As usual, not mine. Special note to the lovely (ha) lad who continues to email me complaining that this story is altered canon...I have read LOTR and its associated books at least twenty, probably closer to thirty times in my life. Fanfiction is, by general nature, always slightly off canon. Just because my stories may stray a bit from Tolkien's work doesn't mean that I'm a "moron" who has not read and researched the books. So I would thank you to keep your "constructive criticism" where it belongs, in reviews and not in personal emails. To those who are reviewing, bless you and thank you for your kind words and input. And now, back by popular demand, I present...
Eowyn did not know how long she stood, gazing upon the mustered men below, watching the glint of sun on armor, the practiced movement of men in their columns. From her giddy height the men of Gondor were indistinguishable from the men of Rohan, and she felt a sudden pang of sympathy and care for Gondor. She had long thought them aloof and condescending, a race of lordly men whose sovereignty had decayed along with the crumbling walls of their cities. But as she looked down upon the five levels of the city spread below her, her heart bled for their suffering. They are not so different from us, she thought. Their blood flows as readily as our own, and the cries of widows and orphans shall always cut to the bone, no matter where their loyalty may lie.
A shift of movement, soft as a breeze, brushed Eowyn's side. She turned to see Faramir standing there, staring down at the field of men and horses. He was dressed in the livery of the Guard of the Citadel and the silver emblem on his chest flashed in the morning sun. His gray eyes were fixed upon the army below and there was a strange mix of sadness and hope upon his face. He was clean-shaven and his hair was gathered back with a leather thong, and Eowyn suddenly realized how lordly he looked standing there, surveying the city below. She gathered her robe more closely around herself, supremely aware of the filmy fabric of the nightgown beneath it.
"It comes to the moment that we both have dreaded, my lady," Faramir said softly, and Eowyn suppressed a shiver at the low music of his voice. "We are left behind." Eowyn followed his gaze back down to the great plain below where the legion was disappearing, shrouded by cloud of dust kicked up by thousands of feet as they marched along toward fate. "But I have realized that it could not be any other way, for you are not well enough to ride to battle, and I too am still weary and in pain." Eowyn raised an eyebrow at his admission and glanced at his face, taking in for the first time the circles under his eyes and the pinched corners of his mouth. "The Lord Aragorn was right to ride on without us." He paused, then said with the slightest hint of a smile, "I know now how the womenfolk have felt for these many ages, only able to watch in helplessness, unable to do anything but hope."
"You would be startled, perhaps, to know how much the womenfolk can do in these times. We are healers and keepers of the watch. We take up the plough in the field, and sometimes the sword as nightfall brings the dangers of darkness. War does not come only to the battlefield, lord. It comes also to the home and hearth, the stable and the bedchamber." She stopped, weighing her words, unsure whether to continue, but the need to speak her feelings outweighed her sense of discomfort. "For my part I am glad that you are not well enough to ride. Not that I wish you ill health," she hastily added, "but it is a comfort to have someone here as I begin the long wait for word of our fortune."
Faramir quirked a gentle smile and looked away from Eowyn to hide the flush in his cheeks. His eyes scanned the garden, senses suddenly alerted by the distant murmur of voices. On a far-off parapet he spotted two small figures, backlit by the sun, watching the war-party as it marched on. He touched Eowyn's shoulder and gestured, saying quietly, "There are Beregond's son and your hobbit friend."
Eowyn brightened at mention of Merry and turned to look, but the pair were too far off for her to make out. "Your ranger eyes astound me, my lord." She stopped, eyebrows furrowing. "The poor lad, watching his friends leave without him."
"From what I understand of Hobbits, he can hardly be considered a lad. But they are astounding, are they not? Such innocence, yet such courage," said Faramir, fondness and wonder mingling in his voice, and his chest constricted to think of Frodo and his servant Samwise, somewhere in the dead, ravaged wilderness of Mordor.
"Indeed. I owe my life to Meriadoc's bravery." She gave a little sigh. "I weep for him, for his lost innocence. I fear that he shall never be the same."
Faramir's reply stilled and silenced her. "I fear that none of us shall."
They stood together, wordless, the only sound the musical chirrup of birds as they flitted through the garden. A veil of dust had risen to hide the mass of men as they marched eastward, a silent brown cloud the only mark of their passing. Deep within Eowyn wanted to strain for sight of her brother but she knew it was hopeless, so she instead fixed her eyes upon the western sky, as though salvation would come winging on the horizon. But Eomer's face kept springing unbidden to her mind, and her gaze was constantly drawn back to the sight of the retreating men, and without intending to she whispered his name.
Faramir lowered his chin and sought her eyes, his brow softening as he saw the slick of tears there. "We can but wait, my lady. I know that he will do all he can to return, for his love for you is strong. And if he does not return I know that he shall love you from beyond death, for the love of a brother cannot be destroyed, by death or by design." Eowyn's lower lip quivered as she fought back her tears, and Faramir's heart twinged with sorrow for her pain. In his own mind he saw Boromir, his own brother, as clearly as he had in his dreadful vision, white-faced and solemn in a delicate elven boat, drifting on to the wilderness, his noble visage undiminished by wound or decay.
Eowyn broke his reverie with quiet words, spoken with a forlorn air. "I do not know if you had occasion to speak with my brother, or if you know of him by reputation. But despite his noble bearing and his lordly words, he is to me mostly still a brother. It was he who taught me to ride." A smile ghosted across her face as memory washed over her. "He put me on a horse when I was but four years old and rode behind me, teaching me how to handle the reins, how to guide the horse. He pored over maps with me, teaching me the lay of our land, the far reaches of Rohan, so that we could ride without fear of losing our way. He even taught me to wield a sword. We spent many hours together in our young years, driving our care-wardens mad with our constant wandering. But he changed when my father died. Eomer was but nine years. He took it into his mind that he was the man of the home and had no more time for foolish adventures. But he was always there, looking after me and picking me up if I fell. His banishment nearly broke me for I was left alone with my uncle, who no longer recognized me, and with the traitor Grima." She gave an involuntary shiver. "If Eomer should die, Lord Faramir, I shall be the last of my line. I shall have no one left, no one to pick me up when I fall."
Faramir looked down at Eowyn's face with a saddened mien. "You know that I, too, am the last of my line, Lady. Your memories of Eomer are much the same as mine of Boromir, for we were inseparable as well, and he was my teacher in many things." He gently took her hand and clasped it in his own. "I cannot say that the pain passes, for I shall feel the pain of his loss for the remainder of my days. But the pain changes, and somehow you find a way to live on, remembering and mourning, but living still. And, after time, you can even feel joy in the midst of those memories." Faramir looked out over the city, at the decay, the destruction, marked here and there by brilliant splashes of green and gold, the gardens of the city which had somehow survived the holocaust. "And as for someone to pick you up when you fall..." He groped for words. "I hope that you shall look beyond your brother for that."
At his soft voice a wave of fear and pain washed over Eowyn, her chest seizing with a pang and a choked sob. She turned and buried her face in Faramir's chest, seeking his warm embrace, desperate for the feeling of safety she knew his arms could bring. He did not disappoint her, wrapping his arms around her back and pressing her closer, and he rested his cheek atop her head. Her breath brushed his throat and he closed his eyes, his heart beating an odd tattoo in his chest. He felt a strange melancholy, for it seemed a betrayal to be seeking happiness so close upon the heels of the deaths of his father and brother, yet the feeling of this willowy woman in his arms, needing him, was a wonder that he could not ignore. Eyes still shut, his cheek pressed against her golden hair, he could only think the words that he wished to say. Do not fear, my lady, my gentle, broken lady. I shall not let you fall.