I know it has been a while since my last update...alas, for the burdens of workaday life and the drama therein. Hope this slakes your thirst, and hopefully more will follow shortly. To all who have read and reviewed, bless you for your kind words. And as always, none of them are mine. Otherwise I should have Denethor changing my flat tire at the moment.
Her hands moved of their own accord, folding, smoothing and crimping, picking at small stitches and creasing the fabric with her fingers. The gown, a feather soft green velvet that brushed her skin like the spring wind, had been delivered by a young page along with a scrap of parchment with a handwritten scrawl. With my great esteem, Faramir. But Eowyn's illness had slimmed her body and left the dress hanging on her like a barley sack. Eowyn absentmindedly took in the waist, stitching with practiced movements, barely aware of the action. Her wandering thoughts were quickly remedied as the needle stabbed deep into her thumb. With a little yelp she thrust her hand to her mouth, sucking the offended digit and cursing her inattention. Her cry roused the healer Ioreth, who was dozing by the fire. The old woman had been rolling bandages, but it had not taken long before the soft snores issued forth and a half finished bundle of bandage rolled from her hands to trail across the stone floor. "Are you quite well my lady?" Ioreth asked, the corners of her mouth working to stifle a yawn.
"Merely a needle prick, Ioreth." Eowyn set the dress aside, smoothing her hand over the soft folds of the skirt with a little sigh. A bead of blood was rising on her thumb and she watched it with detached interest as it grew into a shining orb of crimson and slid with a tickle down into her palm. She picked up a scrap of bandage and wrapped her hand, pulling it tighter than need be and watching as the tip of her thumb turned purple. As she stared at her hand a knock sounded at the door.
Ioreth stood and groaned as her joints popped audibly. "Never grow old, Lady Eowyn. It is a curse," muttered the old woman. She wrenched the door open with a sour look as if she were prepared to berate the poor soul who forced her out of her chair. A young page stood there, quaking under the angry gaze of the healer. He sputtered quietly, twisting his hands together, and murmured something to Ioreth, who nodded and shut the door without any further ado. A smile creased her face, digging furrows in her cheeks and around her eyes. "You'd best finish taking in that gown, my lady."
"I have only a few more stitches, Ioreth. Why should I hurry?" Eowyn's stomach made a funny flip, for she imagined that she knew the reason.
"The Lord Faramir has requested that you join him for dinner. He shall be by in fifteen minutes to fetch you." Ioreth gave an unladylike snort. "Leave it to a man to expect a lady to be ready to dine in only fifteen minutes." Ioreth darted to Eowyn's bed with a speed that belied her age and snatched up the dress. "Let me finish it, I'll be quicker." Eowyn couldn't suppress a smile as the old woman began to stab at the dress with the needle and thread, muttering under her breath.
Eowyn's heart beat quicker as she stepped to the looking glass, pulling her hair back to the nape of her neck. A flush in her cheeks startled her and she berated herself silently. Stupid girl. Your lesson was not learned that the pity of a noble man does not mean love. Her brow furrowed and she quashed the inner voice. "I've earned the right to seek some happiness."
"I beg your pardon, lady?" Ioreth's voice startled Eowyn and she shook her head.
"It is nothing. But we must hurry if I am to be ready for Lord Faramir." Eowyn twisted her hair into a bun and secured it with a dark green ribbon, leaving a few soft strands to curl around her chin. Ioreth continued to murmur to herself and bit off the thread as she finished stitching. Eowyn stepped into the gown, shivering as Ioreth buttoned her into the buttery cloth that draped her figure in soft velvet shadows. The old woman circled her, brushing at the skirt and tugging the bodice, fretting and chuckling like a hen and Eowyn smiled again, for she could not remember the last time anyone fussed over her, mothered her.
Ioreth clucked her tongue. "Look at your hands, my lady." She ran her fingers over Eowyn's bruised knuckles and torn fingernails. "You really must try to take more care. A lady's hands must be soft, unblemished by work or battle. Yours look as though you have been mucking stalls." She hobbled to the mantle and retrieved a glass jar filled with salve. She dipped some out and began massaging it into Eowyn's hands with her knotted, arthritic fingers. A knock at the door made Eowyn jump but Ioreth did not release her grasp. "Patience. A lady does not leap to the bidding of a man. She makes him leap to hers."
A slow smile spread across Eowyn's face and a laugh pressed within her chest. "I never had a woman to teach me these things, dear Ioreth. I am clumsy and dull when it comes to matters of courting."
Ioreth had a smile of her own, and it was knowing and wry. "So you are courting Lord Faramir, are you?" Eowyn's brow furrowed and Ioreth patted her hand. "That is not a bad thing my lady. You have chosen well, and if all goes as I hope you shall dash the hopes of many maidens of Gondor." Her tone softened. "He is a good man, gentle and wise. You should count yourself blessed."
"I will count myself blessed when this war is over and the uncertainty of these times is gone. The future seems so far away and I feel such guilt for spending time thinking on...well...on romance, when men are fighting and dying." Eowyn blushed and dropped her eyes. "It is frivolous to spend time thinking on love."
One of Ioreth's eyebrows quirked and her mouth tightened at the corners. "Of all the things in this world worth spending time on, love is the most important. It is the one thing that can save men from darkness. You should not deny yourself the chance for happiness, for if there was more real love in the world, we would need not fight so hard to survive."
Eowyn's heart gave a leap and her chin puckered. "You are so wise Ioreth. Would that you were with me before now."
Ioreth made a noise of derision. "It is no ancient wisdom, young one. I speak as one who has seen many years, and has seen many trials. My one regret is not seizing love when I had the chance." She took Eowyn's face in her hands. "Do not make my mistake, lady. Seize your moment." With that she released Eowyn and gestured toward the door. "There is a fine line between making a man leap to your whim and being rude." A laugh bubbled from Eowyn and she grasped Ioreth's hands briefly, then turned to answer the door. A deep breath, then she swung the door open to reveal her suitor.
Faramir's gray eyes took her in, from tip to toe, and a little sigh escaped him. "My lady, you look exquisite." Eowyn blushed and dipped her chin. "I am so grateful that you deign to join me." He offered his arm, clad in a shirt of midnight, embroidered at the cuffs with thread only barely lighter, leaving the shadow of the tree of Gondor upon his wrists. As Eowyn took his elbow in her hand she nodded to Ioreth, who was staring unabashedly at the two of them. Faramir inclined his head at her with a half-suppressed smile, and led Eowyn out into the evening.
"She is a treasure, is she not?" said Faramir quietly. There was a gentle fondness in his voice. "She has been here at the houses since she was very young, and always had much to say about everything. But her heart has always belonged to this place, and to being a healer."
"Then she never wed?" Eowyn felt a twinge of sadness for the old woman. "Surely she wished to."
"She found her only love in being a healer. She wished only to be able to ease suffering, from wounded soldiers to the ailing elders. She did it all, and is much beloved by all who have had the fortune of the touch of her hands, and all the more by those who have been lashed by her tongue." Faramir laughed, for he obviously was speaking from experience.
Eowyn hesitated, then halted with her hand on Faramir's arm. "Do you think, Lord Faramir, that it is more noble to risk all in battle than to stand in safety and lay healing hands upon the wounded?"
Faramir looked down at her with gentle eyes, and there was deeper understanding reflected within them. "My lady, courage does not always roar. Sometimes it is saying in a quiet voice that you shall never give in, and will fight in every way that you can." He clasped her hand. "And as for the healers, my heart says that to bear the pain of another is nobler indeed than marching to war. You trust your fate to others and in return you strive to be their salvation and their comfort. That faith is to be esteemed above all valor."
Eowyn's hands absentmindedly drifted to the flowing skirt of her dress, fingering the velvet softness, worrying the fabric with her touch. Faramir scanned her face, eyes knowing, and dropped his own hand to twine his fingers in hers, and quietly repeated, "Above valor, my lady."