Chapter two: Black Visits
Eowyn skipped lightly over the marshy ground; to her guards, she appeared like she was dancing over the soft earth. Who'd have thought such a graceful woman could be so powerful?
This area of Ithilien was prone to flooding this time of year, and she took care as she descended the grassy slope to the riverbank, not bothering to wait for her guards in their armoured uniforms. They were loyal and obedient, but still grumbled around having to follow her out here so far from the Steward's Palace at such short notice. Their master would not like this. The last thing he wanted was his most beloved wife getting into danger. He would die for her. Eowyn knew that well.
This was important to her though; Faramir would have to know about it later. She would tell him when he came back from Minas Tirith. Poor man; he spent far too much time away from home, and she was determined to treat him well when he returned.
Before Eowyn was the vast camp, filled with shacks, makeshift huts and crudely built temporary homes of gypsies and travellers. This land belonged to the Prince, but he let it for public use. The abundant wood and river meant it was an ideal ground to live off, but only in the warmer months. In the winter, the whole area froze, and became a treacherous and dangerous land. In the warm season though, gypsies and roamers camped here often, and the townspeople traded with them.
Smoke from many fires rose into the clear afternoon sky. Campfires littered the ground around both banks of the river, but here and there, chimneys protruded from neat huts, aromas of freshly hunted pig or deer lunch spreading over the plain.
She pulled down the hood from her heavy cloak, and entered the camp. Small children ran amok, getting themselves quite dirty, while their parents sat around fires, preparing vegetables and meat for a light repast. She avoided them, and they did not recognise her, navigating between shacks and tents until she reached one, and stopped. It was large, above head height, and heavily covered with faded but heavy red carpet.
She knocked gently on the wooden pole doorframe, and swept aside the curtain door.
"Is this the residence of Master Maradif Ar-Shahrazad, renowned healer of Harad?" she called in gently. There was a fire lit stove in one corner, gently propelling smoke through a tube in the carpet ceiling. There was a solitary figure there, but the interior of the tent was void of light, and she could not see him clearly.
"Wait here," she told her two guards. The older and more experienced of the two, Halandil, half-wanted to object. He was dubious of his mistress' mysterious actions that she so desired to keep secret. He was a loyal servant, but his number one priority was her safety.
Eowyn watched his face carefully, and then said calmly, "I will be inside. If anything should happen, I will be quite capable." Here she smiled almost knowingly to herself. She predicted his doubts though, and continued, "But if I ever require your urgent assistance, know this. If ever in unknown danger that I cannot cry for help, I will call out: 'By the leaves of Athelas!' and you will know that I am in danger. That will be our secret code, is that understood? If I am ever among enemies, with no way of communication, a simple exclamation will speak much to those who know its inner meaning." And then she went inside.
Halandil sighed, content, and stood his post outside the door. Lady Eowyn, simple 'healer' though she claimed to be, had much more history to her than met the eye. He knew very well she was quite capable – to have the imagination to think of that code, for example, just showed the fringes of her sharp mind. And too well did he remember the Pelennor... he shivered, despite the warm day.
So why on earth was she coming here, of all places? This place had an ill reputation. She was seeking a healer, but there were plenty of medics in her own home. Here were all gypsies and foreigners: all ploughing at their foul trades. There were sure to be whores and gamblers, and sly men intent of robbing others of their hard earned money.
He spat miserably into the marshy earth. Now, with Elessar controlling the land from Umbar to Eriador, former enemies from Rhun and the South were flooding in to cash in on the wealth of the new Western Empire. He was serving the Reunified Kingdom, and that was how he got his wages. But now with all these immigrants coming in...
Looking down onto his Gondorian sword, with that familiar arched bronze crosspiece, he remembered how he'd used it in the siege of Gondor. Great days they were... terrible, yes, but great. He felt a surge of what could only be patriotic pride.
And now... this was the time of peace. Hah!
He spat again. Politics! Sometimes he thought Middle Earth would be better with dragons.
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The scent of spices assaulted Eowyn's nostrils as she entered the dark tent, and she felt faintly nauseous. The props holding the tent up were made of bamboo, and there were a few cushions and chairs scattered around the tent.
"Master Maradif?" she called, suddenly catching a whiff of a scent that made her head swim. Lavender. The scent of lavender permeated through the entire tent.
"He will return in a moment." Drawled a voice from the corner. Eowyn peered into the shadows, seeing the silhouette of a seated figure, poring over a book from the light of a gap in the wall. He didn't turn to look at her, speaking only quietly. He was impertinent; he probably didn't recognise her as a Lady, but something about him unnerved her. She saw only the side of his face. His eyes were lowered onto his page, teeth biting a dark lip. In his brown earlobe glistened a sapphire.
Eowyn sat down on a bamboo chair stiffly. Smoke hung in the tent along with the lavender, and it made her head swirl. The young man in the corner didn't bother to speak to her, and she endured several minutes of silence, punctuated only by the noises outside, her own tender coughs, and the occasional crackly sound of a page turning.
She felt guilty, slightly, for doing this behind Faramir's back. It was not a huge crime that she was committing, but she knew her husband would rather she find a... safer alternative to this. But she had her reasons. She would tell him. Soon. And so she sat, sighed, and waited.
When Master Maradif finally did return, he recognised her immediately.
"Lady Eowyn!" he cried, bowing low, "What brings you to my service, O noble one?" his tone was clipped with a soft, stretched accent, but his command of the language was astonishing. He was dressed in dark crimson, and his head was wrapped in red cloth. His shoes were leather, and his sleeves were richly embroidered and heavy. All his attire spoke wealth, but Eowyn saw the darned holes, the discreet cloth patches and the clumsily stitched seams of his cloak.
Before she could reply though, he had brought up the boy in the corner by the ear, and smacked him over the back of the head. The boy bowed nervously.
"Show more respect!" Maradif reprimanded, and then turned back to the white lady, a dazzling welcoming smile plastered to his dark toned face.
"You will forgive my apprentice, lady. He is rude, but he is a good boy. I will make sure he eats nothing tonight!"
"Do not trouble yourself - no offence was taken." She replied graciously. Maradif seemed relieved beyond belief – perhaps he feared she could use her position to evict him or such – and gestured her further into the tent. The boy rubbed his ear and returned back into his niche, glaring behind him as he left. Eowyn felt a jolt run through her at that glance, but could not understand why.
The inside of the tent was more spacious than previously thought. Eowyn sat, at his request, at a comfortable padded chair beside a hardwood folding table, whose surface was scored with intricate patterns and lines that she could make no sense of. Opposite her, the swathed medicine man of Harad sat.
"Now, lady," he said kindly, his black eyes shining, "Before you tell me what ails you, please tell me: what brings you here, to me in such a strange and obscure place?"
Eowyn smiled at the remark, but didn't reply, as he went to the stove, and poured boiling water into a cup filled with tea leaves, handing her the drink as if it were a diamond.
"You are a great lady," he continued without a trace of sarcasm, only curiosity, "And your great deeds are known far south. You are rich, and are married to a wealthy ruler. You have a whole army of healers, medics and wise men and women with knowledge of health and herb lore, and many more at your access, all in your own palace. Why do you come here, so far, to seek a travelling medicine man who treats this only as his temporary home?" he gave her a critical look.
Eowyn took a draught of the hot minty tea, and placed it down, smiling gently at him.
"Because, Master Maradif," she said, "Palace medics are talented and skilled, but they are also tremendous gossips. I need confirmation of my... condition before I hear it spoken of behind closed doors. Tongues will wag, and word will reach my husband before the sun is up. My personal maid, who is of Haradrim descent, has spoken of a skilled medicine man of the south currently residing near Lossarnarch. I decided to pay him a visit. If I find my suspicions are false, then there is no harm done. If they are confirmed, I need not fear the gossip that could spread."
"What have you done that you should fear rumour reach your husband?" Maradif asked, a smirk on his face.
Eowyn laughed, "If anything, it is what he has done to me. If I am right, I do not think I want him to know about it just yet. I would rather I tell him than have him hear from giggly maids or medics. This is not my first time, Master Maradif. The previous... caused much grief. I do not want to cause my husband unnecessary concern."
"I understand. I understand what you are referring to. You are with child?"
"That is what I want you to determine."
The healer nodded.
"Give me your wrist. I wish to feel your pulse."
"How may that discover whether I am with child or not?"
"Ah, but the intricacies of the human heartbeat can reveal much about the health of an individual," he said shrewdly. He took Eowyn's white arm and laid it across a small cushion of rolled velvet. Pulling back his sleeve, he placed his dark fingers on her pale wrist. Then he sat pensively, unmoving, concentrating.
"So what brings you to this area of Ithilien?" Eowyn asked lightly, making conversation.
Master Maradif opened his eyes and gave a hearty laugh, "I am headed for Eriador, lady. This is only a temporary stop."
"Eriador?"
"Aye. I wish to set up trade in Bree. I have read many, many books on that mysterious land, and now I can finally see it for myself. I hear that Halflings have been known to traverse there?"
"Indeed, though you would be lucky to meet one. They are seclusive, by nature." Eowyn nodded, "I wish you luck, wherever you travel, and your apprentice too."
"His name is Noraliwi, and he is an idiot! Why did I ever pick him up? Just another mouth to feed, and nothing in his skull!" The medicine man spoke vehemently, shaking a fist at the dark figure of his apprentice in the tent corner. Eowyn laughed, and told him to be less harsh, but the man in the corner scowled at her more despite her kind words.
Maradif shouted something at the apprentice in his own tongue, and the boy turned back to his previous work. The medicine man turned back to the white lady, and bowed, before returning to feeling her pulse.
Eowyn waited in silence and his fingers remained on her wrist, sensing all the subtle irregularities with the regular beats. His eyes flickered, and his fingers twitched on her wrist, and she could feel her whole heartbeat coursing through her body. After a while, he straightened up, removing his hand, and smiled widely at her. Then he snapped his fingers at the apprentice, barking orders in his own language. The young lad bustled around the small tent, taking several bottles of colourful liquid and medicine and mixing them into a small, clear flask.
"I know what you have come to seek." He said, "You need not fear. I have a special brew that has been beneficial for many pregnant women in your situation. You will not lose this child." He took the flask from the reluctant apprentice, "Do you have any preferences for the baby?"
"Faramir always wanted a girl, I think." She said wistfully. The lavender was making her sleepy. She wondered how people from harsh southern climes came across the plant.
"Then you will be pleased to know there is definitely a half-half chance of that!" Maradif cried. He took the flask, swirled it around, and presented it to her, "Drink this in your tea - three spoonfuls every evening. My lady, your previous attempt failed, but I will do everything within my power to ensure this child lives!"
Eowyn laughed with joy, and the black southerner joined in her happy chorus; and even Noraliwi the apprentice smirked to himself, but it was the smirk of someone happy about something for all the wrong reasons.
She called in the guards in, and they didn't understand why she was suddenly so glad; and she did not tell them. She drank the a dose of the flask in one gulp, paid the medicine man, and left for her home, apprehensive, but in a way, greatly relieved.
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"Eowyn..."
There was a voice.
Eowyn spoke to herself mentally, no, it was not her husband, he was not due back until tomorrow, and that was not a voice she recognised.
She stirred, and blinked. The last time she checked, she was supposed to be asleep in her private bedchamber.
"Eowyn..."
And she was.
Wasn't she?
"My daughter..."
Yes, her mind said, this was definitely her bedchamber. So why was her mind so confused?
Images swam before her eyes: a blur of colours, rushing by like wind down a river valley. She blinked, and rose from her cotton sheets, but her bed seemed coarse to her tender skin. Her head felt hot, and cramped. She blinked again, and wondered if she had gone deaf.
"Eowyn..." And there was that voice again. No, she definitely wasn't deaf. She walked a few steps, but her feet were suddenly numb, and cold, and seemed so far away. She stumbled slowly out of the room. The world was a blazing red haze.
"My daughter..."
Looking in front of her was like trying to see a gale. Was this a hangover, or was she dreaming of a hangover? Dream... it was a dream. It had to be a dream.
Everything around her was hazy; her eyes wouldn't seem to focus, but she thought she could recognise the arched ceiling of her drawing room, her favourite room in the house. By the large paned window was her favourite armchair, and there was someone sitting in it.
"Eowyn!" the man in the chair said spoke harshly. His hair was grey and bedraggled, and in one hand he cradled a black, shining orb. The palm of his other hand was stroking the head of –Eowyn blinked and rubbed her eyes - a young girl, no more than ten years old. The old man's palms were a raw red. His clothing, like his face, was grey and old.
From a distant ear, she thought she could hear a crackling sound, an urgent, roaring sound of burning.
Where? There was no fire – she could see none.
Eowyn began to cry, out of confusion and fear. The girl who sat at the man's feet looked as if she was about to cry too. She looked terrified, and was mouthing 'help me' at her – but she could do nothing. Her feet were numb and unmoving, and she could hardly stand up. The girl's hair was a golden blonde, just like Eowyn's own, and her eyes were a deep green-grey ... the same colour as Faramir's eyes. Eowyn looked back up at the old man in the chair, and thought saw the same green in those eyes.
And then the girl cried out "Mama!" and Eowyn suddenly understood.
The man in the chair was Denethor.
She cried out, and felt a sharp pain in the back of her head.
Eowyn fell.
Darkness enveloped her mind, and she sank down, down, down.
From the far reaches of consciousness, she heard the blonde girl crying over and over again.
"Mama! I want my mama!"
And all was black.
