"Faramir! Faramir come, wake up.."
With a startled groan and decidedly half-hearted bat at the hand that shook his shoulder, Gondor's Steward pried open one gritty eye and found all his vision filled by a fresh faced Lothiriel. She stood, head bent sideways, smock and headrail neatly starched, sporting a puzzled frown and looking a little ominously like their aunt.
"Thiri, leave me be," he grumbled. "It is not dawn yet."
Not dawn and far too early to face the shining countenance of his little cousin. Although why ever it should be she to wake him up, he did not understand. With a grimace at the twinge in his stiffened shoulder, he tried to yank the coverlet higher up. He really should not think of Lothiriel as little anymore: she was a woman grown and had a correspondingly strong grip.
That was annoyingly not letting go. "Faramir, honestly. You cannot sleep here."
The shaking intensified. It was most uncomfortable and to make matters worse the bed was suddenly hard as rock and the room too chill. The fire must have gone out. Thinking he must ask Bergil to lay in more wood, Faramir tucked his head back down, blocking the wan torch light.
"Peace, cousin. I need to rest."
That brought a derisive snort. "You need to move. And wash. You smell like Erchhiron after a night at the Broken Spar."
Smell? Both Faramir's eyes cracked open in surprise. Before him Lothiriel stood, arms akimbo and nose wrinkled in distaste, quite plainly not in his bedroom and not beside his bed. He levered up and sat, the blue mantle puddling at his waist, blinking in the muddy grey of dawn.
This was the Houses' forecourt. A silent inventory ascertained that his head felt thick and his tongue felt as if he had licked a cat. Success! He had slept without the blasted drug and Morgoth's balls, he hadn't dreamt it! The brandy had knocked him out eventually. It simply took an entire bottle to do the trick.
His face broke into a grin. "Valar Thiri, you have no idea how relieved I am it was you that found me."
"And not Aunt Rini?" Her slight moue of consternation spread into a grin. "You are a lucky man Faramir, she would have blistered your ears and then tied you to your bed. She is just instructing Arran for the day and actually not that far behind My lips are sealed."
A black eyebrow raised as she eyed the relief on his face quite thoughtfully. "Missing someone?"
Valar, Lothiriel was too smart by half. He turned and scanned the court quickly but there was no lily-fair co-conspirator to be found. Or bottle for that matter. He flexed his fingers and ran them back through his tousled hair. Bless you Éowyn. She clearly understood the need for circumspection. '
"No, " Faramir said. "I seem to be quite alone."
"Yes and the only patient to choose a bench over a perfectly good bed." Lothiriel tsked as she stooped to get a hand under his good elbow. Reluctantly, he unfolded his long legs and began to rise, finding himself stiff as a dray's front yoke. The help was welcome.
"I…" What should he say? He did not expect that Éowyn wished it known that she had seen Ithil set. Nor did he really wish to admit his unauthorized expedition to the Citadel. He cocked his head and turned on his best pleading puppy eyes.
"Never mind. Please Thiri?"
He endured another skeptical but silent eyebrow and followed Lothiriel into the Houses, kissing her cheek goodbye and searching out his room to wash and change. On impulse, once dressed as well as he could manage, he took his brother's signet ring off its chain and slipped it onto his middle finger. The piece was too loose-Boromir's fingers had been larger than is own-the heavy silver was large and unwieldy next to his own finer ones. He clenched them and studied the pale moonstone. How strange that that something so small felt heavy due to the weight of its implication? Captain-General: the first of two offices he never thought to claim but the fight might come to the City and he would be a part of it whatever the good Master Healer thought.
The Steward's Ring and Rod could wait. In the days to come they would be of lesser use.
Ducking back out into the hall, Faramir laid his mother's cloak neatly across his arm and tucked the fine-worked Rohirric dagger into his belt. Both he had to return to Lady Éowyn and the thought chilled a little his anxious heart. He had not misled her. The vision of the dreadful eve showed where Frodo was but not how he fared. The hobbits crept ever closer to Mount Doom—none knew if it were to unmake the weapon the Enemy or stir more the hornet's nest and the thought that she might find herself in the chill of the mountains fleeing for her life or standing ground while foul Orcs overran the Houses' green made his blood run cold.
This day, the fifth of waiting without word, had dawned cold and lowering: only a grey- tinged gold crept over the hither fields while beneath the stiffening north breeze Guards set their teeth and clasped tighter at their spears. It was little comfort to know from which direction the Enemy would appear but time was contracting. The knowledge of it twisted Faramir's stomach into a knot, made worry spur his steps. There were too many things to be done but first he needed to find Éowyn. She was not in her room, nor in the wards, he had asked but neither Ivriniel nor Anborn had seen her.
Instinct took him out into the garden and proved him right. At his quiet query a grey robed attendant directed him left of the central fountain towards the eastern wall. He took the path, brushed past the new leafing plants, striding quickly for a flickering sense of dread pulled him on. Like moonlight on a windy clouded night he caught it in snatches; barely glimpsed but no less real. Was she in pain? Afraid? He did not know but one thing was certain: the nameless worry that stalked his breast was for Eowyn.
White hands and silver frost. Ineffable sadness and piercing beauty. Gold and raven black mingling in the air.
The memory of those too bright images in his mind made him stop dead in the middle of the path.
He knew her! She was the maiden of his long forgotten dream. A balm and a solace. The welcome cool to assuage the fire-pain.
His keen eyes searched the parapet as he clutched at both precious talismans. A flash of purest white showed against the creamy polished stone. Thank the Valar she was there!
He began to hurry on but then hesitated. What had happened? He felt her. Not in the way of reading another when he had need; not a deliberate reaching out. This was finer. Essential. As if a silken cord linked them both, twined about and joined thoughts as naturally as if they both breathed together. The pretty words of flowers and admiration showered when they first met were genuine-Éowyn was the most beautiful woman he had ever met but now those words felt inadequate. Beneath her cool, restless beauty he had found a whole new world: a spark of warmth and humour, a banked fire that told of passion and resolve. A heady mix, one that was beguiling and utterly unlike any woman that he had known.
Faramir was lost. He knew it now. Utterly. Truly. It seemed ridiculously alltoo fast and yet how else to explain this feeling that made his heart hurt and sing wildly all at once. Love for so long had been merely for poems in a book; the world was too unsteady for promises, but now, here, possibly at the end of things, he found he did not care.
He had to speak to her.
To find out how she felt.
And if the cloak had been a message."
.
~~~000~~~
.
Eowyn looked across a land that for days had trembled and tossed uneasily in its bed, clutching harder at the stone of the parapet as another small tremor shook the City's base.
Away to the east Mt Doom was not visible but its dark spew was too clear. Above the red glow of Mordor a huge grey cloud of ash spread out, anvil-like and brooding, smothering all the sky. Lightening crackled in its upper story, joined each new burst of fume like some malevolent firework. She found she could not take her eyes away—it was beautiful and terrifying, yet filled her with a gnawing dread. She had fled the stifling silence of her room for the freshness of the open air but it had not helped. Like Minas Tirith's weary walls, she glanced warily to the east in the quiet hush that descended after each new shake. Were there more to come? Was the earth shaking a portent of the Enemy's building wrath? Even the birds fell silent afterward. All Arda was on edge and held its breath.
She wrapped her arms protectively about her body, shielding from the wind and the anxiousness that sank into her bones. Back to the gardens. the footfall on the grave, : the quiet steadiness of a warrior used to moving anonymously, was barely audible and for an instant she simply froze. Surprise and worry made her tense but then: she knew.
Faramir. Without looking. she felt it to be him.
With the barest flip of heart she turned.
He hesitated. As if his words had taken wing in the face of seeing her at the wall. his handsome face creased with worry, his eyes like his hands, full of light and dark. They were silver grey and deep; like stars on a Mettare night. How had she not noticed so before?
'What do you look for, Éowyn?' he asked after the moment stretched too thin.
"I." She cleared her throat. The intensity of his gaze made honesty a need. "Some sign. You said they should be there.. Does not the Black Gate lie beyond the last darkened crag? Must the host not now be come there? It is seven days since he rode away.'
The barest frown narrowed on Faramir's brow. "Seven days, that is so and in this last day the unsettledness of the land has increased. I do believe that they are there." He shook himself as if throwing lose the vision. "We all wait but I would not have you think it ill of me to speak of this world when all our minds are elsewhere." He hesitated, then proffered an armful of fine blue velvet. "I would offer what hope I can. I have two things to return. If you want them?"
Somehow, oddly, she saw the anxious tremor run through his skin yet there was not another shake. Eowyn closed her eyes, knowing not what to say.
"Faramir, I…."
She looked away to northward. above the grey hither lands, into the eye of the cold wind where far away the sky was hard and smudged with ash. Elsewhere. Oh yes. Her heart was elsewhere and yet it was also here. It was confusing. She did not understand, but then, should it matter? When doom was about to fall on them all?
The full north breeze lifted the tendrils of her unbound hair as her hands plucked weakly at the light linen of her kirtle. They could not make a purchase: her wind stiffened fingers would not bend.
How long had she been standing without a cloak? She did not know. Too long, for now her hands felt like ice.
"My lady it is biting cold and you are chilled!" Faramir reached out. His own warm fingers enclosed her trembling ones, thawed a little of their frigid hurt. In a single heavy sweep, the blue mantle was draped about her shoulders.
It's warm weight and queenly beauty were welcome. They wrapped her round yet still she shivered, shoulders and knees trembling hard. It was warmth not cold that made her so. His touch. She was shaking like a leaf; for herself and for that he was near.
How could this be? What had passed between them the eve before? Her intent to know was strong but she could not get her faithless tongue to ask. She was a coward. Only one fear at time could she face.
"Éowyn? " Faramir drew beside, his voice threaded with concern.
His own dark hair was wipped by the rising wind. He was so close she felt it brush against her cheek but she could not tear her eyes away from the long cloud that flashed and rumbled in the distance .
Dark and light. She was a coward. Perhaps he could understand.
"I thought that I had courage for this wait," she began, "to be patient while the stroke of doom descends but now I find my heart fails me. I stand on the brink of some dark abyss. All is black. There is a chasm before my feet and whether there is light behind I cannot tell. I cannot turn. I fear to take a step."
Ashamed. She felt ashamed and with it kept her face turned away. She felt Faramir move, felt a pair of warm hands settle on her shoulders even as his warm breath brushed past her ear.
"Yes, we wait, perhaps for defeat. To flee the city and fight from the mountains, it is an easy choice, I can harry the Enemy again but still my heart cries out in hope. We yet live and we cannot live in misery. Doubt swirls but there is always hopefulness."
"I." she began again but the words were stopped up in her throat. The shadows would not shrink back. Eowyn shook her head. It was impossible. The world was dark. To hope was far too hard and the abyss was far too deep.
His hands on her shoulders squeezed a little harder. "Faith is taking the step even when you do not see. Turn Eowyn. Take my hand and do not fear. Turn your face toward the sun and the shadows shall fall behind you."
"The sun?" she whispered hoarsely. "I cannot see the sun."
Indeed she could not for the cold wind had brought more clouds to shroud the City. It was noon. The sun should be overhead but there was no yellow glow to light the sudden darkness of the day. Anor's face was hidden. All she could spy was a dirty lighter smudge.
She shrank a little deeper into the solid sureness of Faramir's broad back. He lifted his hand, pointed upward through the gloom to past Mindolluin's peak. "There..it is there," he said, turning her gently in his arms and holding her gaze, grey eyes sparkling with conviction. "And it is here. I know it in my heart. I do not believe any darkness can endure."
She swallowed back fear, nodding shakily and letting the surety he felt sink i If he could trust then so should she not?
Ever so slowly Faramir drew closer, placed both hands upon her shoulders and kissed her forehead once.
His faint half-smile was certain. It made her pulse flutter wildly at her throat even though the clouds nestled lower and the darkness deepened still. She hardly dared now to breathe. About them all sounds of the City and the Land fell quiet. The keening of the stinking, writhing wind dropped back. The birds ceased to chirp and the people stood even as they did: hushed, hearts slow but resolute, waiting for time to begin again.
Éowyn huddled in the lee of Faramir's splinted shoulder. His sling hung loose. Both arms wrapped her round and she set her broken arm up against his chest, felt the roughness of his woolen cloak against her cheek. It felt to standing so, there at the end of things.
"Will you hold me?" she asked wonderingly, finding she needed no courage for the coming dark but catching another, harder boldness hidden in a corner of her heart.
She felt a smile against her hair.
"As long as I have breath."
~~~000~~~
.
The unreality of that moment would last in Faramir's memory forever.
As he spoke of Numenor. and the Wave. and the hope that dimmed never in his heart, another greater shake took the City like a terrier with a rat between its teeth.
A low rumbling sigh went up, the land roiled n waves even as a great wind arose and made their hair, streamers of raven and of wheat gold, mingle in the air.
The sun came out and the Great River sparkled. The Eagles came to wheel overhead and rejoice that the Shadow had at last departed.
He gave his own voice to the shouts of exaltation.
Mithrandir had once explained to an entirely too curious young boy that in Eru's song despair and darkness only existed in relation to the light. Without one there could not be the other. Faramir had not understood; he had had no reference then, but now, bloodied, bowed, yet still standing on the walls, he did.
Life was joy and pain. Both were necessary. And both were wound inextricably into the slender form of the woman who stood at his side.
He looked down into Eowyn's shining eyes and hugged her gently once again. "I am afraid I must find Hurin soon. And my family. And my men. The City and all will rejoice. As will I but.." he swallowed thickly "I have no reason to not be Steward now."
Eowyn raised her chin, sighed and nodded with a certainty that felt exactly like a gift.
"Take me with you."
He smiled and laced the fingers of his sword hand through her own. They were warm and firm. He remembered their touch in a bustling street and the healing that they brought.
Dark and Light. Ice and Fire. Hard rock and evergreen.
All so very different yet so very central to each other.
He stepped back, bowed low, and brushed the barest of forbidden kisses across the fineness of her knuckles.
"As my lady commands…."
.
. A few lines in this chapter of necessity parallel the Return of the King. I just couldn't write this time period without them...and romance, for which I apologize to Borys and Irene. Those shocked at how short this is..never fear..I still can't write short. .it was originally part of a chapter of 5 sections..the reality of how long it would take to get done stood up and shook me. I have broken it up but the good news is the second 'half' is well advanced..and you should see it rather sooner.
Giant thanks and hugs to UndomielS for favouriting and to Kulken and LadyLindariel for the follows.
Heartfelt thanks to the ladies of the Garden for their encouragement. I was so impatient, and travelling, so they have not had at it yet. the resultng likely mess is entirely not their fault. Expect some updates in the days to come :)