Chapter 5: With a Handful of Flowers
When Faramir and Éowyn parted that day, he thought that at last he had seen her mind, and understood her heart. Like his father, there was a talent in him to perceive what was thought but unsaid by men. He did not have many dealings with women, as his father's schedule for him did not permit it, but with the women his brother had introduced to him in the past he thought he could see right through them. He could not boast that he was as knowledgeable as his brother was in the ways of women, but he felt that he did have a talent for understanding people in general.
However, Éowyn was different and complicated. Faramir had often wondered what would possess such proud and lovely woman to don soldier's attire and leap into battle in disguise as a man. He was certain there was nothing but goodness in her heart, but she was also very proud and ashamed all at once. Éowyn also had an abundance of emotions colliding within her, most of which she did not understand. To Faramir, the White Lady was a beautiful flower unopened, valiantly but in vain protecting itself from the frost that had grown over its petals. Her core was already touched by frost, and her journey into Darkness from wounds by the Witch King could not have helped her disposition at all. It would require much time and patience to warm her and win her.
But in their most recent conversations he finally saw all else that troubled her; things he did not understand when he first saw her pride and the look in her eye that sought to challenge Death itself. He surmised that because of his strange and mysterious upbringing with elves that Lord Aragorn came to know an elf maid; and that this Lady Evenstar was dear to the Lord Aragorn; but Lady Éowyn too loved the Lord Aragorn. Yet Aragorn could not return her feelings for his love of Lady Evenstar came much, much earlier and ran much deeper.
Perhaps Éowyn greatly admired Lord Aragorn and saw that he was destined for great things and she desired a part of that glory; and her desire arose from a wanting of greater things for herself and her country. When Éowyn realized it would be impossible for her to achieve what she wanted the only way to soothe her pride and maintain her honor in her own esteem was to die in battle with her kin. It was an act of bravery and an act of desperation in one swing of the blade. If that was her fate, she would choose Death on her own terms. These thoughts grieved Faramir and pierced his heart. So fair and valiant a lady should not be so burdened and so sorrowful.
This was the cloud that hung over her head at all times, and it was something she had to conquer by herself now that she had not died. An unsteady future lay before her, even if the world did not end in the days to come. Faramir wanted to do something to ease her burden, but he could not decide what to offer her. She was fair, yes, and proud, certainly, but what could he offer to such a woman to make her happy?
Again, Faramir turned his thoughts to the sound of her laughter and how much he liked to hear it. Her laughter and the sound of her voice eased his own troubled heart. Thinking of her soothed his lonely silence, and he soon drifted pleasantly dreaming of the Lady Éowyn, lulled to sleep by her distant voice alight in song in the deep recesses of his mind.
The fourth day after their first meeting, Faramir awoke from pleasant dreams of sitting beneath a large tree in the gardens and enjoying folk songs of the Eorl. He was determined to make this dream a reality in this dark and dismal time. Throughout his life, he had experienced so little joy living under his father, except when his brother came to cheer him. Now Boromir was gone and Éowyn had come into his life. This was a great consolation for him since he had lost his brother and father so recently, even though he knew that she did not feel the same way for him. But her feelings were not easy to discern beneath that beautiful yet frosty exterior and he hoped that she had at least come to like him, even if a little.
Éowyn too understood things that were left unspoken. This did not come as such a surprise to him since she was wise if not learned, and being a noble lady she saw much at her uncle's court, but was not free to use her voice. As he was well aware, those who are not permitted to speak will then turn their minds to try to understand everything around them in silence. They both were not so different as she supposed.
Faramir was determined to be happy with Éowyn's company, even if these were the last days of his life. He was saddened by the thought that they would be parted by Death, for he could not bear to lose something so precious that he had only recently found. Happiness was new to Faramir. But he knew he would die protecting her, if it really came to that. With these thoughts, Faramir stepped into the garden but did not find the White Lady there. She was usually an early riser, and so he went to Warden to see if there was anything amiss. The Warden assured him that all was well and that the Lady asked to see her uncle in the Citadel. Concerned that she would be again consumed by her grief, or even her guilt, Faramir went there to find her.
He found her in the great marble ceremonial hall, at the foot of the dais where her uncle lay in state in the cooled room, underneath a thin white shroud atop the flowered altar. Éowyn looked small and crumpled as she sat on her haunches, her skirts flowing all about her. She looked so open and vulnerable there. The thin veil of Death now separated Éowyn from the man before her who was like a father. Faramir shared the similar burden of grief, for not far away, in another room of a separate chamber were the remains of his father beneath the shroud.
"At last I have found you," said Faramir quietly. He bowed low in respect for the body lying in state and then sat down on the lowest step, facing Éowyn. He could see that she had been weeping.
"Let us come away from here," urged Faramir. "The dead and the living are forever divided by the shroud. This place, it chills my heart and causes me to recall things I wish not to remember. Come away, Éowyn," he said gently. He helped her up and they quietly exited the hall.
They walked in silent through the stone corridors of the castle until once again, they beheld the familiar sight of the Houses of Healing, and entered the gates.
"I did not have the chance to say farewell on the field. I thought I should say it now, while I have the time," she said in a numb voice as they retreated to their usual place in the gardens.
"I am certain he will not hold this against you in Death. As you said before, he wants you to be happy," he replied solemnly.
"It would have shocked him to know it was I who slew the foul beast that threatened to eat him and his dead horse," said Éowyn, with a slightly bitter laugh.
She looked up at him, and there was an eagerness in her eyes, as if she was imploring with him to listen and understand what she was about to say. "In my uncle's court, there was this worm, a councilor sent by Sauruman, whom we thought was our friend. He poisoned my uncle's mind with his witchcraft, but I was also an object of his intent." She shuddered at the thought of him. "I know not where he is now, but still his words haunts my dreams, as he haunted my steps when he was alive. He told me my House was low, but for our skill with horses we had no other saving grace." A sob threatened to rise from her throat. "And I believed him. As my uncle's health failed, I believed him. I am a traitor in thought to my own House. So I thought to redeem myself for this, among other things, on the field. I do not want my uncle to blame me for this. He told me to stay and protect my people. But I became a traitor in leaving my House."
"But your House is noble, dear Lady. All who have known the skill and bravery of the Rohirrim do not doubt that. And your uncle died in glory, Éowyn. His charge to save Minas Tirith will be told over and over again. I have already heard stories from those who were on the wall and witnessed the valiant King of the Mark on his gleaming white horse laying waste to all the fell monsters before him."
"Glory in death is what I wanted as well," she said quietly. "Sometimes, I hear Wormtongue's voice in my head, saying that I have shamed my House . Now, in my nightmares I see Gríma Wormtongue. He tells me that Death is more welcome than life, as hope is gone in all things."
"This is not true, Éowyn, and you yourself cannot believe it. There is always hope." He took her hands in his. "When my people speak of you, I hear the hope and marvel in their voices." He reached over and took her hand in his. "You and I have survived the Black Breath, but even now, it has a hold on us. We must not heed the voices in our heads that tell us Death is better than life. It is not true. If I were dead, I would not have met you, and you are much better company than Death, I wager." He gave her a smile when she looked up at him, and she returned it. Faramir offered his arm; Éowyn took it without hesitation and he led her back into the inner gardens where the fountain continued to bubble and flow before the Eastern wall.
"Thank you," she said quietly as she sat down along the fountain. She looked up and saw that he was much concerned for her well being.
"For what?" he asked simply.
"I am not certain. But in you I sense something I did not expect. You are so compassionate and your manner is strange to me yet honest."
"You and I are not so different, Éowyn. We have stared Death in the face, and we have walked away from it," he said.
"I am sorry, Faramir. You have been such a comfort to me, and here I have offered nothing in return," she sighed.
"The best comfort you can provide is, I am afraid, a selfish request of mine." She looked up at him questioningly.
"I would have you keep me company here in the gardens, so that I may speak with you and look upon you for as much as time will allow," he said rather gently, even a little shyly. "Your presence alone gives me much comfort."
Though words like this would have annoyed her in the beginning of their acquaintance, this gentleman's words were not unpleasant to her now. Éowyn sat with him in silence by the fountain beneath the boughs of a tall green tree. There was such a look of contentment on his face that Éowyn could not help but stare. His mind was elsewhere, and his expression was soft and the corners of his lips turn upward into a slight smile.
Is he content simply because I am here with him? she asked herself.
"I am glad to have made a friend like you in the City," she blurted out. When he noticed that she was staring at him, and she looked at his feet. "I believe that since Merry is often up and about with Bergil I have no one else to keep me company here. I have never enjoyed being alone, though much of my life has meant being alone. But now that I have known your company, I do not…I wish I had met you earlier." She caught herself as she realized what she had just said. Éowyn was uncertain as to what she meant by it. But perhaps if she had met Faramir before Aragorn….
She did not know why she had said this much to him. She found her voice carrying on and her words just stumbled over one another. Éowyn had never told anyone of her inner feelings and thoughts, not even family. But Faramir was different. The fact that he was an outsider helped her open up to him. Nor did she feel as though he judged her. Her intuition told her that she could trust him with anything, even her life. His smile broadened at her words, and she saw the eager light of hope in his eyes.
Did I say something I should not have? Éowyn was bit distressed at the thought of making any man fall in love with her. Is it so terrible a thing that Faramir should care for me? Perhaps Faramir saw something of the turmoil within her, and he changed the subject and described Ithilien, a long stretch of land that had long guarded Gondor against Mordor. Though it was marked with scars of war and attacks by orcs, it was indeed a fair country. He described a location where he and his rangers often kept vigil that was breathtaking to the imagination. In the spring there were fair flowers everywhere, growing wild and free. There was a waterfall near that location, and when the sun shined into that little canyon there were many colored arches of light dancing in the mist. It was such a wonderful place to hear described, since Éowyn was born and raised in a grassy flatland that did not often flower and the greenery would turn brown if rain was lacking. She told this to Faramir and she mentioned that the only flower Éowyn really liked was symbelmyrne, a flower that only grew over grave mounds behind Edoras.
"That is indeed tragic," replied Faramir. "A lady as fair as you should always have many fair flowers to keep her company."
She blushed a little at his words.
And so this was how they spent the day, eating their noontime meal in the shade of the green tree. Before they parted for that day, at sunset, Faramir carefully chose a flower in the garden and picked it for her. She accepted the gift and smiled. It was the first time Faramir had ever seen her smile fully and he then committed to memory how her smile lit up her eyes. He took her hand and kissed it, and parted without another word. Éowyn stood there, with flower in hand and gently touched where he had kissed her. No man had ever done that before and she marveled at the customs of Gondor. The touch of his lips on her skin was not at all unpleasant.
Note: I am such a fool for romantic notions. I should have been a romance novelist. But then, where Tolkien is lacking is the transition to how Éowyn came to regard Faramir from stranger to the love of her life. Something like that is not as easy as Tolkien made it out to be! –Kero.