Five days since they had first met and he had already fallen in love. He wondered how it was possible to fall in love with someone he had met less than a week ago, but Éowyn was no ordinary woman. It was hardly surprising to come to the realisation that he loved her, for he called her beautiful the moment he met her. It was not like him to make such confessions, yet he did, so perhaps he should not find it strange that he realised he was in love so quickly.
He was sure that she returned his affections. He didn't think she was in love with him, not yet but he was good at reading people and he sensed that she had softened towards him, and there was a romantic affection somewhere under the surface that she was not yet ready to admit.
It was the evening and they had spent the entire day together, speaking of all manner of different topics, from childhood fears to her version of events leading up to her heroism on the Pelennor Fields. It was the first time she had truly opened up to him, revealing a far more vulnerable side than she had before.
She spoke of how her experience did not bring her the glory she had hoped for. Instead, she learned why many men return home from wars with their minds completely damaged. She saw men she'd known her whole life ripped limb from limb and he too knew the lasting effect witnessing such horror left on the survivors. He had seen more war than he ever cared for, but when faced with such an enemy, he was left with little other choice.
From what he had pieced together, she had been unhappy in Edoras. Often left behind and undervalued, she sought to forge her own path and story by dying a glorious death, but she had been denied that. For that, he was certainly glad for his life was vastly improved with her in it. But surviving left scars, ones that were not easy to be rid of, and her survival also meant that the issues she had run away from still lingered.
And yet, the way in which she was able to handle her sorrow made him admire her all the more, only strengthening the feelings that were developing for her.
He was sure that she returned affections. Not necessarily in love with him, but he knew there were some feelings there, only she was holding back from admitting it. And he had figured out the reason why: she fancied herself in love with another.
She spoke very little of Lord Aragorn, the man who had healed them both, and what little she spoke was done so quietly, almost as if she were mourning. And he supposed she was mourning in a way, mourning whatever she wished could've developed between them. When Faramir had realised she thought herself in love with another man, he considered backing off, for he would not court a woman whose heart lied elsewhere, but it became obvious to him very quickly that her feelings for Aragorn were not love, but more of admiration. But as a young woman inexperienced with love, she had not made the distinction.
He supposed Aragorn was a rather handsome man, though his meeting with the would-be-king was fleeting and he was half conscious, and with what he knew about her issues in Edoras before Aragorn arrived, he was not surprised that she seemed to develop feelings quickly for him. But from what he could tell, she was in love with the idea of Aragorn and the escape he could offer her rather than the man himself.
Today, seven days since the host left the city for the Black Gate, they once more stood atop the walls to look toward Mordor, to where Aragorn had gone. He willed for her to come to the realisation of what her feelings really were, but he would not push her lest he scare her off. For now, they had built up a comfortable rapport and a friendship had blossomed. He was almost certain she felt something back for him but if she ignored those feelings, or indeed if he was wrong, he would be grateful for the friendship she had given him, even if it would darken his heart to only call her friend.
And in those seven days he felt both joy and pain. Joy at having met her, this beautiful, wonderful woman who had completely captured his heart within such a short space of time. And the pain of potentially losing her so soon after finding her. He said as much to her. Well, not quite the bit of her capturing his heart so quickly, but he told her that he did not want to lose what he had found should the world end.
"I know not what in these days you have found that you could lose," she said, but the way in which she changed topic quickly and quickly called him 'friend' that she knew what he meant, or more correctly: who he meant.
Suddenly, the wind seemed to die down and an eerie silence covered the land. He could hear no bird in the sky, nor the chatter of the people in the city below and he could've sworn even their hearts stilled.
Whatever had happened, she felt it too for her hand grasped his, though it seemed to be instinctive as if they were drawn together. She shivered and seemed to sink further into the cloak she wore, the one he had presented to her that had previously belonged to his mother. He would admit to himself that he was extremely happy to see that she still wore the mantle, given some of the implications that arose with handing her such a gift from his own mother.
She clasped her hand tighter as a tremor ran through the earth, shaking the ground with a mighty roar before disappearing as quickly as it had arrived and a chill ran down his spine.
"It reminds me of Númenor," he said, cursing himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He hardly wished to frighten her with his old, recurring dream of the end of times in another age. The great wave that wiped out one of the greatest civilisations ever seen. The land where his ancestors came from and he felt he had a great connection to.
"Of Númenor?"
"Yes. Of the land of Westernesse that foundered and of the great dark wave climbing over the green lands and above the hills, and coming on, darkness unescapable," he said almost grimly. He had not meant to broach the subject, but he would not lie. "I often dream of it."
"Then you think that the darkness is coming?" Éowyn asked, worry clear in her voice. The worry her voice now showed at the thought of her life potentially ending was a stark contrast to the way in which she sought death just the previous week.
"No," he said, assuring her that he did not believe that this was the end and that it was just what he had seen in his dreams, a picture in his mind. Her eyes softened as they met his own as she listened to what he had to say, drawing closer to him so they were mere inches apart.
"Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure," he said, voice filled with hope.
And he stopped and placed a gentle kiss atop her brow. She did not flinch and he could've sworn he felt her relax into his touch.
And then, as they stood together in an embrace, something wonderful happened.
The shadow disappeared as if it had never been there. As this happened, the two of them broke apart in shock, staring in the distance with wide eyes as they could hardly believe what they were seeing. The departing cloud allowed the sun to truly shine across Gondor, its golden rays lighting up the land in a way that he had never seen.
And then one of the great eagles came bearing messages from the Lords of the West. They sang of the fall of Sauron and the Dark Tower and how the King was victorious and all around the city cheers and celebrations could be heard.
"They did it," he whispered, thinking of dear Frodo and Sam and how their mission had succeeded. He could hardly believe it, such was the power Sauron had held over this world for far too long, yet two shirefolk had defeated him, removing his darkness from the beautiful world once and for all.
"It's really over," Éowyn said, a mix between a statement and a question, not quite believing that the fortune had favoured them, that good had triumphed over evil.
The smile that appeared on her face would remain etched in his mind forever, a smile of hope that suggested the future had been worth fighting for, and she let out a small laugh in disbelief before all but launching herself back into his arms. She embraced him tightly, celebrating their victory and he embraced her back, closing his eyes for a short moment and allowing himself to savour the feeling of her in his arms, and sighing in relief at the thought of never seeing the darkness again.
Just a few days after the news of the victory reached them, Faramir was declared well enough to take up his role as the Steward. It was a title he never expected to inherit, being a younger son, but it was also a title he was prepared to relinquish after just a few weeks, as the King was finally due to return.
In the weeks that followed, he seldom saw her. In fact, he was so busy he hardly had a chance to speak to anybody about any topic that did not revolve around preparing the city for the King's return. The city had taken so much damage during the siege and with the amount of men who had lost their lives, the manpower to rebuild was severely lacking.
He had been reluctant to leave her, especially with her growing nervousness awaiting word that Éomer was well, but with the size of the task that awaited him, he knew he had to leave the Houses of Healing, and his mind was eased knowing she was in the more than capable hands of the healers. Ioreth, who he had known since birth, had seemingly picked up on Faramir's feelings towards the Lady of Rohan, and assured him she would be fine.
Five days after the darkness had lifted, and two days since he had left the Houses of Healing, he returned to see her and Merry as word had finally reached them about those who had made it. The news that Éomer survived filled Éowyn with joy and thankfulness, but it was relief that she felt more than anything. And he was happy for her. It was obvious despite some recent issues that the two were close and after all she had suffered, he did not want to imagine her losing another that she loved.
No one was quite as excited to receive news from the host as Merry was. He all but launched himself into Faramir's arms with joy with cries of, 'They're alive! All of them, they made it!'. He was certainly glad to hear that the three hobbits had survived, and not just for Merry's sake. He found Pippin to be a great companion during their brief time together and he also owed the hobbit his life. And as for Frodo and Sam, no words could do them justice.
As for Faramir himself, he was grateful to receive news that his uncle was well. Imrahil had sent a letter explaining that he and his younger sons, Erchirion and Amrothos, were all well and that he had sent word for Elphir and Lothíriel to make for Minas Tirith to witness the celebrations when the host returned. Imrahil also extended an invitation for Faramir to join them in celebration at the Field of Cormallen, but Faramir politely declined, explaining that he was preparing the city for their arrival.
Merry took off to Cormallen, eager to reunite with his kin and so left when many others from the city did, but Éowyn remained. Despite Éomer begging her to join him at Cormallen and the blessing of the Warden to make the journey, Éowyn stayed behind in the Houses, and Faramir thought he may have an idea why.
Though, unfortunately he did not have time to test his theory. Instead, in the two weeks that passed he saw her only fleetingly, but that changed when one day the Warden approached him.
He explained that for some reason, Éowyn was ailing. Though she had started to heal physically, no longer needing the sling for her broken arm, all the progress made in healing her mind in the previous weeks were undone and as she was now alone, she seemed to be slipping back into the hopeless, depressive state that the Black Breath had left her in.
Feeling guilty over not creating time to see her and properly talk with her to gauge how she was feeling, he all but raced to the Houses of Healing and into his mother's garden where she stood by the wall, still looking towards the east.
She was paler than when he last saw her, but not the type of pale that almost made her skin glow, but a sickly pale, though despite this she was still a striking figure.
He approached her slightly, but she did not hear as she focused on the land where the victorious host gathered. Not wanting to startle her, he cleared his throat gently and she gave him a small smile, motioning for him to join her at the wall.
Below, he could see hundreds of people bustling about, getting on with their day but excitement was evident among them. Children sang and played while their parents laughed, happy to see them enjoy life after suffering for so long. Outside some of the taverns, he saw some of his rangers alongside men of the Rohirrim who had stayed behind. And in the distance, he saw the sun. High in the sky with no dark cloud to ruin its beauty, the sun beamed on Minas Tirith. Perhaps the return of light would see the city be given its true name again.
"You look well," she said. He debated returning the compliment, for to him she still looked beautiful, but she did have the look of one who was ailing and he doubted the compliment would be welcome for she would see it as false, so he changed the direction of the conversation.
"Éowyn, why do you tarry here, and do not go to the rejoicing in Cormallen beyond Cair Andros, where your brother awaits you?"
"Do you not know?" she answered after a short pause, averting her eyes away from his.
"Two reasons there may be, but which is true, I do not know," he said, though he was fairly certain he knew, but his desperation for her to admit her feelings left doubting what he could read in her.
"I do not wish to play at riddles. Speak plainer!"
"Then if you will have it so, lady, you do not go, because only your brother called for you, and to look no the Lord Aragorn, Elendil's heir, in his triumph would now bring you no joy. Or because I do not go, and you desire still to be near me. And maybe for both these reasons, and you yourself cannot choose between them. Éowyn, do you love me, or will you not?"
It was the first time he had mentioned the word love around her, and he knew he had somewhat hit a mark, for he could see it in her eyes, but still she would not quite allow herself to admit it aloud.
"I wish to be loved by another," she whispered, before growing a little more defiant. "But I desire no man's pity."
"That I know," he replied, having figured out Éowyn's misplaced fancy for Aragorn within a few days of meeting her. But it also didn't take him long to figure out that her love for Aragorn was not true, and instead she loved only the representation of the great man.
"You desired to have the love of the Lord Aragorn. Because he was high and puissant, and you wished to have renown and glory and to be lifted far above the mean things that crawl on the earth. And as a great captain to a young soldier he seemed to you admirable. For so he is, a lord among men, the greatest that now is. But when he gave you only understanding and pity, then you desired to have nothing, unless a brave death in battle. Look at me, Éowyn."
And she did, her eyes gazing directly into his own, and he could see she was relenting, finally ready to admit what she had been hiding from even herself.
"Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, Éowyn. But I do not offer you my pity. For you are a lady high and valiant and have yourself won renown that shall not be forgotten; and you are a lady beautiful, I deem, beyond even the words of the Elven-tongue to tell. And I love you."
There, he had said it. Finally he had confessed his love for her and as he spoke the words, he saw her eyes brighten. Perhaps, she who had been so used to rejection and disappointment took so long to admit her own feelings because he had not outright confessed his love, but he had now and would do so a thousand times more to see that brightness enter her eyes once more.
"Once, I pitied your sorrow," he continued. "But now, were you sorrowless, without fear or any lack, were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, still would I love you. Éowyn, do you not love me?"
A smile graced her face at his confession, a true smile that spoke of friendship, affection and love.
"I stand in Minas Anor, the Tower of the Sun," she said, light returning to her voice, "and behold the Shadow has departed. I will be a Shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great riders, nor take joy in only the songs of slaying. I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren."
If that be her wish, Faramir would be more than willing to accommodate. He had no wish to force her into a lifestyle she did not wish to be in. If she wanted to take up the sword and fight, he would support her, but having heard about her experience on the field of battle and how it damaged her mind, he was glad she would now look to healing, a far more valiant profession, in his opinion, than that of a warrior.
"No longer do I desire to be a Queen," she said, with a smile on her face.
"That is well, for I am not a King," he replied, causing her to laugh merrily. "Yet I will wed with the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will. And if she will, then let us cross the river and in happier days let us dwell in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the White Lady comes."
Ithilien, the land they had spoken of, the land he so loved. He could picture now in his mind, a house at the ancient seat of the Stewards in the hills of Emyn Arnen, and there a fair garden, carefully constructed by the White Lady of Rohan.
"Then must I leave my own people, man of Gondor? And would you have your proud folk say of you: 'There goes a Lord who tamed a wild Shieldmaiden of the North! Was there no woman of the race of Númenor to choose?" she teased, a wicked grin upon her face showing she was joking with him.
"I would," he answered, simply. Let the people of Gondor say as they please. He had fallen completely in love with this woman and if she returned his love, he cared little what anybody else thought.
And he took her in his arms and kissed her under the sunlit sky, and he cared not that they stood high upon the walls in the sight of many. And many indeed saw them and the light that shone about them.
Remembering himself, and how public they were, he broke the kiss. He had no wish to embarrass her, nor have her the subject of wicked rumours, but she seemed to care as little as he as she pulled him back to her, bringing her lips to his own once more. And in that moment, with his arms around her waist and her hand running through his hair, he knew it was the start of what would be a wonderful life together.
So, that's the Houses of Healing done.
Apologies for including a lot of quotes from the book in the final part, but that section is one of my all time favourite literary scenes and I couldn't do the moment justice without the actual words. Obviously, in the first chapter I mentioned I try to stay away from using too many book quotes so the gap between Tolkien's writing and my own isn't such an obvious chasm, but I had to include it.
There are two more chapters planned for the canon era, one for the host returning to Minas Tirith (and an introduction to Éomer) and the other for Théoden's funeral and the betrothal at Edoras. After that, we're in post-canon territory and I'm really excited for you all to see what I've got planned.
Thank you for your support, hope you continue to read.