Chapter 8

Next chapter for you- I'm getting better at not forgetting until about 11:30pm :) It helps that I'm not frying my brain over exams as much, but I am back at school now, and we've started the new courses, so I'm still a little spaced out... My brain cannot handle so much work... On the plus side, in physics we made rockets (by filling bottles with a bit of water and pumping air into them) and had a competition to see who could get theirs the furthest by changing the volume of water. My friend and I managed to get ours about 60m across the school, nearly hitting the gym windows, and won sweets for it :)

Eowyn features here, and though you'll probably guess it from the chapter, I absolutely love her, and I love her and Faramir together. I won't put all my reasons for loving Eowyn here, but suffice it to say that she is actually an incredibly strong and feminist character, and her falling in love with Faramir does very little to negate any of that. Anyway, she's awesome, and I love Faramir too.

This chapter may cut off a little abruptly, because I didn't realise just how long one scene was when I wrote it, and otherwise the chapter would be seriously long. But hopefully it all works fine :)

Thank you all very much for your wonderful reviews.

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

0-o-0-o-0

Faramir didn't bother looking around at the sound of soft footsteps from behind him. He recognised them easily, and his gaze remained on the smouldering embers of the fire in the hearth of their living room.

"Are you coming back to bed?"

Eowyn's voice was soft from sleep, and the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Faramir's mouth as he heard it. But still he didn't turn around, his fingers drumming quietly on the stem of the goblet in his hands.

"It's only an hour or so until it is light," he murmured. "There isn't much point. Sorry if I woke you."

There was the soft whisper of fabric behind him, and then he could hear Eowyn crossing the room to come stand behind his chair. Faramir sighed softly, relaxing ever so slightly as Eowyn leant over the back of the chair, her arms resting on his shoulders. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

"Don't worry," she said softly, moving to reassuringly squeeze his shoulders. "I've had a few good hours of sleep. I wasn't expecting much more tonight."

At that Faramir tilted his head back, meeting Eowyn's gaze. He knew exactly what she meant, for it was also the reason he had woken up a little while ago, this time his father's name on his lips as he tried not to cry out.

It had been a little over a year now, and still wounds could be opened so easily, even just by the familiar rush of battle, the sights and sounds that felt so well-known, and yet could still bring back a flood of…something, when that something had been assumed buried.

Well, maybe not buried. Faramir had always known how close to the surface the memories lay, and had suspected just how little it would take to bring them flooding back, though he had hoped we was wrong. But even knowing that did not soften the blow when he saw his father burn again.

It didn't soften whatever it was Eowyn saw at night, either. Faramir couldn't guess what it was she dreamt of, only that she would awake with a shudder, and it would be many minutes before she relaxed again in Faramir's arms.

"Did you dream?" Eowyn suddenly asked, her voice quiet. Her hands brushed his shoulders, and for a moment her fingers ghosted over the puckered scar tissue below Faramir's left shoulder, where that Southron dart had buried itself into his flesh. Faramir had suddenly tensed beneath her hands.

"I did," he said shortly. "It was nothing. Don't worry."

Eowyn squeezed one shoulder sharply, but there was a small smile on her face. "You cannot tell me not to worry, when that is what you constantly do every time I wake from a dream." Her voice softened. "I will always worry. I can't help but worry. Neither can you. But I will always worry, because I will always care."

Faramir paused for a second, and then looked back up at Eowyn, a soft smile coming across his lips. "I really do love you," he said softly.

"Of course you do," said Eowyn with a smile. She leant down and pressed a kiss to Faramir's cheek. Neither one of them were usually so vocal about things like these, but yesterday had been a stressful day for both of them, and it served to not only bring the worse memories and emotions to the surface, but those that they both tried to cherish.

Eowyn sighed softly as she leant her cheek against Faramir's head, and Faramir reached up, lacing his fingers with hers. "It's over," he reminded her. "It really is over."

"It will never be truly finished," murmured Eowyn. "Not really. There will always be another battle in the future, something else that must be fought for."

"I know," said Faramir. "But given what we could have lost, what we have now is…good." Good was probably not the right word, but it was the only one he could come up with at the moment. He was content, for the most part.

"We came so close," murmured Eowyn. On the worst days, she woke feeling like the sun had lost all of its warmth again, like the shadows were at the edge of her vision, and she just missed them whenever she turned her head. It was a constant reminder of just how much they could have lost.

"We did," said Faramir. "And we are never going to have a world without any conflicts, not ever. We have to make do with what we have now." The constant aching gap of the people who they had lost would always be there, the shadows at the edges of their sight, the scars that seemed sometimes to not be healing at all, even if they did fade over time.

"But we still won, Eowyn," Faramir said, his voice suddenly strong. "We won. And for the most part, there will be peace. No, we will never truly be rid of it all. But it is really over."

Eowyn sighed. "I know," she said, a soft smile coming across her face as she pressed her cheek to the top of Faramir's head.

She loved him. When he had first looked on her, she had not seen the gaze she had so often seen in Rohan, from those who had only seen her as the King's niece, as a woman of Rohan.

She had been trapped for so long and had longed for valour and greatness, a chance to do something of worth. She had thought that maybe her disguise, her choice to ride with the Rohirrim into battle, would give her that. In the end, it had been the only option left for her to take, and she had not cared if she had lived or died seeking it. Her fear, of being trapped until all deeds of valour were beyond her, had gone with her choice to break out of that cage, and that left her with what she felt was nothing.

But then she had lived. She had gone to the very edge, and then she had been drawn back again. And what she thought would have freed her left her not knowing what it was she wanted. She had achieved great valour, had broken out of her trappings, but had not been content, and she could not understand why.

But then Faramir had been in the Houses of Healing with her, and she had met the man who was gentle and wise and just as scarred as she was, if not more. She found someone who loved her unconditionally, and it made her content, because she was worth so much to him, with or without great deeds of valour or titles.

And he was worth so much to her.

She loved him. Oh, she did not fully need his love to love herself, at least not now. She liked to think of Faramir as the one who had helped her heal, as she had helped him, but he had only helped. That was important.

And she had not realised it immediately, not for many months after it all, but she knew now that not even Faramir, her wise, brave Faramir, could make her whole. After all, another person cannot fill someone. They can help patch pieces together, but they cannot do it all. It was her choice. She knew her own value now.

Of course, that wasn't to say that she didn't need reminding often. She liked to think that maybe that was what it was meant to be like.

Eowyn straightened, and then realised with an amused smile that Faramir was, in fact, asleep in the chair. Ever so carefully she untwined her hand from his and placed it back in his lap, careful not to wake him. Knowing he would only sleep for an hour or less, she moved with a quiet rustle of skirts to sit in the soft armchair opposite, taking the wine glass out of her husband's hand as she went. A small smile played across her face as she watched Faramir sleep.

They had both been to the edge and back, both passed through shadow and fire. And they, like so many others, were deeply scarred for it. But they had each other, and maybe that was going to be enough.

0-o-0-o-0

The rest of the company returned from Ithilien two hours before midday, and the city returned to the controlled chaos of last night. Almost as soon as they entered Mablung and Beregond were relieved of the men and they headed up to the citadel together.

Faramir met them as they climbed the steps, the relief at seeing them both alive and relatively unharmed evident on his face, though both looked worn and tired, and were still dusty and mussed up from the battle yesterday. It looked like they had not slept nor eaten since yesterday morning.

"What news?" Faramir asked quickly, clapping Beregond on the shoulder in greeting. Aragorn had made a very good decision when appointing Beregond as the Captain of his Guard, which was just another way of saying he was Faramir's second in command. Beregond was one of the most loyal men he knew. Faramir knew, and a small part of him hated, that Beregond would lay down his life for him.

"We lost nobody, if that is what you are asking, my Lord," said Beregond, scraping the hair back from his face. "Making the Easterlings bear the stretchers was a good idea. None of them tried anything. Those we have captured are in the prisons on the lower levels, and the healers are looking at those most grievously injured."

Faramir nodded. "Good," he said. "Did anyone seem to step forwards as a leader?"

"Aye, my Lord," said Mablung. "One of them did. He's been separated from the other men, enough so that he can see them but isn't able to talk without the guards noticing."

"Well done," said Faramir. "Both of you. The rest of the men are alright?" Both Mablung and Beregond could see the slight worry in his face, the fear that he had inadvertently caused the deaths of more men, caused more grief when there should be less now, and they both hastened to reassure him.

"They are," said Beregond. "I gave them all leave, if that is acceptable with you, my Lord? Some of the men are with the healers on the lower levels, but they are only minor hurts." Faramir relaxed, and Beregond felt a small surge of relief at relieving some of the burden on his Lord's shoulders. That was his job, and he wanted to do it well.

Faramir nodded. "Good. I would like to give you both more time, to rest properly, but we do not have the luxury. Lord Aragorn has asked for you both to be present in his study in half an hour's time. For the time being both of you go home to your families, let them know you are safe. I will send a message to have the other captains in the city come to either of you to be briefed, but get what rest you can as well."

Both of the men bowed to Faramir. "Thank you, my Lord," said Beregond. "We will return within the half hour." They turned and departed together, and Faramir watched their backs as they retreated. They both looked weary, he thought. He supposed that both of them, as well, had done their fair share of fighting, and could wish for nothing more than for it to be over again.

The next half hour passed quickly, with Faramir trying to catch up on some of the duties of the Steward that he had neglected over the past few days. He had barely made a dent in the work stacked on his own desk before he found that the half hour had passed, and he made his way into the Citadel and to Aragorn's study.

Someone had shifted all of the chairs around the fireplace to the side of the room, and a large table covered in various maps took up the room. Aragorn was standing at one end of the table, studying a map of Ithilien, with Legolas sat to one side of him. Belhadron was standing behind Legolas, one hand on the back of the blond elf's chair as he leant over, looking at a map.

'-No, I do get what you're saying," Faramir heard Aragorn say to Legolas as he entered the room. "But there isn't enough time, I don't think, and I don't yet know the number of men-"

He broke off and looked up as Faramir entered, and a small smile came across Aragorn's face. "Faramir," he said in greetings, standing away from the table and clasping Faramir's arms in welcome.

Legolas looked over from where he had been talking to Belhadron over his shoulder. "Greetings, Faramir," he said with a smile. "I would stand, but…" He shot a glance at Aragorn, and a passing grin flitted over Aragorn's face. "Aragorn will give me a hard time if I put much more weight on my leg."

Faramir smiled. "How is the wound?" he asked, noticing the elf's colour was almost normal again, and he looked as relaxed as one can when there is thread holding a part of your leg together.

Legolas smiled. "Elves heal fast."

Aragorn chuckled. "Never fast enough for some," he said, with a sly glance at Legolas. The blond elf merely shrugged, and muttered something to Belhadron that made the dark-haired elf roll his eyes and grin. Aragorn turned back to Faramir. "Are the rest coming?" he asked.

"Any minute, my Lord," said Faramir, moving further into the room, not taking a seat just yet. "Mablung and Beregond I sent back to their families, but they know to come at this time. I sent a runner with a message to the other captains both on duty and on leave in the city. They know to speak to either Mablung or Beregond first, before coming here at this time."

"Good," said Aragorn. "Take a seat, Faramir. I think we're going to be here for a while."

Faramir sank down into the chair the other side of Aragorn, and at that moment there was a knock on the door. "Come in," called Aragorn loudly, and the door opened to see Beregond standing in the doorway, Mablung just behind him. Behind them stood around six other men, the captains currently in the city at the moment. All eight of them bowed low to Aragorn.

"Come in, and shut the door behind you," said Aragorn, straightening from the table and inclining his head at their bows. It had taken him a little while to get used to people bowing upon seeing him, and what to do in return, but, as with all aspects of being a King, whether wanted or not, he was slowly getting used to it. "We have work to do."

Once the door shut behind the last man, and they were gathered around the table, Aragorn looked up. "I trust you all know what transpired in Ithilien yesterday," he said, waiting until the men nodded until he continued.

Aragorn sighed ever so slightly. "This is not war. This is an isolated attack. No matter what happened yesterday, we still won the war. I would like all of you to remember that."

Faramir watched as Aragorn laid out the beginnings of a plan, and felt a little bit of awe at the calm, efficient way the King spoke, the trust the men instantly had in his words. His blood and a reforged blade had not been the only things that had made him King.

At the end of the War, whilst Aragorn had ridden to the Black Gates and Faramir had remained in the City, recovering, he had been uneasy. Uneasy, because he had known that the people would not follow Aragorn if he could not be everything they hoped him to be. There is far more to ruling than being a great warrior, Faramir knew, and whilst he knew Aragorn to be a healer as well, he did not know if the man could rule, could rebuild the city after so much destruction.

And he had known it would have been ridiculously easy for him to take control. He knew he could have persuaded people to follow him easily, if he had not deemed Aragorn to be the King everyone hoped for.

But he had not. He could not, not when he saw Aragorn arrive back, saw the elation on people's faces at his return, at the final end of it all. And then he had watched as Aragorn had calmly and quickly taken control, and realised that they were in no danger, none at all. Aragorn could be the King everyone was hoping for. And if there were a few small mistakes along the way, well, Faramir knew even elves weren't infallible, let alone men, and he could always be there to pick up some of the slack when needed.

Aragorn shifted around some of the parchment on the table, and Faramir's attention returned to what the King was saying. "I need lists of men who are in the city, who can ride out to Ithilien tonight."

"We can recall all soldiers from Osgiliath now, my Lord," said Faramir. "There should be a few hundred out there at the moment."

Aragorn shook his head. "The last thing I want to do is to cause panic amongst the people, because they think there is another war coming, or something similar. How many men are in the city right now, and how many of them know Ithilien?"

"There are over six hundred men on active duty in the city, my Lord," said Beregond. "But less than a hundred and fifty of them have had experience in Ithilien, and only sixty or so have been Rangers." A lot of the men that had been Rangers had been lost in the War, defending Osgiliath before the siege of the city. More men had been killed in the War, and there were more still whom Beregond knew couldn't, and shouldn't, ever be a soldier again.

Beregond knew of men who were so deeply scarred that they hadn't been able to stay in the city anymore, hadn't been able to stay in Gondor. Some of them had just left in the middle of the night. Others had come to Faramir, pleading to be released from their duties and to leave the city. In most cases they had left with honour, Faramir and the King both understanding the restless ghosts that the war had left behind. More than a few had been sent north, as Aragorn began to re-establish the realm of Arnor.

Aragorn sighed, running a hand through his hair. "How many in Osgiliath that would be able to fight in Ithilien?" he asked. This time it was Mablung who spoke up.

"At least ten dozen, my Lord," he said. "I know that at least two companies of men who served with me in Ithilien are all out there. A few more who are no longer soldiers are within the city or in Osgiliath as well."

"No," said Aragorn firmly. "I cannot ask men to pick up their swords again, so shortly after being able to put them down. We will make do with the soldiers we have in the city and Osgiliath unless we have dire need of more men. Don't send any messages now, though. Let us wait until we have an actual plan."

Faramir leant forwards, resting his arms on the table. "It would be quicker if we had some more reliable information on where the rest of the men where," he said. "We have men held prisoner, my Lord. They may know the whereabouts of others, their movements and where we could find them." There was nobody in the city much practised at interrogation, as it had been pointless to try and capture, let alone question orcs.

Aragorn nodded. "Faramir, will you see to it?" he asked. "Take Beregond with you as well, and return within the half hour, any information or not." He trusted Faramir to do things properly. Aragorn had known men who, given the opportunity, would beat prisoners senseless just for a twisted sense of what they called justice. It was easy to do, once your mind descended into the right mix of anger and grief, with maybe a bit of guilt thrown in as well, just for good measure.

But Aragorn knew that it would take far, far more than what had happened yesterday to drive Faramir to that edge. He did not think that Faramir would never do such a thing, because all men have an edge, and he was not so naïve. But he was pretty sure it would take an enormous effort for Faramir's edge to even come into view.

Faramir nodded. "We will go now," he said, standing from the table. As Beregond stood as well and began to make his way to the door, Faramir had a thought and paused suddenly, turning back to the room.

"Captain Belhadron, your presence might be valuable as well," he said to Belhadron, slightly awkwardly because asking an elf who was hundreds of years older than him whether he wanted to come and help question prisoners that had caused said elf's friend to be injured had definitely not been at the top of things for him to do today.

"The Easterlings reacted visibly to your presence in Ithilien," Faramir said as Belhadron looked at him, his gaze questioning. "Elves do not seem to be their favourite people. If we must threaten them, then your presence may even be enough. And angry men make mistakes easily."

Belhadron frowned slightly, and then nodded. "It is a good idea," he said. He stepped out from behind Legolas' chair and weaved around the table and chairs in the room, meeting Faramir by the door.

"Don't let him get hurt whilst I am gone, Estel," he said, looking at Legolas pointedly with a small grin, slipping back into Sindarin for ease. Aragorn merely chuckled, and the captains gathered around the table watched as Belhadron slipped out of the door behind Faramir and Beregond. The door swung shut, and then the room was silent again.

Aragorn held back a sigh, and steepled his fingers in front of him. "Let us begin," he said.

To Be Continued...

So, there's plenty more that has to happen! Next chapter continues on from this point, and may go to Faramir and Belhadron as well, if the chapter length works out :) As always, reviews are much loved, even if you just want to stop by and say hi. I am eternally grateful for everyone who reads, and even more, reviews my works, and to those who review as guests, THANK YOU. I would reply to you, but I cannot personally, so read it here- thank you very much!