Chapter 2 - Missing

Where was he?

The thought ran around her head once more. She had lost count of the number of times she had thought it over the past few days.

"Mama!"

Eowyn looked across at where Cirion was playing in the snow. He had sat down in a particularly deep drift that the men had made when they cleared the courtyard, and he was now struggling to stand up again.

"Wait a minute, Bron," Eowyn said to her elder son who was making ready to attack her with his wooden sword. She rushed to where the baby sat.

With warm words of comfort she lifted the toddler to his feet and brushed him off.

"Do you want to go in where it's warm?" she asked, kneeling so she was nearer the little one's height.

Cirion pouted and shook his head. "Like snow," he said.

Eowyn smiled. "All right, just a few more minutes then."

She moved back to Elboron who had waited patiently. Bending she picked up her own wooden sword.

"Okay. Again," she said. "And use your feet more. Feel the ground with your toes as you go forward. Check if it's slippery."

Elboron attacked. Although he was half her size, he was already accomplished with a sword, and he moved forward with great vigour.

Eowyn gave ground trying to concentrate on the fight, but her mind turned back to her worries over Faramir.

The Steward had sent Anborn back from the White City ten days ago to be with his family. The Captain of the Rangers had told her that Faramir had promised he would be home within the week. And then there had been that awful early snowstorm. Even if he had set out after that he should have already been home. So where was he?

She gasped as Elboron's sword hit her painfully on the knuckles.

"Sorry," he shrieked, and dropping his sword he rushed to hug her better.

"Mama!" Cirion's voice came again.

Eowyn looked down at her battered knuckles, made more painful by the cold.

"I didn't mean it," Elboron began.

"Mama!"

Feeling suddenly trapped Eowyn muttered a curse.

"What now?" she snapped turning towards Cirion, expecting him to be helpless in a drift once more.

But the toddler was standing proudly pointing back towards the gates.

"Daiseeeee!" he shouted.

Eowyn followed his gaze. There was indeed a commotion at the gate. She squinted as the winter sun reflected brightly making it difficult to pick out what was happening.

Then her heart went cold, there was a horrific drumming in her ears. She began to run.

"Look after your brother Bron," she called over her shoulder as she moved towards the gate.

In front of her she could see the guards separate. Beregond began to walk towards her, his face set in a grim expression. Behind him he led Faramir's horse, Daisy. It was sweating, distressed and rider- less.

As she ran to him, the memory of happier times flicked unbidden into her head. The look of pleasure on Faramir's face when her brother Eomer King had presented him with the beautiful fearsome stallion. The disbelief that had replaced the pleasure when, on allowing his eldest son to name the horse, Elboron had proclaimed it 'Daisy.'

"Daisy!" Faramir had protested. "He is a horse for war. I can't call him Daisy!"

Eowyn had giggled. "What your father means Bron is he can't ride a horse called Daisy!"

Elboron had pouted. "Why?"

Faramir had flushed and looked uncomfortable. "It's a man thing," he had mumbled defensively. "Think of all the brave horses we read about in the olden tales. Surely one of those had a name you admired?"

Eowyn had grinned. Her eyes had met her husband's, where she had read his defence, 'You can't blame me for trying!'

But Elboron had snorted stubbornly. "His name is Daisy," he had pronounced.

A look of grim resignation crossed Faramir's face as Eowyn held in her laughter. He had raised his arms in defeat, and Daisy had been named.

How stupid that such a memory should surface now. Eowyn pushed it from her mind as Beregond and the horse stopped in front of her.

"Where is he?" she asked.

Beregond grimaced. "There is no sign of him, my lady. The saddlebags are full of his papers and the food for the journey. His bow is here but not his sword. The horse is in some distress. "

As he spoke she moved forward and gently soothed the horse. "Peace, Daisy," she whispered. "Would that you could tell me what has happened."

She circled the horse slowly her eyes taking in all evidence. "He is not injured, just tired," she said as she came to a stop back in front of the captain.

"What think you happened, Beregond?" she asked.

The soldier snorted. "It looks like for whatever reason the Lord Faramir was thrown from his back."

Eowyn nodded although she knew she shared the man's disquiet over this theory. Faramir was an accomplished horseman. He had been traversing a road he knew well. It seemed incomprehensible that he would simply fall off his horse. Still the storm had been bad and the ground slippery.

"And now he lies out there somewhere alone," she said, looking back to the south down the road. "What if he has come to harm?"

"I shall call out the men," Beregond said. "He will not lie out there alone for long. We will find him, my lady."

"Where is daddy?"

They turned to see both boys had made their way to them. They were now standing staring with puzzled looks on their faces.

"Do that ,Captain!" Eowyn moved to gather both her sons up in her arms. "Come it is time for baths!" she said.

"But where is daddy?" Elboron asked again.

"He will be here soon." Eowyn said steering them away toward the main house.

Beregond could hear the elder boy continuing to question his mother as he turned toward the stables. Anxiety forced him to move quickly. He couldn't stand the thought of Lord Faramir suffering any more. Not after all he had gone through.

*****************************************************

"At last your incompetence with a bow has served us well!" Saruman muttered as he leaned over Faramir.

Wormtongue sat at the back of the cave. He was wet, tired and cold having been forced to drag the inert form of the Steward of Gondor back up the hill. He had not been gentle. Faramir had groaned often. Wormtongue had chuckled at the other's distress, but now he felt envious of the man. For Saruman had seen fit to light a fire with his magic which now flamed welcomingly beside Wormtongue. The wizard never lit a fire when there was just the two of them.

"You winged him only," Saruman continued.

He took the arrow shaft in his hand and pulled it out callously. Faramir's body jerked up from the floor as he screamed in agony. Saruman pushed him back down, dousing the violent scarlet eruption that burst forth from the wound in the Steward's shoulder.

"I was aiming for his heart," Wormtongue muttered.

Saruman stopped his work, his ensanguined cloth dripping blood onto the floor beside him. He locked Wormtongue with a contemptuous stare. "Indeed," he said.

Below him Faramir's body had begun to shudder uncontrollably. He was groaning weakly.

Wormtongue eyed him suspiciously. "He makes enough of it!"

Saruman turned back to the patient. "He is a pampered city boy. I remember him from his childhood, desperate for any recognition, desperate for a kind word and eager to please any one who would give him one. That is what Gandalf the grey-fool picked up on of course. Massaged his ego, made him think he was actually worth something, and gave him the attention he so craved. His father and I knew the real truth. The second son of a Steward should just do what tradition dictates; go off and die violently but insignificantly in a war. Not outlive his betters and actually inherit the whole thing!"

As he spoke he roughly dressed the wound after discarding the arrow.

Wormtongue moved forward to look down on the face of the man. It was pale as parchment, the eyes tightly shut and the mouth grimacing with pain. Wormtongue loathed the beauty that was still obviously there.

"It is shock, that's all," Saruman continued as he broke a ball of pungent herbs under Faramir's nose. The scent seemed to ease him. He gulped in long gulps of air before lying back still oblivious to all. "He just needs to sleep it off."

Saruman stood up and moved back to the fire. Wormtongue watched him with bright inquisitive eyes.

"What will you do with him?"

Saruman laughed. "We have dwelt too long in the wilderness, scraping a bitter living while our enemies have grown soft and secure in their power. They think us defeated. They think us dead. What a shock we will give them. We will deal them a deadly blow, made all the more grievous because it appears to come from one of their own."

He looked over his shoulder to where Faramir lay motionless. Then he looked back into his own lap. Wormtongue peered and caught the sight of something small and green shimmering malignantly in the firelight before Saruman covered it.

"Although the great ring is gone yet still are there weapons on this earth that can change a man's will. Weapons that alter his perception so he appreciates another point of view, re-evaluates his loyalties and acts in a way others would not believe possible. Lord Faramir chose the wrong night to go out riding alone. The whole of Middle Earth, not just his pathetic existence, shall be transformed because of it."