gondor with her uncle, she did not know much about this country, save some descriptions of its history told by the bards and she had never crossed its borders.
Thinking alone in her room on that fourth night of her stay in the City, and the second night since she made the Steward's acquaintance, her thoughts took a direction she did not intend. She thought of Faramir. In their hours of waiting here in the Houses of Healing, perhaps the hours before all was brought to ruin and last days of her life, she wanted to know more about him and about Gondor. He was a learned man, and he most likely read bound writings and old scrolls. She had heard that not only the herb lore of Gondor was old and skilled, but written knowledge was kept in the great underground vaults. She had an urge to be with him and have him tell her of things she did not know, if this was the end of days.
There was something the villain Wormtongue had said to her before his sudden departure from Edoras, running from her uncle's blade. He had told her that her people were heathen and dumb, but by the will of the Valar they were horse riders and that was their only saving grace. She was so angered by his words, but he being the counselor sent by Saruman and she only the king's niece, she did not respond. Éowyn was ashamed also for half believing in what the villain said. And perhaps it was these words that made her want more for herself and for her country. She did not want to weakly die in hiding among her people. If she could do great things, then both she and her people could be remembered as being glorious in their final days.
Is there any hope for a future though? Are these not the last days of my life? thought Éowyn. "Nothing is certain," said the lady to the darkness around her. This thought made her very restless and again she felt as though she were a caged bird.
Author's note: I'm going through the grammar and such, as duly noted and changed it around. To tell the truth, I really can't commit more dialogue between our hero and heroine. So it all ends up being told as a story from the 3rd person…LOL. I always thought these two rather shy in front of one another. But I'm trying to convey that their initial understanding of one another is mostly unspoken. –Kero.