Chapter 3: Homecoming

It was a dream.

A bad dream. Eowyn put it down to bad food, and tried to shake away the memory of the terrified girl-child, but still the feeling of fear and confusion remained.

"My lady, you are sure?"

"I am quite well, I am sure." She replied to the worried frown hovering over her, "Please tell Cook to keep a light breakfast this morning; my appetite is not what it was."

She had told no one about the dream, only mentioning it to her maid, who was now in a state of permamemt concern as a result. Shaliwar, a young girl not yet twenty, was originally from Rhun, and was now employed in the Prince of Ithilien's household. After living in the gypsy camp for five months, she had been hired because of the lack of labour in the city, and had risen up to the ranks to 'personal attendant' . That morning, she had noticed Eowyn's ill pallor, and offered to call a medic, but Eowyn declined. It seemed like betrayal to call a house doctor after she had been to consult an outside one. They would fuss and fret, and if they knew she was with child, would probably forbid her from ever leaving the house. They meant well, but the reason she went to see a gypsy doctor was because she didn't want to worry those healers of her own home.

Eowyn ate her breakfast; she washed her face and hands and put on a green linen overdress for a day of gardening: normal things she did on any other day. And this was a normal day. She drank a good dose of the medicine prescribed by Maradif, feeling guilty towards the midwives of the palace as she did so, and went into the small courtyard-garden.

It was an ordinary day; she repeated to herself over and over again, you do not have a daughter –yet.

The courtyard was a peaceful place, on the side of the palace that overlooked the city. She had it paved with stone slabs when they moved in, with flowerbeds encircling it that she had planted herself. Young trees grew further down, oaks and conifers and vegetation that only hinted at the natural wealth of the realm of Ithilien. Eowyn sat down on a stone bench. From here, she could look down over the town centre. This was her realm. These people were her people, and she would nurture this land like she would nurture her child.

People walked through the streets below, merchants and workers. She saw a stable boy nearing manhood teaching his little brothers to ride a horse – the stable boy himself was employed in her household. Halandil had introduced him as his nephew to her one day, because the young boy's mother had died and the boy needed money. Later, Eowyn found out that the child, Galendir, was in fact just a regular orphan off the street and Halandil had said he was his nephew so Eowyn would have accepted the boy. She would have done anyway. But then she gave Halandil a raise too.

There was a horn call at the palace gates, and as one the mass seemed to raise their heads in understanding: Faramir and his entourage had returned. She spotted a train of horses and a wagon entering the town gates, and felt a surge of relieved happiness. The train wound slowly over the streets; she would greet Faramir when he came home.

From her viewpoint, Eowyn saw beyond the lush valley, green and plentiful, churning out crops to feed a kingdom. And it was good. And it was boring.

How she wished she could swing a sword again! She had promised Faramir since they were married that she would never wield weaponry again, unless, he said, 'it was really, really, and I mean really, my love, important. I do not want you to get yourself in danger needlessly. I will protect you if anything should happen. I will always be here'.

She believed him, she honestly did. He would protect her with his life.

But what was the point? She didn't want him to die for her, especially when she could protect herself so easily.

Ah, yes. The last time he had said those words to her was when they were expecting their first child. It never came.

The doctor had told Eowyn it wasn't her fault, but she never truly believed him.

An hour later, after preparing his chambers and greeting the Steward's train minus a Steward, Eowyn found her husband in the herb garden, accompanied by several youngsters: healers-in-training. It had been an idea of his, and he was a good tutor who never missed a lesson. Faramir looked worn from travelling, still in his riding gear though without the formal armour and tunic. He led the small group around the courtyard where Eowyn had wandered not long ago, and she followed in stealth, sighing mentally to herself. He had returned home for barely minutes, and already he was busy. Teaching, of all cruel labours upon this world!

"Now, how many of you know which of these is the plant athelas?" the prince of Ithilien waved a hand over a few weedy looking plants in a small sheltered flowerbed behind him. No one answered.

"It is also known by the name of 'kingsfoil'." Faramir hinted. A few students put their hands up shyly. Faramir indicated for one, a shy looking girl, to come forward and pick some.

"Athelas," he started again, with the air of a professor, "Is an antidote for many poisons and even magic. As well as disinfecting physical wounds, the fumes of the athelas leaf can clear the mind. Does anyone know any specific natural poisons Athelas can counter?"

The boy next to the girl who picked the athelas put his hand up, "Um... hemlock, nightshade, magic mushrooms and foxglove and um... that plant, that type of leaf from hot places..."

"Yes, that is correct. Athelas can cure many poisons, which, untended, can be fatal. It is also good for the very sick and those... deranged in the mind, serving as a remedy for hallucinations and many other venoms." Eowyn smiled at his little lectures, and decided to come forward.

"Sir, I have a problem on the homework you set on aloe vera" a young wiry boy said, but he was ignored, as a few of his fellow students prodded him.

Faramir saw her instantly, and the students were dismissed, filing our obediently, leaving the couple alone in the garden.

"My love, how fare you?"

"Tired," Faramir admitted with a laugh.

Eowyn kissed him and put her arms around him. He smelt of a recent bath and, for some reason, roast potatoes.

"Have you been near the kitchens?" she asked him.

"Cook had to consult me about a household matter."

"He could have come to me. You work far too hard. From now on, I forbid you to do any strenuous work or labour than can be easily delegated to another's workload."

"-That is rather unfair, my princess..."

"Hush. I have something I need to tell you." She kissed him again, and the two of them walked back to the house, through the rose garden. Their hands met, and clasped.

"So, how was your conference in Minas Tirith?" she asked as they walked back together, hand in hand.

Faramir did not expect her to tell him her news immediately, and continued casually, "Extremely tedious. Elessar himself was bored out of his mind over this –forgive me for saying - pointless treaty. Harad is weak now, but we must not put a condition on our peace together. I do not know how he can cope with that every week – every day perhaps. My burden of work is light compared to his."

Eowyn snuggled against his chest, "Your kingdom is light compared to his."

"Nevertheless, as sworn allies, we must delegate our responsibilities to each other. The kingdoms must stand together to support this treaty, even if it is a little uncomfortable. The implications for trade, beneficial alliances perhaps, are too- "

"Did Eldarion like his gifts?" She interrupted as they entered the hall corridor. The walls were painted extravagantly – Eowyn had hired an artist specifically for that task – and portrayed scenes from the Great Years.

"I am annoyed to say he appreciated your sheep more than my archery set." Faramir replied, as they passed a muriel depicting four short men with curly hair hiding from a cloaked rider on a black horse.

"What did he say to you?"

"Not much." Faramir said sheepishly.

"Not much?" Eowyn laughed, "The last time I visited him, he talked without halt, from the rise of the sun to the ascent of the stars. His mother was quite worn, I remember."

"-Well, I didn't stay for very long with him you see-"

"Surely Elessar's business was not that urgent?"

Faramir became very uncomfortable, "It was what he said to me. Probably that nurse Mareth telling him her old stories again. After I gave him his gifts he asked me... he asked me why my father tried to burn me." He forced a wan smile at this remark.

Eowyn beamed condolingly, "And that was why you felt uncomfortable and had to escape an innocent four-year-old? My dear lord, you have suffered worse than that."

"It is different when spoken by a child. I wish to honour my father's memory, but how can you explain that to one of his age?" Faramir said quietly. Eowyn embraced him again, but his recount had awoken memories of her experiences last night that she would rather forget. She bit her lip. She couldn't tell him about her dream. It would only worry him.

"Perhaps I will employ that Mareth from Arwen. She seems a very useful character to have around children." Eowyn said, to try and change the subject.

"What children, my wife?" Faramir said forlornly. Eowyn stroked his stubbly chin, and brought his face toward her own, gazing piercingly into his green eyes with her own.

"Our children, my lord."

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One of the students of Faramir's, who had returned to find his master to ask him about the work set on aloe, found his and her highness laughing and embracing in the rose garden, as if nothing else mattered in the world. The boy coloured, and decided not to wonder what they were doing. They had not noticed him; a nearby rosebush gave him some cover. The prince had stood up, and was saying something to her, and she was nodding, and beaming hugely. Both had their clothes on, and looked merely ecstatically cheerful rather than... anything else. Prince Faramir was now kissing his beautiful wife, and laughing, and embracing her, and both looked happier than he had ever seen them. In a swoop, he took her by the waist, and swung her around him in an arc. She laughed, and he laughed, and the watching boy suddenly felt that he had interrupted something that he shouldn't have. But it was a lovely sight, to see the ruling couple thus.

The student, from behind a rosebush, sighed thoughtfully, and left. The aloe work would have to wait until tomorrow.

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When the glad couple had calmed a little from the good news, they sat down on a bench in the necessary task of fevered discussion.

"How did this happen?" he asked, overjoyed and breathless.

"In the normal fashion, I should hope."

He was flustered, nervous. Faramir stood up, and then sat down again. He took his wife's hands, and then let them go suddenly, rubbing the hair away from his face.

"How did you find out?"

"I went to see... a medicine man."

"Who? Hador?"

"No, he was not of the palace. He is not from Ithilien either. He is from Harad, and currently residing near Lossarnarch awhile before travelling to Eriador."

"You went to Lossarnarch? To see one of the Haradrim? Alone?" he was beside her again, clasping her hands tightly.

"No," she soothed him, "I was not alone. Why are you worried, lord? I was well protected, aye, well protected against horses, traders, gypsy mothers and fathers and their young." She gave him a smile, which he returned sheepishly, "Shaliwar recommended him to me. I did not want to find a palace healer or midwife because... I feared their lightning tongues would reach you before mine. You know how they talk. I know how you would react, and if it turned out... badly, I would not want you to suffer. I do not wish to face their pitiful smiles again. I would hope to hav a first child, but I do not want to remember there was a predecessor. That is why I have not revealed this to you until now." Eowyn paused again, "I never want to put you through that again, nor myself."

"But surely that was not the only reason?"

"The medicine man gave me a... concotion, of sorts. It is a medicine he makes himself. It is made from herbs that cannot be grown this far north and is especially good for young women and mothers and their unborn. He said it would help. Shaliwar told me he had prescribed the same thing to her aunt and now she has seven cousins!" she was talking fast, babbling, but she had to convince him.

"Eowyn, there are so many options! Why would you experiment with such dubious folk? That drug you spoke of could be dangerous. Why do you need such a remedy? You are not ill – a child is not an illness!"

"Faramir, I want this child." Eowyn stopped, her hands curled into docile fists. Her eyes were pricking, and she had to calm herself, choking back a sob. Hormones, it was hormones. But he didn't understand. She couldn't go through another miscarriage – one was enough. She would try anything, "I want a child. Motherhood has been stolen from me once already..."

Faramir hushed her with a finger, "I do too." He held her close to him; stroking her soft hair as joy elevated his soul.

"Then I want to give our baby life," She whispered into his shoulder. His warm arms tightened around her. The day was overcast and grey, but how? In his mind, the sun was shining like a silmaril. Those people below, the people around them, they knew nothing of the joy that he knew. Nothing could remove this light from his face. He turned and kissed his wife again on the forehead, and they both laughed gently.

Before them was the world, a beautiful jewel of a future; even more so now, for there was something in that future.

A baby.

"Hello, my child." Faramir whispered, his hand upon his wife's abdomen. Eowyn smiled, noticing how he said 'child', rather than 'son', as rulers in need of heirs were apt to do. But the smile faded, because in her mind, she couldn't shift the blonde girl with the terrified green eyes.

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She dreamt of Denethor again that night.

Faramir was out with the guard, despite her commands that he not work, and she was alone in her bed.

It felt so real, like walking in her sleep with a pounding headache: back to the drawing room with the painted arches and the flowers outside and the girl with the green eyes.

The child was playing on the carpet, with a doll and a little wooden sheep, small fingers deftly stroking the doll's woollen hair, and pulling the cord on the sheep, making it bleat mechanically. The noise was strange and hollow to Eowyn's ears. She noticed the girl's manner was disturbed, as if unnaturally forced to play for her. Terrified green eyes constantly met Eowyn's own, and it tore her heart.

She tried to reach out to the girl, pull her back instinctively into a protective embrace, but the she ran.

Straight into the arms of her grey grandfather.

Without thinking, Eowyn curtsied.

It was Denethor. She had never met him before – though she'd had a distant memory of being told about the court of Gondor as a child by her uncle, about the moody successor of Ecthelion, with his wilting wife and proud children. He had not been so old then.

Now, she would not recognise him, had she not heard his memory described by the women of the palace.

The figure grinned at her.

He laughed. Eowyn shuddered. It was a coarse, hollow, inhuman sound, and it made her feel physically sick. He picked up his palantir and threw it hard at her feet. She heard the sounds and felt the pain: tinkling fragile glass smashing. Blackness.

Eowyn retched.

There was sharpness in her throat. And she was in her bed. Alone. The sheets were tangled around her, her back feeling like she had been thrown against the bed several times. She must have tossed all night, and so Faramir did not disturb her. Light was peeping through the covered windows, and she heard the muffled sounds of her husband changing in his private garderobe.

Her stomach convulsed again, and she scrambled out of bed for the privy.

There was that twisted feeling again, the sick feeling of fear and worry for the green-eyed girl who had no name. It was a nightmare, and she was shaking, but she calmed herself.

It was only a dream.

But that didn't explain the bruise on her foot, and the scratches from broken glass upon her skin.