Chapter 14

As he walked quickly along the corridors from the Royal Apartments to his own quarters,Faramir made a conscious effort to push down the strands of anxiety that prickled down his spine. There had not been time for the message Arwen had helped him send to Éowyn to have been received and replied to; the messengers must have passed on the trail.

He took a steadying breath before entering his chamber. Tamir and the scribe were working at the desk organising and sorting piles of documents and sheaves of parchment.

The messenger stood to attention at his arrival. He vaguely recognised the Rohirrm though he could not put a name to the face. The man still bore the dust from the trail and his face betrayed his tiredness.  

“Lord Faramir, I bring greetings and messages from Éomer King.” He offered forward a leather message pouch; Faramir took it and nodded his thanks.

“Is all well in Edoras?” he asked, knowing that he would only get the vaguest of answer from the King’s messenger; anything of import would be contained within the official correspondence.

“All is peaceful, Sir. The harvest was good and the foal pens are filled with some promising beasts. Oh, and Lady Éowyn asked me to pass on her regards.” This was said with a smile and just the hint of a wink.

“Good, good,” the Steward said distractedly, emptying the contents of the pouch onto his lap. He set aside three official looking scrolls of parchment for attention later and examined one addressed to him in Éomer’s own distinctive scrawl. He felt around inside the bag but there was nothing else, no message from Éowyn.

“Tamir, would you arrange food and a billet for the King’s messenger.” He turned back to the envoy, “I am sure there will be return messages for the Golden Hall from myself or from King Elessar, when must you leave?”

“At your convenience, Sir.”

“I will leave word for you at the barracks when all is ready,” he said by way of dismissal. He took Éomer’s letter through to his small sitting room and sat in the window recess to read it in peace. He broke the seal and unfurled the parchment.

He smiled at the greeting, Éomer had addressed him as brother; it brought back fond memories of his time as a guest of the Golden Hall. It also caused his heart to clench  as his thoughts turned to Éowyn. He had been so sure that she would have sent word to him but then his own correspondence to her had been very inadequate, perhaps she was replaying the compliment.

He scanned through the letter quickly, relieved to find that it contained no bad news. He went back to the beginning to digest its contents more thoroughly. Éomer enquired about his health and sent his greetings to Aragorn and Arwen. The rest of the letter concerned the arrangements for Faramir’s marriage to Éowyn. The majority of the legal and procedural details had been agreed during Faramir’s stay in Edoras but no date for the nuptials had been set. The official period of mourning for King Théoden was nearly over and Éomer was keen to finalise the arrangements. They had agreed that the ceremony would take place in Minas Tirith, a small private ceremony for close friends and relatives with the King to officiate. The arrangements for more widespread celebrations to honour the marriage were in the hands of the Queen.

Faramir let the letter rest in his lap as he turned his gaze to the view beyond the window; looking but not really seeing the city and the surrounding lands splayed out before him. His mind was back in Rohan, riding across rolling grassland, the freedom of the plain and the freshness of the breeze mingling with the joy of having Éowyn at his side. He smiled at the memory.

I hope that smile is for me.

The words were barely a whisper on the breeze and they settled around him; the voice of memory. His smile deepened and he rested his head back against the casement, stone rubbed smooth by long use, closing his eyes to better hold on to the warmth of remembrance.

I hope it is a good dream.

The voice whispered in his mind, bringing with it the scent of honeysuckle mingled with clear air and horses.

“It is a good dream,” he answered under his breath, not wanting the moment to end.

But as ever duty called and he still had much to do. With a sigh of regret he pushed away his memories and with a last look out at the view he picked up the letter and turned to leave.

She stood watching him, not five paces away, as still and beautiful as a statue, her pale features illuminated by a shaft of sunlight. He too was turned to stone, too shocked to process if this was reality or illusion; a mind-trick played on his heart by his longing for her presence. The silence lengthened, became charged and painful; he started to raise his hand in supplication, fearing he would shatter the illusion with his movement.

“Please…” he gasped, his knees giving way as he dropped back into the seat he had just vacated. “Éowyn!”

The arms were real. The warmth and strength of her as she came to him were real. The racing of her heart and the quickness of her breath as she buried herself in his embrace were real. He tried to speak but each time the words were swallowed up in the overwhelming reality of her presence.

She shushed and gentled him; unfurled the fingers that clung to her arm so tightly that she knew would leave her marked. She turned his face to the searching rays of the sun to better see him. She traced the contours of face, allowed her fingers to explore even as her eyes took in the ravages wrought upon his dear face by his recent trials. And when she could bear to look no longer for fear of exposing her grief she brought her face to his and kissed him.

 They spoke little beyond quiet reassurance and endearments, content for the moment to savour each other’s company. Faramir kept holding her away from him to drink in her beauty, to reassure himself that she was real and not a phantom of his overtaxed imagination.

Some time later Tamir knocked and brought them back to the present.

“Sir, My Lady. The Queen has sent word to remind you that you are expected to dine with her, this evening.”

“Thank you, Tamir. If you are you finished for the day would you be so kind as to escort Lady Éowyn to the Royal Apartments,” He turned to Éowyn. “I presume that is where you are staying.”

“Yes, I will be the Queen’s guest… until we have our own household,” she said, blushing.

“Then I will bid you farewell, My Lady, until this evening.” He raised her hands to his lips in a farewell salute. It was only as she was leaving that he realised she was still dressed for the trail in leggings and tunic.

Faramir was the last to arrive, he and Ferris hindering rather than helping each other in their efforts to see him suitably groomed and attired for the evening. He found himself the target of much teasing and banter. He greeted Éowyn with a smile so full of love that he glowed. He complimented her on her transformation from rider to Lady and her own face glowed in the warmth of his adoration.

It soon became apparent that all of the others had been party to the conspiracy of silence regarding Éowyn’s arrival. Part of him felt he should have been angry at their deception but the sense of joy and peace that her presence afforded him cancelled out any resentment and he was thankful for the care and understanding of his friends.

There were just the six of them; Aragorn and Arwen, Legolas and Gimli, Éowyn and himself; Prince Imrahil had departed earlier with a promise to send two trusted nobles to serve on the Tribunal.   They sat at a round table, enabling them all to converse easily. Faramir noted with gratitude that, without fuss or favour, his meal had been prepared and presented so that he could eat without embarrassment or difficulty. He glanced at Arwen and nodded his thanks for her consideration.

The evening progressed amicably and after the meal they retired to the Queens solar. Arwen and Éowyn whispered together while Aragorn and the rest of the companions discussed the setting up of the tribunal. Faramir gave his assessment of the requirements for the process, well able to hold his own in the cut and thrust of the debate, sober enough to offer his insight and understanding of the situation even when his companions’ wine-loosened tongues threatened to drown out the voice of reason. He suspected that they were baiting him deliberately, well aware of their penchant for teasing but he was buoyed up by Éowyn’s presence, his gaze frequently seeking hers.

Arwen couldn’t pinpoint the moment when she first became aware of Éowyn’s agitation. At first it was just a sense of disquiet and tension. Several times she caught the girl’s expression as she looked upon her betrothed’s face and what she saw there surprised her, at first she thought it was grief but closer scrutiny revealed it to be something closer to anger. When she realised that she was being observed Éowyn quickly masked her emotions.

“Please excuse me, I need a little air,” she whispered to Arwen.

 She got to her feet and pushed aside the gauzy drape to escape onto the balcony beyond. The evening air was still and warm and heavy with the scent of blossom. She took a couple of deep breaths and tried to banish the tension and tiredness that prickled behind her eyes and weighed heavily on her shoulders. The night was dark with no moon to gild the landscape; on the balcony lanterns burned and their glow provided just enough light to illuminate the surroundings.

Faramir was so engrossed in his discussions with Legolas that at first he was unaware of her absence but Aragorn had seen her leave and he looked to Arwen, a silent question asked with a raised eyebrow, she could only shrug her shoulders in reply. When Faramir realised she was gone he looked to Arwen for an explanation but before she could reply he caught sight of the familiar silhouette through the drapes. 

Éowyn tensed as she sensed his approach.

“Éowyn, are you alright?”

She could hear the concern in his voice but she did not turn to him. He stood behind her, his arm around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. She tensed, not leaning into his embrace as he expected. Her continued silence troubled him and he tried to turn her round to face him. She resisted him, bracing her arms on the balustrade.

“Please, leave it, I am fine…I am just tired and I needed some air. Go back inside, I will rejoin you in a moment,” she begged.

“But I want to know what troubles you.”

“Please, Faramir. Not here, not now. It is not the time or the place for this…PLEASE!” She tried to pull away but she was trapped between him and the balustrade.

“Éowyn, please talk to me…tell me what is wrong.” He could feel the tension in her, could feel the racing of her pulse and the quickness of her breath. In other circumstances he would have heeded his normally reliable instinct and listened to the voice in his head telling him to heed her wishes but his concern for her clouded his judgement. She pushed back against his chest with enough force to upset his balance and as he stepped back she pulled away and spun round to face him, positioning herself at arms length from him and folding her arms across her chest, defying him to move closer.

He had seen her in many moods: despairing and without hope after her awakening in the house of healing, hesitant and unsure in the face of his declaration of love, compassionate in her ministrations to the sick and injured, supportive of him in his hour of need, loving and gentle in his arms, efficient and purposeful in her administration in Edoras but never had he seen her near incandescent with fury and that fury directed at him.

“TALK,” she spat, “talk! that would assume a degree of communication, My Lord, a facility at which you seem to be particularly unskilled.” She stalked to the doors into the room and pulled them closed to give them at least the illusion of privacy.

“Have you any idea what I have been going through, stuck leagues away with no word from you. I hear that you are missing and then at death’s door and the only information I get is from Arwen, despite the fact that messengers arrive almost weekly.”

“I’m sorry, my love. Please don’t…”

“Sorry! You promised me. You promised that you would share your thoughts and your worries with me…” she was weeping now, but still she kept in at arms length.

“You promised that you would look after yourself and look at you! You look like a breath of wind would blow you away, I have seen more colour in a marble statue and I can see that your arm has deteriorated, it is weaker than when you left Edoras.”  Her anger leeched away leaving her heart full of sorrow. She moved towards him and lifted her hand to pull his arm out of the sling. He flinched as though expecting a blow. Even in the light of the lantern the scars on his palm were visible; she caressed them with her thumb before sliding the arm back into the sling.

She looked up at him then, looked into his face and saw that he had distanced himself from her, not physically but emotionally; she recognised the closed expression, the shield of self-protection he adopted when unable to cope with painful or emotional conflict. Her anger re-ignited and she took him by the shoulders and shook him.

“NO! You will not do this to me…you will not hide from this, from me. I love you and I will not allow it, do you hear me!” she was shouting now, all consideration of privacy and discretion gone.

“No more, please. I’m sorry. I should have heeded you. You did not want to discuss this now…” he tried to back away but she did not release him.

“Faramir, what do you see when you look at me, when you look into our future? I will not be some docile little housewife, content to mind your hearth and present you with a new babe every year. If that is what you want then look to one of the simpering noble-born ladies of the court; I would be your helper, your partner, your consort. If you cannot accept my help and my support as an equal then I will return to Edoras where my talents and my strengths are welcomed. It is arrogance to think you can do everything alone, you do not have to prove yourself to me or to your friends… How many times have they offered you their support, their concern! How many times have you pushed them away?…Even friends have their limits.”

 When he failed to respond she dropped her hands from his shoulders and walked away, closing the door behind her and leaving him alone. He heard her murmured apologies to their hosts and then the room fell silent.

“Are you alright, Faramir?” He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he felt Aragorn’s hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t think I handled that very well!”

“Not one of your shining moments, my friend.” Aragorn leant against the balustrade in the darkness.

“It’s all my fault. She tried to tell me but I took no notice…but I couldn’t bear to see her so distressed. I should go after her.”

“No, Faramir. Leave it for tonight; you are both tired and overwrought. Arwen will see that she is all right and things will seem clearer in the morning.”

“Can you spare me tomorrow, Aragorn? It would be easier to talk to her away from the city.”

“What have you in mind?”

“I would like to take her to a grove I know up in the mountain; it’s an hour’s hike from the city.”

“You will take an escort?”

“Yes, Sire. I wouldn’t want to face her brother’s wrath for compromising her virtue!”

“I was thinking more of your safety.”

“Do you not think I would be safe with my own personal shield-maiden bodyguard?”

“Going on past experience I would say you need a whole battalion,” chuckled the King, pleased to see that Faramir was more relaxed. He guided the Steward back towards his own apartments.

“Sleep well, my friend.”

~~**~~

Arwen tapped gently on the door, when she received no answer she turned the handle and entered, setting down the mug of honey-sweetened warm milk on the table. The fire had burned down low and the room was in darkness. She took a taper from the hearth and lit some candles. In the flickering candlelight she spied Éowyn curled up on the settle, weeping.

“Hush, child,” she soothed, taking the distraught maid into her arms and rocking her. When the storm of tears was finally over she fetched a damp cloth to wipe her face and pressed the cup into her hand.

“Drink this; it will help you to rest.”

“Why would he not let me be? I did not want to fight with him.” Her voice was hoarse from weeping. “I’ve been so scared, so scared that I would lose him and then to see him sitting there without a care in the world…”

“I know, I know. But you have to make allowances…he is a man after all,” she said with a smile to show that she was jesting. “But did you say anything that wasn’t from your heart,  that you didn’t mean? The timing may not have been ideal but he needed to hear it, Éowyn. Faramir is a brave, kind and gentle man and I love him dearly but when it comes to emotions, to his own emotions, he is just a child; a scared five year old, rocked by a grief that he has never allowed himself to release. When his mother died his childhood died with her and he became Denethor’s little soldier. From the little he has told me, apart from occasional visits to his uncle, Boromir was the only one to give him any loving care.”

As she spoke Arwen helped her to prepare for bed; helping her out of her gown and into her nightgown and brushing out her hair in long soothing strokes, finally tucking the covers around her.

“He seemed so much better by the time he left Edoras; I thought we were through the worst.”

“Éowyn, didn’t my father speak to you about this?” Éowyn nodded.

“He told me his emotional recovery would take longer than his physical injuries…Am I expecting too much?”

“He was safe in Edoras, no pressures and no responsibilities; it was like a long holiday. It is unfortunate that the situation he encountered here on his return was so difficult; by choosing to handle it on his own he increased the pressure on himself a hundred fold. His lack of self-worth and insistence that he attempt near impossible feats of endurance pushed him to the edge of collapse…The truth is he simply doesn’t realise his own limitations. There are no easy solutions, Éowyn. He has lived his life in the shadows; the shadow of his mother’s death, the shadow of his father’s antagonism, the ever present shadow of Mordor and even the loving but overwhelming shadow of his brother; the shadow has touched his soul and even the sunlight of your presence will have to battle to bring him all the way back. But do not despair,” she continued, seeing the fear in Éowyn’s face. “My father left you a secret weapon in the battle for the recovery of Faramir…!”

“He left something for me? What is it?” she enquired, pushing up from the pillows. Arwen gently pushed her back and resettled the covers.

“Friends! Friends who know your task and who will be by your side in the good times and the bad,” she said with a smile.

 “Now go to sleep, all will be well.”

~~**~~

They spoke little as they trekked up the narrow mountain trail in single file. Faramir took the lead followed by Éowyn, four troopers brought up the rear. Faramir was unsettled to realise just how unfit he had become, the uphill climb had his heart pounding and his legs rapidly turning to jelly. He had little breath to spare for speaking and he tried hard to disguise his distress from his companions. When they reached the head of the trail he indicated that the guard should halt. He took the knapsack and blanket from one of the troops and taking Éowyn’s hand, led her into the grove.

The grove opened out into a horseshoe shaped amphitheatre backed by high cliff walls.

A waterfall fell down into a deep, natural pool that overflowed into a sandy-bottomed stream; the air sparkled as the sun chased dancing rainbows through the spray. A grassy meadow lay before them and to one side a grove of Rowan trees offered dappled shade. They set the blanket down in the shade and Faramir went to the pool to fill their water flasks; he took the opportunity to dip his head and face into the water to cool down.

“This place is magical, Faramir,” Éowyn gasped as he returned to her side.

“When I was a child Boromir brought me here and told me it was our special place, I used to come here when he was away…”

“And have you ever brought anyone else ‘special’ here?” she teased.

“Only Frodo,” he explained with a fond smile, remembering the dismay caused when the Ring-Bearer played truant. “He needed a little peace and solitude during his stay in Minas Tirith.”

They ate their picnic in the shade and then moved to the edge of the pool; dangling their feet in the icy water and giggling as the silver backed fish tickled their toes.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Éowyn said quietly, holding her fingers to his lips. “I should not have lost my temper; you did not deserve that from me. Can you forgive me?”

“Éowyn, I will always love you and there is nothing to forgive. I hurt you and I promised never to do that. I know that I need you, please stay with me…help me, please!” He pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair.

“Always, My love. Always”

They sat in the gentle sunshine, talking and laughing and sometimes weeping; strengthening the bonds of understanding between them and banishing the anger and the hurt, both sustained and comforted by the love they shared.

TBC

Thank you to everyone for your support and encouragement

Update in two weeks, hopefully!