Author’s note: Although the main plot of the story remained unchanged there were several things that I wrote differently this time – the timeline, the direction and the exact expression of the characters’ thoughts, some of their reactions, certain dialogues and a few details here and there. And, of course the rhythm and the wording of the story – which I do believe were greatly improved (well, this rewrite did come a year after the original version, and my not being happy with how the story sounded was the main reason which prompted the revision). Which would mean that, apart from that main plot, it is entirely rewritten.

xxxxx

Autumn had come to Middle Earth, turning the leaves from green to gold and brown, and the winds cooler – yet the days in Minas Tirith were warm still, and the sun’s rays still held their strength as they shone down upon the people of the City. Six months before, the War had ended; the Enemy had fallen, and from then on the world had turned to a lighter course. Lives were being mended, building was ripe – hope had returned.

And now the people waited for joyous days to come – for in this, the first new month of autumn, the Steward of Gondor was to wed the White Lady of Rohan. Little had remained until that time, and the Lady had come to Minas Tirith only some days before, riding beside Éomer King and Lords and Ladies of her land. Great cheers had sounded when they had passed the City gates; King Elessar had greeted them with open heart and words of grace, and the people had smiled to hear them. And they had smiled the more at the sight of the two betrothed, both upon their first meeting and upon the ones that came in later days, when they had taken walks within the gardens or rides outside the white walls of the White City – for they were both much loved. And for their sake the people would stand high upon those walls at times to watch for their return, and then to glimpse their faces when they passed through the gates – and see the peace and joy within their hearts.

And so it was that some now saw the Lord Faramir in the distance as he rode in great haste towards Minas Tirith, alone upon the plains. Yet in his heart there was no joy, and naught left of his peace; alone his fear and pain coursed through him. Fever was upon his brow and fire in his chest, and all that he could grasp was the great need for haste and words burying words within his thoughts.

‘Why would she lose herself?... It matters not, only fly and think no more... the Valar help them if aught befalls her… if I am not in time… swifter now…swifter on… if one hand is even lain upon her… too late for that… fly, fly, for there stands the City… and there lies help… am I late even now? Has he-… no more of that! All will be well – will it? – it must… I will find her, I will reach her… and all else matters not!...’

Such were those thoughts, sounding within him loud and lost. And underneath them all he was aware of little things, things that were dim and burning low, but could not be forgotten – that his right arm was turning numb and that part of his chest seemed close to follow; that there was blood trickling warm down along his front; that the dark bay that bore him now could fall before the City walls and hinder him, for he had rested not since riding off; that high white walls glistened in the light of the early afternoon, and it was late; and that he must not fall within those walls, nor stumble, but walk, and run, and make ready to ride once more.

xxxxx

In the King’s chambers a table had been set with goblets of ale and wine; around it the Lords Aragorn and Éomer sat in wait for the arrival of the Lord Faramir and the Lady of Rohan. Their party had yet to return at the decided hour and now grew late indeed, and while the midday meal had been delayed the two kings had retired here to pass their time in talk. And the time had passed indeed, unseen and swift –  and still no sign had come of those they waited for.

“My sister should have returned by now…” Éomer said, and frowned.

“They are not yet so very late, you need not worry, Éomer.” said Aragorn to him, although worry bloomed in his heart as well.

“I would not worry so, my friend, If I were by Éowyn’s side. This day they have strayed much farther from the City, towards lands that have once been unsafe – and I fear her company is weak.”

At this Aragorn frowned in turn, and said: “Do you doubt Faramir? Rather would I think that you do not mistrust him, but, if that is so, why then did you agree to this wedding between them?”

“I agreed for the light that comes to my sister’s eyes when she looks upon him; for the love she bears him which is so well returned, and because he will make her happy. As to my trust in Faramir, do not mistake me – I have no cause to doubt him; he is a man of honour, loved by his people and his men, and you yourself have spoken well of him. Still, he is but one man, and the guards riding by their side today are not that many.

“It is not mistrust of your Steward that I speak of now,” Éomer said as he rose from the table, “but mistrust of these times.” And turning to the window to look out in the distance he went on to say: “Enough time has passed since the War for foul things to gather once again; and I speak not of Orcs or other such workings that the Dark One has left behind, or not of them alone, but of the evil that men do; thieves, murderers, men with darkened hearts – they have roamed the lands before and must surely roam them still – unknown, unthought-of of, unbelieved in, for who would think of dangers in such joyous times?

“It may well be that our guard is down in these few quiet months, now when we draw our breaths and learn to hope and trust once more. And I welcome such peace, am grateful for the quiet, and wish that they would hold for all the months and years to come… But still,” said Éomer as he turned towards the room once more, “upon this day my heart cannot rest easy, and I cannot but fret for such delay…”

Hearing such words Aragorn sighed and rose. ‘He fears our guard is down,’ he thought, ‘and at the end of battle letting one’s guard down sooner than one should is almost tempting death. Still, has not enough time passed yet? Is he not keeping watch in vain? Perhaps he knows this also, yet cannot help himself – for this regards his sister; already he was close to lose her once, though he had thought her far from danger then, and now she will remain here while her returns to Rohan – and he will no longer be near to watch her as he would.’

And he stood for a time to think of words of comfort, but in the end they all remained unvoiced, for with a jolt the room’s great doors were opened – and there before them stood his Steward, sagging in weariness against open door, his hair and clothes in disarray and his dark cloak draped heavily upon his right side.

“They have taken her!” Faramir rasped, and to both men his voice seemed broken. “I…They have taken her!” he said once more; and in the stunned silence of the room he looked upon the King of Rohan with eyes burdened and clouded.

In turn, Éomer stared at the Steward as if his coming had brought doom upon the world. Over the cry that passed his lips he heard Faramir call for aid and plead for numbers to be raised. And yet he understood less from the man's words than from his haggard breath, his trembling hand, straining to lie still at his side and not succeeding, and the look in his eyes, filled with urgency and dread. That look was what undid him, for it told beyond a doubt that the man had lost his sister; and as Éomer gazed upon Faramir’s form, barely scathed, burdened by weariness alone, he saw only that the Steward had allowed Éowyn to be taken – by whom, it mattered little – and he understood no more. ‘How can he have lost her?’ he wondered aimlessly. ‘How can he return without her? How can he fail, allow her to be taken from his side, and stand now before me, unharmed, when he should have guarded her with his life? ’

And dark images came before him of what could have befallen the last of his kin; and he saw her before his eyes as she had once lain upon the bloodied grass of the Pelennor, broken and lifeless among fallen men, cold and still – the Black Breath upon her and within her. And now she was lost to him once more, and the man standing before him was at fault.

The next sight that he saw was the Steward’s face flinching in pain as he was raised and pinned upon the wall; and he had no words to say to him, and looked for no words in return, for they could read the other’s eyes and thought that alone was enough. Hate and guilt, grief and fear passed between them in an instant, and Éomer felt his blood turn cold, and all around him vanish in a mist of anger and of dread; but then Aragorn’s voice pierced through that mist and he let go of Faramir at last, to watch the man fall to the ground in silence and lie there in a heap. And he knew not whether that very fact angered him the more, or if instead some part of him should worry for it; indeed he thought to care little for either. Éowyn was in peril and away from his reach – he wished to know no more.

“Aragorn, I must leave here at once!” he said, and for a moment his voice seemed not unlike to Faramir’s when he had spoken first. “If only with my company alone to join me, I will not linger! For if she is held captive... I will not suffer it! I must-”

“Hold, Éomer!” said Aragorn, “Already I have passed word of this. Those to arm themselves in half the mark shall join us in this search, for I will not have you ride alone. But my friend, though you might desire vengeance – and I well understand your wish for it – do not, I pray you, steer it wrongly. Take up your sword and mount your horse, but strike into your enemies, and not your friends.” And towards the end he looked upon his Steward, and Éomer followed his gaze; and when he saw Faramir leaning against the wall, his shoulders burdened and his body still, a shadow passed across his face. Unsettled still, he walked towards the man and helped him rise, though he no longer met his eyes.

“You will lead us to her,” said Éomer, and Faramir nodded in silence; and then Éomer said no more, but followed Éowyn’s betrothed out from the room, into the armoury, and finally, on horseback, before the men hurriedly gathered. The world felt strange and numb to him, but he paid it little heed. One thing he knew, that no man who dared harm his sister would be left unreckoned with; but whether he would hold among these men the man who should, by law, become his brother remained yet to be seen.

xxxxx

He had crossed the final yards, the City had drawn closer, and Faramir had at the last entered its gates. The dismount from his horse had been a painful blur; he had left the good beast without a second glance, bewildering the stable hands with such a manner and the wavering in his early steps, then he had rushed toward the King’s House bearing ill news. And climbing the stairs to his Lord’s chambers, every leap a painful jarring to his body, he had thought of many things; he had counted the hours that had passed since his lady had been taken, wondered how her brother would receive him, wondered how he would speak his words. And he had been grateful for his choice of clothes that fateful morning – for his black cloak, draped now over his arm, had kept his ails well hidden. For his own healing he had spared no time – too much of it had already been spent. Receiving aid would have hindered him, or even kept him from the ride; and so, he had hidden his blood instead – his blood, his pain, his need of rest.

‘I will confess to neither of them; but I will lead the rescue to whatever place, join in its efforts as best I can, and, once those deeds are done, go seek my rest. Only then, and not sooner.’ Such had been his thoughts on stumbling within the chambers of the King. Such had been his thoughts while being hauled against the marbled wall – the pain so great that he had thought oblivion would take him. And they had still been such when he had made his way to the front of the men, the blur returning to his mind. And now, as he rode hard and swift across the Pelennor, Faramir had only one vision before him – his lady’s white clad figure sliding farther away, and ever farther from his reach – and heard her voice alone, louder than the galloping horses by his side, louder than the pounding of the pain.

‘I will find her, or find my death in trying,’ he thought. And it was all too clear to him that failing to do so in time would likely bring about just such and end  – whether by her brother’s hand of by the steady ruin of his soul. And so, he minded not the present, took no heed to the feel of the reigns in his hands, or the wind through his hair; for there was no comfort in the present, only in the future, and the hope for redemption.

xxxxx

“Will you not sit?”

The man before her moved softly, akin to the walk of a cat, and his voice bore the same treacherous purr. And Éowyn could not remember ever being warm towards cats - from her early years she had whisked them away with angry looks and sudden shifts; but that would not be enough here.

In speaking, he had pointed towards an unmade bed, white sheeted and inviting; and she shuddered at the sight, for it had all the makings of a marriage bed.

“Our agreement will not stand,” she uttered steadily, and waited for his hand to fall heavy upon her. Yet it did not, and a moment later she found that she was not surprised – for cats would first toy with their prey and only later strike. She turned to face him then, and let her gaze pass over the room she had been herded into a quarter mark before. Along the wall there lay a sturdy table with three chairs beside it; they all were cracked and crooked, mended in haste by unskilled hands, and perhaps not long had passed since the brawls that must have spoiled them. A fire-place was also there, unused and dirtied, still bearing half-burned logs of old; the windows were small and shuttered with wood, and let too little sunlight pass, the door was tall and heavy, guarded, no doubt, from the outside.

“You have not the honour that you bargained with, then,” he spoke once more, and at his words Éowyn turned her eyes upon him.

“It is you who has no honour!” she cried, scorn written plainly in her face. “I will not keep to what was settled when my single condition, one we agreed upon, has not been heeded! Dare you to claim that you have done your part!?” And she would have spoken more of this, but caution bade her hold her peace - it would do little good to have him calmer than she was, nor would it aid her were he angry.

“He has been left alive,” he said, “and that will do.”

“I asked that he be left unharmed,” she answered, and her voice was as cold as winter’s frost. “Your man stabbed him in the chest as you departed. Our agreement will not stand.”

“It needs not stand,” he seethed as he came closer and grabbed her left arm roughly. “I can still have what I wish for…” And as he spoke his eyes roamed across her face, and then down to her body; and his breath was heavy, and it lay warm and sickening upon her throat to make her knees go weak. And the thought came to her that this man was no Wormtongue to be kept at bay with spiteful words and swift retreats; this man could break her. And she knew then that she was lost, that she had lost herself by her own will, but had gained little for it; and so her eyes closed in defeat, and the man released her with a leer.

“Night will come soon enough,” he said, then left the room and her alone behind him.

And in his wake a shiver of fear passed through her, and Éowyn felt the coolness of the room even as the bright sun shone high outside the window; for there was little light before her and little warmth beside her now that she had walked into shadow once more.

For a time she stood unmoving, then made to fall upon the bed; but she recalled its purpose and froze once more. She looked then to the floor as it stretched before her, stained with dirt and spots of blood, and as her legs gave way beneath her she settled heavily in the middle of the room. ‘I cannot give into despair,’ she said then to herself. ‘My mind must be clear, my body strong. And I must aid myself, for now I am alone and none can help me,’ and such thoughts that she had often had in the years past nigh brought her comfort.

Soon enough her shivers passed and her breath eased once more. And in the silence round her she brought herself to think of what had come to pass, and of the wisdom of her deeds. ‘Unwise though it has been, it was the only way,’ she thought. ‘It was…there was no other…’

They had left the White City that very morning, their smiles easy and their hearts high. For some time she had wished to see Ithilien, to see how it would differ from the Mark, and two days before her betrothed had happily agreed to be her guide. With the leave of her brother and that of King Elessar they had departed with the dawn, some twenty men riding beside them, and they had headed south-eastwards towards Emyn Arnen.

And how glorious the ride had been! The lands had seemed new and fresh in the early light of dawn, the woods had glittered under the Summer sun, and the grass had flown in the winds as the waves of the Sea around their horses’ hooves; such had been Faramir’s words that morning as he had turned his gaze downwards and around them. And more words he had spoken then, as bright and graceful as the things they had lain eyes upon. And he had spoken too of what could not be seen, but what he had been moved to see with his mind’s eye – white flights of waves upon the shores of Dol Amroth, blue melding of sky and sea, and sounds of gulls as they still called him from childhood memory. For Éowyn, these lands brought no such thoughts of the sea, for the only shores that she had walked upon had been some rocky borders around the endless plains of Rohan. But it had mattered little, for the words of her betrothed had seemed no less fair for it. And what delight she had felt then to find some things akin to the lands of her home, what wonder to discover that which differed, and was the fairer for it.

After a while they had reached a clearing that stretched near to a stream glistening in the morning light. They had dismounted then to rest in the shade of some old trees which stood at the edge of the forest, wishing to make for home soon after - for upon that day, as in all others, they were to dine in kingly company and it would not do to be late. But then the forest had moved. And though their ears had turned towards the sound, their hearts half at the ready, they had dismissed it for a harmless ruffling of wind. For the end of the War had brought hope to them all, and to give into mistrust had seemed like to a slight upon such a day of beauty. And, in the end, that had been their undoing.

For within mere moments a great number of men had encircled them, having them all at the tips of their swords. They all had looked harrowed and bitter, and bearing ill will on their brows; and of them all their leader seemed the youngest, close to the age of Faramir, and the most perilous as well. In his eyes there had been contempt, in his stance self-certainty and pride. And he had moved to circle them on his dark horse as they stood reaching for their blades; and he had looked long upon Éowyn, so that she had felt measured like to a mare for breeding. And then a moment later, some of the men beside her – who, she could not tell – had reached unsheathed their swords, and the fight had begun.

And she had seen then the skill of their foes, both with the horse and with the blade, and she had wondered for a moment how many brothers and husbands and fathers had fallen by their hands, how many men of worth, for surely such rogues that had come upon them had not fought in defence of the West! And their skill had proven great indeed, for little time had passed before the guards of the White City had been disposed of, some killed, others bearing harsh wounds, still others held at sword point by the end. Faramir had remained unscathed, a tribute to his own skill with the blade, and she had borne no hurts out of the fighting – for there had been none to approach her. They both had been held straight and still before the leader of the band, and as he had walked towards them, with the same softness she now knew and hated, Éowyn had felt a shiver course through her. He had said naught, but he had taken up his sword, glinting and stained with blood, and singing in the leaden silence, and he had made to strike Faramir dead.

The world had turned dark to her mind, and Éowyn had wailed then “No!” And she had writhed against the hands that held her arms restrained and twisted at her back, and sought to break free of their grasp – to no avail. She had thought then that Faramir would come to death that very moment, and the thought had burned her with fear and guilt and much bitter regret; the days they would have lived together, in love and laughter, joy and hope, would be no more; his days would be no more, for he would not see another sunrise – and she was to blame for all. And underneath that flash of grief there had been anger – anger and disbelief alike that such an end had come to them when they had weathered so much more before it; and, too, fear for herself, fear that she too would die; or that, instead, she would not die, but would be kept alive to serve as sport for such foul men, foul without and within, that her coming days would be forever marred, like to some muddy path after the fall of rain.

And she had cried again, her voice ragged and torn, and foreign to her ears, and she had watched the blade in dread. Faramir had been made to kneel, and her heart had wept for the dishonour they had forced upon him in his final hour. And she had turned her eyes upon the flint that was his gaze but he had not looked upon her – and as she sat now wearied in the sullied room she knew that, had he done so, his look would have haunted her to the end of her days.

And then the blade had lowered, but it had caused no harm – the man had turned instead towards her and her breath had caught. His eyes had settled hard upon her, and then a pair of grey as well, and under both their gazes she had forsaken honour so that her betrothed could live, so that he would be left unharmed. She had fretted for Faramir’s thoughts then as she did even now, and had not met his eyes for fear that her resolve would break; the outraged gasps of the guards still standing had shamed her – but she had braved them all.

And now she knelt upon a wooden floor and waited for the night to fall and bind her to this fate of her own choosing. And she feared her sacrifice to be in vain, she feared the shame she would endure in the hours to come, the days to come; she feared the breaking of her body and the breaking of her mind, mourned the hopes that had been sundered and tried to fight the one that she had still – that she would be freed unsullied, that all would be as it had been, that light would once more shine before her. Such hope was pain and torment, and in itself was feeble.

In all reason she knew that she could not be reached before the dawn; for that to come to pass a man must needs have ridden off the instant that she had been taken, reached Minas Tirith in great haste, and left in one greater. In that she could not dare to hope, for all the men had been hurt gravely as the band had left, not one left standing, and it was too great a feat to even reach the City, greater still to guide a rescue her way. ‘And they would know not to find me.’ And should that happen sooner than not, should she be found and freed the coming morning, should the long days she had imagined at the hands of her captors never come to be, it would still be for naught. ‘All would be in vain, for they would come too late.’ This night would have come and gone by then, and upon this night she knew she would be shamed; she had read it in the eyes that had bored through her, intent and certain, had felt it in the hungry gazes of the other men as they had ridden here, had heard it in their wanton words and laughs when their leader had dragged her to this room. ‘I can only delay it,’ she thought. ‘And when I fight him, when I struggle, will he call upon his men to hold me down? Will he keep me for his prize alone, or throw me in their midst, instead, when he is finished with me, like wounded prey gifted to hungry wolves?’ And she shuddered, sickened, feeling weaker than she ever had been before. ‘One man I may hold back, two I may hope to struggle with; but not so many, not so many…’

Morning may come and sun may rise, her rescuers may come as well; and they may set her free and do away with all these men, but her shame they will not take away, her mind and heart they will not heal. She will be broken, and she might not mend. ‘How will they look upon me when I am returned to the White City? If that indeed will ever be… Would they whisper? Would they stop and stare? Would they doubt of my innocence, think me a loose woman instead? Scorn me and point at me, and mock me in the streets?’ And thinking this she crushed her hands together, and even as she knew her thoughts would pain her she let them free to roam and dwell upon the days of her return; for anything was better than thinking of the night to come.

‘What will they say when they do come for me? What will my brother say, for he will be among them, searching for me and fearing for my sake. How will he look upon me? Will I bear his pity, will I bear his guilt?

‘And what of Faramir? Is he… dead… even now? Does he draw the last of his breath so far from me? Is he lying upon the bloodied grass or rushing to the City? I did not see his wound… the man has said he has been left alive – I cannot trust his words… But should he live, and should I soon be freed, will Faramir still have me, tarnished as I will be, with my honour in shreds?’ This she could not answer; a part of her knew that he would, that he would care for her no matter what, and shield her from the world if it should turn against her; but though she had no doubt in him, still she feared to hope. ‘And if he has me, if being Steward to his realm and the Lord of this land does not bound him, somehow, to wed another, will I have him in turn? Bear his touch and bear his children?  And… Béma, what if a child will come from this accursed night? What then?’

When she could think no more she rose and walked toward the window to open wide the shutters. Through there she could not make her run, for there were many men outside watching the house, many who turned their eyes upon her and began calling out. She started, quailed, then turned away. The windows she left open, to watch the sun move in the sky, although it was a herald to her fate – for to her mind it was better to know the coming of the dreaded moment than wonder of it ceaselessly. She thought in passing that she could end her life, to spare herself the misery that was to come, but she had no means to do so here; there were no blades that she could use, no shards of glass, no place where she could hang a noose, if she could make one from the sheets upon the bed or from the tearing of her skirts. Perhaps the days to come would see her near a dagger or a sword; perhaps that man would bear one when he came this night, and she could use it, against him or herself. For now, though, there was no escape.

xxxxx

They had departed in great haste, mounting swift horses as dark as could be found to aid them in their raid under the cloak of darkness. ‘But will we fight this night?’ thought Aragorn as he crossed the plains. ‘Will we find the hiding of these rogues, if indeed they have one? And when we do, will we not be too late?’ He knew, as all the soldiers with him did, what fate the Lady Éowyn could meet, and for this cause they rode unwisely – for in their run they drained both horse and man of strength as they battled with time. A moment wasted could make the hunt in vain, and so, they drove their mounts the harder, to gain a moment more with every hoof that stroke the grass.

Yet even as he feared for her Aragorn still had hope. The Steward and his Lady were no mere nobles of the City, and the guards that had ridden with them had borne their livery – surely the men that overcame them had taken some notice of that. And, should they not have done so, Éowyn’s very sight would have spoken of her station – for in all Gondor there was alone one lady with hair as fair as hers, and all knew of her and the wedding that was to come. And with so high a Lady in their hands, would they not seek to have her ransomed? ‘They would stay their foul deeds to have her honour bought untouched; unless, the Valar forbear it, they have none of it themselves… Would such men know of honour?’ he wondered not the first time, then turned his thoughts away once more. ‘And yet, perhaps a ransom is not in their intent; they left no word of it when they departed… yet neither did they kill the men they left behind to hide their deeds – although, by all accounts, they hurt them gravely –  and Faramir- ’

He had been close to think his Steward well unscathed, for so had Aragorn thought upon seeing him first; but watching him now as he rode before him, a guide to all the men, he could no longer be so certain. Faramir’s poise upon his horse showed little hurts that he could see, and in his ride he did not falter; but there had been other signs that his Lord had seen before they had departed, signs he had then paid then little heed to. But now they came together in his mind, and so the King remembered how Faramir had kept his right arm hidden at all times, how he had sheathed his sword with his left hand, how he had not seen the man mount – how, later on, once trotting by his side, his Steward’s brow had seemed aglow and his face overcome with pain and weariness, though only for a moment. 

‘I knew of his ailments,’ Aragorn thought with guilt, ‘I guessed them even as I saw him strain to breathe and lean against the wall in weariness once Éomer saw reason. And yet I did not speak.’ Instead he had deceived even himself in thinking Faramir was well enough to ride, for they had need of him to guide their way towards the place where Éowyn was taken. ‘And though in body he seemed weak to me, no words of his did falter.’

Indeed, after the first few moments the man had spoken steadily of the rogues that had come upon them, of their numbers – nigh three times that of their own guards – of their horses – some well trained and heavy built, others unkempt and difficult, and few of them seeming able to reach great speed. Their riders had seemed hardy men, dusty and travel-worn, some worn by their long years as well; in between they had made a band, Faramir had said, but to him their ties had not seemed sturdy. Of their leader he had spoken little, and Aragorn had not pressed on – should Faramir had suffered aught at the hands of that man there was too little time to draw it from him; and were that matter of import to their errand he would have surely brought it forth.

And so, he had asked little other questions, and had left the White City bringing with him eight and ninety men of the sword, of Rohan and of Gondor both, and two score archers – nigh twice the number of their foes. Should their hiding hold few other more – ‘if we do find their hiding…’ – all would be well.

Yet now that they were on their way, and all was set, and little could be changed, there was a care upon him that would not leave him be; greatly did he wish to see to Faramir, to know for good if his wounds could be borne for now and mended later, if the ride did not worsen them, if even he could fight at all when the time came. ‘I would stay all these men to tend to one who does not care for healing,’ he thought, ‘but I cannot; it may be that too much time would in this way be wasted - wasted, curse me for thinking it!… and yet, does he not think the same? He would not hide beneath his cloak if he did not; and if indeed he could not bear his wounds he would seek healing, for he is no fool.’

And yet, Aragorn also knew that in his heart and mind Faramir was much burdened. ‘Fear and despair must flow in him like blood…’ And by their side would stand anger and guilt alike – and whether they would weaken his will or strengthen it instead only the coming night would tell. ‘How much, then, would he care for his own health? That which he held most dear was taken from him, now, so close to the day when his new life would begin. Who am I to keep him from this ride? Would I have bid him remain in the City had we no need of him? Would he have stayed?’

He could not say. Four months had passed since he had become King, and in that time he had come to know the Steward fairly well, yet not enough to say he knew the man as well. Their work had had them sit together for many hours of the day, yet in their early weeks too many tasks had been before them to speak of matters that were of no import to Gondor, and in the later days that habit had kept them to their work. ‘I know his will is great, and he too is the same, steadfast and lordly, of a good heart and a keen mind; we do not think the same in all things, but we find the best course between us, and so the lands prosper; he is loyal and true, and in his eyes I see that he would die for me – yet to this day we have not laughed together once. That is not well…’ In what did not concern their duty they both kept their own counsel, and even though that suited him for the most part, Aragorn feared that they would grow apart in time, more so than they were now; and for himself as well as for his realm, he did not wish it. ‘Even upon this day I spoke no kind word to him…’ he thought at last, then cleared his mind and raised his eyes once more to look out in the distance.

And he saw the sky darken, and the green-gold of grass and the amber of leaves glisten in the fiery light, and the shadows of the men and the horses as the sun shone ever colder from behind them; and he felt a stillness in the air, and heard naught but the sounds of riding and the few calls between the men, and his heart was uneasy. He turned then to his right and looked upon the King of Rohan; his helm was glinting in the sunset like in the light of burning fires, but in his eyes there was no light. And Aragorn looked long upon his friend, and, when Éomer met his gaze, he said to him:

“We shall find her in time; have faith, my friend!”

But Éomer said naught in answer, and his eyes turned before him once again. And so they rode, deep in their thoughts and in deepening silence, until Faramir gave a cry – and in their hearts then came relief, and grieving also. They had at last come to the place where hours before the Lady Éowyn was taken, and here it was that all the men dismounted, some to tend to the wounded, some to the dead, and some to search for signs as to where the rogues had travelled. On bloodied grass they walked, swift in their duties and quiet in the leaden air. Aragorn walked among them, and his steps soon carried him toward the edge of that space, towards the path it was believed the band of men had taken. But soon enough his steps were stayed and a fallen soldier bade him join his side.

“My Lord…! Hear me, my lord!” the man called out, and Aragorn walked towards him to kneel down at his side. And he weighed his wounds as he looked upon him, and his heart was filled with pity – for the man could well not live beyond that day. His eyes were bright and his will strong, but much blood coursed from a wound high up on his leg, and the White Tree upon his chest was stained with red.

“Speak, now, I hear your words,” said Aragorn, and then he called for aid.  

“See to him, my Lord…” the man began, “for he is wounded…” Here his voice broke, and his next breath came with a shudder; but he kept his eyes open and looked up at his King, and with a frown upon his brow he went to say: “The Lord Faramir… his chest… he sh- should not have ridden… my Lord… make him rest…”

“He has lead us here himself,” answered the KIng, “and has spoken of no wound. Can you say what befell him while I see to yours?”

“I can,” the soldier said; and as water was brought to him to clean his wounds, and linen strips to bind them, Aragorn set to work.

“Speak of what came to pass here, tell me all that you can,” he asked, and then he said no more. Once only he looked to his left – for there beside him, and at the soldier’s side, Éomer King had come to listen, his eyes and ears intent and his brow furrowed.

“We had made to return…” began the soldier, “but then they came… they were many… we fought… they had us… on our knees… They had the Captain kneel as well… My Lord,” he said, and reached for his King’s hand, “he would have killed him… skewered him….but then- the Lady cried… cried out - and that man, their leader… he turned to her instead.”

He fell silent for a time, and drew a few deep breaths, and when he spoke again his words came raw and broken, and his eyes closed tight with every pause he took.

“She…she begged them stop…” went on the soldier, “but that man laughed and said… he said that she had naught… to offer, naught… that he could not take… by force… My Lord, he looked at her in such a way… but she did not turn her eyes! Nay, she did not! And such words she spoke! The Valar keep her and protect her… for we could not…”

A bout of coughing overcame him then, and trickles of fresh blood flowed at the corner of his mouth; his right hand clutched anew at the arm of the King, and his left took hold of the bloodied grass beside him – yet he went on to speak:

“The Valar keep her… she said… she had her will, and that he… he could not break … nor bend it… He asked if she would come to him… submit to him… for – for the sake of the kneeling man… She said she would,” he closed his eyes and sighed, “if only he were left unharmed… And then… they took her… fell us all… and left…”

At this Éomer did not speak, but clutched his fists and closed his eyes; and looking towards no man he rose and walked away with his steps slow and even. And for a time Aragorn watched his friend and wished he had not heard such tales, but then he turned once more towards the fallen man and asked:

“And of Lord Faramir what can you tell? How came he to harm?”

“As they left… one of the men… holding… holding him down… drove a dagger through his chest…”

Hearing this, the King gave a slow nod, and as he went on seeing to the soldier’s wounds he thought of Faramir’s, of his ride to the City and that which brought them here, and of the fight ahead. And, even as he feared for him, Aragorn’s heart was filled with pride to hear of the man’s strength, and he found that his heart was eased a little, for such strength was not that of a dying man. But still the doubt was there, and still he wished to see to Faramir, more so now than before; and so, when all that he could do to aid the wounded man was done he took his had in his and asked:

“What is your named, friend?”

“Galdor… my Lord…”

“Then Galdor, I say to you that you have done well to aid your Captain, and his Lady. Rest now, and do not fear, Faramir shall not fall, I swear it!”

“I… thank you… Lord…” the soldier whispered, and then he closed his eyes. His breath came still, though slight and strained, and as he rose Aragorn bade a man come see to him. And then he turned and sought his Steward out, meaning to speak to him and perhaps tend to him as well; at last he saw the man leaning against a tree, not far from where the rogues’ trail started, and with no other pause he walked to join him there.

In all this time Faramir had kept himself out of the sight of others, hidden behind the trunk of the very tree that he now stood against; such were its width and shade that he had dared to lay his body down and see to his wound a little. The strip that he had torn from his cloak hours before and used to stem the bleeding he replaced with one of clean linen, folded and held in place by the press of his tunic to his chest. He had done little else, not knowing when they would ride out once more and unable to disrobe alone for the numbness in his arm. But even so he dared to hope – the bleeding had not stopped in all, and so he had not had to pull against dry blood to change the cloth – ‘for that, at least, may the Valar be praised’ – but it had slowed in time; and he was living still, and he could stand, and even with the pain he felt his thoughts came clear. ‘By all accounts I should be dead, for the man who stabbed at me was meant to slay me, although the order was not given openly. He could have well aimed for my heart, or even just a little lower from where the blade did strike, and I would be no more – yet here I stand,after hours of riding, no less.

‘How is it that I am not hurt more? So many here lie dead or dying… Did the man mean to spare me? Or did he miss? No, that cannot be so… And yet what other answer is there? Perhaps my life is charmed, indeed,’ he thought, and a wan smile pulled at his lips even as dizziness came upon him. ‘Rising has made my head go light, and I am wearied; but one shall pass, and I can fight the other… Can I? I must! I cannot falter now… nor will I stay behind… no, that I cannot do… If I may bring some good in this, I will, and if I fall, so be it!’

Such were his thoughts when Aragorn came near; and for a moment, when he looked upon him, the King could see his face was set, and his eyes were like steel as he looked into the distance. But then Faramir bowed his head, and when he turned towards his King his gaze was once more clear and steady.

‘He seems unharmed,’ Aragorn thought, ‘and now he stands alone, no longer leaning. Yet, if I take away his cloak, I will find blood…’

“How many lived, my Lord?” asked Faramir.

“Nine only were still living when we came; we do not know how many will live on…  Some men will stay here to attend them, then bear them to the City and the Houses of Healing. What of the trail?”

“I saw them take the path between the trees that stretch ahead,” he said, and looked once more before him. “The men that we have sent to seek signs of their trail should, at this time, return with news.”

“Indeed, they come,” said Aragorn, and even as he spoke three riders came forth from between the trees and made their way towards them to dismount at their side. They all were raven haired, and, from their garb, part of the Rangers of Ithilien.

“My Lords,” one of them said, “the marks follow the trail that the Lord Faramir spoke of; they did not change their way; the horse tracks not old, and they are barely hidden.”

“Can they be followed as we ride?” Aragorn asked.

“They can, my Lord.”

“Then we shall leave at once; spread the word, rally the men. Make haste, there is no time to spare!”

“Aye, my Lord!” the Ranger said, then all three bowed and left, leading away their horses.

Silence fell then between the King and Steward, and Faramir bowed and made to leave; but Aragorn took hold of his left arm as the man passed him by and stayed him in his steps. He looked upon him steadily, gazed once towards Faramir’s chest and where the dark cloak fell over his arm, then to his eyes once more.

“I know that you are wounded,” said Aragorn in a low voice. “Faramir, will you not let me-“

“We must make haste, my Lord,” the Steward said looking back at his Lord, “such were your very words. There is no time for it; there is no need for it.”

“That is your will?”

“It is, my Lord.”

For a time, Aragorn was silent; at length he turned his head to watch the men as they approached their horses, then spoke once more:  

“I would not have you ride…” he said, but left his words unfinished.

“Yet you do not bid me stay,” said Faramir, and felt his King release his arm and lower his hand slowly.

“Nay, I do not,” Aragorn sighed, keeping his gaze aside and taking a step back.

“For that I thank you, my-”

“Thank me when we are safely back.”

“I thank you now,” the Steward said; and when the King turned once again towards him, a look of worry in his eyes, he added: “And I will thank you also after we have returned.” And both men looked long one upon the other.

“Go,” said Aragorn at last, “mount your horse; I will ride by your side.”

And with no other words Faramir walked away. And watching him depart, his Lord and King sent forth a prayer that all be well with him, and that he not be harmed.

xxxxx

The night had fallen cool and calm upon the forests of Ithilien; a slow wind had begun to blow with the setting of the sun and the sky lay covered, although the white light of the moon still came down from between the clouds. The Lady Éowyn could see it shine outside her window, and as she gazed upon it she found it cold and frozen, no longer like the sight of Elven cloth, unmarred and pure, but more unto that of a withered shroud or of old bones unearthed.

A single light burned in her room, and as she watched the shadows that it brought flicker upon the walls she felt herself grow fearful. In the hours that had passed – ‘too slowly, much too slowly, and yet not slow enough’ – her thoughts had wandered, and she had dwelled on many things: the coming of that man, the words that he would speak, if any, and what she would reply, how the sight of him would turn her heart – steady and cold or wavering and weak – what would come after. At every heavy step that she had heard outside her door she had given a start, wondering whether he or another would enter before sunset, and making ready for a struggle – but no man came. And now that fires had been lit and many men had settled down – and none now made to near the door – she fought the hopes that night would pass without dishonour brought upon her, or that she could escape – for if they were to burn inside her and then be stifled by a heavy hand she could not bear it. ‘I could not bear it either way…’ she thought in bitterness; and then she turned away from the open window and sat upon the floor to lean against the wall beside it.

Worry and doubt had wearied her, and still she felt the blow that had been losing all she had believed to have. The day before she had been filled with joy, and many had been at her side, happy for her and with her. Before midday there had been many maidens in her rooms, some braiding her hair in preparation for the wedding feast, others fretting about the gown that had been made for her to wear upon speaking her vows, still others had been charged with lesser duties – she had not known which, for she had not asked, but she had seen them from the corner of her eye as they had gone about the room. ‘I wish I would have asked…’ she thought then of a sudden, and her regret cut into her like the edge of a blade, not so much for that little thing, but for all things together, little and great alike. Slow tears came to her eyes, and then were wiped away. ‘I will shed no tears,’ she thought in anger, ‘until I know beyond a doubt that there is no hope left, I will shed no tears.’ And yet another time she tried to clear her mind and dwell upon her coming fate no longer – and once again she failed.  

She closed her eyes to find some comfort, but in that heavy darkness she felt lost; and looking at the room once more she thought the walls would close about her. A shiver went through her and Éowyn thought that her heart would break, for she could take no more of waiting – doom would be soon upon her, but how soon she knew not, and she could do naught but let the hours pass. ‘I am returned to such a fate,’ she thought, ‘and now none holds me from the fight; and now the enemy whose strike I wait is made of flesh and blood – but I have naught to fight him with; and I am by myself alone.

‘I am returned to what I knew before, to fear and doubt and to the things that crawl upon the earth. I sit among them in the dirt, and no man may redeem me now.’

And thinking this her breath was caught, and for a moment she felt weak and small; and when outside the door she heard the locks be lowered she thought her spirit withered, faded into despair – but only for a moment, for then she felt herself turn numb and cold. While fear and hope had fought to burn within her the world around had seemed cold and still – now she herself was colder, and knew no longer fear – for she had naught to lose.

And so it was that when the door was opened she did not tremble, did not speak, but only rose and looked upon her captor as he neared her with measured steps. Her eyes were wide in watching him, her fists were clutched, nails digging in her skin, and from the place where she stood rooted she seemed a rock unbreakable, like the foundations of a mountain. The man stopped some good steps before her, and he looked long upon her in the silence; and he was like the darkest shadows, for stifled rays of light came from behind him, and the gleam of his eyes was hidden in the darkness.

“Come now to me,” he said at length, “come to me of your will alone, as you have vowed to do.”

“I will not do so,” Éowyn answered.

“Come to me, now,” he said again.

“Nay,” came the answer, steady and clear in the still of the room; and hearing it the man smiled grimly.

“Then I shall come to you,” he said, “oh, fair Lady of Rohan,” and he began to walk once more. 

And Éowyn let him approach without making a move, and she bore his leering gaze and did not shiver at his closeness. Then when she felt the smell of ale upon his breath she made to strike and take hold of the dagger that he bore at his belt. But then the sudden sounds of battle came from outside the window, and she heard her brother’s cry of battle and that of Aragorn beside it, and such a feeling of relief rained down upon her, and such a change came to her heart – to feel hope once again, strong hope, where once was none – that her moves faltered and for a moment she stood still. And then the world broke out around her, in the clashing of blades and shields, in cries and moans and curses; and the light in the room burned bright, and he who stood before her now was a man once more, and not a wraith, and she herself was made of flesh and blood, living and warm and no longer forsaken.

And then her heart and mind were changed again, and she knew once more the world in reason, and the peril she was in, and even as she turned alert, and ready once again to struggle, the man grabbed hold of her and turned her round to press her to his chest. His left arm encircled her and stretched across her front, digging roughly into her arm, and he raised his dagger to her neck. And with her as his shield he turned away from where the window was and neared another wall, so that he stood between the door and window and to the side of each; and there he stood and waited, watching them both and cursing now and then under his breath.

And standing stiff where the man held her Éowyn thought it would be wise for him to keep her living, to use her life to bargain for his own when the dire need would be upon him; and that, if he had wished her dead, she would have been so by this time. ‘I need only wait until they come for me, and seek some chance then to escape his hands; till then I must be still. The battle is outside, here I can only wait; and while they fight let none who rode from Mundburg now be harmed! Let not my brother fall! Let not the King of the Gondor fall here, when he has overcome so much!’

And she sent forth her hopes and prayers while seeing that her breath be eased and that her mind be cleared; and glancing once more across the room she thought to see a shadow at the window. Some moments passed and there came shouts and sounds of struggling from the door; the man shifted where he stood, bringing the blade to touch her skin; and when she peered again towards the window she saw that the shadow had lingered. Steadily she looked upon it, though her head turned not, and when a flash of light came from a lighted fire she saw the shadow was a Ranger, and that the man was her betrothed.

‘Faramir! He is here! Standing, and well, and hale enough to wield a bow, for there he holds it in his hand, the arrow at the ready! Béma be praised for keeping him!’ And she was heartened at his sight, relieved and joyful for his sake, and thought that all would soon be well and she would soon be free – for no man matched the skill that he had with the bow, and from where he stood the captain of the rogues was well within his sight. And so, she waited for the blow to come, the blow that would end all or at the least bring about the chance to free herself and make a stand – but for some time no arrow came. And Éowyn began to fret that all was not as well as she had thought at first. ‘In truth, how could it be so? For he was wounded, that I know, and though I did not see the wound I saw his fall – it was no easy scratch. Perhaps he cannot draw, perhaps his arm is lame, or he bears other hurts; but then, how came he to this place? And how will he be kept from harm, for there are many foes out there?’

Of this she wondered, and much more, and in the little time that seemed to pass so slowly she kept her eyes upon him, hoping that they would find what ailed him so to keep him still, and knowing that, even should she discover it, she could do naught to help. And then her eyes suddenly turned from him, for a great blow came to the door so that it trembled in its hinges, and the man holding her strengthened his grasp and brought the dagger closer still. ‘A little closer and he will draw blood,’ Éowyn thought alarmed as her eyes widened and her head drew back. ‘Why does he wait?’ she wondered once again, and her hands rose to grab hold of the rogue’s right arm.

And then just as the door was broken down, and many men of Rohan came swiftly in the room, the arrow came at last. And as the man cried out his hold turned slack and Éowyn could free herself; and in that very moment she turned the blade that he was holding still and drove it in his chest. What became of him she did not know; some soldiers walked towards him with their swords drawn but from there on she knew too little of his fate – and did not care of it. For Faramir had walked into the room, and what thoughts she might have had till then were lost; like to a living ghost he seemed to her, dressed all in black and his face pale, the White Tree gleaming from the shadows upon his chest, and his eyes bright and burning. And she looked long upon him for a time, then went to meet his arms; and her eyes closed, and her hands tangled in his hair, and her heart soared to hear his breath and feel his hold around her tight, so that she nigh laughed for the great joy of it.

And just as she counted his breaths so too did Faramir keep a count of her own, and the joy he felt to know her in his arms, unharmed and safe once more, was a balm against his weariness; and it no longer mattered that his right arm felt bound and useless by his side, nor that the road that led him to her side had been leaden with cares and doubt.

For many long hours they had ridden once again, silent and heavy-hearted; the trail had grown the more difficult to read with the dimming light, the pace had slowed, and with night drawing closer they all had feared that they would come too late.

And in that time Faramir had fought his fears while all that he had seen before him had been some frightful image of what could have befallen his betrothed. To drive dark thoughts astray he had settled upon the foes that they would face; and he had wondered how those men could hide so well that no word of their dealings had reached the City till that day, and yet leave in their wake such marks that could be followed back to them. ‘They must be quite new at their ‘trade’,’ he had decided, ‘their band formed fresh after the ending of the War, with little raids to speak of, perhaps with little numbers until now, and so, with little need to hide their passing. If it is so, and if indeed they are not bound together as a true company of men, then we shall overcome them swiftly... Yet all will be in vain if we are not in time…’

So it had been with each one of his hopeful thoughts, that they had been undone by that one doubt, and even as he had struggled in mind so too he had fought to remain strong in body. In his right arm and in his chest he had felt pain and stiffness, his head had many times felt light, and he had feared that when the time would come he would be useless in the fight. Too he had felt, throughout all this, the eyes of his Lord upon him, like to a pressing heat against his back, neither disapproving nor at ease, but hopeful instead; and in the times when Faramir had dwelt upon it he had been grateful for such trust.

Then finally the time had come when the fires of the band’s camp had blossomed red before them, and once swift orders had been given the fighting had begun. Arrows had been let loose at first, aimed true and flying from places unseen, and then horses had been spurred, cries of battle let out, and the men riding from the City had come down upon their enemies.

In the heat of the fight Faramir had been among the first to charge, even as his wounded side had felt nigh set in stone. With the sword in his left hand he had known his strength and skill were lessened, and that he could well meet his end, but at that time it had not mattered; for staying behind had been unthinkable. ‘I am close to her now,’ a half thought had come to his mind, ‘and come what may I will be by her side tonight! ’ And so he had ridden not thinking of his end, and the end had not come; many had fought beside him, and in between their swords and his he had come through no more wounded than before. No less than twice had the King’s hand come to his aid after Faramir’s horse had been felled beneath him; and upon that second time both men had caught sight of an old house to the back of the camp and the light shining within.

Then Aragorn had given word that the house be taken swiftly; Éomer’s men had rushed towards it and Faramir had followed, and once the path had cleared he had come to the window to peer inside – and for a moment his heart had frozen in between relief and fear. For there within had been his lady, seemingly unharmed and well – for both in heart and mind she had been steady when he had sought them out – yet with a dagger at her throat. Fear had then turned to anger, for in that moment he had known the man that held her in his arms. A moment later reason had come to him once more; and as the men guarding the house were swept away Faramir had bidden the soldiers by his side make towards the door to force it down, and do so swiftly; then, mindless of its little use and the pains it would cause him, he had taken hold of his bow and nocked an arrow ready, thinking to serve as a distraction and yet another threat for when the Rohirrim would break through the door.

Indeed, he would have only stood there, though it had jarred at him to do so, for he had not thought himself able to draw back on the bow, nor follow on his aim as surely as he would have on any other day. But then, from the very strained waiting that he as well had felt, Éowyn’s heart had turned to panic in an instant as the door had been broken down – for the blade had been brought even closer to her throat. And in that instant he had thought to hear the beating of his heart and hers, and, overcome by dread that one of them would cease, he had, somehow, let loose the arrow that had been readied on a whim.

Burning pain had overtaken him, and for a moment he had shivered in the arrow’s wake and had steadied himself against the windowsill until he could both breathe and see once more. Then he had walked on borrowed strength into the house and to his lady’s arms, and he had let her warmth flow over him to heal his heart – even as his body had felt close to breaking. And now he held her still, and would have done so without pause, but Éomer King came then beside them and Faramir withdrew to let him hold his sister and draw his breath with ease as well. Then with Éowyn’s hand in his and with the Riders of the Mark beside them he made his way far from the fight that still went on and to the place where many horses waited bound; and as had been decided from the first they rode away together.

And once the camp was far enough behind that no more sounds of battle reached them Faramir thought his part played to the end; he had none left to lead and his lady was safe, or would be so, when her brother would do what he had failed to do before and lead her to the City. And that thought took away his worries and his fears, and with them, too, the will and drive that had brought him thus far, leaving instead relief and gratefulness, mingled with weariness and pain; little by little he was drawn to them and the promise of rest they seemed to bear, and in the end he gave in to their lure, let his eyes close, and fell.

xxxxx

From the setting of the sun to the long hour of the night when fighting had began within their foes’ camp, the hours had gone by one after the other and Éomer had spoken not a word. Alone he had vied with his thoughts and had shared them with no one, nor had he sought comfort or counsel – his fears had been his own; so too his hope had been, and though with time it had waned in his heart he had not dared to lose it. Not dared, not wished to, either, for he had vowed to keep to it, however small, when they had set off from the clearing once again: ‘She is not lost to me,’ he had thought to himself, ‘and I shall soon be at her side; upon the Pelennor I gave into despair to think her fallen while she was breathing still – never again.’

To know at last the truth of what had come to pass hours before had been like to a blow come down upon him, and for a time he had buckled under its weight. Yet it had been that blow that had cleared all the mists before him, and from the numbness that had taken him at first too little had remained. Instead the purpose that had driven him and drove him still – to see his sister safe – allowed new clarity to come; no longer had he been lost in grief, no longer had he ridden on without thought of what came before him or behind him, lending his thoughts to naught else but the chase – instead he had measured the spirit of the men that rode beside him – relieved he had not found it wanting – he had counted the hours that passed, weighing the chance that they would come in time, and had given much thought to what the night would bring – whether fighting or much more hunting still. And he had paid no mind to the Lord Faramir, had not gazed towards the man, though he had ridden not far from his side. ‘I shall deal later with him,’ he had thought, ‘when this hunt is behind us and we know well its outcome; my judgement would hold little fairness now.’

So it had been that when the fires of the camp had come in sight, and then the fighting had begun, Éomer had led his men with a mind as clear as could be mustered in a battle, taking notice of all things and searching for the place where Éowyn could be hidden away. And so, by shine of stars and light of flame he had caught sight of an old dwelling to his side, and the men guarding it; and he had turned to seek out Aragorn to speak of it with him when he had seen the King of Gondor leap from his horse to aid his Steward and wield his blade in the man’s stead. He had wondered at the sight a moment, then had charged towards the wooden house without another word once the two men had noticed it as well and Aragorn had called to him.

With the corner of his eye he had seen Faramir keep watch at the window while he had worked to bring the great door down, then the arrow reach its mark and his sister free herself. And he had stood aside, despite himself, to let her rush first to the Steward’s arms, seeking assurance and relief; and watching them together, tired and still and clinging one to the other, he had seen the love between them and his heart had warmed. And of a sudden Faramir’s faults had lessened in his eyes, and Éomer had known he would try to forgive him many things: that he had done too little, that Aragorn had had to fight his battle for him, that he had been the very cause for Éowyn’s ordeal – for all had stemmed from her care for this man, and that could be forgiven.

And while they rode back towards the White City in the silent night he thought of this once more, and turned to catch the Steward’s eye and beckon the man to his side. And as he did just that he saw Faramir fall from his horse without a sound, and Éowyn dismount to then rush to his side. For a few moments he was stunned, but then he called his men to halt and walked towards his sister to kneel down at her side; and as her hands undid the clasp that held her betrothed’s cloak he recalled kneeling by another fallen man that day, and such a thought made him uneasy.

“Has no one tended to his wound?” Éowyn asked as she removed the cloak.

“Wound?” was his only answer.

“Aye, brother,” she said, impatience, in her voice, “for he is stabbed in the chest, can you not see?” And she turned towards him then to show the blood upon her hands.

But Éomer could see no sense in such a wound, for Faramir had not seemed ailed by any until his sudden fall. ‘Unless,’ he thought, ‘it came before Aragorn joined his side to fight; perhaps that was the very reason why he had need of another’s arm.’ And so he asked: “Was he wounded this night?”

But from his side came only silence, and he could see Éowyn’s hands fall still upon the Steward’s chest. “No, Éomer,” she said at last, “he was stabbed so when I was taken… Did you not know? Did no one know?” she asked as fear made way into her eyes. “And he has ridden all these hours, all this way…” she muttered to herself looking once more upon her betrothed’s face. And then in a much clearer voice she said: “No matter now,” and turned to face her brother:

“Lend me your knife,” she said, “that I may cut away his tunic. Then bring me water and some strips of linen if there are any to be found. There is too little I can do here, but I will not leave once more unless I bind his wound at least, and try to stem the bleeding.”

And for the hard resolve he could hear in her tone Éomer did as he was bidden, returning soon bearing a flask of leather and bandages left over from some hours before. And watching her tend to her lord he was at once made proud to see that she had so well kept her calm and had not been broken by that day, and humbled that he had but hours before thought little of the man now stretched beside them. Well could he see Faramir’s worth, his strength of mind and heart alike, and where once he had liked the man for the happiness he brought his sister he now loved him the more for how well he would care for her – for he had truly done all in his power to see his lady safe and well, and would do so again if need came of it. And as his regard for the Steward grew so too his worry did, for the man was pale and still under Éowyn’s hand, and her brow was troubled.

“The bleeding is lessened now, as much as it can be,” she said at length; “but fever is upon him, one that I missed before. Now to the City and the Houses of Healing, for I can do no more to aid him.” Then she wavered a moment, and felt Faramir’s brow once more. “How swiftly may we risk to ride? I would we fly like to the wind to bring him to the healers, but… would he weather the ride there?”

“He must,” Éomer answered, and laid a hand upon her arm in comfort. “He will. He is a strong man, sister; to leave such a wound untended for so long, to ride as he has ridden while burdened by it – it would have felled a lesser man. Yet he lives still.”

Then he rose and, with help from another, eased Faramir in his sister’s arms as she mounted her horse – for such was her wish, and she would not be gainsaid. And once he too rose in the saddle they rode once more into the night, another ride against the passing time, while they all hoped they would not be too late.

xxxxx

Midday had come and gone before Aragorn had returned within the City walls. When the night had been nigh ended some of the rogues had taken flight meaning to reach another place of hiding, and they had followed and subdued them all. Then learning from them where that place was found they had ridden towards it, lest news of that night’s raid reach the remaining villains before another could be mounted. The second nest had been a smaller one, with fewer men within, and they all had surrendered without fight. And under before the people of the White City they were this morning marched towards their prison, there to lie in wait until the time their Lord and King would pass his judgement.

Under the gazes of the people Aragorn rode as well, and he could see them grieved and burdened with some worry. So to the Citadel he went, in search of the Prince Imrahil who had remained behind to rule the City; and from his words he learned that Faramir had returned not long before the dawn, borne senseless among the Riders of Rohan, and that he had not woken since. Word of his state had been spread through the circles, and it had grown in time – and now few knew for sure if he was dead, dying or even close to healing.

And with such news Aragorn made his way to the sixth circle and House of Healing where his Steward rested. And when he reached the very room where Faramir lay in he saw the Lady Éowyn walking in measured pace across the hallway, her eyes turned towards the doors that remained closed before her; and by her side, leaning against the wall and watching her intently, there stood Éomer King, worry upon his brow. They both looked weary and forlorn, and the dust of the roads still clang to them, for neither one had left this House since Faramir had entered it.

A moment came and went, and both men looked one at other and spoke nary a word; and then Éowyn turned to Aragorn and said:

“My lord, they would not let me see him. Can you not bid them let me to his side? Or say at least how ill he truly fares? For the healers barely speak to me when I ask this of them – that they are not yet certain and that I should go to my rest, these are their only words to me.”

“I would not go against the healers’ wishes if they deny you yours, my lady,” Aragorn answered; “for they must have good cause to keep you from your lord’s side.”

“If they do, then I cannot see it,” she said, a frown upon her face as she turned towards the doors to stare. But soon enough her brow unfurrowed and sadness passed across her face instead. “Have you come to look on him?” she asked then in a softer voice.

“I have, to look on him and aid him if I can.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Éowyn said, “it brings me hope to know you would watch over him as you have done before; as I cannot do now…”

“I will do what I can,” Aragorn said once more, and she gave a nod at his words. “But you my lady,” he went on, “you must go to your rest; for I have heard you have not slept the night before, nor spared the time to eat since your return – surely you must be weary.”

But at his plea Éowyn only crossed her arms and said: “I will rest soon enough.”

But in her brother’s eyes he could well see that she would pay little heed to such words until her lord awoke. And as he looked on her as she stood then before him, strong and straight and with traces of tears upon her face, Aragorn vowed in his heart that he would see her wed her betrothed and smile into the sunlight as she had only days before. And then he said no more, but, with a bow to Lord and Lady both, Aragorn went into his Steward’s room.

And entering he felt the heavy air and the doubt in the healers’ hearts – for Faramir could not be roused, they said, and was beset by fever still, although his wound had been well cleaned and staunched, and now looked to be healing. His breath came quick and shallow and his brow glistened in the light; and for the weariness he could perceive in the man’s frame Aragorn wished he had tended to him before leaving that clearing instead of heading to his words. ‘Barely do I recall the reasoning that let him dissuade me… but I shall dwell later on this,’ he thought, ‘now to see both my vow and his be kept – that I might see him wed and he might give his thanks.’

And kneeling down beside the bed he took Faramir’s hand in his, and with a hand upon his brow he called for him – like he had done not half a year before, but meeting a much lighter burden in his path. And, as the healers watched, his voice turned soft until at last no words were heard, and for a while they stood in silence and in hope. And at the last the King opened his eyes and gazed upon his Steward; and then he bathed Faramir’s brow with water clear and cold, and all could see how the man’s breath came steadier and stronger than before. His own eyes opened some moments later, wearied but clear, and they rested upon the King with a questioning look.

“She is safe and well,” said Aragorn.

Faramir whispered: “Thank you,” and his Lord nodded, and they understood each other. Then Aragorn brought him water to drink and held the glass to him till it was emptied.

“Rest now,” he bid him next, and Faramir gave into sleep once more. For a time Aragorn kept watch; and he checked his Steward’s wound, and wet the cloth upon his brow when it turned warm. And when he knew that all was well, or would be so with time, he rose; and turning towards the healers he bid them go and rest and have another at the ready to come to Lord Faramir’s side should the need come.

Then he went to the doors and walked into the hallway; and there he saw the Lady Éowyn leaning against the wall, her eyes closed and her shoulders sagging, while Éomer was turned away and looking out the window. Hearing his steps, they turned as one, and Aragorn saw hope shine in their eyes, and he was glad.   

“How fares my Lord?” Éowyn asked as she walked towards him.

“I left him well,” Aragorn answered. “He has woken for a short time but now he sleeps once more, and in this sleep he will find strength and healing. Go to his side, my lady, and keep watch over him. And if his dreams are troubled speak to him, for he is weary still, and, should his heart turns heavy, your voice will bring him ease.”

Relief came to brother and sister both to hear such words and they smiled one at the other and held hands. Then Éowyn entered the chamber and closed the doors behind her; and, with a nod to Éomer, Aragorn left the hallway and the House and went to find his rest as well.

xxxxx

The hours passed. Light and warmth waned and the dusk came – and still Faramir slept. Whether his dreams were troubled his lady could not say, for in his face there was nary a change and his peace did not leave him. His breath came steady, and over time his brow burned less, so that there was too little need for a cool cloth upon it. By the light of the setting sun Éowyn’s heart settled at last to see him so at rest; and in a sudden moment relief came down upon her like a cool breath of wind, and she knew within herself that all would indeed be well. And so, she could allow herself to rest as well, to take some food and drink and gaze out to the gardens from the room’s window. And from the worries of before her thoughts turned lighter – and she remembered meeting Faramir in these Houses, his silence and his words, and loving him in time. And her heart warmed to think once again of their wedding and of the hopes and dreams which had seemed lost not long ago.

A smile upon her face, she turned towards her betrothed once more and, nearing him, she knelt down by his side. And as she felt his brow cool in the burning light around them Éowyn thought something inside her shift, and of a sudden she felt weary – yet very much alive – and great joy came upon her. She took Faramir’s hand between her own and held it to her chest – and she felt her love for him, unwavering and strong, and knew how dear he was to her.

And then Faramir’s hand tightened into her hold and his eyes opened; and as his head turned upon the pillows to behold her he saw his lady’s eyes shining with feeling. And as a smile came slowly to his lips his eyes shone just the same.

They did not speak – not of apologies, or of forgiveness, or words of reassurance – for there was little left to say that could not be read between them, instead they breathed content; and they remained so until a healer came to see to Faramir and take Éowyn to her rest.

The days that came were glad. Faramir healed, to the joy of his people, and when he was mended enough he wed the Lady Éowyn of Rohan under blue autumn skies and tops of trees that shone with gold. And they smiled together in the sunlight, and before the fall of rain and snow, through the light winds of Spring and in the warmth of Summer. They made a garden in Ithilien, and there their years were blessed with lands that bloomed and people that grew and held their Lord and Lady in high honour. And light was made even from an old shadowed day – for with the passing years a custom came to the Lands of the Moon, that the new bride be spirited away and the bride groom ride out with her brother and a close friend to rescue her, then to return upon her horse and in the comfort of her arms – and therefore seal a pledge of love and trust between them, and the hope that their lives would be as bright as that of the Lord and Lady of Ithilien.

xxxxx

More author’s notes:

* The time setting: I wasn’t aware of an actual date or season for Éowyn and Faramir’s wedding; from her last words to Faramir in ‘The Return of the King’ “Now I must go back to my own land and look on it once again, and help my brother in his labour; but when one whom I long loved as father is laid at last to rest, I will return” I understood that she would return to Gondor soon after Théoden’s funeral, so being married in autumn made sense. After much calculating and date comparing I placed the wedding somewhere in the second or third week of September (two weeks travel time, about a week preparing in the City after her arrival - and this is the week when the story takes place – and that places her departure to Minas Tirith two or three weeks after her Uncle’s burial – would that be respectable enough? I hope so…)

* I have no expertise in the medical field, so I admit that Faramir’s reactions or symptoms could very well be way off. I somehow doubt that what I put him through is humanly possible, but I blame it on the use of fantasy and the fact that, even when planning the events, I counted on the best of luck on his part (apart from him being in the best physical shape, etc) and something that’s only hinted at in the whole story – and by that I’m referring to the man doing the stabbing. Faramir wonders at one point whether the man missed or gave him a wound that could be borne on purpose – it’s the latter case; he intentionally misses the lungs and aims towards the right part of the chest (he would have gone for the shoulder, but the others would have seen), is careful to pull the knife straight so as to do the less damage, then throws Faramir to the ground for effect. The reason? Probably a debt of honour that Faramir knows nothing about. I had decided to write a drabble describing these things, but thought I would mention them here as well before anything else.

And this is it. I hope you enjoyed the story, and I’d like to hear your opinions on it whether you did or not. Thanks!