Notes: Thanks you so much for all the reviews…every time I get a new one I remember why I write! Oh, and since some people were asking, I've sort of been blending movie and book canon and adding some of my own stuff. Just so you know.

I'm sorry if this chapter seems a little eclectic and scattered--there are some important things that happen in this chapter, and yet I can't help thinking it seems a bit disjointed. Sorry about that! The next chapter, however, is one of my absolute favorites, so if this chapter disheartens you, just hang on until next week.

Chapter Thirteen: High and Mighty

The next morning Faramir met Eowyn in the gardens again. He walked up to see her blowing her breath out and watching the cloud of frosty air melt away. He paused for a brief moment, noticing how her shoulders arched delicately under her cloak and how she tossed her hair to keep it out of her face. "Does it fascinate you so?" he finally asked, and she turned with a slight blush.

"I've always enjoyed seeing my breath," she smiled. "Ever since I was a child." She hesitated and then shrugged. "It is a bit childish, but I suppose I am discovered."

Faramir smiled again and nodded. "I am happy to be the one to discover you," he said. They turned their gaze to the garden and the sky, speaking of growing things and small animals. Eowyn was ashamed at how much more the man beside her knew of plants, and she tried to hide her embarrassment. Yet he never commented on her lack of knowledge, even when she tried to defend herself.

The garden formed a large L shape around the north and east wings on the building, laid out somewhat sporadically, but following a loose pattern of lines of trees followed by beds of flowers and benches set amongst grassy lawns. Eowyn imaged that in the late spring and summer the garden was an oasis of beauty and comfort, for even now it was pleasant. They followed a path around the corner of the building and their footsteps led them aimlessly toward a gate that stood open. A short flight of stone steps followed by a few cobblestones led them onto the street, and Faramir laughed softly. "We have escaped," he said ruefully. "Unwittingly and inadvertently, we are free of our prison."

Eowyn smiled too, but his words stirred something inside of her that was held tightly. She knew there was no way of escape, and now she was unsure she even wanted to leave, but standing on the cold stones and seeing the city spread out in front of her still made her blood rush. "We should run," she said, forcing humor to push down the painful feelings, "and get out before they catch us."

"A good long way we would get," Faramir smiled. "I doubt we could outrun even ancient Ioreth in our conditions. No, I suppose we will just have to wait it out." They were turning to reenter the gardens when a shout alerted them to the street and they turned back in time to see two young boys running toward them. The younger one picked up several rocks and began pelting the other with them. The boy was too nimble to be harmed by the stones, but it was clear the younger was furious.

"Ricah you dog!" he yelled, his voice rising in anger, "Run, why don't you? You better run!"

"Why run?" the boy called Ricah answered, ducking as a stone whistled past his ear. "You couldn't hit a mumakil at ten yards!"

The younger boy picked up more stones and began throwing them in greater fury, getting closer to the Houses of Healing. Faramir stepped forward and tried to catch Ricah by the collar, but the boy, sensing the danger, danced away. Faramir acted fast, and the boy was in his hands in a minute. He turned toward the younger boy just in time to catch a stone in his shoulder. At his wince Ricah managed to get loose, and he tackled the other boy, sending the two of the rolling head over heels. Faramir was on top of them in a minute, and before Eowyn could see what was happening, he had one boy in each hand.

"Let me go!" the stone-thrower yelled, clearly the more vocal of the two. "I didn't mean to hit you!"

"It's not me that you have wronged," Faramir said in a tone that Eowyn at first thought was cold. "Why don't you tell me for what reason you were pelting this young man with rocks."

"Aw, none of your business," the boy said loudly. Faramir shook his collar roughly and glared at him. "You were throwing rocks on a crowded street," he said in the same tone, "and for that reason I demand to know what offense this boy has done you. The sooner you tell me," he reminded him, "the sooner I will let you go."

The boy glared up at him defiantly, and Faramir glanced back at Eowyn. "Come," he said, "Why don't we sit." He pulled the boys over to the curb and they sat grudgingly, the larger beside the smaller. Both had large, brown eyes that looked too big in their dirty faces. Their clothing looked as if it had once been clean and well-kept, but had sprung holes and been caked with dirt just recently. Faramir knew at once, looking at them so closely, that they were brothers.

"Why don't you tell me what your names are and where you live, first," he said. "You—" he pointed at the elder, "speak first."

The boy looked sideways at the younger and shrugged. "I'm Ricah," he said matter-of-factly. "We lived—live in the third level."

Faramir looked at the younger boy who made a face and said, "Kamir."

Faramir crossed his arms and nodded. "Now, you are brothers?"

Ricah nodded. "Yes," he said. He glanced at his brother. "We weren't harming nobody, and we're sorry for throwing stones, right?" His last word was directed at his brother and full of force. Kamir nodded silently. Ricah nudged his brother quickly and said, "Thank you sir, bye!"

Faramir caught their shirts as they bolted past him and turned them around again. "Hold on just a minute," he said sternly, and then he bent down to their level, kneeling on the stones. His voice turned soft suddenly, and Eowyn had a hard time hearing him without leaning closer.

"Where are your parents?" he asked gently, his grip loosening as the boys' faces alternately clouded over and then toughened.

"Some place," Ricah said. Faramir sensed at once the lie, but he also knew why the lad was lying to him. If it was known that they had no parents, something would have to be done, and Faramir could understand their fear. He searched Ricah's face intently, trying to let the boy know he would not harm him.

"You have nothing to fear," he said softly, "but I must know where your parents are." At their continued silence, he added, "Trust me."

Kamir suddenly bowed his head and blurted out, "Mother died last year from the fever, and father fell when he went to Osgiliath with Captain Faramir." Ricah shoved his brother, his eyes snapping with fury, but Kamir looked up into Faramir's face hopefully. He was not done. "We've been living in our house, but we don't have anything to eat. We came up here to look for something." Kamir's dirty face scrunched up and he said, "Do you have anything?"

Faramir leaned back on his feet and wiped a hand across his forehead. "Your father died on the outer posts?"

Ricah nodded resignedly. "He rode out and told us to be good until he got back, but he never came home. We waited in the house for a long time, but finally we had to leave."

Faramir stood and Eowyn saw that his eyes were soft and bright. "There is no place for the children who have lost their parents to stay right now," he said, "but I am sure we can find room in these Houses. Come with me—we will find you something to eat, as well."

Ricah looked uncertainly at Kamir, but the younger brother grinned and stepped forward trustingly. "Come on, Ricah," he said in a half whisper. "We can stay here."

Ricah shrugged and followed his brother and Faramir toward the Houses, seeming to give in to the thought of a full stomach. At the gate Faramir stopped and smiled apologetically at Eowyn. "Forgive me," he spoke. "This will only take a minute."

Eowyn nodded and beckoned the boys in through the gate. "I will be waiting," she said.

When Faramir came back out into the garden, Eowyn was waiting on a bench under a tree which was shuddering to open its buds. She looked up as he came and smiled. As Faramir watched her smiling at him as he walked he suddenly thought that it didn't seem right somehow—her smile seemed too forced and did not quite fit her face. She was forcing herself to smile, and he knew that if she had the impulse to smile naturally, her smile would be quite different. It would be beautiful.

"You found them something to eat?" she asked as he came and lowered himself onto the bench with a sigh. He nodded.

"I gave them into the care of one of the elderly women. She looked cross at first, but she was only bluffing; she fell in love with them and will take excellent care of them."

Eowyn pulled her cloak tighter about herself. "The poor things…it's terrible to lose both your mother and your father so close together." She fell silent, thinking about her own parents. She didn't really want to speak further on the subject, for though she had spoken freely with Faramir a few nights ago, she had lost the feelings that had driven her that night. Yet she did understand what the boys were going through—to some extent. Now that she thought about it honestly, the boys had it worse than she did, for she had had her uncle to care for her. They had no one.

"I wasn't aware that there were any children left in the city," Faramir said reflectively. "There are young men left behind to serve, but those boys could not have been more than…six and eight. They should have left with the women."

Eowyn shrugged. "Their father did not want to part with them, no doubt," she said. "Though that was not very wise on his part, I'll admit."

Faramir lowered his head until his forehead rested against his fist. "They remind me of my brother and me, though we were not so close in age."

He paused, but Eowyn sensed it was not a pause that conveyed his reluctance to go on, but only that he was unsure his audience would appreciate his words. Eowyn folded her arms across her chest and said, "You threw stones at each other often?"

Faramir's eyes flashed to Eowyn's face and he gave her a smile that for some reason stopped her heart. "No," he said with a laugh somewhere in his voice, "but there was one time when I was convinced the guards were going to attack and kill me. I can't even remember where that irrational fear came from, but one afternoon Boromir and I decided to do something about it. He was only ten at the time, for it was soon after my mother died, and he hardly knew any better." Faramir paused and shook his head.

"What did you do?" Eowyn asked, curiosity stirring.

"We ambushed the poor man," Faramir answered. "Boromir held him, being the bigger one, and I whacked at him with a great, large stick I found. We couldn't do him much harm, but he was so startled I think it took him a few minutes to realize who his attackers were and react to them. He escaped Boromir within minutes, and had us by the collars before I knew what was happening. I thought for sure we would be punished miserably for out actions, but we never were."

Eowyn raised her eyebrows. "Was your father so lenient, then?"

Faramir shook his head. "No, my father was very strict. But the guard never told a soul, and after that day I realized that the guards, by and large, were my friends and protectors." He laughed wryly and fell silent. Finally he said, "It's easier to talk about him than I expected."

Eowyn glanced over at him, and to her surprise she saw him looking back at her. They both looked away abruptly, and she answered, "Sometimes it surprises me, too, how I can remember such good times with so little pain."

Faramir watched a maid open a second-story window and shake a blanket out in the fresh air, her arms pumping up and down to toss the dirt out of the folds. She had dark blonde hair and was dressed in plain gray, but from this distance Faramir thought she could pass for a princess. A princess of a foreign land, he thought. And how much do I know about the princess sitting next to me? he wondered. She had poured her words out to him, that night when he learned about his father, but there had been something lacking in her speech. He had noticed it even while he was so dark and cold inside, and now, in the light of day, he realized that though what she had said was no doubt true, it had lacked heart. She hadn't really told him her emotions and thoughts as she saw them, but only as she wanted them to be seen.

"Lady Eowyn," he said haltingly, "Why did you leave to fight?"

Eowyn's head turned, but he was waiting and their eyes met. She looked away almost immediately, but not before he saw what she was hiding. Shame. He saw the emotion that perhaps even she knew little about and regretted his question. She sat up straighter and shrugged. "Sometimes I ask myself that question," she answered guardedly. "I'd rather not talk about it." There, she thought with some satisfaction, he's not the only one who can be blunt.

Faramir resisted the urge to press her further, for he saw the look of pain in her eyes. He wondered how he could have possibly been blind enough, in the past few days, to not see that she was hurting. He had been consumed with his own grief, but now that he was confronted with hers he had an inexplicable desire to help her, yet he didn't know how.

Eowyn rose, feeling the awkwardness of the pause, and stood uncertainly, fidgeting with her cloak. For the first time in years, Faramir felt something deep in his pulse, as if it was part of his blood…a feeling that he couldn't quite explain, yet seemed the most understandable thing he had ever felt. He watched her eyes move, set in her thin face and high forehead, toward the Houses where the maid was now gone. For one fleeting moment he wanted to plant a kiss on her brow, right above her eyebrow, but he recoiled from the impropriety of the thought. He stood quickly and touched her arm.

"Lady Eowyn," he said softly, "I should not have pressed you. Forgive me—it was very unkind of me."

Eowyn turned to face him, and there was a fine veil in front of her eyes, though whether it hid pain or another emotion, he didn't know. She tilted her head and her eyes grew a shade darker; Faramir thought he could sense a little bit of hostility. "I know you have made hurried decisions, Lord Faramir," she said stiffly, but with an honesty that Faramir appreciated, "perhaps even some unwise ones. You know how uncomfortable it is to speak of those decisions and the actions that came of them, even if they did turn out all right in the end. You will agree, no doubt, that the end does not justify the means—my actions, whatever change they affected in the end, were not necessarily the right ones. So I'd rather not speak of them, just yet, or the people and feelings that led me to make them."

Faramir had nothing to say in response, so he simply nodded and bowed his head slightly. Eowyn returned the nod and with a short, "Good day, my Lord," returned to the Houses. As she entered the dwelling, rubbing her hands which had grown stiff with the cold, she shook her head as if to rid it of the thoughts which troubled her. She smiled inwardly at her words, which had silenced him well enough. If she did not want to talk about it—and by everything she did not want to talk about it—she did not have to, and he needed to know that. High and mighty Lord, he was, directing all the affairs of others, putting on airs and ordering people to talk when he wished them, and listen when he wanted them to. Well she would not play to his tune, not by any stretch!

By the time Eowyn reached her room, which she remembered suddenly was now in the east wing, she had realized her thoughts were completely wrong. As much as she wanted to think of him in that way, she knew he was not a high and mighty Lord, and he was not trying to control her. He was simply interested in her and wanted her to be free to divulge her feelings like he had to her. She knew, too, of the difference in their speeches that night—hers had been detailed, no doubt, but her heart had been miles away. She had spoken little of her feelings, and those weren't the ones that had really driven her. But Faramir had spoken briefly and brokenly, pouring his feelings so effectively into his few words that she had been startled by his honesty.

Eowyn pushed the door open and felt a rush of gratefulness at the warm fire greeting her numb cheeks with warmth and the steaming beverage on the table. Well, no matter what his intentions were, he would still get no tale from her. Some things just had to be private, and she was not about to go telling some man she had only known for a few days all about her love and desire for Aragorn and the hopelessness of her present situation.

Late in the afternoon Faramir went to visit Tirinion, as much to see the man again as to remove his mind from his struggles and failure to convey himself in the right way to Lady Eowyn. He found the ranger sitting up and looking far better than the last time he had seen him. He, too, was in much better condition, and Tirinion commented on it as soon as he saw him.

"Captain!" he cried, his eyes lighting up, "Thou lookest very well indeed. What medicine are they giving to thee that they withhold from me?"

Faramir laughed and took the hand Tirinion proffered. "That would be the medicine of fresh, crisp wind and warm sunshine," he said. "I have been in the garden every day for the past three days and counting." He smiled warmly at his ranger, trying to convey some of the respect he felt for him. "Pretty soon you, too, will be up and walking about the gardens."

Tirinion smiled at his captain, and Faramir saw a great deal of the pain he had seen there before still in his eyes. "Aye, we shall walk. The healers say my lame leg will be up for exercise in two days, but I doubt I will be walking far with thee, Captain. Not for many moons yet."

Faramir shrugged and leaned closer. "It is hard to have no change of scenery, and nothing to do," he said softly. "Forgive me for not coming sooner." Faramir's thoughts fell to Eowyn and the walks they had been enjoying, and though he knew she needed his company, too, he was ashamed at how much he had been preoccupied with her and had neglected his men. Tirinion brushed his apology away and his brown eyes were sincere as he said, "Thou hast no obligation to visit me, my Lord."

"None but the obligation and privilege of a friend," Faramir insisted. Then leaning back, he assumed a tired tone. "They coddle me far too much, I think. Hot drinks whenever I want them or don't want them, forcing food down my throat, piling blankets on me…it is enough to drive a man insane."

Tirinion seemed glad to speak of something else. "After the battlefield," he agreed, "It's a shock. They say 'tis to speed the healing, but I think it might aye make the healing slower to be addled by their fussing. And this business of not letting me get up—why, I could have been up days ago."

Faramir and Tirinion continued to speak of the Houses until Tirinion suddenly leaned forward with a strange light in his eyes and asked, "Captain, is it true that the Lady of Rohan and thee have been walking together? I overheard the maids saying that the Lady and thyself have become great friends. What is she like—the Wraithslayer?"

Faramir was startled at the title Tirinion put to her, for over the past few days he had grown so accustomed to her he had all but forgotten her status as slayer of the Witch-King. He nodded, however and felt his ears burn a little at the thought that they were the subject of servant gossip. "Yes," he said, "I have been speaking with the Lady, and we have shared the garden. She is very lonely, here in a strange city, and has agreed to walk with me." Faramir ignored the smile Tirinion could not hide, hoping the gossip would soon end, but knowing enough to be sure it would not. "Well," he said wryly, "you may as well tell me what other gossip you know, for you will have heard it much earlier than I, if I hear it at all."

For the next few minutes Faramir and Tirinion talked of the news in the Houses, and then Tirinion asked about the affairs at the Black Gate, to which inquiries Faramir was able to relate a few details but not many. Faramir bid him goodbye soon after, as he was determined to speak with other rangers who had survived and were still in the Houses. As he stood, Tirinion grasped his arm and their eyes locked. "My Lord Captain," Tirinion said seriously, "I wish thee to know that thou art an example to me, for thy spirits are hale and though I know thou art still in shock, thy mind is firmly resolved to heal the wounds."

Tirinion's heartfelt words cut Faramir to the heart, and he nodded swiftly. "We have both suffered beyond what I thought possible," he said in a strained voice, "but we owe it to Gondor and to each other to recover. Rest well, my friend."

Tirinion simply nodded as Faramir turned away and began speaking with the men beside him.

Notes: Let me know your thoughts!