Post by Admin on Jul 4, 2022 5:02:30 GMT
Author: Niliwen
Summary: Sometimes when lovers meet again, it becomes a stage for doubt as opposed to joy. Faramir learns this the hard way, as always.
Rating: T
Characters: Eowyn, Faramir, Imrahil, Eomer, Gleowine
Warnings: some mild PTSD
“At length after fifteen days of journey, the wain of King Theoden passed through the green fields of Rohan and came to Edoras; and there they all rested.”
Even with the large crowd that came to meet Théoden’s funeral cortege at the gate of Edoras, Faramir had no difficulty catching sight of his intended. ‘Truly a daughter of queens,’ he could not help thinking as he dismounted, all the while keeping his gaze trained on the woman who was a vision in her black gown and mantle. In fact, dare he admit it, the starkness of her raiment highlighted the gold of her hair and the fairness of her face, making her a regal figure even among the other nobles at Edoras who accompanied her to meet the funeral cortege and welcome the new Kings of both Gondor and Rohan.
In the middle of his reverie, he heard a cough at the level of his elbow. “You’re staring, Lord Steward,” Meriadoc the Halfling said with a grin he did not even bother to hide.
“I have a good view, Master Holdwine,” Faramir answered in an undertone. He stepped aside to let the esquire pay his respects to Éowyn, who welcomed him gladly after welcoming her own brother Éomer. He waited a little longer for Aragorn to make his greeting, and then himself sallied forth. He bowed reverently to her, even as he felt his breath catch. “Lady Éowyn of Rohan.”
“Welcome to Edoras, Lord Faramir,” Éowyn said, bowing in turn but just enough to barely conceal the smile that reached her eyes. “It is good of you to come.”
Éomer cleared his throat at this. “It is fortunate that his duties in the city could spare him,” the young King said. “King Elessar has kept him busy.”
“But not too busy to pay his respects to the fallen,” Aragorn chimed in calmly. “Lord Faramir has already done excellent work not just in Minas Tirith, but even in Ithilien. They will stand a few days even without his guidance.”
It was all that Faramir could do not to give Éowyn a knowing look, even if he was aware of her own efforts to keep a straight face. After all, he had written to her of these developments, including his recently being named the Prince of Ithilien. ‘I wonder how she will take to that,’ he mused silently.
“That is most gracious.” Éomer said after a moment, nodding first to Aragorn, and then to the rest of the group nearest him. “First, let the esquires take charge of stabling the horses, then showing you to your accommodations. There will be much time to rest before the feast.”
“Thank you, King Éomer,” Faramir said, now knowing this was his cue to step aside to let his uncle, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, also make his greeting along with the knights and members of his household. As Faramir followed one of the esquires, he could not help but glance over his shoulder to where Éowyn welcomed Mithrandir, along with Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Legolas, and Gimli. ‘It may be a while yet,’ he told himself as he stepped into the Golden Hall.
Over the years, Faramir had heard much of Meduseld, both of its splendor in the eyes of the Rohirrim and its ‘simplicity’ in the eyes of the knights of Gondor. He had also read through Éowyn’s letters about the efforts she and the people of Edoras had undertaken to rehabilitate the Golden Hall, but it was another thing to see it all with his own eyes in that moment. ‘Indeed this is a hall of stories and songs of valor – and that is something that both Gondor and Rohan can agree on,’ he decided as he now ltook in the sight of Meduseld’s great hall arrayed with many great tapestries depicting the victories of the Riders of Rohan from the days of Eorl the Young, all the way to Thengel, the father of Théoden and grandfather of Éomer. The greens, whites, and golds of these hangings seemed to shimmer in the sunlight that streamed through the windows; it was just past midday and it would be hours yet till the great braziers and torches in the hall would be lit.
Through Faramir’s reverie he heard hushed murmurs and footsteps behind him, and he turned to see Éowyn entering the hall. The noblemen and servants who’d been at the door bowed and cleared a path for her as she made her way to him. “My apologies for tarrying, my Lady,” he said. “I fear that your brother’s esquire has gone on ahead.”
“He will notice, and return quickly,” Éowyn said lightly. She took a deep breath as she stood next to Faramir. “Over there, we’ll have a new tapestry for my uncle,” she said, looking to a bare spot on a wall under a window at the far end of the hall. “It is just being finished, and it will be unfurled at the feast following the funeral.”
‘It will certainly depict the Battle at the Pelennor,’ Faramir noted. “When will that be?”
“When the workmen and knights finish the mound that he will lie in. It will be some days,” Éowyn answered. Her eyes were grave when they met those of the young Steward .“What do you think now of Meduseld?”
“I believe it is worthy of song, and most of all the love of all the Riders,” Faramir said. “It surpasses any tale or description from the envoys and tales that reach Gondor.”
Éowyn smiled warmly at this. “Éomer and I were children when we were brought here, after our parents died.” She looked to the empty throne at the far end of the hall, and it seemed as if she averted her eyes from the right side of it. “I wish that my uncle could see what we did to this place. We found so many old tapestries hidden away, and all the ornaments too.”
“Is there really only one seat here – and none for a queen?” Faramir asked.
“There has not been a queen in Rohan for many years. Queen Elfhild died giving birth to my cousin Théodred,” Éowyn explained. “It will take some getting used to again when my brother does take a wife and queen.”
‘For some reason that position seems to have less freedom than being the King’s sister,’ Faramir could not help thinking. “Speaking of your brother, I hope he is not too cross,” he said.
“He’ll be in a better temper when he’s either had a good meal, or a ride at his own pace,” Éowyn quipped with a shrug. “It would take his mind off these matters for a little while.”
“But how have you fared so far, my Lady?” Faramir asked. “I hope that you have been well?”
“As well as I could be here, my Lord – and much better today for your presence,” Éowyn replied. “And I’ve written to you of the many things I’ve had to do here, but perhaps you’d rather see them?”
“Gladly,” Faramir said, even as he now saw an esquire approaching them impatiently. “But first I should go to my rooms, before either of the Kings think I am up to mischief!”
Éowyn laughed and shook her head. “Not if I have anything to say to it!”
The sound of Éowyn’s laughter had Faramir smiling even as he reached for her hand to kiss it. “Till later then, Lady Éowyn,” he said before bowing and turning to leave. He knew, even without quite seeing it, that his beloved would certainly have a secretive smile on her face as she went about her own duties for the rest of the day. ‘How would it be then, when we are in Ithilien?’ he could not help but wonder as he followed the esquire to his designated room.
**
Over the past two months of his correspondence with Éowyn, Faramir had a vivid picture of the rebuilding of the Westfold and other areas that had been ravaged by Saruman’s forces, as well as the restoration of Edoras and its environs. ‘But to see her part in it, that is another thing entirely,’ he thought on his second day in Edoras as he walked through this city to get his bearings. He knew, just from looking at the hardy yet heartened countenances of the Riders and their families that they did not fear the coming winter, nor did they worry overmuch about any threats to their borders or their homes. If there had been any signs of squalor and disrepair in Edoras, they appeared to be banished entirely – and this he was sure was the work of both Éomer and Éowyn.
During his walk, he could not help but also think back on what awaited him in Ithilien, especially with how difficult it would be to cleanse the lands closest to Minas Morgul. In his mind’s eye he could see clearly the befouled streams that flowed into that once fair citadel, and the very image almost made him retch. He knew that even with the help of the Rangers of Ithilien, it would be a while till that vale would be safe to travel through, much more to become habitable. ‘But at least we’ll be safe and healthy in Emyn Arnen, and it is a good place to make that garden,’ Faramir told himself, remembering Aragorn’s directive on that matter. ‘With all that Éowyn has been through, she deserves something much better than what we can give in a place like Henneth Annûn,’ he decided as he now made his way back to Meduseld.
He arrived at the Golden Hall in time to see Éowyn conferring with a man he heard was named Gléowine, Theoden’s minstrel. Although their conversation was entirely in Rohirric, Faramir understood enough of the cadence and tone to guess that the discussion had something to do with the fallen king. He stepped aside to give them some privacy, but in that moment Éowyn caught his eye and nodded to him. “Lord Faramir, may we ask you something?” she said to him.
“If it is within my power to give, you may, Lady Éowyn,” Faramir replied, stepping up to them.
“What do the minstrels of Gondor say of King Théeoden?” Éowyn asked. “What do they sing of the battle at Mundburg?”
Faramir felt his breath still for a moment, for it seemed as if darkness crept back in at the edge of his vision. He swallowed hard to regain his composure, only to realize that both Éowyn and Gléowine were looking at him concernedly. “When Gondor called for aid, he answered. Thus, he held his oath true—even if his own peril was great,” he said at last.
Gléowine hummed, as if trying to put it into some verse. “Do they sing of anything else?” the minstrel asked after a few moments.
“Of the great riding, of how the Riders of Rohan swept back the darkness and thus saved the city from fire and ruin,” Faramir said. “The names of the fallen Riders are sung alongside the names of our own in Gondor.”
Éowyn nodded slowly. “I am glad for that. They will not be forgotten.”
‘But out of all of us, you will be remembered most of all, Éowyn,’ Faramir thought with a smile. Yet even as he looked upon her, so proud and fair, he felt a weight now on his chest. ‘After all you’ve done here for Rohan, what can Ithilien now possibly offer you?’
**
For the rest of the day, Faramir found himself in a rather unlooked for solitude, further enforced by his picking up a book that he had neglected to read during the journey to Rohan. ‘But how to resolve this, once the last page is done?’ he asked himself later in the afternoon when he at last set down the book and rubbed his now gritty eyes. By now it was almost sunset, and the fires were being stoked in the houses and throughout Meduseld.
The Steward sighed as he contemplated his situation. Although he had known Mithrandir for many years, it did not seem right to unburden such a personal matter onto the wizard. He was sure that if Beregond heard of his predicament, he’d merely get an invitation to drown his sorrows in the nearest tankard of ale. Even if he suspected that Aragorn had some experience with managing these troubles, Faramir was not quite sure he could discuss this properly with his liege-lord. As for the rest of their fine and lordly company, he did not dare to presume such familiarity to allow such confidences. ‘Which leaves one person to talk with, no matter how painful the matter may be,’ he thought as he walked through a long corridor where he and his fellow guests were billeted.
He knocked on one door towards the end of this hall. “Uncle, may I have a word?” he asked in an undertone when the door opened.
Prince Imrahil’s eyebrows shot up with worry at the sight of his nephew. “Most certainly. Come in,” he said, stepping aside to let him into the room.
Faramir could not help but smile amusedly as he made himself comfortable on a simple chair in this chamber. Although the furniture was essentially what he expected out of a guest chamber, that is being fitted up with a bed, two chairs, a table, and a roaring fire, he did not quite anticipate seeing a line of blue and silver books atop the table. “You brought them all the way from Minas Tirith?” he asked.
“I anticipate we’ll be here for a while, and I like to amuse myself as you do,” Imrahil said. “But you didn’t come here to discuss my collection of poems, dear nephew.”
“That is true.” Faramir took a deep breath to compose himself, which he found was harder than he expected even with his uncle’s noble but kindly mien. “I’d like to ask something about my mother.”
“What about her?”
“Was it easy for her to leave Dol Amroth when she married my father?”
Imrahil said nothing for a few moments as he also took a seat. “She loved your father. They had their differences, but somehow she saw through his difficulties---and he saw through hers.”
The younger man nodded, trying now to recall his own parents but found that the exercise quite failed him. “What do you mean?”
“Finduilas was stubborn; I think the most stubborn out of all of us,” Imrahil said with a smile that was both wry and fond. “When she was certain that she loved Denethor, nothing would dissuade her from being with him. Naturally, there were questions about the match. One was the distance since no one could imagine her being so far away from the sea. I asked her if she was ready to be married to someone so much older than her, with more responsibilities than even our own father had. She had an answer to all of that.”
The image of Finduilas, one of the gentlest women said to have ever lived in Minas Tirith, squaring up to Imrahil, had Faramir covering his mouth to hold back an unlooked-for chuckle. “What exactly did she say?”
“She said ‘wherever he goes, so I shall as well’. Or something close to it,” Imrahil said. “I think that even if your father was suddenly dispossessed and found himself sleeping in a stable, she wouldn’t have minded. Not even if there were more well-heeled knights in Dol Amroth.”
‘That’s the kind of person she was,’ Faramir reflected quietly. “She missed the sea though. I remember she was always looking south and to the west.”
“Yes, but she would not go back to it—not without your father, or you and your brother,” Imrahil replied. His eyes seemed far off for a moment before he spoke again. “I sent for her several times over the years. I thought also of going up to Minas Tirith myself to fetch her and bring her back to Dol Amroth for a time. But she would not have it and said so as much in every letter, and also at the one time I did try to bring her with me.”
Faramir shook his head. “But she sickened and died there. If Boromir and I had known more, we would have gone with her to Dol Amroth till she was well.”
“I did suggest that you boys come with her for a time too,” Imrahil said grimly. “But she would not have it either.”
“What did Father say?”
“I don’t know if you remember it, Faramir, but he did think of sending her away too for a time. We had a long discussion about it; your parents and I. It was at the time I was determined to bring her back to Dol Amroth to recover her health.”
‘I was only a child then after all,’ Faramir reminded himself, even as he felt something hot now at the corners of his eyes. “Then what happened?
Imrahil took a deep breath and sighed. “It was Finduilas’ choice. She said she would rally her strength and trust in the healers. She would not turn back from her love for your father, nor from her duties as the wife of the Steward.”
“Duties?”
“Your father was at his strongest and clearest when he was with her. Had she lived, I do not think he would have succumbed the way he did.”
The memory of the ashes and ruins at the Silent Street, where Denethor had made his pyre, sent a chill through Faramir. “And you are not angry at my father for it?” he asked in a low voice.
“How could I be angry at my kinsman for trying to save my sister’s life?” Imrahil said. He sighed pensively before looking at Faramir again. “I know that this isn’t the root of what has brought you here, nephew. It’s about the Lady Éowyn, isn’t it?”
Faramir swallowed hard at this question. “Over here, she is a leader among her people. She is loved and respected. She is free here, on the plains of Rohan. That will not be her life if she will return to Gondor with me.”
“You fear that you will be trammeling her in?”
“I fear that she will go the way Mother did.”
“Faramir, you forget one important thing,” Imrahil said, reaching over to touch Faramir’s shoulder. “It was not longing for the sea that sickened her. It was the Shadow that loomed in the East---and that same Shadow has already been defeated.”
“Are you sure of it?”
“She was my sister. I know. And you should know your intended as well.”
Faramir nodded slowly, knowing all too well when his uncle spoke true. “Thank you for your counsel, as always.”
“Anytime.” Imrahil smiled before glancing to the books in his room. “Would you like to borrow any of these?”
“Maybe later, Uncle. I have some reading of my own to finish,” Faramir said, now getting up to take his leave.
**
It was just as well that before Faramir could brood too long on the matter, he made his way back to his room in time to recover a small slip of paper carefully placed in the keyhole. ‘Westmost stables after supper,’ were the only words carefully scrawled there in a hand he’d come to know well. It had taken him all his willpower to remain calm during the evening meal, even if he was sure that his uncle and even Aragorn were giving him concerned glances from time to time. Once most of the assembled company had either drifted off to regale each other with stories in small groups, or to retire for the night, Faramir went up to his room to fetch a cloak. When he was sure that he was suitably and discreetly attired, he stole down past the festivities in the hall and on to the stables.
Even at this hour, when the stables were dim, he had no difficulty espying Éowyn as she was brushing the glossy mane of a grey mare. He paused however on seeing that she was still clad in the same deep blue dress she’d worn to dinner. “I was under the impression you wanted to go for a ride, my lady,” he greeted her.
Éowyn looked up from her work with a puzzled expression. “Not at this hour, my Lord. But is it wrong for me to ask to meet you?”
Faramir shook his head before closing the distance between them, and before he knew it she was in his arms—just as he knew things should be. He took a moment to breathe in the fragrance of her hair before kissing her forehead. “I missed you Éowyn,” he whispered.
“And I, you. But please tell me, are you well?” Éowyn asked, looking up at him. “You’ve been rather strange all day and keeping to yourself.”
‘So she’s noticed,’ Faramir realized, feeling both relieved yet guilty at this realization. “I have had a lot on my mind, my Lady. Forgive me for being less than companionable, especially at this time.”
Éowyn shook her head. “I’ve had my brother and our friends here all this while to help my sorrow at Theodén King’s passing. But what about you?”
“It is not grief that troubles me.”
“What is it?”
For a moment Faramir felt the words die on his tongue, but the recollection of his discussion with Imrahil, coupled with the sheer determination in Éowyn’s eyes, had him breathing more easily. “Would you really be happy leaving all of this, to stay in Gondor?” he asked in a low voice.
“Haven’t you asked me already?” Éowyn replied with a frown. “My answer has not changed.”
“You’ve had much to do here. I do not want to take you away from it.”
“I promised you that I would return. Do you doubt that, Faramir?”
“It’s not your will or mettle that I question,” Faramir insisted. “I only worry that you may find Ithilien to be very different from what you are used to.”
Éowyn stared at Faramir for a long while before a light of realization dawned on her face, prompting her to draw him closer so she could reach up and touch his face. The feel of her fingers gliding against his cheek made his breath catch even as he adjusted his hold on her waist. “How would I know unless I see it for myself first?” she whispered in his ear.
“I do not wish for you to be unpleasantly surprised.”
“I will not be if you tell me more about it.”
‘Well forewarned is forearmed after all,’ Faramir reminded himself as he let go of her just so that they could sit on a pair of stools that the stableboys had carelessly left behind for the night. “You’ve seen something of Ithilien, or at least the parts closest to the river. It’s not a land you can easily ride through,” he began. He shrugged on seeing her snort at this. “It is a fair place, but in the past age it was more wondrous. The air was sweet then, and all manner of good things grew in those woods.”
“And now?”
“There will be much to do to make some parts of Ithilien habitable again, and I fear that in what was once known as Minas Morgul, we will both be long gone before it happens,” Faramir said. The thought of the defilement of that once beautiful vale had him shaking his head. “But it is a land of many fountains, of glades and vales where one may hope to find joy and peace.”
Éowyn nodded before looking steadily at Faramir. “Then I wish to share it.”
“You would?”
“I had thought once that I would live my days here in Rohan, or else die in battle,” Éowyn said. “But this place has seen darkness too, and the memory of it is not something I want before my eyes each day.”
Faramir gritted his teeth, remembering now how Éowyn had hesitated on first showing him the great hall of Meduseld. “Then you wish to forget?”
“I wish to begin anew.” Éowyn reached for his hand and pressed it lightly. “I am not afraid to face whatever work has to be done to attain it.”
At these words, Faramir pressed Éowyn’s fingers to his lips. “If that is your desire, I will welcome it, my Lady.”
“Did you think I would suddenly choose differently?”
‘As if she would ever turn back,’ Faramir realized, now finding he could only laugh wryly at this query. “I had worried that on returning here, you would decide that a life in Gondor would not suit you,” he confessed. “And that you’d prefer to stay here instead.”
Éowyn shook her head. “With the way you talk about Gondor—and Ithilien especially—how could I not come to love it as well?”
“What do you mean?”
“If anyone ever asks, there is no rider of the Mark to choose.”
Faramir smiled, seeing the truth in these words, before leaning in to kiss Éowyn for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
Summary: Sometimes when lovers meet again, it becomes a stage for doubt as opposed to joy. Faramir learns this the hard way, as always.
Rating: T
Characters: Eowyn, Faramir, Imrahil, Eomer, Gleowine
Warnings: some mild PTSD
“At length after fifteen days of journey, the wain of King Theoden passed through the green fields of Rohan and came to Edoras; and there they all rested.”
Even with the large crowd that came to meet Théoden’s funeral cortege at the gate of Edoras, Faramir had no difficulty catching sight of his intended. ‘Truly a daughter of queens,’ he could not help thinking as he dismounted, all the while keeping his gaze trained on the woman who was a vision in her black gown and mantle. In fact, dare he admit it, the starkness of her raiment highlighted the gold of her hair and the fairness of her face, making her a regal figure even among the other nobles at Edoras who accompanied her to meet the funeral cortege and welcome the new Kings of both Gondor and Rohan.
In the middle of his reverie, he heard a cough at the level of his elbow. “You’re staring, Lord Steward,” Meriadoc the Halfling said with a grin he did not even bother to hide.
“I have a good view, Master Holdwine,” Faramir answered in an undertone. He stepped aside to let the esquire pay his respects to Éowyn, who welcomed him gladly after welcoming her own brother Éomer. He waited a little longer for Aragorn to make his greeting, and then himself sallied forth. He bowed reverently to her, even as he felt his breath catch. “Lady Éowyn of Rohan.”
“Welcome to Edoras, Lord Faramir,” Éowyn said, bowing in turn but just enough to barely conceal the smile that reached her eyes. “It is good of you to come.”
Éomer cleared his throat at this. “It is fortunate that his duties in the city could spare him,” the young King said. “King Elessar has kept him busy.”
“But not too busy to pay his respects to the fallen,” Aragorn chimed in calmly. “Lord Faramir has already done excellent work not just in Minas Tirith, but even in Ithilien. They will stand a few days even without his guidance.”
It was all that Faramir could do not to give Éowyn a knowing look, even if he was aware of her own efforts to keep a straight face. After all, he had written to her of these developments, including his recently being named the Prince of Ithilien. ‘I wonder how she will take to that,’ he mused silently.
“That is most gracious.” Éomer said after a moment, nodding first to Aragorn, and then to the rest of the group nearest him. “First, let the esquires take charge of stabling the horses, then showing you to your accommodations. There will be much time to rest before the feast.”
“Thank you, King Éomer,” Faramir said, now knowing this was his cue to step aside to let his uncle, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, also make his greeting along with the knights and members of his household. As Faramir followed one of the esquires, he could not help but glance over his shoulder to where Éowyn welcomed Mithrandir, along with Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Legolas, and Gimli. ‘It may be a while yet,’ he told himself as he stepped into the Golden Hall.
Over the years, Faramir had heard much of Meduseld, both of its splendor in the eyes of the Rohirrim and its ‘simplicity’ in the eyes of the knights of Gondor. He had also read through Éowyn’s letters about the efforts she and the people of Edoras had undertaken to rehabilitate the Golden Hall, but it was another thing to see it all with his own eyes in that moment. ‘Indeed this is a hall of stories and songs of valor – and that is something that both Gondor and Rohan can agree on,’ he decided as he now ltook in the sight of Meduseld’s great hall arrayed with many great tapestries depicting the victories of the Riders of Rohan from the days of Eorl the Young, all the way to Thengel, the father of Théoden and grandfather of Éomer. The greens, whites, and golds of these hangings seemed to shimmer in the sunlight that streamed through the windows; it was just past midday and it would be hours yet till the great braziers and torches in the hall would be lit.
Through Faramir’s reverie he heard hushed murmurs and footsteps behind him, and he turned to see Éowyn entering the hall. The noblemen and servants who’d been at the door bowed and cleared a path for her as she made her way to him. “My apologies for tarrying, my Lady,” he said. “I fear that your brother’s esquire has gone on ahead.”
“He will notice, and return quickly,” Éowyn said lightly. She took a deep breath as she stood next to Faramir. “Over there, we’ll have a new tapestry for my uncle,” she said, looking to a bare spot on a wall under a window at the far end of the hall. “It is just being finished, and it will be unfurled at the feast following the funeral.”
‘It will certainly depict the Battle at the Pelennor,’ Faramir noted. “When will that be?”
“When the workmen and knights finish the mound that he will lie in. It will be some days,” Éowyn answered. Her eyes were grave when they met those of the young Steward .“What do you think now of Meduseld?”
“I believe it is worthy of song, and most of all the love of all the Riders,” Faramir said. “It surpasses any tale or description from the envoys and tales that reach Gondor.”
Éowyn smiled warmly at this. “Éomer and I were children when we were brought here, after our parents died.” She looked to the empty throne at the far end of the hall, and it seemed as if she averted her eyes from the right side of it. “I wish that my uncle could see what we did to this place. We found so many old tapestries hidden away, and all the ornaments too.”
“Is there really only one seat here – and none for a queen?” Faramir asked.
“There has not been a queen in Rohan for many years. Queen Elfhild died giving birth to my cousin Théodred,” Éowyn explained. “It will take some getting used to again when my brother does take a wife and queen.”
‘For some reason that position seems to have less freedom than being the King’s sister,’ Faramir could not help thinking. “Speaking of your brother, I hope he is not too cross,” he said.
“He’ll be in a better temper when he’s either had a good meal, or a ride at his own pace,” Éowyn quipped with a shrug. “It would take his mind off these matters for a little while.”
“But how have you fared so far, my Lady?” Faramir asked. “I hope that you have been well?”
“As well as I could be here, my Lord – and much better today for your presence,” Éowyn replied. “And I’ve written to you of the many things I’ve had to do here, but perhaps you’d rather see them?”
“Gladly,” Faramir said, even as he now saw an esquire approaching them impatiently. “But first I should go to my rooms, before either of the Kings think I am up to mischief!”
Éowyn laughed and shook her head. “Not if I have anything to say to it!”
The sound of Éowyn’s laughter had Faramir smiling even as he reached for her hand to kiss it. “Till later then, Lady Éowyn,” he said before bowing and turning to leave. He knew, even without quite seeing it, that his beloved would certainly have a secretive smile on her face as she went about her own duties for the rest of the day. ‘How would it be then, when we are in Ithilien?’ he could not help but wonder as he followed the esquire to his designated room.
**
Over the past two months of his correspondence with Éowyn, Faramir had a vivid picture of the rebuilding of the Westfold and other areas that had been ravaged by Saruman’s forces, as well as the restoration of Edoras and its environs. ‘But to see her part in it, that is another thing entirely,’ he thought on his second day in Edoras as he walked through this city to get his bearings. He knew, just from looking at the hardy yet heartened countenances of the Riders and their families that they did not fear the coming winter, nor did they worry overmuch about any threats to their borders or their homes. If there had been any signs of squalor and disrepair in Edoras, they appeared to be banished entirely – and this he was sure was the work of both Éomer and Éowyn.
During his walk, he could not help but also think back on what awaited him in Ithilien, especially with how difficult it would be to cleanse the lands closest to Minas Morgul. In his mind’s eye he could see clearly the befouled streams that flowed into that once fair citadel, and the very image almost made him retch. He knew that even with the help of the Rangers of Ithilien, it would be a while till that vale would be safe to travel through, much more to become habitable. ‘But at least we’ll be safe and healthy in Emyn Arnen, and it is a good place to make that garden,’ Faramir told himself, remembering Aragorn’s directive on that matter. ‘With all that Éowyn has been through, she deserves something much better than what we can give in a place like Henneth Annûn,’ he decided as he now made his way back to Meduseld.
He arrived at the Golden Hall in time to see Éowyn conferring with a man he heard was named Gléowine, Theoden’s minstrel. Although their conversation was entirely in Rohirric, Faramir understood enough of the cadence and tone to guess that the discussion had something to do with the fallen king. He stepped aside to give them some privacy, but in that moment Éowyn caught his eye and nodded to him. “Lord Faramir, may we ask you something?” she said to him.
“If it is within my power to give, you may, Lady Éowyn,” Faramir replied, stepping up to them.
“What do the minstrels of Gondor say of King Théeoden?” Éowyn asked. “What do they sing of the battle at Mundburg?”
Faramir felt his breath still for a moment, for it seemed as if darkness crept back in at the edge of his vision. He swallowed hard to regain his composure, only to realize that both Éowyn and Gléowine were looking at him concernedly. “When Gondor called for aid, he answered. Thus, he held his oath true—even if his own peril was great,” he said at last.
Gléowine hummed, as if trying to put it into some verse. “Do they sing of anything else?” the minstrel asked after a few moments.
“Of the great riding, of how the Riders of Rohan swept back the darkness and thus saved the city from fire and ruin,” Faramir said. “The names of the fallen Riders are sung alongside the names of our own in Gondor.”
Éowyn nodded slowly. “I am glad for that. They will not be forgotten.”
‘But out of all of us, you will be remembered most of all, Éowyn,’ Faramir thought with a smile. Yet even as he looked upon her, so proud and fair, he felt a weight now on his chest. ‘After all you’ve done here for Rohan, what can Ithilien now possibly offer you?’
**
For the rest of the day, Faramir found himself in a rather unlooked for solitude, further enforced by his picking up a book that he had neglected to read during the journey to Rohan. ‘But how to resolve this, once the last page is done?’ he asked himself later in the afternoon when he at last set down the book and rubbed his now gritty eyes. By now it was almost sunset, and the fires were being stoked in the houses and throughout Meduseld.
The Steward sighed as he contemplated his situation. Although he had known Mithrandir for many years, it did not seem right to unburden such a personal matter onto the wizard. He was sure that if Beregond heard of his predicament, he’d merely get an invitation to drown his sorrows in the nearest tankard of ale. Even if he suspected that Aragorn had some experience with managing these troubles, Faramir was not quite sure he could discuss this properly with his liege-lord. As for the rest of their fine and lordly company, he did not dare to presume such familiarity to allow such confidences. ‘Which leaves one person to talk with, no matter how painful the matter may be,’ he thought as he walked through a long corridor where he and his fellow guests were billeted.
He knocked on one door towards the end of this hall. “Uncle, may I have a word?” he asked in an undertone when the door opened.
Prince Imrahil’s eyebrows shot up with worry at the sight of his nephew. “Most certainly. Come in,” he said, stepping aside to let him into the room.
Faramir could not help but smile amusedly as he made himself comfortable on a simple chair in this chamber. Although the furniture was essentially what he expected out of a guest chamber, that is being fitted up with a bed, two chairs, a table, and a roaring fire, he did not quite anticipate seeing a line of blue and silver books atop the table. “You brought them all the way from Minas Tirith?” he asked.
“I anticipate we’ll be here for a while, and I like to amuse myself as you do,” Imrahil said. “But you didn’t come here to discuss my collection of poems, dear nephew.”
“That is true.” Faramir took a deep breath to compose himself, which he found was harder than he expected even with his uncle’s noble but kindly mien. “I’d like to ask something about my mother.”
“What about her?”
“Was it easy for her to leave Dol Amroth when she married my father?”
Imrahil said nothing for a few moments as he also took a seat. “She loved your father. They had their differences, but somehow she saw through his difficulties---and he saw through hers.”
The younger man nodded, trying now to recall his own parents but found that the exercise quite failed him. “What do you mean?”
“Finduilas was stubborn; I think the most stubborn out of all of us,” Imrahil said with a smile that was both wry and fond. “When she was certain that she loved Denethor, nothing would dissuade her from being with him. Naturally, there were questions about the match. One was the distance since no one could imagine her being so far away from the sea. I asked her if she was ready to be married to someone so much older than her, with more responsibilities than even our own father had. She had an answer to all of that.”
The image of Finduilas, one of the gentlest women said to have ever lived in Minas Tirith, squaring up to Imrahil, had Faramir covering his mouth to hold back an unlooked-for chuckle. “What exactly did she say?”
“She said ‘wherever he goes, so I shall as well’. Or something close to it,” Imrahil said. “I think that even if your father was suddenly dispossessed and found himself sleeping in a stable, she wouldn’t have minded. Not even if there were more well-heeled knights in Dol Amroth.”
‘That’s the kind of person she was,’ Faramir reflected quietly. “She missed the sea though. I remember she was always looking south and to the west.”
“Yes, but she would not go back to it—not without your father, or you and your brother,” Imrahil replied. His eyes seemed far off for a moment before he spoke again. “I sent for her several times over the years. I thought also of going up to Minas Tirith myself to fetch her and bring her back to Dol Amroth for a time. But she would not have it and said so as much in every letter, and also at the one time I did try to bring her with me.”
Faramir shook his head. “But she sickened and died there. If Boromir and I had known more, we would have gone with her to Dol Amroth till she was well.”
“I did suggest that you boys come with her for a time too,” Imrahil said grimly. “But she would not have it either.”
“What did Father say?”
“I don’t know if you remember it, Faramir, but he did think of sending her away too for a time. We had a long discussion about it; your parents and I. It was at the time I was determined to bring her back to Dol Amroth to recover her health.”
‘I was only a child then after all,’ Faramir reminded himself, even as he felt something hot now at the corners of his eyes. “Then what happened?
Imrahil took a deep breath and sighed. “It was Finduilas’ choice. She said she would rally her strength and trust in the healers. She would not turn back from her love for your father, nor from her duties as the wife of the Steward.”
“Duties?”
“Your father was at his strongest and clearest when he was with her. Had she lived, I do not think he would have succumbed the way he did.”
The memory of the ashes and ruins at the Silent Street, where Denethor had made his pyre, sent a chill through Faramir. “And you are not angry at my father for it?” he asked in a low voice.
“How could I be angry at my kinsman for trying to save my sister’s life?” Imrahil said. He sighed pensively before looking at Faramir again. “I know that this isn’t the root of what has brought you here, nephew. It’s about the Lady Éowyn, isn’t it?”
Faramir swallowed hard at this question. “Over here, she is a leader among her people. She is loved and respected. She is free here, on the plains of Rohan. That will not be her life if she will return to Gondor with me.”
“You fear that you will be trammeling her in?”
“I fear that she will go the way Mother did.”
“Faramir, you forget one important thing,” Imrahil said, reaching over to touch Faramir’s shoulder. “It was not longing for the sea that sickened her. It was the Shadow that loomed in the East---and that same Shadow has already been defeated.”
“Are you sure of it?”
“She was my sister. I know. And you should know your intended as well.”
Faramir nodded slowly, knowing all too well when his uncle spoke true. “Thank you for your counsel, as always.”
“Anytime.” Imrahil smiled before glancing to the books in his room. “Would you like to borrow any of these?”
“Maybe later, Uncle. I have some reading of my own to finish,” Faramir said, now getting up to take his leave.
**
It was just as well that before Faramir could brood too long on the matter, he made his way back to his room in time to recover a small slip of paper carefully placed in the keyhole. ‘Westmost stables after supper,’ were the only words carefully scrawled there in a hand he’d come to know well. It had taken him all his willpower to remain calm during the evening meal, even if he was sure that his uncle and even Aragorn were giving him concerned glances from time to time. Once most of the assembled company had either drifted off to regale each other with stories in small groups, or to retire for the night, Faramir went up to his room to fetch a cloak. When he was sure that he was suitably and discreetly attired, he stole down past the festivities in the hall and on to the stables.
Even at this hour, when the stables were dim, he had no difficulty espying Éowyn as she was brushing the glossy mane of a grey mare. He paused however on seeing that she was still clad in the same deep blue dress she’d worn to dinner. “I was under the impression you wanted to go for a ride, my lady,” he greeted her.
Éowyn looked up from her work with a puzzled expression. “Not at this hour, my Lord. But is it wrong for me to ask to meet you?”
Faramir shook his head before closing the distance between them, and before he knew it she was in his arms—just as he knew things should be. He took a moment to breathe in the fragrance of her hair before kissing her forehead. “I missed you Éowyn,” he whispered.
“And I, you. But please tell me, are you well?” Éowyn asked, looking up at him. “You’ve been rather strange all day and keeping to yourself.”
‘So she’s noticed,’ Faramir realized, feeling both relieved yet guilty at this realization. “I have had a lot on my mind, my Lady. Forgive me for being less than companionable, especially at this time.”
Éowyn shook her head. “I’ve had my brother and our friends here all this while to help my sorrow at Theodén King’s passing. But what about you?”
“It is not grief that troubles me.”
“What is it?”
For a moment Faramir felt the words die on his tongue, but the recollection of his discussion with Imrahil, coupled with the sheer determination in Éowyn’s eyes, had him breathing more easily. “Would you really be happy leaving all of this, to stay in Gondor?” he asked in a low voice.
“Haven’t you asked me already?” Éowyn replied with a frown. “My answer has not changed.”
“You’ve had much to do here. I do not want to take you away from it.”
“I promised you that I would return. Do you doubt that, Faramir?”
“It’s not your will or mettle that I question,” Faramir insisted. “I only worry that you may find Ithilien to be very different from what you are used to.”
Éowyn stared at Faramir for a long while before a light of realization dawned on her face, prompting her to draw him closer so she could reach up and touch his face. The feel of her fingers gliding against his cheek made his breath catch even as he adjusted his hold on her waist. “How would I know unless I see it for myself first?” she whispered in his ear.
“I do not wish for you to be unpleasantly surprised.”
“I will not be if you tell me more about it.”
‘Well forewarned is forearmed after all,’ Faramir reminded himself as he let go of her just so that they could sit on a pair of stools that the stableboys had carelessly left behind for the night. “You’ve seen something of Ithilien, or at least the parts closest to the river. It’s not a land you can easily ride through,” he began. He shrugged on seeing her snort at this. “It is a fair place, but in the past age it was more wondrous. The air was sweet then, and all manner of good things grew in those woods.”
“And now?”
“There will be much to do to make some parts of Ithilien habitable again, and I fear that in what was once known as Minas Morgul, we will both be long gone before it happens,” Faramir said. The thought of the defilement of that once beautiful vale had him shaking his head. “But it is a land of many fountains, of glades and vales where one may hope to find joy and peace.”
Éowyn nodded before looking steadily at Faramir. “Then I wish to share it.”
“You would?”
“I had thought once that I would live my days here in Rohan, or else die in battle,” Éowyn said. “But this place has seen darkness too, and the memory of it is not something I want before my eyes each day.”
Faramir gritted his teeth, remembering now how Éowyn had hesitated on first showing him the great hall of Meduseld. “Then you wish to forget?”
“I wish to begin anew.” Éowyn reached for his hand and pressed it lightly. “I am not afraid to face whatever work has to be done to attain it.”
At these words, Faramir pressed Éowyn’s fingers to his lips. “If that is your desire, I will welcome it, my Lady.”
“Did you think I would suddenly choose differently?”
‘As if she would ever turn back,’ Faramir realized, now finding he could only laugh wryly at this query. “I had worried that on returning here, you would decide that a life in Gondor would not suit you,” he confessed. “And that you’d prefer to stay here instead.”
Éowyn shook her head. “With the way you talk about Gondor—and Ithilien especially—how could I not come to love it as well?”
“What do you mean?”
“If anyone ever asks, there is no rider of the Mark to choose.”
Faramir smiled, seeing the truth in these words, before leaning in to kiss Éowyn for the first time in what felt like an eternity.