In The Fair Evening

...and while that day lasted they talked long together, and Faramir learned much...And in the fair evening Faramir and Merry walked in the garden, but she did not come.

Merry and Faramir finally tired of walking to and fro and sat together under a tree in the garden of the House of Healing, enjoying whatever weak sunshine could penetrate the gloom that lay over Minas Tirith. A very small and battered basket sat between them on the ground, holding a little loaf, a jug of water, and a pot of sharp cheese, but Faramir paid little attention to their pitiful meal. His eyes strayed ever to the tall archway that led to the garden, watching for Eowyn, Merry knew, but he did not think she would come today. He wondered suddenly if Estella Bolger watched for his homecoming, or if she had given up all hope of his return and was being courted by someone else. Merry had felt slightly mad over her for a long time, and he hoped she was as fond of him, but they had never made any sort of real pledge to each other. But still a pang of jealousy rose up in Merry's heart and he wished then, hopelessly and with all of his might, that he might somehow fly home instantly and put his fist in the mystery suitor's eye.

Merry pushed the thought away, turning to a hobbit's usual comfort, food, but the dry slice of coarse bread in his hand, with its thin, thin smearing of soft cheese, wouldn't even fill a corner of his stomach, much less ease the homesick ache under his heart. Merry scowled at it, then took a large and savage bite, chewing fiercely while picturing Estella's imaginary pursuer. Take that you, you love-thief.

"When I think now of the enormous spreads the servants used to lay out at Brandy Hall," Merry said. "I'm surprised that I'm not as big as an oliphaunt. Not that that would be considered so terrible-a truly respectable hobbit strives to be 'well-rounded', you might say."

"Tell me more of your country," Faramir said, trying not to look at the empty doorway for the tenth time. "Of your home and kin. It eases my heart to hear of a land and a people untroubled by war."

Perhaps not entirely untroubled, Merry thought uneasily, remembering the Hornblower marks on the pipeweed barrels he and Pippin had found at Isengard, but it was no good fretting about that now. Home was far away, and he had enough trouble right before his eyes. Merry sighed, feeling the familar, uncomfortable lump of worry for friends and family crowding the bread in his stomach, but his voice was light and cheerful as he began to speak of Buckland and the Shire.

He spoke of his sheltered childhood in Brandy Hall, surrounded by his extremely large and affectionate extended family, doted on by loving parents who might have spoiled their only child and heir but did not, knowing that he would have the Hall, and Buckland, and everyone in it under his care someday. Saradoc Brandybuck was determined that his son would be neither ignorant nor idle, so he had had lessons to learn and chores to do. But it had been, all in all, a free and happy childhood full of feasts and games, birthday parties and fireworks. There had been frosty Yuletides in Buckland and merry Tookland summers roaming the hills with Pippin and his sisters. When the weather was fine Frodo would ride down from Hobbiton, and they would go for long walks, or fishing trips, pony rides over the fields, and on one really memorable occasion, to Bree for his first pint.

"It might not seem like such a great thing to one so highborn as yourself," Merry said. "But it's quite a milestone in a young hobbit's life. Unfortunately, we fell into our cups rather early: I treated Frodo to a pint out of my pocket-money, and so of course he treated me, and then he dared me to drink another, and I dared him, until we could scarcely stand upright. Father had to come fetch us home in a coach. Frodo and I sang all the way back to Buckland. When I wasn't in the ditch, heaving up everything I had eaten since Yule, that is. Father thought it was all a jolly lark, but oh, my mother was angry!"

Here Merry laughed out loud, and Faramir with him. A childish wish crossed Faramir's mind that Denethor might have been more like this halfling's father, less noble perhaps but more light of heart, and more inclined to laugh over a youth's foolishness than scold. If his mother had lived Denethor might not have become so distant and quick to anger. Perhaps he would not have fallen to despair at the end, even after the loss of Boromir: Love, and the hope of love, gives strength in times of grief. But Faramir kept his thoughts to himself. He did not wish to dampen his small friend's recollections with old sorrows that were not his burden to bear.

Merry couldn't help but notice the look on Faramir's face, and he touched his shoulder. "Are you well, Faramir?" He had seemed fit in the morning, but perhaps his wound ached now. "Shall I fetch the Warden?"

Faramir seemed startled and shook his head. "No, no, I am all right. It is only..." His voice trailed off, and he looked toward the doorway again, now filled with the lengthening shadow of late afternoon. "It seems that she will not come today."

"No, I suppose not," Merry said, filled with pity for the lovesick captain. "But there is still plenty of time before Sunset bells. She is probably only a little hesitant about coming out while we sit here. Eowyn has had a very hard time of it, you know, and she is very proud. She wouldn't want us making sad-eyes at her if she should stumble or feel faint. "

"I understand," Faramir said. He and Merry had had a good long talk over a very small breakfast, and Merry had told of her spirit and her courage, and all that he knew of the despair she must have suffered tending her failing uncle, while his traitorous counselor cast a shadow of evil over Meduseld. "And I would be her great friend if she would let me, not her companion out of pity. I have no evil intentions, I only wish that she would speak to me a while."

Merry was silent for a bit, deep in thought, then he folded his arms and looked at Faramir very seriously. "Truly, what are your intentions toward Eowyn, may I ask? Do you wish merely for the comfort of her friendship in these dark days, or for something more? And if it is something more, how do you plan to go about it? I won't have her feeling chased, or badgered, or talked to death until she agrees to some sort of courtship out of sheer weariness. She had enough of that when that scoundrel Grima was dogging her footsteps, and I won't see her fly from an iron cage of duty in Rohan to a gilded cage of convenience in Gondor, if you see what I'm getting at."

If Faramir had been a different sort of man he might have laughed at receiving such a stern lecture from a frowning, tousle-haired hobbit not half his size, but he only smiled. "I wish for Eowyn what you wish for her: For her to be happy. I do confess that I find her very beautiful, and sad, and I admire her courage. It seems that we have both walked too long under a shadow of grief and failing hope, before ever the true Shadow touched us. I wish to know her better, so that she might tell me what is in her heart. I love her, and I hope that she could love me."

"And if she cannot?"

Faramir looked stricken, and Merry was sorry that he had been so blunt. "Then I hope that at least she will let me be near her, and comfort her in whatever way I can while this world lasts."

"Well," Merry said in a softer tone, feeling regretful that his temper had gotten away from him. "Well, that's all right then. I'm sorry if I sounded cross, but I am very fond of her. She's become like a sister to me, and I feel like I should look after her, as silly as that sounds."

"If her deeds of valour on the field are any indication, she is quite capable of defending herself." Faramir smiled again. "And as for your desire to look after her, I would expect no less from a great warrior of the Mark and brother of a Shieldmaiden."

Merry blushed and he cleared his throat. "My cousin Pippin thinks a great deal of you: 'Fair-spoken as Frodo, gentle as an Elf, and nearly as wise as Gandalf', were his exact words. I'm inclined to believe him." He held out his hand and Faramir took hold of it. "If all goes well, you will be my brother-in-law. Do be sure and name one of the children for me."

Faramir threw back his head and laughed. "We shall see, but I dare not look quite that far ahead."

They fell into their own thoughts after that. Faramir leaned his head against the tree, his face turned away, watching the doorway for a slim white figure and the flash of wintry sunlight on a fair head. Merry closed the basket to keep the ants out, then folded his hands over his stomach, tucking his sleepy right hand well under his left so it wouldn't slide off. He fell into a shallow doze, filled with swift, fleeting dreams of home. They were kindly dreams, and in each one Estella was laughing and smiling as sweet as summer, crowned with flowers, and over and over he caught her up and pulled out the pins just to see the fall of her long, dark hair.

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the end