Notes: Again, thank you for all the reviews. I can't believe this story is almost over...it seems like I just started posting it. In my moments of weakness I almost convince myself to continue it, but then I go back and read the ending, and I know I can't add any more. It just wouldn't...fit. But maybe, if I feel motivated and get inspired, I'll write a sequel. Maybe. In any case, it will be a while before that happens.
I am so, so, so glad that you are all feeling the tedium of Eowyn's days weighing on her. This story is a Faramir story, but the more I wrote about Eowyn the more I fell in love with her. I'm so glad you all sympathize with her.
To tell the truth, I myself am an angst fan. I tried to squelch it, because I know it doesn't make very good writing (usually), but a few angsty moment snuck in nonetheless. The next chapter in particular: if you like angst, look forward to the next chapter.
Chapter Seventeen: Leavetaking
The door slammed behind Faramir; he had unconsciously put more strength into shutting it that he had intended. For a second he was surprised that his strength had returned so fully, but he dismissed the thought and his mind returned to the emotions that tormented him.
So he loved her. That was as clear as it could be, for Faramir could not hide his own heart from his perception, even as he could not help seeing other men's thoughts. He knew his gift of perception was just that, and not the curse he so often wished to call it, but still he felt discontent. If only he could have kept himself ignorant to his own feelings just a little longer, just until he was out of these Houses. For go he would, and tomorrow, if they would let him. No, he decided. Even if they would not let him, he would go. It was time, healed or not, for him to assume authority, even if it was just for a short while. The Lords would be feasting and celebrating for a length of time, but the city had much to do to prepare for the King's return.
Faramir paused and leaned both hands against the windowsill. Even with his thoughts in such turmoil over Eowyn, he still could not help feeling the joy of those words. 'The return of the King'…there was a sense of peace about such words, and Faramir felt a tingling excitement at the thought of the restoration that was in store for Gondor with Aragorn's return. The times would be difficult, but he had worked so hard for so long, and without even any real goal in sight or any fruits being born of his work that he felt this effort would be worth it. There would be something tangible and rewarding about working under and beside his King.
Faramir's head bowed at the thought of Eowyn, who was perhaps one of the only souls who did not find joy in the thought of the King's return. He wondered exactly what had passed between them—more than likely it was only on her part, and there had been no real feelings between them, but he could not be sure. Perhaps Aragorn had given Eowyn reason to hope, and then had slighted her? Somehow, Faramir could not picture that, but it was possible. Eowyn had seemed so hopeless and tightly shut—as if she was afraid of being hurt or shunned again, so she would not trust her heart to anyone else.
"Oh Eowyn," he said out loud, leaning his head against the window frame, "You don't know how much I could never hurt you."
He stood for a long moment, seeming lost in his thoughts; he dwelled long upon the memory of Eowyn standing beside him in his mother's cloak, and he knew she was, to him, the most beautiful woman alive. Yet there was something beyond her physical beauty that amazed him and left him breathless. She was filled with sorrow much of the time, but there was something about her that was untouchable. It was as if she was made of some very strong metal which might be bent, but could never be broken.
He turned from the window resolutely and began pacing again. This time he forced himself away from the thoughts that tore at his heart and dwelled instead on the repairs and restoration of the city. He would speak with the Warden tonight, and tomorrow morning he would leave these houses with a purpose and once more a job to do. He would leave behind everything he had lost here—all the tragedies and sorrow of his father and brother. From henceforth he would carry their memories with him, but their haunting, painful ghosts, he resolved, would be left here. Yet, as he paused to look once more out the window, he realized that he would leave not only the sorrow he had found here, he would also leave the joy he had found, for she would not be moved—not for all his love.
Faramir sat stiffly, touching his stomach unconsciously, as if by touching it he could ease himself down better. The pain was not really that bad anymore, but the action had become a habit of his. He looked around himself absently, taking in the colors and objects in the little room with only half his attention. The Warden had a surprisingly tidy and tastefully decorated living space—at least as far as Faramir could see—and shelves lined with books stood up against one wall. Faramir had expected as much, from the promptness with which Thailan had returned with the books he requested. He stood now, touching his stomach again in the process, and looked over the books. Most of them were worn and the binding was falling apart, but here and there were scattered newer books. Faramir ran his fingertips over the titles lightly, a smile lighting up his eyes. It seemed that no matter how tumultuous his thoughts were his mind could be diverted by books.
He stopped near the end of the shelf and pulled a book out. It was thin and the title was almost completely worn off, but Faramir's eyes brightened even more as he opened the cover. "I have not seen a copy of this since…" his voice trailed off as he touched the writing on the inside.
He turned at the sound behind him to see the Warden smiling at him. He was a tall, spare man, with big hands and long bones; his cheeks were hollow, but his face had a healthy, robust look. His eyes were almost always twinkling, and the somber colored robes he wore marked a stark contrast to his jovial spirit. Now he nodded to Faramir and said, "I know you are a great reader, my Lord. Have you never read that one?"
Faramir shut the book reverently and replaced it. "No," he said with a smile of his own. "My father had a copy, but I never had a chance to read it." The Warden nodded again and came into the room. He gestured to the chair where Faramir had previously been seated. "Won't you have a seat, my Lord?"
Faramir sat down, removing his hand from his stomach as he saw the Warden looking at him. He ducked his head and answered the Warden's unspoken question. "It's almost completely healed—more of a habit than anything else."
The Warden smiled. "You wish to leave, do you not?" he asked, surprising Faramir with his bluntness. "I suppose you feel completely better?"
"No," Faramir answered, shifting in his seat. "To be honest, my shoulder is still quite sore, and so are the bruises and burns. But there is no alternative now, and I am sure after a few days they will be completely healed." He hesitated, and seeing that the Warden kept his silence, he continued, "The city needs a leader. And now that the King is returning, it is my duty to ready the city for his coming." Faramir spoke with respect, but there was a note of command in his voice, and the Warden knew he would leave in the morning with or without his consent.
"It is your choice, my Lord," the Warden said slowly. "You are not yet as fully healed as I had wished, but there is truth in what you say. The city will need a leader now, and there is no man more suited for the job than you, if you will allow me to say it. Only do one thing for me."
"What is that?" Faramir asked, leaning forward.
"Please promise me that you will take adequate rest and not strain your healing muscles. A difficult request, no doubt, but I pray you to think of the people and the return of the King. It is still possible, at this stage, to relapse."
Faramir saw the wisdom in his words and nodded. "I will follow your advice. You are right—the healers tell me my fever was largely due to strain and insufficient rest, and while I do not know that it could have been avoided then, I will try to follow your instructions now." He rose and bowed his head. "Thank you, Lord Warden."
As he made his way to the door the Warden suddenly stood and stopped him with his words. "My Lord," he said, and Faramir turned at the door. The Warden hesitated and made an impatient gesture with his large hand. "There is one other matter I wish to discuss with you."
Faramir reentered the room and stopped by the bookshelves. "What is that?" he asked with some confusion.
"It is—it is the matter of Lady Eowyn," the Warden said in his usual blunt manner, and he hurried on before Faramir could speak. "You will not think that I have been unaware of the friendship you have struck up while you both resided in these houses, and I freely admit that I am delighted at it. For her sake, especially, I am glad—I will not pretend to you that her health was not of concern to me, at the beginning. It is a dangerous thing, when one loses the will to live, and I tell you now that I believe you played no small part in restoring her to health."
"What of it?" Faramir asked, but though his words were curt his voice was so soft that the Warden did not feel any sting in them.
"I pray you will forgive my boldness in speaking my mind, but it seems to me that there has grown a great affection, and dare I say even a tenderness between you? Do not mistake me, my Lord," he said quickly as he saw Faramir's eyebrows rise, "the friendship is your affair and not mine, but I will say that it gives me joy also to see the tenderness with which you treat her. She has had, as I gather, some rough times, and it has done her much good to have the friendship and attention of a man such as yourself. But, my Lord, I will say plainly that I fear with your leaving, her will for life may leave her also, and that would be a sorrow to me and many others."
Faramir crossed his arm across his chest, ignoring the slight pulling of his burns. "You see far, Warden, and what you say is insightful. I pray that your fears will be disproved—but should they come to pass, what would you have me do?"
"You cannot alter your plans for the Lady, my Lord, and you cannot continue to dwell in these houses and spend your time lightly with her. However, I would ask that, should I see any change in her and her health, you would look favorably on a message from me and respond quickly."
Faramir nodded slowly. "If all houses could have the care of these, and all patients could have the watchful eyes of the Warden on them, the ill and wounded would be far fewer," he said. "If you choose to contact me, you can be assured that I will come." He looked into the Warden's eyes for a moment, and he knew that the Warden with his practiced gaze had guessed the secret of his own heart—that he loved the White Lady and would do anything for her. Yet the Warden turned his eyes away, as if in submission and with a respect for Faramir's feelings that Faramir had not expected. "I will send medicines with you, my Lord," he said. "I know you will apply them faithfully."
Faramir bowed his head again, and with a word of parting he turned and left the Warden's quarters and returned to his room with a strange peace filling his heart.
The next morning Eowyn slept until the sun was high in the sky. She awoke to the sound of persistent tapping, and she lay on her back staring at the ceiling for a long time, trying to figure out what it was. Finally, unable to stand it anymore, she threw the covers off and went to the window. At first she did not see anything, but after glancing around her eyes followed her ears to the sound and she saw a man hammering nails into a wooden structure out in the garden. He was building new benches, she realized, and then she smiled at the thought that the gardens were in sore need of them.
She turned back to look at the rumpled bedclothes and the fire that had burned to ashes during the night. She had secured the door, not wishing to be woken by Bithie again, and the fire had consequently been allowed to burn out. But she was not cold, for there was a new warmth to the air ever since the day before. At that thought she felt her cheeks flush, and she knew a tingling excitement at the freedom of the thought that the Dark Lord was no more. The feeling was odd, for she had not felt it for a long time—not even the day before—but now she was thrilled at the thought of the life she might begin, and foremost in her thoughts was Faramir, and the new pleasures they would observe together from these houses.
She went to the door and unlocked it, poking her head out into the corridor in hopes that Bithie would be there. She was not, and Eowyn closed the door again, confident that she would come soon. She went to the fireplace and stirred the coals with the tongs, but as there was nothing to feed it with she could not start it again. She went next to the pitcher and wash basin in the corner and washed her face and hands, feeling the water touch her skin with cold but alive fingers. She laughed as she dried herself off with the towel, and the sound was so new and different to her that she paused and lowered the towel. The woman reflected in the mirror stared back at her, her eyes large and bright in the glowing face. Eowyn lifted a hand to touch her hair and ran her fingers through the locks. Today, she decided, I want my hair to be flowing and free, like the way I feel right now.
Still surprised at the lightness of heart she felt, she went to the closet and chose the red gown. It took her a length of time to fasten the buttons and get all the stays and folds right, but eventually she surveyed herself in the mirror with admiration. She rarely wore red, but she thought that perhaps she would begin to do so more, now. Then, picking up the brush, she brushed her hair with swift, steady strokes until it fell over her shoulders as soft as the silky threads in corn, and almost as pale. Then she sat down to await her breakfast.
Bithie did not come until the sun was past the highest point in the sky and had begun crawling downwards. Eowyn had tried to do needlework, and had spent an hour watching the man building benches outside her window, but eventually she resorted to sitting on the chair by the fire. As Bithie entered at last, bearing a tray of food, Eowyn looked up with an annoyed expression. "Has there been much more work to do, today?" she asked, not trying to keep the edge of disapproval out of her voice. Bithie set the tray on the table with a harsh clatter and turned to make the bed.
"No more than usual, my Lady. Why do you ask?" Eowyn knew from the maid's voice that she was angry with her, though she could never say it outright. Before she could reply Bithie went on, "You'd better eat…all that sleeping can give you quite an appetite."
Eowyn had no response, so she simply went and sat at the table to eat. Bithie's mood cast a slight shadow on her, but the joy she felt inside was overwhelming, and she thought that nothing could disturb it today. The fruit and bread was the best she had ever had in these houses, she was sure, and she smiled as she poured herself more of the sweetest water on earth. "Bithie," she said at last, as the maid bustled about, "Is it not a beautiful day?"
Bithie shrugged and patted the bed one last time. "Oh, I forgot," she said, still with a bit of annoyance in her voice. "The Lord Faramir was asking after you this morning. When I told him you were asleep he said to bid you farewell, for him."
"What?" Eowyn's voice was sharp, and she felt something plummet in her stomach. "Farewell—what did he mean?"
Bithie shook her head. "He left this morning, my Lady—to return to his house and take up command of the city. He is not yet completely healed, but the Warden gave him permission to leave yesterday. He is now gone."
Eowyn launched herself out of her chair. "Why didn't you come and tell me…I was sitting here for hours!"
"Your Ladyship saw fit to lock the door," Bithie said tartly, "and he was long gone by the time you had unlocked it." She turned and picked up some soiled cloth that needed to be washed. "I am sorry, my Lady, truly. But he thought of you before he went." She left Eowyn in the room alone, shutting the door quietly behind her.
Eowyn could not move. Had she really just felt happy and carefree only seconds before? Her stomach felt like a brick, and the weight of the food she had just eaten was not only unpleasant, it was almost unbearable. Faramir was gone. She could not stop her mind from going to that thought over and over again. He had left, and he was not going to be there for her anymore. The thought stung worse than anything she had felt before, and she didn't know why. Eru, she thought, I don't even know why! He has made no pledge to me! He is nothing to me!
But it was not true. Her heart, fickle and deceptive, had opened itself to his smiles and his words, and she had tentatively begun to trust and even love him. When? When had it happened? She asked herself the question as she stood in the middle of the floor, staring at the door where Bithie had gone. Was it while they had strolled in the garden? Was it when he had wrapped his hand, strong and firm, around her own and guided her movements with the pen? Aragorn had never been so caring, so open. A thousand images flew through her mind, and she suddenly covered her face with her hands. She had been such a fool, thinking that she was still in love with Aragorn, and that her heart was too broken to ever love again. How could she have thought she would not fall for Faramir?
She did not blame him, as she would have in the past. He had been nothing but sweet and kind to her, helping her through her trials and treating her gently. What had he received from her? She recalled her words in the garden when they first met, about how she was a shield maiden and her hands were rough. How true they had been! He had given of himself to help her mend and heal, and she had done nothing but suck in his gifts until they had run dry. Worse, she who had thought she had loved truly and purely and had been slighted wrongly now saw that her love had not really existed—not true love, at least. If she could so easily forget the lesson her heart had learned was she not as flighty and heartless as any common whore?
She felt the sobs rising in her breast before they came out, grudgingly. It was strange to feel the wetness on her cheeks and be unable to stop the heaving of her breast. But there was no other way to face the pain of his parting, the disappointment of her hopes, and the anger she felt toward herself.
Notes: I'm sorry that this chapter was so short; the next one will be longer, I promise. Now tell me what you think! I know there are some people who take the view that Eowyn truly did not know her heart until Faramir came to her, but you will see how my version all fits together. I promise. And to some extent, she's still hiding from herself.
Next Chapter:
The rooms were all dark as he opened doors, and he quickly shut them. He didn't know what secrets this house lodged, but he had no wish to find them out alone, in the deepening gloom. Finally, a little way from the main hall, he opened a door to find a single taper burning on a desk situated in the middle of the room, and he paused. The candle was burning low, and the light flickered slightly in the draft from the open door; Thailan could see paper spread out over the desk and a bottle of ink sitting open. The young man opened the door a little wider and entered, his eyes caught on the papers. The writing on them was dark against the crisp whiteness of the paper, and the desk was like a pool of light in the middle of the dark room. Thailan's eyes caught on the first paragraph of the writing, and he leaned one leg on the chair that had been pulled out as he read...