Once again, no amount of apologies can express enough the eight month debt between these chapters. Exams over with, I can only look to the results warily. Enjoy the chapter, readers that are left. But I am determined to finish this fic, no matter how long it takes.


Part 8:

"Had it come to this?" Faramir stared at the knife. Brushing away the debris of wall plaster from its blade (infinitely grateful it had not been the blood of his wife) he could see it was of Rhunic make; strong, sturdy, it had not been made for someone inconsequential. The night's scuffle had been sorted with great organisation. Now letters had been sent to all corners of Middle earth. As well as armies of mankind, Legolas and Gimli had both pledged a bow and an axe respectively to mankind's cause. Khalifah would be both happy and shocked to learn his allies were not men alone.

"Should you not be pleased?" Eowyn said serenely, lounging back in her favourite armchair once more as the warm reality of morning played on her face. It washed away all the nightmares.

"Oh yes." A frown appeared on his face, "Why?"

"Well, worse than kill them, inciting revenge, we have essentially, and successfully, humiliated an important figurehead in their operations. The fox has had to run back to his den with his tail between his legs, and what cubs could follow such a leader? Master Noraliwi was no pawn – he himself freely boasted that. Rather, it was his master who became the pawn. Cruel, wouldn't you say Master Maradif?"

The former medicine man gave a small sad smile from his chair, "A tutor must always be happy when an apprentice excels him."

Eowyn laughed delicately with him, apologising for the taunt, before turning back to her husband, "Now my lord, what will you do now?"

Faramir grimaced. His wife's tone was stark, purposeful, and it seemed strange to his ears, to hear her strength after such a trial, "Wait for your brother to arrive on his stretcher – I mean- sedan. I await his roaring entrance with cotton in my ears. I should have known even unnatural disasters cannot best King Eomer Eadig."

Eowyn laughed, a loud and genuine laugh. It seemed that suddenly everything in the world was beautiful, fresh, clean. Every fear and problem and worry that had ever scarred a wrinkle on her face had been wiped clean and clear from the world. She had never been so alive for this world – now doubly so, with a daugh- a child along the way. And her brother was alive. But that still didn't change the fact that soon, Faramir would be leaving. Yet still she laughed. Aye, it was probably mood swings.

Her husband was pleasantly surprised by the sound. It suddenly occurred to him just exactly how much he would miss her during his absence.

Perhaps someday, women would actively take part in politics, and he would have an excuse to take her along. Faramir smiled inwardly at this thought.

A short epistle had arrived that morning (along with the exhausted messenger who, gasping, communicated that Eomer was alive with a broken leg) that the rebellion had been stopped. The ringleaders of the coup were mainly petty barons who had lost under the new regime, and wanted to use the difference of race to stir strife and discord within the Haradrim peoples. Elphir, son of Imrahil, had armed his men and rounded up and arrested the rebels for question, yet a few of the ringleaders had managed to escape, with some outside help. No doubt they were connected to this covert group that Noraliwi organised.

Anger welled up suddenly inside Faramir when he thought again of what this man had done. Oh, he was a diplomat, a humanitarian at heart, but this man had incurred his wrath, as it were, and he swore to be merciless. He had plotted against his country, fair enough, but to hurt his wife and unborn child in this undignified manner, and his brother-in-law no less, that was incomprehensible.

And he had also slurred his father. Noraliwi had dishonoured Denethor, this could not be denied. Faramir wondered if this crime bothered him as much as the others and felt a slight prick of guilt when he realised, it didn't.

"You cannot forgive him." Eowyn said, her surprisingly harsh tone breaking his stream of thought. He jumped.

"Who?"

"You know who, Noraliwi. What he did to us, to you, was deplorable, was it not, Faramir? None can forgive him."

Faramir nodded, his clear eyes drifting to gaze at something far away and unseen, "Never." He said quietly.


The Palantir was innocent looking from afar, black and smooth like a larger version of a child's marble. Yet Faramir knew better than to watch it up close. He still remembered the first time he looked into his father's at Minas Tirith, years ago, after Elessar's coronation.

The scarring red image of the hands had haunted him for months.

So the false Denethor had been exposed, yet it still did not bring relief to him. Yet again, as he had been doing for a long time, Faramir cast his mind back for a memory, any memory of his childhood that had his father and that was happy. There were many, he knew there were, yet it always seemed increasingly difficult to remember them. He could reminisce for ages of happy times with Boromir – ah, those were the days – summer afternoons of archery, swordplay, fishing and swimming in the freezing cold river and nearly drowning, how they laughed… yet in nearly all of these perfect timepieces, there was a mar, a blemish. Sometimes, the memory would be spoiled by injury, dispute, rain… yet in far too many of them, it was always the interrupting voice of one angry, troubled man who never respected his younger son.

He didn't know why this palantir had been kept. Perhaps Elessar thought these last few true masterworks, tributes to the Elven era, could still prove useful in the New Kingdoms, yet all they served were as museum pieces and reminders of dark times long ago.

He squeezed his eyes shut, massaging his tired mind with his knuckles, when a yell echoing through the corridors sent him running. Leaping to his feet, he sped through the corridors, inhaling deeply. It had been a woman's cry.

Following the sound, he ran to the houses of healing, and in the doorway he stopped still, shocked by the sight that met him.

Eowyn was there already, and turned to him, and he saw that she was equally stunned by this. She stood, her regality taken aback as Shaliwar, her maid, knelt on the floor before her, weeping loudly and openly as she brushed Eowyn's skirts with her sad, bandaged fingers, bloodstains still present and transferring to the lady's crisp white dress. It seemed the whole ward was unmoving in its silence. Making eye contact with the few nurses standing there, Faramir ushered them out without words.

Shaliwar gave an unintelligible wail, her voice cracking as she muttered in her own language and sometimes in fragmented Westron. The maid had awoken from her slumber.

Again and again, Faramir caught the words 'forgive me'.

Maradif, now ever present at Eowyn's side, suddenly approached the broken girl sympathetically. Faramir was astonished to see that the healer too was weeping. The man knelt down by the girl, and held her by her shoulders and talked to her in a foreign tongue, his voice gentle and soft. She replied, nodding now and then to his questions; and then he gave a great cry and held her swiftly close to him in a tight embrace. She complied, crying freely as she held him with her broken fingers.

Faramir and Eowyn glanced at each other, but said nothing.

After a minute of this, Maradif pulled away and, still on his knees, turned to Eowyn, and to her shock, he bowed, that he touched his forehead to the ground before her feet.

"Master," she said, "Please."

But again he genuflected, and though she bent to stop him he did so a third time. Then he explained, his voice sore and frantic.

"My lady. That girl there before you, for all she has done, you must forgive her, for all she has done for and against you… please," his voice broke hoarse, and then he pointed towards Shaliwar and whispered, "That girl is my daughter."

Through the choking silence, there was a quiet intake of breath. Faramir coughed hesitantly.

"Your –daughter-?" Eowyn murmured, eyes wide.

"Yes! I have found her, my youngest daughter, named at her birth Shal-eliawar Ar-Shahrazad." His face was one of deep but grieved mirth, and Eowyn remembered what he had told her before: my daughters married men who went to war and never came back. The man's face grew grim,"I have not seen her in twenty-two years. Yet today, my first meeting with her - I recognised her face! Lady! I give you my eternal debt and gratitude, I will owe you everything if you will forgive what she has done."

"What exactly has she done!" Faramir yelled, his frustration getting the better of him.

Shal-eliawar Ar-Shahrazad looked up at him with black, unblinking eyes. She bowed once and then turned to Eowyn. Faramir had never heard her talk so much before – her voice was strange and unfamiliar, yet steady:

"It was I, Lady, I told him you were with child. I told you to go to the medicine man – but I swear at that time I did not know he was my father!" she broke off suddenly, and her father continued explaining on her behalf.

"He wooed her, lady. He wooed her. She was his contact inside the palace, and spy. She let him know when you were alone so he could play his –ruse-."

Eowyn was aghast, Faramir saw that well, not just by the betrayal, but just simply how simple it had been. Simple? – alas, it had been fiendishly elaborate in its simplicity. Find out when Eowyn was alone, drug her, and then scare her to death. How did Noraliwi expect it to work? For Eowyn to kill herself? But it nearly did, he told himself, as he saw Eowyn's fingers absently caress her swollen belly, it nearly did.

"And the girl," her voice was cool, "my 'daughter'?"

Shaliwar tried to speak and then stopped, her guilty eyes only on the floor. She spoke in her own tongue and Maradif translated.

"You… you mentioned it in front of him – during your first session with me you said casually that you -your husband- desired a baby girl."

Shaliwar added, voice heavy, "I-I met a girl in the town one day with blonde hair and pale eyes who resembled you a little. Her mother was a widow, and lived alone. I told him where they lived. He had the right tools and drugs to get what he wanted out of her."

This time Faramir gasped.

"Last night! - I was called out again because every night this week there have been complaints of nightly spectres, burglars, rooftop gallivanters!" he gave a humourless laugh, "The widow's name was Sarienne – her daughter had gone missing for four days and had recently returned, reappearing in her bed complaining of nightmares: nightmares in which men would come her window and take her and force her to play with a White Queen."

Eowyn went pale, "But the girl wasn't there last night."

Faramir smiled sheepishly, "That was because I had one of my men stand guard by her window all night. The kidnappers decided not to risk it."

At the image of this foolishly valiant gesture, Eowyn laughed out loud. But it was shortlived. Maradif and his long-lost daughter still kneeled before her feet. Eowyn looked down upon them without pity or sympathy, instead, a distanced courtesy divided them.

"Master, I shall not hold any hostility towards you or your kin. You were both used – I look at her hands and I wonder how…"

"Twiglets." Maradif answered in a low murmur.

"I beg your pardon?"

Faramir cut in, "I have heard of them. That is what they are nicknamed in Khand and south Rhun. It is a torture device of several thick rods or sticks, tied together in a ropeladder-like form. Slid between the fingers, they are then pulled tight, crushing the fingers together."

"They tortured her because she refused to tell them any more about you." Maradif muttered, "They wanted her to drug you every night, a slow poison that would help their plans."

Eowyn winced, and then sighed, "I guess… all of us here have been betrayed one way or another. I cannot fully forgive Shaliwar for what she did, but I think she has suffered enough for further punishment. Perhaps, Maradif, your medicinal skills can be put to good use now."

The Haradrim man nodded, "Perhaps, it is also time again to realise my dream of Eriador. At least, this time, I will have a reliable apprentice to keep me companion." He looked warmly at his daughter.

Eowyn smiled sadly, "Then I wish you all the best."


After clearing the commotion of the House of Healing, Faramir and Eowyn departed together, for their own chambers.

"This is simply too much," said she.

"Perhaps, but at least a few things are falling into place. Noraliwi will be caught. It is only a matter of time. I have some of my best rangers tracking him - he'll not get far." Faramir paused,"We will, I suppose, have to find you a new maid."

She nodded absently, and a few moments passed in silence between them as they walked slowly through the palace halls.

Then, suddenly, "Faramir, don't go."

The reply was delayed but firm, "I must."

And the silence returned at that moment, when there was nothing more to be said. Eowyn knew she could not stop him because if their roles were reversed, he would be unable to sway her at all. She wondered for a moment if Arwen was feeling the same way she did. But Arwen had not gone through the torturous few days that she had, the dreams, the realisations… would Arwen have managed to overcome these situations, in her place?

Suddenly, a young messenger approached Faramir, breathless from running into the hall.

"I bring word from the elf Legolas of Ithilien. He is on the road to Emyn Arnen, coming here today, in a few hours. He also brings King Eomer of Rohan with him."

"Legolas? The Greenleaf? With Eomer?"

"Aye sir. He sends word that his lordship Eomer is alive and well after the landslide…" the messenger hesitated, " He also has a personal word for her lady 'But please do not comment on the fact your brother is on a stretcher', were his exact words." He finished shyly. Eowyn smiled graciously.

"We have already received word of Eomer's safety, but not that he would still be coming here. We shall welcome him, and Lord Legolas with the highest honour."

The messenger bowed, and left.

"Well… it seems your brother is truly invincible." Faramir concluded dryly.

"I would say, more stubborn than anything else." Eowyn replied, "I do pity Legolas, however, to have to take charge of him. He did not say why he was coming. I am not at all surprised Eomer still insists on travelling out to Harad, even if it means with the troops of his sister's husband and not his own. Yet for Legolas to come as well?"

"It is strange. Legolas said he wished no part in the Harad proceedings. Your brother: one cannot blame him. After that mountaineering disaster, it would be difficult to re-gather men of his own. He'll have to rely on the amiability of his brother-in-law. I would suggest you not mention that fact either."


The steward of Ithilien and his lady were sitting down to a evening meal of beef and wine later that night, conversing lightly and listening to a resident bard, as was their custom, when their calm repast was interruptedabruptly by the huge antique wooden doors of the dining hall swinging open, and the stone walls immediately filled with the raucous voice of King Eomer of Rohan and his small and timid entourage.

"I smell beef! Would someonemake hasteand give me a plate!" were his first words upon entering the hall.

Faramir sighed and smiled to himself. His wife stood up, abandoning her dish, and greeted her brother with more than the usual courtesy.

"Brother! You have no idea how much it gladdens me to see you well!" and she embraced him. Unable to stand, he was sitting in a wheebarrow-like construction that supported his leg and enabled him to push himself along.

"I hardly call this 'well'," he said gruffly, reluctantly returning the embrace from his sedentary position, "The medic said I would not be able to walk for another two months. Two months! It wouldn't matter so much, as I am of the Riddermark, but not even I can sit upon a horse so long! Still, better a horse than this chair."

"And you still insist on riding out?" She raised an eyebrow.

"I cannot walk, but it does not mean I'm dead! I am still the King of Rohan, and I am representing her!"

Faramir shook his head, laughing gently to himself and then calling servants to make their new guests welcome.

"I do not think anyone can ignore that fact." A new voice spoke up, light and gentle, but with the firm tone of a nobleman.

"Legolas!" Eowyn greeted him warmly, "I did not think Elven camouflage would make it so hard to notice you in a palace hall!"

"I was tending my horse, Lady, I only entered a few moments ago," the tall elf lord bowed to Eowyn and Faramir, "My friends, and neighbours too, it seems. I trust you are well. I hope my continued trespass upon your lands is not an inconvenience." Unlike the bright court garb his friends now wore, Legolas still dressed in forest colours; though the cut of the fabrics were undoubtedly finer, and a silver circlet now sat on his brow, his style was unchanged.

"Not at all, old friend." Faramir said, returning the bow, "We welcome your realm. It is good to have a friend within a day's reach."

"That is mainly my reason for coming. There was not escort large enough to bring his majesty over there to your hall, and he bluntly refused to turn back for Edoras, so I offered to accompany him here."

"I suppose I should thank you for that," Eomer said, "it is not easy to deal with me I'm afraid. I know not how Lothiriel puts up with me. I suppose it is that infamous Elven patience in her veins."

He laughed merrily, and the others joined in. Eowyn invited the new arrivals to sit at the table, and ordered more meat and wine brought in. She knew her brother's appetite well. As the food was brought in and laid down, the guests began to eat ravenously.

Legolas, wincing at Eomer's appetite, spoke up, "I also have another offer to make while I am here. I have heard of the… problems Lady Eowyn has encountered recently. Faramir, I have no wife, but I can understand well the concerns you have for her. So I offer my guardianship over this house while you are gone.

"I do not mean to undermine you, Lady Eowyn, and your position here," he continued, as Eowyn opened her mouth to speak, "I know well your capability and though you for one definitely can cope without a man about the house, I would still like to remain and help you, should there be any… mishaps. A pregnant woman should not have to deal with things alone."

Seeing the curious, almost sceptical look on Faramir's face, he added hastily, " I have only honourable intentions to your wife, lord Faramir."

Faramir said, "My friend, I would not suspect you. I am more than happy, not to mention relieved, at your offer. If my wife feels the same, it is up to her to accept."

"I am honoured at Legolas' generosity." Eowyn said delicately, sipping her wine, "I'm afraid there is no polite way for me to refuse." Putting the cup down, she said, "But why remain here, like a domestic, when you can crusade off into the south with your comrades? "

He smiled his enigmatic smile, "What purpose is there, for me, an Elf that remembers the older years, to try and wriggle deeper into the world of mankind? I will always aid my friends, but in this new world, there is no place for me. Besides," He chuckled, "It would not be the same without my dwarven counterpart." Eowyn saw the sadness in his face, though his voice was cheerful. Though he had resisted the call of the sea for so long, she was certain that not all of his subjects and friends in his small realm would be as strong as he. To live, secluded from kin, in a land of Men, knowing he would live to see it all end! She felt his loneliness, but knew she could never understand it truly.

Eomer broke her train of thoughts, "I would not have an elf take my place either. The treaty wants my hand to sign it, therefore my hand needs to be in Dhakar at the ceremony. Since my hand is attached to the rest of me, I feel obliged to go." He smiled smugly, "But enough talk of political matters! My lady Eowyn and dearest sister, I toast you, and Faramir, and wish you luck in becoming parents. I, myself, look forward to my new role as uncle and I hope Eowyn will not try too hard to shirk the child away from my malign influence!"

There was indulgent laughter, then everyone raised their glass, "To Eowyn!"

Eowyn beamed, feeling a peaceful happiness radiating throughout. Finally, she thought, it was over.


Perhaps it was, but not for some. Far away from the happy halls of Emyn Arnen, there was a gathering of another kind.

On a tattered board of a makeshift table lay a crudely sketched map of the valley slope from a row of mountains. It was difficult to see it, as the shelter in which it was situated seemed to be made from a very thick carpet, supported bywoodenpillars into a hastily assembled marquee.

A dark, roughly dressed man sat down at the empty space between two men who looked no better than him for wear. Many of them sported ugly bruises, and some, bandages. None of them seemed to be eager to be there.

"Ezekh," the Chief speaker said, but his voice now had a weariness to it, like one who has been travelling constantly and craving a few night's sleep, "How many of your men are left?"

The man called Ezekh raised his head uneasily, "Sir, remember we were few to start with. We sustained many injuries, and the ones who survived are in hiding. It will take time to prepare the men again. I have lost many of my finest warriors to the Prince from Dol Amroth and his militia. I must beg pardon once again," he bowed his head, "I should have conducted the rebellion with more expertise and wisdom, my general."

"Give me an estimate." The Chief sighed, massaging his temple. The ear that once wore the sapphire was hacked and raw, the fleshy lobe that bore the earring missing. A small price to pay, but he was able to finally escape the Ithilien Royal Guard.

"I would say… two hundred, perhaps eighty more at best if the others recover well," the chieftain looked wary for a moment, "But, lord, I must confess, there are few left who would willingly act on your counsel again. There are … mutterings. It will prove difficult to get them to do your bidding a second time."

Noraliwi thrashed his fist on the tiny table, which shook violently.

"Find the gossipmongers, and flay them alive before the others!" he roared, "Then tell them it is better to DIE for your beliefs, than live as cowardly neighbours among those depraved wantons who have stolen your homelands and smile false generosity at your face!"

There was a nervous silence, and Ezekh accepted the order as silently as possible.

"Danilbar." Noraliwi spoke again after several moments, "What of your situation?"

Danilbar was bruised heavily in the jaw, but he bowed and spoke clearly, "After the assault on the Rohirric ambassadors, many of my men were hunted down by the surviving horsemen in revenge. Eight of my bravest men died trying to set off the gunpowder, either caught in the blast or in the rubble that ensued." He bowed his head, but continued, "However, my men are still loyal to you. Though the Eadig was not killed, he is incapacitated – he cannot walk. A small victory." He gave a grim smile, "My men who were not involved in the ambush are not many, but they are armed and healthy. And ready."

A small gleam came into Noraliwi's eyes. Perhaps it was the exhaustion, or the gripping paranoia that was coming over him – since the debacle with Eowyn, he too had been having dreams involving the Steward of Gondor. Dreams, no, it was more nightmares. It seemed that Denethor was haunting him. Even now he felt a cold chill at his back that he could not place. And all the time the rangers of the Kingdoms were tracking him. He had not slept for five days. Soldiers, Denethor, all hunting him, and sometimes, he imagined he saw a child that looked like Eowyn, also following, always staring at him. He shuddered inwardly. But it would be over soon. He would show them his fortitude, his will, even if it killed him.

"M-my lord, what are you planning?" said another man, Lannat.

Noraliwi placed his hands, palms down, onto the surface of the table and took a deep breath. His eyes glittered strangely.

"We will leave them with a final message. We will write it in blood."

And, staring into the hollow, stunned expressions of his men, he smiled.

"This is not over."