Notes: This chapter is sort of...different. I confess I'm a little nervous at posting it, but I hope you will all keep open minds. I think I rewrote it at least five times, because I just felt I wasn't getting Eowyn right. (Faramir, on the other hand, I felt good about from the first draft.)

Let me know what you think!

Chapter Twelve: Honest Truth

Eowyn looked behind her as she slipped out the door and hurried down the hallway. If Bithie knew what she was up to, she would have a heart attack or a conniption. Or maybe she would put her hands on her hips and her eyes would crinkle up, like they did when she was worried or upset, and she would sigh in horror and helplessness. In any case, she would not be happy to know that Eowyn was escaping the confines of her room in the blackest part of the night.

Eowyn wasn't sure where she was going, but she knew she had to get out. Escape had been contemplated, and she had even thought of finding a horse and going after the host, but after the initial pleasure of the thought, Eowyn dismissed it. It would be easy enough to get out of the Houses, but finding a horse and tacking it would be difficult without waking the household. There were no horses here that knew her. Besides, there were the gates and sentries to think of, and they would surely not let her escape. And if she somehow managed to get past all of that and actually catch up to and find the host, would her brother and Lord Aragorn not simply send her back home in disgrace?

So as of now she was simply wandering, through the silent halls, out the door (which did not creak as much as she expected it to) and into the garden. The air hitting her face was refreshingly cool, but it had lost its chill; the wind that brushed against her was soft and had lost the bite it had carried earlier. She looked around at the silent, black shapes and recognized bushes and trees from earlier that day. The wall, she thought to herself—I want to look out over the city. She turned toward the wall looming above the garden, shying away from the black shapes of trees and bushes as she went. She did not think about them, but if she had she would have been disgusted with herself for allowing such fear.

The steps were steep, but she enjoyed the climb, made as it was in the darkness. When she reached the top she paused to catch her breath and stare out over the sleeping city. Other than a few lights still burning in taverns here and there, there was no light in the city, and a chill ran down Eowyn's spine. I wonder who else is awake, she thought. Men who are up to no good, no doubt. But I am safe in here. For the first time, Eowyn felt grateful to be allowed to sojourn in the Houses of Healing until her brother returned. She knew that in the morning and the days to come she would wish she was not shuttered up in these buildings, but at that moment she felt remarkably peaceful. More peaceful, in fact, than she had in weeks.

She was startled by a sudden movement to her left and she looked to see who was there. As her eyes fell on the shape of a man she felt a pang of fear, but he made no menacing moves. Indeed, he did not even seem to notice her. Her first thought was to wonder why he, too, was out under the black sky, but she knew he must be an inhabitant of the Houses as well who had needed a little time to think. She turned her head back to the city, but something drew her to him, and though she felt foolish and a little frightened, she stepped closer.

"Do you seek solitude too?" she asked, and as her voice broke the heavy stillness he jerked to look at her. To her surprise she recognized the Lord Faramir, although there was something about him that seemed different. It was hard to tell in the dark. "Lord Faramir?" she asked, when he said nothing.

Faramir drew away quickly, still without saying anything. He was startled upon seeing her so suddenly, but he knew she must have been there and he had not noticed her. He had been occupied with his own thoughts, and that was how he wanted to remain. "Lady Eowyn," was all he said, "Forgive me." He turned and began walking away slowly, knowing that his reply had been very curt, but not having anything left inside to be cordial with.

Somehow Eowyn knew. Something has happened to him, she thought instantly, something even worse than before. She had no idea what it might be, but she knew it was crushing him. She fell into step behind him, the persistent side of her personality coming out. "Will you not walk with me, my Lord?" she called softly. Faramir paused and turned to face her.

"I have not the ability to be polite or cordial now, Lady Eowyn," he said quietly. "Pray leave me and seek better company."

Eowyn was startled by his honesty, but she took heart instead of being scared away. "I have never in my life been cordial or polite company," she said, deciding to be equally blunt, "but I can see that you are troubled. They say a trouble shared is a trouble eased."

Faramir had no heart to fight her, so he nodded, hoping that she would not urge him to talk and would soon go away. In the first instance he was right, for they stood silently side by side for a long time, but she did not go away. As the minutes passed she didn't feel like she needed to say anything at all, and she marveled at how peaceful she felt, even as she knew the man beside her must be in deep unrest. She couldn't imagine what had caused this sudden change of emotion, for she had thought he knew about his father's death. But perhaps he hadn't know how he had died, and what he had tried to do. Well at least I know what the issue is, she thought. At least I'm not in the dark here.

Finally she said, leaning against the wall and smiling at him, "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" She knew her words would annoy him, but she also knew that she had to at least try to make him talk. She had experience with keeping emotions bottled up and knew that it did no good, if there was someone who was indifferent enough not to be hurt by the emotions that needed to be shared. Eowyn was indifferent enough.

Faramir shook his head mutely. Normally Eowyn would not have been persistent and would have left it at that, but she felt in her soul that tonight was an exception; tonight she needed to be tenacious. "It has never been easy for me to share my troubles," she said, "but when I do my burden is eased quite a lot. At first, when I begin to talk, I feel I would rather do anything than speak, but gradually it begins to feel very good, and after I have spoken my heart is lighter." Faramir was silent, staring out over the city. Eowyn looked up into his still face and thought about how she did not know him at all, but she wanted to help him. Why it was so important to her, she knew not, but it was. She looked away and asked, "It is your father, isn't it."

Faramir's head jerked toward hers involuntarily, and as she uttered the word 'father' his throat closed up and he struggled against the tears that threatened to fall. He despised his weakness, especially in the presence of the Lady Eowyn, and he bit the sobs back ruthlessly. She wouldn't understand if he spoke to her—she could never, not in a million years know what he was going through. She was very kind to wish to help him, but he did not need her pity.

Eowyn knew what he was thinking, and she realized that unless she spoke first, he never would. She took a deep breath and began to speak, talking of her father and mother's deaths and the long years of pain. She spoke of how her heart had ached so fiercely at times that she thought it would be torn right out of her body, but she despised talking with other people. As she talked, she marveled at how it was so easy for her to talk with him, and yet she closed her heart to her own words. Her words were true, but she turned her thoughts from the emotions that ran so deep—how she grew to have a hate for other people's pity, and to desire death above life.

"When my cousin died I felt as if a piece of myself died, too," she said softly, rubbing her hands over the stones. "My brother was banished later that day, after I saw him beaten for doing nothing worse than loving my cousin and uncle and wishing to see my uncle restored to his rightful self. The days between his banishment and Mithrandir's coming were the darkest days I can remember—far darker than those after my parents died." Eowyn shivered at the memory and shook her head. "I felt despair creeping in upon me, darkness in every corner I looked at. I would go outside and stand on the wall, staring to the plains in the vain hope of something…anything."

She stopped, shaking her head again as her words ran dry. The next part was harder, and she was not prepared to speak of it yet, not even to help this man. Especially to help this man, she thought, though she didn't know why. She glanced toward Faramir and saw his head bowed into his hands; she reached out a hand and touched his arm. He jerked at her touch.

"I don't know your story," she said, "though I know some of it. I know your brother was killed, and your father was killed just recently. It must seem that before you finished grieving for Lord Boromir, you were forced to grieve for your father."

"I never grieved for Boromir." Faramir's words were very quiet, and Eowyn was startled to hear his voice after listening to her own for so long. He paused, and after a while said, "We were in the midst of the war, and my men needed a captain who was not hampered by grief."

Eowyn nodded, though she knew he couldn't see her. "It must have been very painful to keep it inside for so long." Faramir laughed softly, and she was surprised at first, until she realized that his laughter was hard and mirthless. "I have not faced it yet," he said. "I am afraid that if I open that cask it will flood and overrun me."

Eowyn pulled her cloak tighter about herself, suddenly feeling chilled. What she had neglected to mention in her narrative was that she, too, had not yet grieved for her cousin or uncle, who had just died in the battle. She too was afraid that the grief would eat her alive. "My—my uncle perished in the battle," she said around a thick tongue. "Our situations are very similar, are they not?"

"No!" Faramir pushed himself back from the stone wall and whirled to face the sleeping Houses. "Thank you for trying, Lady Eowyn, but we are not similar at all." He began to walk swiftly away from her, down the wall toward the stairway. She hesitated, then hurried after him.

"We were both wounded," she said, "we have both suffered deaths and failure. We have both—"

"We were wounded, yes," he cut in, turning back toward her at the top of the stairs. "But that is where it ends. Don't fool yourself, my Lady, I am not the high and puissant Steward you think I am. Do you want the truth?" he grinned mirthlessly. "Of course you do…everyone wants the truth from me, and until now I have been too blinded to give it. Well now you will have it, and welcome. Welcome if you will only leave me alone when I am done." He stopped and stared at her, but she made no motion. He took that as an agreement.

"The truth, Lady, is that I was wounded failing in my mission. You were wounded after slaying the Dark Lord's servant. Your uncle died fighting the mumakil and defending a city not even his own. Countless other men were wounded and died in honor for helping bring about a great victory for the men of the West. I was wounded on a suicide mission, useless except to kill men needlessly and cost time and effort. My uncle risked his life and sacrificed those of many of his men to rescue me, and virtually none of my men were saved. None but I, worthless as I am.

"My father died, as you know. Perhaps you know how he died? He built himself a pyre to commit suicide, and because he failed in sacrificing my life to Gondor, he tried to sacrifice my life with his own. That is how I received these—" he pulled up his sleeve abruptly, and Eowyn could not contain a soft gasp at the horrible burns. "Yes, terrible, aren't they? But I didn't die, obviously. Men sacrificed other men's lives to save me from my father, and I was taken to these Houses and healed. I wish that they had left me there and I had perished in the flames. You are shocked, no doubt, but you asked for the truth, and here it is.

"Yet…yet I do grieve for my father. You won't understand how I could possibly grieve for a man who tried to murder me and told me he wished I had died in my brother's place, but I do. I don't understand either. I am filled with shame, and fear, and anger, and grief. That is the truth." He turned his head away and swallowed. "Is that sufficient, Lady Eowyn? Is there anything else you want to know?"

Eowyn's words dried up as she saw the depth of his grief and she shook her head numbly. What have I asked for? She wondered. What have I pushed him to speak of? He wasn't ready, and I have made the hurt worse. She felt the darkness press on her, and she needed to say something. "I'm sorry," she whispered. He swallowed again and remained silent. "I will go," she said next, resolving as she said it. "I should not have…I am sorry," she said again.

Faramir nodded and held out his hand to help her down the top step. As she reached the bottom she saw his back turned toward her, moving the other way down the wall toward the far staircase, and thence into the gardens to disappear among the trees and bushes. She turned away and hurried back into the Houses, unaware that dawn was just beginning to break over the wall.

The next morning Eowyn awoke stretched across the bed, still wearing her cloak over her nightgown. She slipped it off hurriedly, knowing that if Bithie came in and saw her wearing it she would know immediately where she had been last night. Eowyn put a hand to her forehead and thought about the night before. It all seemed like a dream now, sitting in her cozy room and watching the green buds wave on the tree outside her window. But she knew it was not a dream.

She was so ashamed of what she had forced him to say, and the worst part was that she knew it was the truth. Those were his real feelings, and though she felt he had finally told the truth to someone, she knew that speaking it had hurt him. A lot. She had never come across a man like Faramir; most of the men she knew spoke their feelings all the time, and though some things were more personal, they told them to their closest friends. Faramir, she knew, had probably never told anyone anything as personal as what he had disclosed to her last night.

It made her feel strangely honored that he had spoken so freely to her, yet the more she thought about it, the more ashamed she felt. She had beaten and badgered him until he had nowhere to go but to tell her his darkest emotions. She had had a chance to comfort him, perhaps, or simply befriend him, and she had hurt him even deeper. Eowyn put her head in her hands and moaned in regret.

When Bithie entered the room Eowyn was sitting by the fire, which was burning brightly, and her cloak was folded neatly in its place on the chest. Bithie smiled at her charge and said, "Good morning to you, my lady. I hope you slept peacefully."

Eowyn merely nodded, and though Bithie tried to make her speak, the only words she got from her all morning were one syllable answers to her questions. After the noon meal, for lack of better surroundings, Eowyn found herself walking once more in the garden. It was much warmer than it had been the day before, and Eowyn allowed her cloak to fall apart in the front, revealing a plain doe brown dress. As she walked between the shrubs and early blooms of spring, she tried to forget what had happened in the night and revel in the flowers.

Flowers had never been to her taste, before. Where other women found comfort and purpose in the small acts of growing, weeding, and watering blooming flowers, Eowyn had brushed them off as insignificant, if beautiful, objects. In her experience, it was better to spend all her efforts on growing vegetables and crops. Now, however, as she walked in the gardens, she regretted her former mindset and wished she had spent some time simply growing things for pleasure. Wherever I end up, she thought resolutely, I will try my best to grow flowers.

Her head was bent to the flowers when she turned a corner and ran straight into a man who was stopped and staring into a tree. "Oh, pardon me," she said, looking up and beginning to smile; her smile faded as she recognized Lord Faramir. "Oh…" she said, her eyes darting to the paths around her. "I'm—I'm sorry…" she turned and hurried back down the path she had come up, her face flushing a deep red. Her heart was pounding quickly, mortified that she had met the one man she had wished most never to see again. If only she could escape, even in this undignified manner, she would feel better. Her heart sank, therefore, as she heard him calling her name behind her. She slowed and turned, knowing that his expression would be one of anger or annoyance.

To her surprise, therefore, she saw that he was smiling at her. She blinked and looked again, watching as he walked toward her with his slight limp, his eyes smiling softly. Is he completely insane? She wondered. Does he not remember last night? Before he reached her she clasped her hands and said, "I'm—I'm sorry about last night. I was so wrong to ask you to speak. I of all people should know—"

"You promised you would walk with me. Will you?"

Eowyn blinked again, in surprise and confusion. "Walk with you?" she asked uncertainly. He nodded.

"Yes, the day is very warm." Faramir gestured down the path. "Or would you rather sit?"

Eowyn shook her head and by doing so seemed to shake herself out of her stupor. "Oh, yes, let's walk." As they began walking she tried furiously to piece together his reasons for wishing to once more walk with her. He evidently sensed the need to discuss last night, for after a minute he said, "You were right."

"My Lord?" she asked.

"Please," he stopped suddenly and looked into her eyes. "Call me Faramir."

Eowyn nodded and gave him a half smile. Faramir resumed walking and talking. "You were right," he said, "about telling people you're feelings. About speaking of your problems. I felt terrible when I told you, and for a good long time afterwards, too. But gradually, as the sun rose, I noticed that I felt as if I had finally gotten something off my chest that had been there a very long, long time. So thank you."

Eowyn looked up at him in astonishment. "You're welcome," she said faintly. Then, regaining her conviction, she said, "But I should not have pressed you so. It was very wrong of me."

Faramir stopped and bent to examine a shrub. "Sometimes," he said, looking intently at the leaves, "we need someone to do the wrong thing at the right time, and it makes it the right thing." He stood and smiled at her. "Besides, you are a wild shield maiden, and I can forgive you."

Eowyn's mouth opened slightly as she realized he was joking with her. Was this really the man she had spoken with last night? Perhaps, she thought, he was just acting, and she had just caught him off-guard last night. But as she looked into his eyes she saw that there was still pain in them, and it was not hidden, but there was also real, honest life. You got lucky this time, she told herself. But don't try that approach again. Ever. "Yes," she smiled, "I did say that, didn't I? I was right."

They turned to begin walking again, and Faramir glanced down at her. "The only thing is…I'd rather not talk about it again for a little while," he said.

Eowyn nodded quickly. "Of course!" she answered. "I won't ask you about it again."

As they walked their conversation turned to lighter subjects, and the change since the day before was as night and day. Where before they could not talk of any subject without awkwardness and causing grief, now they discussed many different topics in depth, and there was greater sensitivity in their words, for they had begun to know a little about one another. When they finally tired and turned their steps to go back inside, Eowyn smiled at him and asked if he would be so kind as to meet her again, and to beg forgiveness one more time.

"Lady Eowyn," he said seriously, though in a light tone, "I will be honest with you, for I know honesty and trust will not be misplaced with you. I know the shadow still lies heavy on our hearts, but I have felt more light with you than with any other person in these Houses. I felt as if I was drowning last night, in my grief, and you showed me a tiny glimmer of shore. I know I still have rough waters to encounter, but the shore will grow steadily nearer, of that I am sure. I—now I think I will allow myself to grieve for my brother and father, and you will grieve for your cousin and uncle, I believe. We will teach each other how to grieve."

Eowyn's heart was filled with sorrow at his words, but she saw the truth and hope in them, and nodded. As she turned toward her own room she could not help feeling, for some reason she could not understand, guilty that she had not told him her whole story, as she knew his entire struggle. But some things, she said to herself, are just too personal to be shared.

Thailan watched as Faramir removed his cloak and twisted off his gloves, then sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. For a long moment the only sound was of Thailan puttering with the vials and cups on the table, and then Faramir said slowly, "It's so hard, Thailan."

The younger man looked up in astonishment at the words, evidence of his surprise on his face. Faramir looked up at him and though his lips did not smile, his eyes were soft. "I know, you're not used to me talking. But I think I've just realized—been shown—that I have to talk about it, or it will eat me alive." He shook his head and put it back in his hands. "Even if that makes it a little easier to bear, it's still so hard."

Before Thailan could answer there was a knock on the door, and Thailan opened it to reveal Damla standing in the doorway, smoothing down a few flyaway strands from her neat brown bun. "Faramir!" she smiled as he rose to greet her, "how are you feeling?"

"You managed to get away from your rigorous duties to see me again, have you Damla?" Faramir asked. Damla had had her hands full as one of the overseers of medicine distribution in the Houses and had only visited Faramir once since the time Aragorn told him of his father's death. She nodded and sank into a chair.

"It's been a madhouse, Faramir, an absolute madhouse. How are you feeling?" she asked abruptly, sitting up straight. "Everything healing alright? No infections, fevers, sores, headaches, bruises—"

"After being in battle I think it's a little unreasonable to ask for no bruises, sores, or headaches," Faramir smiled, "but everything else is fine. Nothing unnatural or too painful. I am being taken very good care of."

"If your Lordship will excuse me." Thailan's voice startled Faramir and Damla, and they turned toward him. Faramir nodded and Thailan left the room. As soon as the door was shut Damla leaned forward. "Do you like him, Fama? I can find someone else if he is not doing his job well enough." Damla's usual blunt style didn't surprise Faramir, but he shook his head.

"Thailan is a good man," he said, "and he is good at what he does. I—he's been a good companion, too." Damla sighed and dropped her eyes to the fire; Faramir leaned forward and took her hand. "Don't be harsh with him, Damla. I ordered him to tell me."

Damla's shoulders sagged and she shook her head numbly. "I'm so, so sorry Fama. I didn't want you to know so soon."

"It was worse not knowing," he said softly. "Although—when I found out what—how—it was almost worse than what I had been imagining."

Damla felt a tear trickle down her face and she wiped it away callously. "He loved you, Fama. He wasn't in his right mind."

Faramir nodded and rubbed his temple. "I know. It seems so odd, but I know he loved me. I keep telling myself that I'm just trying to make myself feel better, but that's not it." He stood and leaned his arm against the fireplace. "I woke up, back when it happened, and I saw his face. I thought it was just another illusion of a dream, but it wasn't. It was real, I can feel it. I was lying on the ground and I could not feel my body for pain and fever, but I saw his face and his eyes looked right at me. All he said was, 'Faramir,' before I passed out again, but in just that one word and that glance I saw that he was—sorry for what he'd done. I think he was in his right mind at the very end. And I know he loved me." Faramir swallowed and fell silent.

Damla wiped more tears away from her eyes and stood to place her hand on his shoulder. "It's—it's good that you're telling me," she said gently. He nodded.

"I've learned in the last twenty-four hours that it will do no good to bottle it up. Damla, I want to serve my country again, and I want to serve my King, should he return. I don't want to be hurting and grieving for the rest of my days, and people were given mouths and tongues for a reason."

Damla wrapped her arms around Faramir and they spoke for some time more of memories and times of old, of Boromir and of Denethor. Now that Faramir's tongue was loosened his tears were too, and he wept with Damla, unashamed of his emotions for one of the first times in his life. As evening descended and Damla reluctantly turned to leave, she said, "Oh, Fama—it seems the Lady of Rohan is moving into the small room next to you. Apparently she requested a room in the East wing, and her things are being moved there now. Perhaps you should try to speak with her. She seems very cold and distant, but you might find her company pleasant…I do not know."

Faramir glanced out the window swiftly and then back at Damla. "Thank you, Dami. I'll try to speak with her."

Notes: Now, don't all of you start panicking and trying to hunt me down because of my suddenly-honest Faramir. He is still the same introverted, introspective, intriguing--and whatever other 'in's you'd like to add--young man. I do think he shared his feelings, however. I see no evidence in Tolkien's works that he kept everything shut up all the time--indeed, he was quite startlingly honest at points.