Post by Admin on Apr 6, 2022 2:16:39 GMT
Author: Niliwen
Summary: In the days before Aragorn's coronation, a shieldmaiden learns that some acts of courage do not need a sword and a shield
Rating: T
Characters: Eowyn, Faramir, Eomer
Warnings: Some mentions or references to stalking and suicide
“Yet now that I have leave to depart, I would remain. For this house has become to me of all dwellings the most blessed.”
The warden of the Houses of Healing looked upon Éowyn and then at Faramir with amazement. “What further aid or service could we be to you, my Lady? This is not a lodging house,” he said gently to Éowyn. “It would be more fitting to her station, as the sister of the latest King of the Rohirrim, to stay in the Citadel,” he now said to Faramir.
Faramir cleared his throat and shook his head. “At present the Citadel and the White Tower are hardly fitted up for any guests to stay in comfort; it is mainly a garrison. I would that the Lady Éowyn remain where she will continue to remain in good health, or perhaps choose a house best suited to her,” he said, now discreetly taking the lady’s hand.
Éowyn glanced briefly down at their interlaced fingers, only realizing now how well they actually fitted together. ‘I am sure we were seen from the windows anyway,’ she reminded herself as she squeezed Faramir’s hand. “And that house is here,” she said to the warden more insistently. “I will not be idle, Master Warden. I wish to be a healer, and I would learn what I could from you or any of the other healers who would teach me until my brother returns.”
The warden’s jaw dropped. “As an apprentice, my Lady? But what would the King of Rohan say or even my lord the Steward?”
“As she is not my subject, she is not under my command,” Faramir said a little more mirthfully. “It would not be an affront to her to learn our healing arts, since they will serve her well in the future.”
Éowyn felt her cheeks grow warm at the recollection of what she and Faramir had talked about just minutes ago on the walls of Minas Tirith, but she raised her head to look the warden in the face. “What say you then?” she asked.
“I will not permit you to be treated as an apprentice here; it is taxing, and it may inadvertently set you back,” the warden replied after a moment, indicating Éowyn’s left arm, which had been recently released from its sling. “I am happy though to allow you to peruse our vast collections of books and accompany our healers as they care for our patients, few as they are now!”
“Thank you, Master Warden,” Éowyn said, making a slight bow while Faramir made a deeper one by way of taking their leave. Once they were some paces away from the door, she could not help but let out a deep sigh. “I hope he will make good on his word, my lord. I would be restless if I was to be kept away from the work here and then learn nothing,” she said to Faramir.
“I have known the warden since I was a boy, and I know he will be a good teacher—once he gets over the surprise of it all,” Faramir reassured her. “He has never before had a pupil from Rohan.”
“We have our healers in Edoras, but I had little time to learn from them,” Éowyn said. ‘Or even the inclination,’ she thought as she saw before her mind’s eye once more the darkened halls of Meduseld, with Grima Wormtongue lurking in its shadows. A shiver coursed through her, prompting her to reach down for where she once was accustomed to keep a dagger. Finding nothing there but air, she reached for Faramir’s hand again. “Will you still visit often, Faramir?”
“Every day,” Faramir promised. “If it were up to my will entirely, I’d have you with me at my side even as I carry out my duties till Lord Aragorn the king should return.”
For a moment Éowyn saw herself sitting with Faramir in one of the many libraries that she was sure were a feature of the White Tower, but the image also almost immediately brought to her mind a matter that had slipped her attention these past days. “I must write to Éomer,” she muttered.
The mention of the young king of Rohan brought a worried look to Faramir’s face. “Have you not yet replied to his summons?” he inquired.
Éowyn shook her head. “I did not know what to say –up till this morning!”
“I should formally ask for your hand,” he said. “This means I should write to him as well.”
“You mustn’t do so, not till I write to him first,” she insisted. “Otherwise, he will make for Minas Tirith ahead of the army, just to demand some sort of explanation!”
Faramir cringed, clearly already imagining the implications of such an incident. “Then I will defer to you on this course of action, Éowyn, as he is your brother and still your liege.”
‘For now,’ Éowyn thought. The idea, now reality, of leaving Rohan to live in Gondor permanently was not one she wanted to brood upon, especially on this day. “I will send a message today,” she decided aloud. “But knowing him, he will not write back but will certainly wish to speak with us both.”
“Then I shall be prepared to answer his concerns,” Faramir replied. He glanced towards the Citadel with a wry look before turning to smile at Éowyn again. “I will return here after I have finished my meetings with some of my father’s councilors.”
“Please,” Éowyn said, feeling much more gladdened at the prospect of this next rendezvous. After parting ways with a kiss, Faramir returned to the White Tower while Éowyn went to her east-facing room. After asking for some paper, ink, and a fresh quill, she sat by the window to take advantage of the light of high noon and this happier solitude.
‘Where do I begin?’ she wondered now as she looked upon the fields of the Pelennor, which were only now beginning to regain their greenness after having seen such fierce battle. Beyond them were the ramparts of Rammas Echor, and then the Anduin River with the isle of Cair Andros, beyond which were the fields and forests of Ithilien. ‘It has its own shadows too, as Edoras had,’ she realized.
The recollection of Rohan—and the fact that she had been asked to remain in Dunharrow after the muster of the Riders—brought a lump to Éowyn’s throat. In the clear light of day, she could see now that her decision to ride to Minas Tirith had in effect, left her people leaderless. ‘I had thought they would look out for each other, since I had no plans of ever coming back again,’ she thought. In fact, she had thought that Éomer or one of his fellow marshals stood a larger chance of returning home than she ever did. “But here we are, many of us still alive, and how shall a king judge one who left her duty, even his own sister?” she whispered.
Then of course there was the matter of Faramir, and her acceptance of his sudden proposal. ‘Some would say it would hide my shame here in Gondor, or that otherwise this is a diplomatic marriage to cement an alliance,’ she thought, frowning at the bitter taste these ideas left in the back of her mouth. Now that she thought about it, she could not recall if Théoden had ever seriously discussed with anyone the possibility of using marriage to bolster the strength and standing of Rohan, or at least the House of Eorl. Although her own mother Théodwyn had happily married one of the most renowned commanders of the Riddermark in their day, the advantages of such a match had been little compared to that which might have been gained from a marriage of a princess of Rohan to a scion from one of Gondor’s nobility. It would only stand to reason, at least from a pragmatic point of view, to push a similar union for her, with a lord of great standing and ambition.
'But just like my mother, I will be marrying for love and not advantages,’ Éowyn realized with a smile. Although she had been very young when her parents had passed on, she was certain that they had been happy in the Aldburg, far away from the entanglements of the court at Edoras. These recollections gladdened her as she got up and went to the door to receive the writing supplies that she’d requested, and then found a space to work by the afternoon light.
After an hour, Éowyn set aside her letter to dry on the windowpane, taking care not to smudge these words:
My dearest brother,
I greet you with joy at your victory against Mordor, and happiness for my own recovery here in Minas Tirith. All the news coming into the city are those of good tidings and revelry, from all parts of Gondor. I apologize for not being able to join you there at the Field of Cormallen, and for not having accompanied Meriadoc there. I wish dearly to have been there to toast your victory and kingship, but my healing has been better served by staying a little longer here in Minas Tirith to await your return.
Since then, I have had the opportunity to carefully consider some of the things that have happened, mainly my leaving Dunharrow to ride with the army to Gondor. I beg your forgiveness from you as my King for having abandoned my duties, and I am ready to give a full account when we meet.
There are also other things I have also come to consider, and these are matters which also concern you not only as my king but also as my brother. To put it plainly, I have accepted an offer of marriage from Lord Faramir, the present Steward of Gondor. You may have heard of him from his uncle, Lord Imrahil of Dol Amroth, or the rangers from Ithilien, or even from Meriadoc himself. I am sure that they all speak very highly of him. He is a warrior yes, but a wise one as well, and his whole being is the very definition of honor.
As King, I know you are aware of what this match means for Rohan, but as a brother I know you will not see it entirely that way. I only ask as your sister to please be gracious to Faramir, especially when you both will meet to discuss this properly.
Till we meet soon
Éowyn
Over the next hour, it was all that Éowyn could do not to snatch up the letter and shred it, more so when she imagined her brother’s reaction to this missive. “But it has to be done,” she told herself when she at last folded up the letter and sealed it. After putting this letter in the hands of a messenger bound for the Field of Cormallen, she went out once again to the garden of the Houses of Healing. ‘For both of us, I must do this,’ she thought, looking to the White Tower.
**
Just as Éowyn had expected, no actual reply came from Éomer, although news did come of him and the Riders of Rohan returning with King Aragon Elessar and the whole host that had marched with to the Black Gate. Yet even as she waited in the Houses of Healing, there was much to occupy her as she began to learn the arts of the healers. At first, the Warden asked her to remain in the small library to read what she could, but after some days he had begun to involve her in small tasks such as sorting through the supplies or tending the less seriously ill or injured in the Houses.
“I wish I’d asked to learn sooner!” she said to Faramir during one of his subsequent visits to the Houses of Healing. On this afternoon, he had come upon her as she was cataloging a collection of medicinal plants. “There’s so much that I didn’t know about herbs, not to mention bandages, slings, and all the things that could possibly happen to an ill person!”
“You have a lifetime to learn all of that, Éowyn,” Faramir pointed out. “Even the Master Warden has taken decades to hone his craft.”
The shieldmaiden smiled wryly as she put a dried sprig of thyme back into a vial and sealed it firmly with a piece of cork. “I hoped to have something to teach the women and healers of Rohan,” she explained. “We have long done our best with what we have to tend our wounded, but what you have here in Gondor is so much more.”
“Perhaps, now that these days will be ones of peace, it will be more possible to send Rohan’s healers and lore masters to study here for a season or two, and bring their knowledge back to your people,” he suggested.
“Yes, while our riders teach your guards and soldiers how to travel without being unhorsed,” Éowyn quipped. “From what I’ve seen of Gondor’s horsemanship, you have a lot to learn!”
“Indeed we do!” Faramir said with a laugh, but his eyes were grave when he looked at Éowyn again. “If you have time to spare, there is something I wish to ask of you now.”
“What is it?” Éowyn asked as she closed the box of herbs and met his eyes curiously.
“I must fetch the crown of the King of Gondor from where it lies in the lap of Eärnil, the last King of Gondor resting in Rath Dínen,” Faramir said. It seemed in that moment as if a tremendous weight had fallen on his shoulders. “That is the same place where my father’s pyre lies.”
Éowyn shuddered at this, for although Faramir had already spoken of Denethor’s demise, the effect of these events on him was still all too evident. Faramir’s hands were cold when she reached for them, but much to her relief they warmed quickly as she chafed them between her own fingers. “Then I shall accompany you.”
“You are not afraid?”
“I hear that they have given a place of honor as well to one who has fallen on the field of the Pelennor, and I would like to pay my respects.”
Faramir nodded understandingly. “We should go now, while the evening is still a long way off. The door to the Silent Street is here on this level of the city.”
“Wait here,” Éowyn said as she returned the chest of herbs to its cabinet, then went to her room to get a cloak for herself and another for Faramir. Once they were suitably attired, the pair slipped out of the Houses of Healing and made their way to the lonely passage known as Fen Hollen. Faramir only had to nod to the porter there, who then wordlessly unlocked the door leading to the Silent Street.
As they descended the long winding road to the great tombs and mausoleums, it seemed to Éowyn that the shadows in this part of the city were longer than they should have been in the broad daylight of this spring day. “In Edoras, we have mounds in two lines. One for each line of the Kings of the Mark,” she whispered as they walked. “They are always covered in the white flowers of the simbelmynë, no matter the time of the year.”
“Will you and your brother bring your uncle back to lie in one of his own?” Faramir asked.
Éowyn nodded. “He would have wanted it, to rest near where our only cousin Theodred is.”
“What happened to him?”
“He was killed in battle at the Fords of Isen.”
Faramir swallowed hard. “My deepest sympathies for your loss. You have never spoken of him before though.”
“He was so much older than us; he was already a man full grown when Éomer and I came to live at Edoras,” Éowyn explained. Indeed, her memories of the prince Theodred were fond, though few, for the man had always spent more time with the other commanders or with Éomer. “Your brother though—will you put something up for him here?”
Faramir shrugged. “Boromir did not like anything ostentatious, and I think he would find some way to torment me in my dreams if I dared to make any stunning memorial for him. But a stone, however empty the ground may be beneath it, may suffice.”
‘Someday,’ Éowyn thought as they now reached a long line of large tombs, more statuesque and ornate than even some of the other homes of the living she had seen in the city. Within sight was a high mausoleum whose roof had collapsed onto charred walls. Other tombs nearby had also suffered some damage, ranging from complete destruction to just the slightest hint of burning. Beyond these ruins stood another line of still loftier tombs. “What happened to that one?” she asked.
“My father,” Faramir answered. He bowed his head and did not speak for some time, but when he finally straightened up his eyes were red from silent weeping. “I do not remember it, except as if a fevered dream. And I was in a fever then.”
Eowyn reached for his hand, which had once again gone cold even in the folds of his cloak. “Well, we shall not go there.”
“We’ll have to pass it,” Faramir pointed out, clasping the lady’s hand very tightly. “I’ll walk with you, for a little way beyond it is the place of honor for Théoden of Rohan.”
Éowyn took a deep breath as they now walked toward the tomb that Faramir had pointed out. This one was in a quiet but well-lit corner of the street; here torches had been raised to burn continually in this place of honor. Although there was no effigy or ornate device atop the great stone that lay over Théoden’s mortal remains, the tomb was piled high with flowers surrounding the valiant king’s broken shield and his great sword Herugrim. ‘I wish you could have seen these days, Théoden King!’ Éowyn thought as she stepped forward and dropped to her knees before the tomb.
In that moment she tried to envision how it would have been to speak to her uncle, to ask his forgiveness for her defiance and yet relate to him how she had slain the Witch-King. Yet Éowyn could only see in her mind’s eye how Théoden had led the charge of his warriors upon the Pelennor, under the reddest dawn she could ever have imagined. ‘That is how you always wished to be remembered, and you have made it so,’ she realized. After having witnessed this fearless charge, it seemed ignominious now to even recall the days of Théoden’s decline under Saruman’s enthrallments and Wormtongue’s machinations. Éowyn silently looked on the tomb for a few more moments before she wiped the tears from her eyes and got to her feet. “We can go now,” she said to Faramir.
“It is only a little way over there,” Faramir said, pointing to the loftiest line of tombs in the row ahead. He drew her close and kissed her brow. “If you wish, you can wait for me here.”
“I’ve come with you this far,” Eowyn insisted, feeling a smile tug at her lips even as she reached up to wipe his face with the edge of her cloak. They walked more quickly now to the tombs of the Kings, for the shadows were already beginning to grow long. Faramir now led the way through a winding passage between rows of tombs holding the dust of Gondor’s kings and princes, till at last they reached a last lonely tomb half-cloaked in shadow.
“Is this it?” Éowyn asked, looking around the gathering gloom.
Faramir nodded. “The resting place of Eärnil. His son, the last King Eärnur, never returned from challenging the Morgul Lord to single combat.”
“The Morgul Lord, that is the Witch-King?”
“Yes indeed. It is already said by the minstrels that you and Meriadoc have avenged the last of the heirs of Anárion.” The young Steward reached for a large casket nestled in the middle of the graven image of the deceased king. “According to our customs, the king to be receives this crown from his father in his last days, or he should go here to this street to retrieve it. However there has long been no King in Gondor, and I am the last of the House of Hurin to which the realm was entrusted to ere King Eärnur’s riding to Minas Morgul.”
Éowyn nodded understandingly. “What will then happen to your office as Steward once Lord Aragorn is crowned?”
“I must surrender it,” Faramir said. He grunted as he heaved the casket off the tomb and then gently lowered it to the ground. “That would leave me with perhaps only the command of the Rangers of Ithilien. You would have me still, a mere lowly captain of Gondor?”
“Yes,” Éowyn replied. “You did not woo me with your position after all.”
Faramir smiled as he picked up the casket anew. “For it is not a decoration to attract any mean soul, but a duty. There is little that is gamesome about it.”
‘Yet another reason to love him,’ Éowyn mused as they now made their way back from the tombs. Although it was slow going on the uphill climb, carrying the casket as best as they could between them, somehow the journey back to the Houses of Healing never seemed easier.
**
Not even two days after this excursion, tidings came to Minas Tirith of the arrival of the great host of the West, by way of the river and Osgilliath. Soon after, the pavilions of the commanders and their warriors could be seen on the Pelennor Fields. That very afternoon, Faramir and Éowyn rode out to this encampment, arriving there early in the evening.
Even before the pair could alight from their horses, they were immediately greeted by the men of Gondor who’d spotted them first. “My Lord Faramir! This is unexpected!” a tall, dark-haired man hailed them. Unlike the other soldiers in the camp, who were clad in the black and white livery of the men of the Citadel, this one’s armor had no such device.
“Yes, but I am here to accompany the White Lady of Rohan, to speak with her brother the King of the Mark,” Faramir answered as he alighted. He clasped this man’s arms heartily. “It is good to see you here, Beregond!”
Beregond grinned before he bowed to Éowyn. “It is an honor to meet you, my Lady. All the songs speak of your courage in slaying the leader of Mordor’s forces,” he said.
“And it is my honor to meet an esteemed friend of the Steward,” Éowyn answered as she also alighted, finding herself up to the task of doing so unaided. ‘Éomer will be glad to know that,’ she thought. “I have heard much of your bravery, Sir Beregond, especially on behalf of Lord Faramir” she said to the knight.
Beregond reddened slightly. “I did only what I felt was necessary, my Lady, but that is a tale for another time,” he said in an undertone as he led the way to the encampment of the Riders of Rohan.
“I have heard that in the…struggle with my father, that he had to fight some of the retainers. That is forbidden in those hallows,” Faramir explained to Éowyn in a quiet whisper as they walked. “I hope that Lord Aragorn will judge Beregond’s case with mercy.”
Éowyn gritted her teeth at this reference to the debacle in the Silent Street, but she soon found it was impossible to dwell on this matter when there was so much revelry around them. At every other turn they were greeted or hailed by the men, such that she was sure that news would soon spread through the camp of their arrival. As for Faramir, he was clearly buoyed in spirit to see so many of his friends had survived the battles in Mordor. However, his smile was still rather wry whenever someone addressed him as the ‘Lord Steward’, thus prompting Éowyn to keep her hand on his arm as they made their way through the camp.
Even before Éowyn and Faramir could draw near to the Rohirrim’s tents, they were met by none other than Elfhelm. “My lady, your brother Éomer King has long been waiting for you,” he greeted. The rider also bowed stiffly to Faramir. “Greetings as well, Lord Faramir. Thank you for accompanying the Lady Éowyn here.”
“He also wishes to speak with the King,” Éowyn said. “But let me go in first to speak to my brother,” she added with a firm nod to the men.
Elfhelm sighed knowingly and nodded. “I’ll fetch some ale for Lord Faramir here, while we wait,” he said gruffly.
“Please save some for me,” Éowyn said to Faramir. “I’ll simply have your share if you do not find it to your favor!”
“I am always one for a new experience, my Lady,” Faramir said more mirthfully.
Éowyn laughed at this, more so when she heard Elfhelm muttering something about having to deal with Gondorians unable to handle the ale from the Riddermark. Despite this levity, she still felt her stomach twist as she walked through the camp to where she saw the familiar green and white pennant waving in the evening breeze. She took a deep breath as she came upon her brother sitting at the entrance of his tent, holding a tankard of ale as he looked on the festivities. It seemed to her now that a new stateliness was coming upon him, making him seem taller and more regal than he had ever been in his days as Third Marshal of the Mark. “Éomer King,” she greeted.
Éomer looked up quickly and set down his drink. “Is it really you, my sister?”
“I was on the mend when you left Minas Tirith—” Éowyn began before her brother wrapped her in a tight hug. She smiled as she hugged him back, as unseemly as this display was for a young King even with his own kin. “I am glad that you have won your victory unscathed,” she said when he let go of her.
“Not entirely; I had a leg wound from an orc’s axe, but it was healed well by Aragorn and Mithrandir,” Éomer said. “How has your arm healed?”
“The break is mended, and I am getting its strength back,” Éowyn replied proudly. “But you have not summoned me to talk of our battle wounds.”
At this, Éomer’s mien grew serious and he nodded for her to enter the tent. This space was only very simply fitted up with a pallet, a cabinet for the King’s weapons and armor, and a crude writing desk and a chair. The young king motioned for his sister to take the chair while he pulled up the cabinet to act as a seat. “I worried when you didn’t even respond to my summons right away, sister,” he said more seriously. “I thought you’d taken a turn for the worse.”
“It was wrong of me not to write back as soon as I could,” Éowyn admitted. “I had to figure out though what proper answer to give you, and more importantly to myself.”
Éomer looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“The Shadow had lain on me for so long, and when it lifted, I had to see the world anew for myself before I could face you, or even Lord Aragorn,” Éowyn said. Much to her surprise, she saw him nod as if understanding something. “You know?”
“Not everything, dear sister. But I can take a few guesses and remember things, especially after our friends have brought them to my attention,” Éomer replied. “Why did you not say anything about how you were struggling all those years?”
“You and I were both bound by duty, and love as well for our uncle,” Éowyn reminded him. “If you were in my place, you wouldn’t have raised your voice either or made a complaint especially with that snake Wormtongue having eyes and ears throughout all of Edoras!”
“But to choose to die in battle?” Éomer asked. “It was our every intention that you would live and be spared no matter what would happen, and that was one of the reasons you were asked to remain in Dunharrow.”
“To be spared, to what end? There was no hope I could see --- or hold on to, for I knew how grim the counsels were with the news from Gondor,” Éowyn pointed out. “I do not think you were certain either on your return.”
“That is true, but the knowledge you were safe would have been hope enough, for myself, and for our people!” said the King of the Mark. He turned away from her for a few moments, but when he looked at her again there was no anger or rancor in his eyes. “But I know that it was you and Master Meriadoc who rid the world of a great bane, more fearsome than any of us thought. I only learned recently just how foul a foe you were up against. For that, you shall have renown unending.”
“Then what will be the judgment of the King of Rohan?”
“In other times, the punishment would have been severe, such as perpetual exile,” Éomer answered. “I know though that what you did was out of love for our uncle, other reasons aside. All this withstanding, I only will release you now from your oath and duties as a shieldmaiden, especially considering who else you wrote to me about.”
Éowyn nodded slowly, relieved to see her brother somewhat mollified. “Lord Faramir has accompanied me here. He wishes to speak with you too,” she told him.
“As he should. I already knew him to be a wise and good man, even if he is more bookish than I thought you would prefer,” Éomer replied drolly. “Were he not the Steward of Gondor, and were you not of the House of Eorl, I would have no objections to this match provided you were happy with it.”
Éowyn frowned at this. “Are you speaking as my brother or as the King?”
“Both,” Éomer said with a sigh. “I’m not completely ignorant of the situation Lord Faramir faces; as Steward he will have to give up the rule of the Gondor to Lord Aragorn once he is crowned. That would leave him mainly as a commander of whatever troops given to him, and with a noble name, but little else beyond being the son of a former Steward.”
“Mother had no problem with Father, and he was a leader of the troops at Aldburg while she was the King’s sister.”
“Father was from Rohan. That is looked upon more kindly even by the most traditional courtiers of Edoras, dear sister.”
‘Maybe it was not the wagging tongues of Gondor that I need to worry about,’ Éowyn realized. “You know that I have never cared for such talk or gossip, especially from the very same people who opposed my being a shieldmaiden,” she said to Éomer. “I know that some of them, or their parents, were also objecting to Mother’s supposedly not making an alliance through her own marriage.”
“Yes, and it seems as if the House of Eorl can never please everyone,” Éomer replied, rolling his eyes knowingly. “There will also be those courtiers who will like this development for the alliance that will be in it.”
“I do not care about their opinions, but I seek yours.”
“Éowyn, I will not have you forcing yourself into this marriage for diplomacy’s sake, no matter what good it would do for Rohan!”
“I accepted Lord Faramir’s proposal freely, and not for any boon or position to be given to him,” Éowyn said. She smiled as she recalled once more all that had passed beginning from their convalescence up to their present circumstances. “I know too that his love for me is given freely, regardless of what fate I would choose for myself.”
Éomer shut his eyes for a moment, clearly at a loss for words. “Can you be happy here in Gondor?” he asked more softly.
“I already am now, and I hope to still be,” Éowyn answered. ‘And what is hope but a belief in what is already possible or can also be made possible?’ she thought as she reached for Éomer’s arm. “If so, will you share in my joy, dear brother?”
The young king let out a deep sigh. “I have never thought that you would agree to be shut up in Mundburg, of all places.”
“Lord Faramir and I won’t make our home here, but in Ithilien, across the river.”
“There? That land still needs to be cleansed!”
“Which means that there will certainly be so much for us to do together,” Éowyn said. “There will be chances for glory yet, even as all this rebuilding is going on.”
Éomer smiled wistfully at this. “We have need of that, even in Rohan. Surely you will help me with that?”
“For a short while. I don’t think you want to pass up a wedding and an opportunity to drink,” Éowyn said. She felt relief course through her when she saw how Éomer chuckled and shook his head. “Only for a while, Éomer. It won’t be long till you find a queen who will be happy to share in the task.”
“There are far too many eager noblewomen in Rohan, but many do not understand the position,” Éomer scoffed. “Don’t even suggest looking for a wife here in Gondor. I cannot imagine any of the women here having much liking for horses and open fields.”
‘I would not be so sure of that,’ Éowyn thought, lowering her head to hide her smile. “Have you any more questions then, or any objections?”
Éomer shook his head, but now he was smiling more widely. “You said that Lord Faramir accompanied you here?”
“Yes, and Elfhelm said he’d get him some ale while they waited.”
“We’d better find your Gondorian lord before Elfhelm plies him with too much ale and makes him utterly useless at the coronation tomorrow.”
Éowyn rolled her eyes with mock exasperation. “Some things will never change!” she exclaimed before rushing out of the tent so she could rescue her intended.
Summary: In the days before Aragorn's coronation, a shieldmaiden learns that some acts of courage do not need a sword and a shield
Rating: T
Characters: Eowyn, Faramir, Eomer
Warnings: Some mentions or references to stalking and suicide
“Yet now that I have leave to depart, I would remain. For this house has become to me of all dwellings the most blessed.”
The warden of the Houses of Healing looked upon Éowyn and then at Faramir with amazement. “What further aid or service could we be to you, my Lady? This is not a lodging house,” he said gently to Éowyn. “It would be more fitting to her station, as the sister of the latest King of the Rohirrim, to stay in the Citadel,” he now said to Faramir.
Faramir cleared his throat and shook his head. “At present the Citadel and the White Tower are hardly fitted up for any guests to stay in comfort; it is mainly a garrison. I would that the Lady Éowyn remain where she will continue to remain in good health, or perhaps choose a house best suited to her,” he said, now discreetly taking the lady’s hand.
Éowyn glanced briefly down at their interlaced fingers, only realizing now how well they actually fitted together. ‘I am sure we were seen from the windows anyway,’ she reminded herself as she squeezed Faramir’s hand. “And that house is here,” she said to the warden more insistently. “I will not be idle, Master Warden. I wish to be a healer, and I would learn what I could from you or any of the other healers who would teach me until my brother returns.”
The warden’s jaw dropped. “As an apprentice, my Lady? But what would the King of Rohan say or even my lord the Steward?”
“As she is not my subject, she is not under my command,” Faramir said a little more mirthfully. “It would not be an affront to her to learn our healing arts, since they will serve her well in the future.”
Éowyn felt her cheeks grow warm at the recollection of what she and Faramir had talked about just minutes ago on the walls of Minas Tirith, but she raised her head to look the warden in the face. “What say you then?” she asked.
“I will not permit you to be treated as an apprentice here; it is taxing, and it may inadvertently set you back,” the warden replied after a moment, indicating Éowyn’s left arm, which had been recently released from its sling. “I am happy though to allow you to peruse our vast collections of books and accompany our healers as they care for our patients, few as they are now!”
“Thank you, Master Warden,” Éowyn said, making a slight bow while Faramir made a deeper one by way of taking their leave. Once they were some paces away from the door, she could not help but let out a deep sigh. “I hope he will make good on his word, my lord. I would be restless if I was to be kept away from the work here and then learn nothing,” she said to Faramir.
“I have known the warden since I was a boy, and I know he will be a good teacher—once he gets over the surprise of it all,” Faramir reassured her. “He has never before had a pupil from Rohan.”
“We have our healers in Edoras, but I had little time to learn from them,” Éowyn said. ‘Or even the inclination,’ she thought as she saw before her mind’s eye once more the darkened halls of Meduseld, with Grima Wormtongue lurking in its shadows. A shiver coursed through her, prompting her to reach down for where she once was accustomed to keep a dagger. Finding nothing there but air, she reached for Faramir’s hand again. “Will you still visit often, Faramir?”
“Every day,” Faramir promised. “If it were up to my will entirely, I’d have you with me at my side even as I carry out my duties till Lord Aragorn the king should return.”
For a moment Éowyn saw herself sitting with Faramir in one of the many libraries that she was sure were a feature of the White Tower, but the image also almost immediately brought to her mind a matter that had slipped her attention these past days. “I must write to Éomer,” she muttered.
The mention of the young king of Rohan brought a worried look to Faramir’s face. “Have you not yet replied to his summons?” he inquired.
Éowyn shook her head. “I did not know what to say –up till this morning!”
“I should formally ask for your hand,” he said. “This means I should write to him as well.”
“You mustn’t do so, not till I write to him first,” she insisted. “Otherwise, he will make for Minas Tirith ahead of the army, just to demand some sort of explanation!”
Faramir cringed, clearly already imagining the implications of such an incident. “Then I will defer to you on this course of action, Éowyn, as he is your brother and still your liege.”
‘For now,’ Éowyn thought. The idea, now reality, of leaving Rohan to live in Gondor permanently was not one she wanted to brood upon, especially on this day. “I will send a message today,” she decided aloud. “But knowing him, he will not write back but will certainly wish to speak with us both.”
“Then I shall be prepared to answer his concerns,” Faramir replied. He glanced towards the Citadel with a wry look before turning to smile at Éowyn again. “I will return here after I have finished my meetings with some of my father’s councilors.”
“Please,” Éowyn said, feeling much more gladdened at the prospect of this next rendezvous. After parting ways with a kiss, Faramir returned to the White Tower while Éowyn went to her east-facing room. After asking for some paper, ink, and a fresh quill, she sat by the window to take advantage of the light of high noon and this happier solitude.
‘Where do I begin?’ she wondered now as she looked upon the fields of the Pelennor, which were only now beginning to regain their greenness after having seen such fierce battle. Beyond them were the ramparts of Rammas Echor, and then the Anduin River with the isle of Cair Andros, beyond which were the fields and forests of Ithilien. ‘It has its own shadows too, as Edoras had,’ she realized.
The recollection of Rohan—and the fact that she had been asked to remain in Dunharrow after the muster of the Riders—brought a lump to Éowyn’s throat. In the clear light of day, she could see now that her decision to ride to Minas Tirith had in effect, left her people leaderless. ‘I had thought they would look out for each other, since I had no plans of ever coming back again,’ she thought. In fact, she had thought that Éomer or one of his fellow marshals stood a larger chance of returning home than she ever did. “But here we are, many of us still alive, and how shall a king judge one who left her duty, even his own sister?” she whispered.
Then of course there was the matter of Faramir, and her acceptance of his sudden proposal. ‘Some would say it would hide my shame here in Gondor, or that otherwise this is a diplomatic marriage to cement an alliance,’ she thought, frowning at the bitter taste these ideas left in the back of her mouth. Now that she thought about it, she could not recall if Théoden had ever seriously discussed with anyone the possibility of using marriage to bolster the strength and standing of Rohan, or at least the House of Eorl. Although her own mother Théodwyn had happily married one of the most renowned commanders of the Riddermark in their day, the advantages of such a match had been little compared to that which might have been gained from a marriage of a princess of Rohan to a scion from one of Gondor’s nobility. It would only stand to reason, at least from a pragmatic point of view, to push a similar union for her, with a lord of great standing and ambition.
'But just like my mother, I will be marrying for love and not advantages,’ Éowyn realized with a smile. Although she had been very young when her parents had passed on, she was certain that they had been happy in the Aldburg, far away from the entanglements of the court at Edoras. These recollections gladdened her as she got up and went to the door to receive the writing supplies that she’d requested, and then found a space to work by the afternoon light.
After an hour, Éowyn set aside her letter to dry on the windowpane, taking care not to smudge these words:
My dearest brother,
I greet you with joy at your victory against Mordor, and happiness for my own recovery here in Minas Tirith. All the news coming into the city are those of good tidings and revelry, from all parts of Gondor. I apologize for not being able to join you there at the Field of Cormallen, and for not having accompanied Meriadoc there. I wish dearly to have been there to toast your victory and kingship, but my healing has been better served by staying a little longer here in Minas Tirith to await your return.
Since then, I have had the opportunity to carefully consider some of the things that have happened, mainly my leaving Dunharrow to ride with the army to Gondor. I beg your forgiveness from you as my King for having abandoned my duties, and I am ready to give a full account when we meet.
There are also other things I have also come to consider, and these are matters which also concern you not only as my king but also as my brother. To put it plainly, I have accepted an offer of marriage from Lord Faramir, the present Steward of Gondor. You may have heard of him from his uncle, Lord Imrahil of Dol Amroth, or the rangers from Ithilien, or even from Meriadoc himself. I am sure that they all speak very highly of him. He is a warrior yes, but a wise one as well, and his whole being is the very definition of honor.
As King, I know you are aware of what this match means for Rohan, but as a brother I know you will not see it entirely that way. I only ask as your sister to please be gracious to Faramir, especially when you both will meet to discuss this properly.
Till we meet soon
Éowyn
Over the next hour, it was all that Éowyn could do not to snatch up the letter and shred it, more so when she imagined her brother’s reaction to this missive. “But it has to be done,” she told herself when she at last folded up the letter and sealed it. After putting this letter in the hands of a messenger bound for the Field of Cormallen, she went out once again to the garden of the Houses of Healing. ‘For both of us, I must do this,’ she thought, looking to the White Tower.
**
Just as Éowyn had expected, no actual reply came from Éomer, although news did come of him and the Riders of Rohan returning with King Aragon Elessar and the whole host that had marched with to the Black Gate. Yet even as she waited in the Houses of Healing, there was much to occupy her as she began to learn the arts of the healers. At first, the Warden asked her to remain in the small library to read what she could, but after some days he had begun to involve her in small tasks such as sorting through the supplies or tending the less seriously ill or injured in the Houses.
“I wish I’d asked to learn sooner!” she said to Faramir during one of his subsequent visits to the Houses of Healing. On this afternoon, he had come upon her as she was cataloging a collection of medicinal plants. “There’s so much that I didn’t know about herbs, not to mention bandages, slings, and all the things that could possibly happen to an ill person!”
“You have a lifetime to learn all of that, Éowyn,” Faramir pointed out. “Even the Master Warden has taken decades to hone his craft.”
The shieldmaiden smiled wryly as she put a dried sprig of thyme back into a vial and sealed it firmly with a piece of cork. “I hoped to have something to teach the women and healers of Rohan,” she explained. “We have long done our best with what we have to tend our wounded, but what you have here in Gondor is so much more.”
“Perhaps, now that these days will be ones of peace, it will be more possible to send Rohan’s healers and lore masters to study here for a season or two, and bring their knowledge back to your people,” he suggested.
“Yes, while our riders teach your guards and soldiers how to travel without being unhorsed,” Éowyn quipped. “From what I’ve seen of Gondor’s horsemanship, you have a lot to learn!”
“Indeed we do!” Faramir said with a laugh, but his eyes were grave when he looked at Éowyn again. “If you have time to spare, there is something I wish to ask of you now.”
“What is it?” Éowyn asked as she closed the box of herbs and met his eyes curiously.
“I must fetch the crown of the King of Gondor from where it lies in the lap of Eärnil, the last King of Gondor resting in Rath Dínen,” Faramir said. It seemed in that moment as if a tremendous weight had fallen on his shoulders. “That is the same place where my father’s pyre lies.”
Éowyn shuddered at this, for although Faramir had already spoken of Denethor’s demise, the effect of these events on him was still all too evident. Faramir’s hands were cold when she reached for them, but much to her relief they warmed quickly as she chafed them between her own fingers. “Then I shall accompany you.”
“You are not afraid?”
“I hear that they have given a place of honor as well to one who has fallen on the field of the Pelennor, and I would like to pay my respects.”
Faramir nodded understandingly. “We should go now, while the evening is still a long way off. The door to the Silent Street is here on this level of the city.”
“Wait here,” Éowyn said as she returned the chest of herbs to its cabinet, then went to her room to get a cloak for herself and another for Faramir. Once they were suitably attired, the pair slipped out of the Houses of Healing and made their way to the lonely passage known as Fen Hollen. Faramir only had to nod to the porter there, who then wordlessly unlocked the door leading to the Silent Street.
As they descended the long winding road to the great tombs and mausoleums, it seemed to Éowyn that the shadows in this part of the city were longer than they should have been in the broad daylight of this spring day. “In Edoras, we have mounds in two lines. One for each line of the Kings of the Mark,” she whispered as they walked. “They are always covered in the white flowers of the simbelmynë, no matter the time of the year.”
“Will you and your brother bring your uncle back to lie in one of his own?” Faramir asked.
Éowyn nodded. “He would have wanted it, to rest near where our only cousin Theodred is.”
“What happened to him?”
“He was killed in battle at the Fords of Isen.”
Faramir swallowed hard. “My deepest sympathies for your loss. You have never spoken of him before though.”
“He was so much older than us; he was already a man full grown when Éomer and I came to live at Edoras,” Éowyn explained. Indeed, her memories of the prince Theodred were fond, though few, for the man had always spent more time with the other commanders or with Éomer. “Your brother though—will you put something up for him here?”
Faramir shrugged. “Boromir did not like anything ostentatious, and I think he would find some way to torment me in my dreams if I dared to make any stunning memorial for him. But a stone, however empty the ground may be beneath it, may suffice.”
‘Someday,’ Éowyn thought as they now reached a long line of large tombs, more statuesque and ornate than even some of the other homes of the living she had seen in the city. Within sight was a high mausoleum whose roof had collapsed onto charred walls. Other tombs nearby had also suffered some damage, ranging from complete destruction to just the slightest hint of burning. Beyond these ruins stood another line of still loftier tombs. “What happened to that one?” she asked.
“My father,” Faramir answered. He bowed his head and did not speak for some time, but when he finally straightened up his eyes were red from silent weeping. “I do not remember it, except as if a fevered dream. And I was in a fever then.”
Eowyn reached for his hand, which had once again gone cold even in the folds of his cloak. “Well, we shall not go there.”
“We’ll have to pass it,” Faramir pointed out, clasping the lady’s hand very tightly. “I’ll walk with you, for a little way beyond it is the place of honor for Théoden of Rohan.”
Éowyn took a deep breath as they now walked toward the tomb that Faramir had pointed out. This one was in a quiet but well-lit corner of the street; here torches had been raised to burn continually in this place of honor. Although there was no effigy or ornate device atop the great stone that lay over Théoden’s mortal remains, the tomb was piled high with flowers surrounding the valiant king’s broken shield and his great sword Herugrim. ‘I wish you could have seen these days, Théoden King!’ Éowyn thought as she stepped forward and dropped to her knees before the tomb.
In that moment she tried to envision how it would have been to speak to her uncle, to ask his forgiveness for her defiance and yet relate to him how she had slain the Witch-King. Yet Éowyn could only see in her mind’s eye how Théoden had led the charge of his warriors upon the Pelennor, under the reddest dawn she could ever have imagined. ‘That is how you always wished to be remembered, and you have made it so,’ she realized. After having witnessed this fearless charge, it seemed ignominious now to even recall the days of Théoden’s decline under Saruman’s enthrallments and Wormtongue’s machinations. Éowyn silently looked on the tomb for a few more moments before she wiped the tears from her eyes and got to her feet. “We can go now,” she said to Faramir.
“It is only a little way over there,” Faramir said, pointing to the loftiest line of tombs in the row ahead. He drew her close and kissed her brow. “If you wish, you can wait for me here.”
“I’ve come with you this far,” Eowyn insisted, feeling a smile tug at her lips even as she reached up to wipe his face with the edge of her cloak. They walked more quickly now to the tombs of the Kings, for the shadows were already beginning to grow long. Faramir now led the way through a winding passage between rows of tombs holding the dust of Gondor’s kings and princes, till at last they reached a last lonely tomb half-cloaked in shadow.
“Is this it?” Éowyn asked, looking around the gathering gloom.
Faramir nodded. “The resting place of Eärnil. His son, the last King Eärnur, never returned from challenging the Morgul Lord to single combat.”
“The Morgul Lord, that is the Witch-King?”
“Yes indeed. It is already said by the minstrels that you and Meriadoc have avenged the last of the heirs of Anárion.” The young Steward reached for a large casket nestled in the middle of the graven image of the deceased king. “According to our customs, the king to be receives this crown from his father in his last days, or he should go here to this street to retrieve it. However there has long been no King in Gondor, and I am the last of the House of Hurin to which the realm was entrusted to ere King Eärnur’s riding to Minas Morgul.”
Éowyn nodded understandingly. “What will then happen to your office as Steward once Lord Aragorn is crowned?”
“I must surrender it,” Faramir said. He grunted as he heaved the casket off the tomb and then gently lowered it to the ground. “That would leave me with perhaps only the command of the Rangers of Ithilien. You would have me still, a mere lowly captain of Gondor?”
“Yes,” Éowyn replied. “You did not woo me with your position after all.”
Faramir smiled as he picked up the casket anew. “For it is not a decoration to attract any mean soul, but a duty. There is little that is gamesome about it.”
‘Yet another reason to love him,’ Éowyn mused as they now made their way back from the tombs. Although it was slow going on the uphill climb, carrying the casket as best as they could between them, somehow the journey back to the Houses of Healing never seemed easier.
**
Not even two days after this excursion, tidings came to Minas Tirith of the arrival of the great host of the West, by way of the river and Osgilliath. Soon after, the pavilions of the commanders and their warriors could be seen on the Pelennor Fields. That very afternoon, Faramir and Éowyn rode out to this encampment, arriving there early in the evening.
Even before the pair could alight from their horses, they were immediately greeted by the men of Gondor who’d spotted them first. “My Lord Faramir! This is unexpected!” a tall, dark-haired man hailed them. Unlike the other soldiers in the camp, who were clad in the black and white livery of the men of the Citadel, this one’s armor had no such device.
“Yes, but I am here to accompany the White Lady of Rohan, to speak with her brother the King of the Mark,” Faramir answered as he alighted. He clasped this man’s arms heartily. “It is good to see you here, Beregond!”
Beregond grinned before he bowed to Éowyn. “It is an honor to meet you, my Lady. All the songs speak of your courage in slaying the leader of Mordor’s forces,” he said.
“And it is my honor to meet an esteemed friend of the Steward,” Éowyn answered as she also alighted, finding herself up to the task of doing so unaided. ‘Éomer will be glad to know that,’ she thought. “I have heard much of your bravery, Sir Beregond, especially on behalf of Lord Faramir” she said to the knight.
Beregond reddened slightly. “I did only what I felt was necessary, my Lady, but that is a tale for another time,” he said in an undertone as he led the way to the encampment of the Riders of Rohan.
“I have heard that in the…struggle with my father, that he had to fight some of the retainers. That is forbidden in those hallows,” Faramir explained to Éowyn in a quiet whisper as they walked. “I hope that Lord Aragorn will judge Beregond’s case with mercy.”
Éowyn gritted her teeth at this reference to the debacle in the Silent Street, but she soon found it was impossible to dwell on this matter when there was so much revelry around them. At every other turn they were greeted or hailed by the men, such that she was sure that news would soon spread through the camp of their arrival. As for Faramir, he was clearly buoyed in spirit to see so many of his friends had survived the battles in Mordor. However, his smile was still rather wry whenever someone addressed him as the ‘Lord Steward’, thus prompting Éowyn to keep her hand on his arm as they made their way through the camp.
Even before Éowyn and Faramir could draw near to the Rohirrim’s tents, they were met by none other than Elfhelm. “My lady, your brother Éomer King has long been waiting for you,” he greeted. The rider also bowed stiffly to Faramir. “Greetings as well, Lord Faramir. Thank you for accompanying the Lady Éowyn here.”
“He also wishes to speak with the King,” Éowyn said. “But let me go in first to speak to my brother,” she added with a firm nod to the men.
Elfhelm sighed knowingly and nodded. “I’ll fetch some ale for Lord Faramir here, while we wait,” he said gruffly.
“Please save some for me,” Éowyn said to Faramir. “I’ll simply have your share if you do not find it to your favor!”
“I am always one for a new experience, my Lady,” Faramir said more mirthfully.
Éowyn laughed at this, more so when she heard Elfhelm muttering something about having to deal with Gondorians unable to handle the ale from the Riddermark. Despite this levity, she still felt her stomach twist as she walked through the camp to where she saw the familiar green and white pennant waving in the evening breeze. She took a deep breath as she came upon her brother sitting at the entrance of his tent, holding a tankard of ale as he looked on the festivities. It seemed to her now that a new stateliness was coming upon him, making him seem taller and more regal than he had ever been in his days as Third Marshal of the Mark. “Éomer King,” she greeted.
Éomer looked up quickly and set down his drink. “Is it really you, my sister?”
“I was on the mend when you left Minas Tirith—” Éowyn began before her brother wrapped her in a tight hug. She smiled as she hugged him back, as unseemly as this display was for a young King even with his own kin. “I am glad that you have won your victory unscathed,” she said when he let go of her.
“Not entirely; I had a leg wound from an orc’s axe, but it was healed well by Aragorn and Mithrandir,” Éomer said. “How has your arm healed?”
“The break is mended, and I am getting its strength back,” Éowyn replied proudly. “But you have not summoned me to talk of our battle wounds.”
At this, Éomer’s mien grew serious and he nodded for her to enter the tent. This space was only very simply fitted up with a pallet, a cabinet for the King’s weapons and armor, and a crude writing desk and a chair. The young king motioned for his sister to take the chair while he pulled up the cabinet to act as a seat. “I worried when you didn’t even respond to my summons right away, sister,” he said more seriously. “I thought you’d taken a turn for the worse.”
“It was wrong of me not to write back as soon as I could,” Éowyn admitted. “I had to figure out though what proper answer to give you, and more importantly to myself.”
Éomer looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“The Shadow had lain on me for so long, and when it lifted, I had to see the world anew for myself before I could face you, or even Lord Aragorn,” Éowyn said. Much to her surprise, she saw him nod as if understanding something. “You know?”
“Not everything, dear sister. But I can take a few guesses and remember things, especially after our friends have brought them to my attention,” Éomer replied. “Why did you not say anything about how you were struggling all those years?”
“You and I were both bound by duty, and love as well for our uncle,” Éowyn reminded him. “If you were in my place, you wouldn’t have raised your voice either or made a complaint especially with that snake Wormtongue having eyes and ears throughout all of Edoras!”
“But to choose to die in battle?” Éomer asked. “It was our every intention that you would live and be spared no matter what would happen, and that was one of the reasons you were asked to remain in Dunharrow.”
“To be spared, to what end? There was no hope I could see --- or hold on to, for I knew how grim the counsels were with the news from Gondor,” Éowyn pointed out. “I do not think you were certain either on your return.”
“That is true, but the knowledge you were safe would have been hope enough, for myself, and for our people!” said the King of the Mark. He turned away from her for a few moments, but when he looked at her again there was no anger or rancor in his eyes. “But I know that it was you and Master Meriadoc who rid the world of a great bane, more fearsome than any of us thought. I only learned recently just how foul a foe you were up against. For that, you shall have renown unending.”
“Then what will be the judgment of the King of Rohan?”
“In other times, the punishment would have been severe, such as perpetual exile,” Éomer answered. “I know though that what you did was out of love for our uncle, other reasons aside. All this withstanding, I only will release you now from your oath and duties as a shieldmaiden, especially considering who else you wrote to me about.”
Éowyn nodded slowly, relieved to see her brother somewhat mollified. “Lord Faramir has accompanied me here. He wishes to speak with you too,” she told him.
“As he should. I already knew him to be a wise and good man, even if he is more bookish than I thought you would prefer,” Éomer replied drolly. “Were he not the Steward of Gondor, and were you not of the House of Eorl, I would have no objections to this match provided you were happy with it.”
Éowyn frowned at this. “Are you speaking as my brother or as the King?”
“Both,” Éomer said with a sigh. “I’m not completely ignorant of the situation Lord Faramir faces; as Steward he will have to give up the rule of the Gondor to Lord Aragorn once he is crowned. That would leave him mainly as a commander of whatever troops given to him, and with a noble name, but little else beyond being the son of a former Steward.”
“Mother had no problem with Father, and he was a leader of the troops at Aldburg while she was the King’s sister.”
“Father was from Rohan. That is looked upon more kindly even by the most traditional courtiers of Edoras, dear sister.”
‘Maybe it was not the wagging tongues of Gondor that I need to worry about,’ Éowyn realized. “You know that I have never cared for such talk or gossip, especially from the very same people who opposed my being a shieldmaiden,” she said to Éomer. “I know that some of them, or their parents, were also objecting to Mother’s supposedly not making an alliance through her own marriage.”
“Yes, and it seems as if the House of Eorl can never please everyone,” Éomer replied, rolling his eyes knowingly. “There will also be those courtiers who will like this development for the alliance that will be in it.”
“I do not care about their opinions, but I seek yours.”
“Éowyn, I will not have you forcing yourself into this marriage for diplomacy’s sake, no matter what good it would do for Rohan!”
“I accepted Lord Faramir’s proposal freely, and not for any boon or position to be given to him,” Éowyn said. She smiled as she recalled once more all that had passed beginning from their convalescence up to their present circumstances. “I know too that his love for me is given freely, regardless of what fate I would choose for myself.”
Éomer shut his eyes for a moment, clearly at a loss for words. “Can you be happy here in Gondor?” he asked more softly.
“I already am now, and I hope to still be,” Éowyn answered. ‘And what is hope but a belief in what is already possible or can also be made possible?’ she thought as she reached for Éomer’s arm. “If so, will you share in my joy, dear brother?”
The young king let out a deep sigh. “I have never thought that you would agree to be shut up in Mundburg, of all places.”
“Lord Faramir and I won’t make our home here, but in Ithilien, across the river.”
“There? That land still needs to be cleansed!”
“Which means that there will certainly be so much for us to do together,” Éowyn said. “There will be chances for glory yet, even as all this rebuilding is going on.”
Éomer smiled wistfully at this. “We have need of that, even in Rohan. Surely you will help me with that?”
“For a short while. I don’t think you want to pass up a wedding and an opportunity to drink,” Éowyn said. She felt relief course through her when she saw how Éomer chuckled and shook his head. “Only for a while, Éomer. It won’t be long till you find a queen who will be happy to share in the task.”
“There are far too many eager noblewomen in Rohan, but many do not understand the position,” Éomer scoffed. “Don’t even suggest looking for a wife here in Gondor. I cannot imagine any of the women here having much liking for horses and open fields.”
‘I would not be so sure of that,’ Éowyn thought, lowering her head to hide her smile. “Have you any more questions then, or any objections?”
Éomer shook his head, but now he was smiling more widely. “You said that Lord Faramir accompanied you here?”
“Yes, and Elfhelm said he’d get him some ale while they waited.”
“We’d better find your Gondorian lord before Elfhelm plies him with too much ale and makes him utterly useless at the coronation tomorrow.”
Éowyn rolled her eyes with mock exasperation. “Some things will never change!” she exclaimed before rushing out of the tent so she could rescue her intended.