Chapter Seven
The days that followed passed swiftly and spring flowed into summer. Faramir took up his duties as Steward if only for a short time. The city must be readied for the return of the King, and glad he was for the task.
Merry was summoned to the field of Cormallen and though he was loath to leave the Lady Éowyn, his heart was fair to bursting in its desire to see Pippin, Frodo and Sam.
Éomer sent several letters to Éowyn each begging her to come to Cormallen, but she courteously refused each time. Instead, she remained in the Houses of Healing and helped where she could with the wounded.
All around her rejoiced but shadow still touched her heart. She knew the real reason she refused to leave the city and that reason rankled her sorely. Éomer it was who had begged her come—not Aragorn.
Another thing which saddened her, although she refused to admit it, was that she saw little these days of Faramir. On the one hand, she appreciated how busy he was, on the other; she could not help but feel a little sorry for herself. Now that the war was over, she felt abandoned and unneeded.
While all around her bloomed, she withered yet again and withdrew into herself. The Warden grew concerned and sent word to Lord Faramir.
One warm fair day he came to her in the gardens and together they stood again on the walls looking east. "I hear you are a great help to the healers." Faramir spoke, in an effort to break the silence.
"More a hindrance than a help if you ask Ioreth," Éowyn replied. "What brings you here, Lord, when you have far more important tasks demanding your time?"
Faramir sighed. "There is nothing more important to me than visiting you, my Lady."
"Come now, Lord, you have an entire city to manage and make ready. You flatter me too much."
"Éowyn—nay, I will not let you twist my words with your clever tongue. If I have been absent these weeks you must know it was not from choice."
Éowyn tried to hold onto her irritation but found she could not. Faramir was an honest soul and deserved better of her.
"Why are you still here and not in Cormallen with your brother?" he asked softly, watching the play of emotions cross her face.
"Do you not know?"
"I have my suspicions," he replied. "Perhaps you do not go because it was but Éomer who called you and not another. Or perhaps you do not go because I remain here and a part of you yet desires to be near me—though that is more than I dare to hope."
"I do not wish to play games, speak plainer!" Éowyn replied, agitation edging her voice.
"You would have me speak plain? Very well then, do you not love me, Éowyn, or will you not?"
Éowyn turned her full attention upon Faramir. She knew not what to say. She desperately wished to spare this man further pain, yet neither could she bring herself to lead him astray.
"I wish the love of another," she answered truthfully.
Faramir gazed down at her, his eyes unreadable. "I know. You desired the love of Isildur's heir for he is proud and noble and all you deem admirable in a man. You wished to align yourself with him for then you would have had the renown and glory you always craved. But when he gave you only pity you decided you would have nothing and no one, except death. Nay, Éowyn, do not turn away—look at me!"
Éowyn whirled about and faced him. She was furious but not with him—never with him. In a few curt words, he summed up her heart and she found it small and mean.
"I understand you Éowyn, Éomund's daughter, maybe better than you understand yourself. I do not offer you pity for you are a lady high and proud and have done great deeds and have won renown. Maybe once I pitied you for your sorrow, but even were you sorrowless, and not proud and valiant and fairer than words may tell, I would still—" Faramir turned away towards the wall, his hands gripping the stone.
"You would still what?" Éowyn asked softly.
Faramir turned just his head and looked at her long and steady, steeling his heart for the blow he felt must surely come. "I would still love you. Éowyn. Do you not love me, even but a little?"
She gazed at Faramir for a long while, and what she saw, as ever, amazed her. Here was a man: noble and proud, fierce and wise, and with a heart wider and truer than any other she had known. She knew not what more she could possibly want. Her greatest desire had ever been to be loved and cherished as her father had loved and cherished her mother—and here was a man who offered all that and more—yet she was afraid.
"I know not what the future may bring, nor can I promise my heart when I do not yet understand it. But I will say to you that today I stand in the sun, no longer in shadow. Today I am a shieldmaiden, no more. I desire now to be a healer. I no longer wish to be a queen."
"That is well then," Faramir laughed uncertainly, "for I am no king."
Éowyn smiled, "If you will grant me time, Lord, I believe I can come to love you."
Faramir took her hands within his own and raised them to his lips. "Then time you shall have, White Lady of Rohan. For you, I would wait until the ending of the world."
x x x x x
Again, the days passed swiftly but now Éowyn found them full and her time not her own. Since she had long been mistress of Théoden's hall, she possessed great skill in managing a household. Faramir was quick to recognize her talents and enlisted her aid in readying Minas Tirith.
People now flooded into the city from all parts of Gondor. Provisions and lodgings needed finding repairs to walls and dwellings escalated. Faramir found himself delegating more and more to Éowyn and she rose to the challenge.
Not only did she enjoy having a task at last to put her hand to, she also had to admit she was enjoying the time spent in Faramir's company. She was still unsure of her heart, but the young Steward intrigued her and was most adept at making her laugh—an occupation he set himself to with great fervor for he loved the sound of her rich, bell-like laughter more than any music.
At last, one fine day at dawn, the Captains of the West led their hosts towards the city. Rank followed rank as they came before the gateway, the sun sparkling off armor, the cheers of the crowds assembled about the walls loud in the bright morning air.
A barrier was laid across the entrance to the city. Faramir, Steward of Minas Tirith, stood with Húrin, Warden of Keys, and other captains of Gondor. There, too, stood Éowyn, Lady of Rohan, with Elfhelm, the Marshall, and many knights of the Mark.
A hush fell as from out the host stepped the Dúnedain garbed in silver and grey. Before them solemnly came Lord Aragorn, Isildur's heir. Over black mail, he wore a mantle of white, clasped at the throat by a green jewel. With him were Gandalf, robed in white; Prince Imrahil Éomer of Rohan; Legolas of the Elves; Gimli of Erebor and four small figures who drew the eye of all for they were Halflings, fierce and valiant in their own right.
And so, at last, after years of wondering, after hardship and battle, Aragorn son of Arathorn, received the key to his city and the winged crown of his forefathers. Frodo, the Halfling, came forward bearing the crown and Aragorn sank to one knee as Gandalf placed it upon his head. As he rose, the people cried aloud their joy and such was the clamor as to shake the very walls of the city. The King at long last, was come home.
Éowyn gazed long upon Aragorn as tears flowed down her cheeks. He caught her glance and smiled. Éowyn smiled back and knew then that she was at last healed of all sorrows. For as she looked upon Gondor's King all she felt was joy, admiration and the sincere hope for friendship. She found it was more than enough.
x x x x x
All throughout the day, Minas Tirith celebrated. Upon the fields of the Pelennor tents and pavilions sprang up in a city of their own and such revelry was in the air as to gladden any heart.
Sunset found Éowyn walking the open space of the Citadel as she found herself in need of a few quiet moments to herself before the commencement of the coronation feast. Her day had been a whirlwind, what with her brother's return and her duties aiding Faramir in overseeing the festivities, she had not a moment to herself.
Walking to the wall, she gazed out over the Pelennor. It was hard now to imagine the green fields as a battleground. As the sun westered, all turned to gold and the Anduin blazed as it flowed south to the sea.
"Mae govannen, Éowyn, Elf-friend."
Startled, Éowyn jumped but did not yet turn at the sound of the melodious voice. "Greetings, Master Legolas, I did not hear you approach."
Legolas smiled serenely, but there was a wicked glint to his eye. "What brings you here to this lonely spot when there is much gay company to be had elsewhere?"
"Perhaps I need catch my breath from such company; and what of you, why are you here?"
"Did I not say unto you that we would meet again 'ere the ending of all days?"
"That is not what I meant, and well you know it, Master Elf." Éowyn laughed, turning her full attention now upon the Elf. She almost gasped aloud at the transformation in the warrior.
Legolas stood tall and regal, garbed head to foot in flowing robes of deep green worked with silver thread. Girding his waist was a wide silk sash of grey embroidered in an intricate swirling pattern. His long hair fell free, held back by a gleaming circlet worked in the same unusual pattern. Gone was the battle worn warrior. Here was an Elf as rare and fine as any Faramir could dream.
"You seem surprised to see me, mellon nín."
Éowyn tore her eyes away abashed. "It—it, nay—" she stammered, only causing the Elf's smile to broaden. "Your appearance merely took me by surprise, 'tis all. Do all Elves go about garbed so finely, as a matter of course?"
"Nay, we of Lasgalen are a simple folk in truth. Kinsman came to me in Cormallen bearing news of home as well as a much needed change of clothing or two. Glad I was to see them for I was not looking forward to begging off the sons of Elrond. They are shorter than I, though they will not admit it."
"A fine change of clothes your kinsman brought you, indeed." Éowyn laughed.
"Aye. Fortunately, my father had the presence of mind to send something suitable for a coronation and other high occasions."
"Suitable? More princely robes I have never seen! Who is you father that he should be so concerned with how his son looks among mere mortal company?"
Legolas tugged uncomfortably at the stiff collar of his robes. "Thranduil Oropherion is my father—Aran Thranduil."
"Aran?" Éowyn asked, a queer feeling settling in her stomach as she eyed the beautiful silver circlet on the Elf's brow.
"It means, king." Legolas replied softly. "Thranduil Oropherion is my king. He is also my father."
"You are a prince!" Éowyn gasped, wishing the stone would swallow her whole and end this final mortification.
"Aye, but what of it? It does not change who I am. I am still as I have ever been, Legolas of Lasgalen, the same Elf you met in Edoras. It matters naught."
Éowyn brought her hands to her flaming cheeks. "Oh! I will die of shame, I just know it; bad enough was it to have offered myself to a total stranger, worse still to an Elf, and utterly unforgivable to a—a—prince!"
Legolas laughed gently. "Not this again? Did I not say unto you to consider the matter forgotten?"
"Forgotten? How can I ever forget that particular conversation? I fear I will carry it to my grave."
Legolas grinned, his eyes twinkling merrily. "One day, long from now, we shall look back on this and laugh. I, for my part, for being flattered beyond all reason and you—"
"For being a complete and utter fool," Éowyn moaned.
"I would say rather, for being a frightened, lonely young woman standing on the precipice of war. For that is all it was, nothing more. For my part again, the matter is forgotten."
"You are blushing."
Legolas drew himself up to his full height, little realizing how closely he resembled his formidable father in that moment. "My Lady, I will have you know, I never blush."
"I see," Éowyn laughed, "then your cheeks are naturally that shade of pink? My dear Elf, I will have you know, you are blushing now almost as furiously as you did when you spurned my most generous offer."
Legolas muttered a stream of lyrical tones.
"Very well, my friend, I vow never to bring this matter up again, if you do."
"Agreed," Legolas readily replied.
For a time the two stood in companionable silence, watching as the sun set.
"So, now the Enemy is destroyed and peace come at last. How goes it with you, Éowyn? Last I saw you, you lay under Shadow and Aragorn despaired of calling you back. A long night's vigil that was, and one I hope never again to endure."
"You were there?" Éowyn said, amazed.
"Of course, as were Gimli and Mithrandir. Long we strove to aid Aragorn. Gimli held you fast as your arm was set, while Mithrandir strove to keep the Enemy from gaining further hold of your soul. Unfortunately, I am no healer and am afraid I could do no more than sing to you.
Nonetheless, it seemed to calm you and so Aragorn was at last able to reach you."
"I had no idea." Éowyn replied. "You have my deepest thanks."
"And so I ask again, how goes it with you? I would know the full outcome of our labors."
Éowyn found she could not look away from the Elf. "I am nearly recovered as you can see. My arm is a bit stiff but gains strength by the day."
"I mean not the physical, but in here." Legolas replied, laying his hand upon his heart.
Éowyn thought upon this a moment. How was she, truly? Finally, she smiled, like sun after a rain-shower. "I am fine. For the first time since I can remember, I—feel fine. No longer do I wish to prove my worth. I am content and if the truth be known, I am happy to be a shieldmaiden no more."
"So I see. There is calm within you now, where before I felt turmoil. There is also something else I sense." Legolas smiled mischievously again. "I could not help but notice earlier, that you unfold like a bud in the warmth of the sun whenever the Steward of Minas Tirith is nigh."
"I do no such thing!" Éowyn gasped.
"Alas, but you do. Neither of you can stop staring when you think the other is looking elsewhere. Lord Faramir is quite taken with you, at least in as much as I can perceive from a distance. I have yet to make his acquaintance formally and so can say no more."
"He claims to love me." Éowyn said soberly, bowing her head.
Legolas gazed at her intently. When she did not raise her eyes, he lifted her chin with one fine-boned finger. "And how do you feel about that?"
"I know not," Éowyn whispered. "I am confused and afraid."
"Of what, tithen pen?"
Éowyn bit her lip. "Of not being able to return his love, of not being worthy of it." If Éowyn expected the Elf to laugh or scoff at her fears, she was gladly mistaken.
"Your fears are quite natural and to be expected." He said at last. "It must be a daunting thing to hold another's heart in one's hands. Have a care for the gift you have been given, for there is nothing more precious in all creation."
Éowyn glanced up at Legolas, seeking answers in his twilight grey eyes. "What should I do? Faramir is a good man, fair and noble, with a heart truer than any I have ever known. I would not hurt him. He saved me from the darkness that all but devoured me. He was the rock I clung to in the storm. Tell me, Legolas, what should I do?"
Legolas stroked her cheek, smiling gently. "Go not to the Elves for council, for we will say both yea—and nay." Éowyn frowned. "Very well," Legolas laughed. "If you insist on my council I will say but this. Follow your heart, not your mind. In this matter, your heart will prove the wiser of the two. Do not analyze or second guess but act decisively and swiftly."
"But, what if—"
The Elf silenced her with a light finger upon her lips. "There are no "what if's"," he said shaking his head, "there is only what is. The question you must ask yourself is do you have the courage to face what is in your heart and are you strong enough to accept the burden of responsibility that will bring?"
Legolas released Éowyn and turned to gaze out over the Pelennor. She watched him avidly as his eyes followed the Anduin as it flowed south to the distant sea. As his eyes followed the river's course, a strange stillness came over him. A haunted look, one of equal parts longing, despair and hunger entered his eyes. For a moment, Éowyn grew afraid for the Elf, for he seemed utterly lost and alone.
"Legolas, what is it," she asked, laying her hand upon his arm. When he did not answer, she shook him gently. "Legolas, are you well?"
"I envy you, child of Eorl," the Elf sighed. "For you, in your brief span of time upon this earth, have been granted that which I have waited for, for nigh on three thousand years; the gift of the one who will love you forever, who would bind their feä to yours for all eternity. But, perhaps my time of waiting comes soon to an end."
"What do you mean?" Éowyn asked urgently for there was something in the Elf's eyes as he gazed towards the south and the sea that caused her to fear for this fair being. Something clearly was amiss. She sensed in some way the Elf and been wounded deeply, and was not yet healed.
"There is no cure for what afflicts me, mellon nín," he replied, reading the thought in her mind. "My doom is upon me, and my days in Middle Earth numbered." Tearing his eyes away, he glanced down at her. "I have heard at last the cry of the gull and in that cry is the Call of the Sea—that which none of my kind may long resist once hearing it."
"I do not understand. What ails you, I see no hurt? How may I help?"
Legolas smiled sadly, "Ulmo, Lord of the Sea, sings to me, calling me home."
Éowyn shook her head, "But you are an Elf of the wood, the Prince of Lasgalen. What has the sea to do with ought?"
"The home of all Elves lies across the Sea, in Valinor. We but tarry on these shores for a brief time. Once we hear the Song of Ulmo, we cannot long deny the summons of the Valar. Soon, I must depart and leave all that I love most behind."
"Nay!" Éowyn cried, throwing her arms about the prince. She cared not if any saw them; she only knew that she was soon to lose something precious, not just to her but also to all Middle Earth. For the first time she began to understand what the victory over the Enemy actually meant to the Elves—and a two-edged blade that cut deep was it, indeed. "Nay Legolas, I beg thee, do not go. Not yet, I cannot bear it. Not now that I have just come to know thee! Please, I beg thee, do not leave yet."
Legolas sighed, gently stroking the shieldmaiden's hair. "Truly, would my leaving grieve thee so?"
"Aye," she cried. "I would not lose our friendship so soon. Besides, I promised Faramir to introduce you."
"Well," The Prince of Lasgalen laughed, and at last, the strained tone left his voice. "I suppose I can stay long enough to meet your future husband."
"Future husband?" Éowyn gasped. "I said nothing of husbands!"
Legolas tipped her chin up, "perhaps not yet."
Éowyn scowled, "Well, if I am to marry Faramir, as you are so convinced, then you cannot possibly think of leaving for a very long while."
"And why is that?"
"For I will have my children know an Elf firsthand."
Legolas laughed, "So spake Aragorn unto me. Very well, I shall make thee this promise. I shall not depart these shores until all mortals that I love dear pass beyond the Circles of the World. Will that suffice?"
"Aye, so you best prepare to remain for a very long while, for I do not plan on dying for a long, long time—not 'til I am old and withered."
Legolas cupped Éowyn's face. "That, child, shall still be but a brief span of years to me, yet gladly will I tarry here until my promise be fulfilled."
x x x x x
End of Part Three: To Be Continued
From "The Return of the King", J.R.R Tolkien
mellon nín: my friend
aran: king
tithen pen: little one