Chapter 7 - Awakening

Grima Wormtongue closed his eyes at the memory of the day before. He had watched hidden in the anonymity of the crowd as the Steward and Lady of Ithilien had arrived at Minas Tirith.

As he stood Wormtongue remembered a similar moment years before when he had seen Eowyn’s mother for the first time. He had been a simple Rider of Rohan then, but the beauty of the woman had made a lasting impression on him. All other women in his life had been measured against that vision of loveliness, and all had been found wanting save the one he now beheld.

Eowyn was even lovelier than he remembered from the last time he had seen her many years before at Edoras. She simply took his breath away, and he stood transfixed as she smiled sweetly but frostily at the people in the crowd. She had the look of her mother Theodwyn then, the look that had entrapped his heart and made him promise himself that he would have her. He had failed in his vow, and that had caused his life to veer off into another direction. Suddenly it seemed a devastating blow to him. He found himself uncharacteristically pondering on what would have changed if he had taken Eowyn’s mother for his wife. He gulped and pulled away as his thoughts scared him.

Memories of his final days in the Edoras Court with Theodin King came back to him then. He remembered the clutching of lust at his innards whenever he saw Eowyn. If not the mother then the daughter would have satisfied him, but she too had been stolen away from him. He clenched his fist. He would have her eventually. He would taste the sweetness of her chill beauty.

Forcing his eyes to look away from her, he focused on the man who rode by her side. Faramir looked pallid and sallow, his head down; he seemed unaware of the crowd. As he passed close by to Wormtongue and his master, however, he raised his head and stared straight at Saruman whose features were covered by his hood.

Wormtongue watched the interaction with interest. He knew Saruman had worried that his hold over the Steward would not last over the separation of the winter. Wormtongue could hear the words of the spell his master muttered, and he noted that Faramir inclined his head slightly in deference.

Saruman chuckled. “I have you still,” he muttered.

Wormtongue closed his eyes at the memory of yesterday. His mouth went dry whenever he thought about her. In the recent past, his world had been so colourless, so lacking in beauty, that he had come to believe it had never really existed at all. Now he could not deny that the purity of her presence had touched him deep inside in a place he had long thought dead.

Muttering to himself he made his way along the busy street. It was early morning, and the whole population of the city seemed to be eager to finish their business before the celebrations started that afternoon. It was a bright but chilly spring morning. Wormtongue pulled his cloak about him. He did not like this one as much as the one he had stolen from Faramir, but it had been cheaper and the extra money he had got from selling the Steward’s cloak he had used to buy better britches too.

He was on his way to the pawnbroker now, secreted in the folds of his cloak was Faramir’s sword also stolen from the Steward when he lay helpless in the woods. Saruman had commanded him not to get rid of the sword since it was of such a recognisable design that someone might get suspicious, but Wormtongue wanted the money for a new doublet to wear for the celebrations. His normal complete submission to his master’s will had been rocked by his thoughts of Eowyn. He wanted to look as nice as he could for her when their plan was realised later in the day. He had even washed his hair earlier for the first time in months.

With a shaking hand, he had taken the sword the night before while his master was away meeting Faramir to reinforce his plan in the Steward’s unconscious psyche. Now he hurried along, anxious to complete his own little plan before the shops closed at lunchtime.

He entered the pawnbroker’s store. It was the same man who had served him last time, and he greeted Wormtongue with a friendly word. Wormtongue placed the sword on the counter and watched, his tongue flicking uncontrollably in and out as the man lifted it from its scabbard.

“’Tis a beautiful weapon,” the pawnbroker murmured as he ran his eyes along its gleaming length. “Where did you come by it, Sir?”

“What does it matter?” Wormtongue snapped. “How much will you give me for it?”

Two more customers entered the shop behind Wormtongue

The pawnbroker sniffed. “It matters,” he replied. “For as I told you last time I do not deal in stolen goods.”

“Stolen!” Wormtongue shrieked, and then he smiled his slimiest smile. “I can assure you it is mine to keep or pawn as I see fit.”

“It is engraved with the arms of the House of Stewards,” the pawnbroker said. “Such beautiful workmanship is worth a lot. This sword should be wielded by one of noble birth.”

He looked down his nose at Wormtongue indicating his opinion that his customer was anything but of noble birth.

Wormtongue was used to such comments and ignored it completely his mind focused on the money. “So what will you give me for it?” he pressed.

The pawnbroker shook his head. Wormtongue became aware that the two other customers had moved up close behind him. He felt suddenly trapped particularly as a hand was place roughly on his shoulder.

“You are under arrest!” came a gruff voice.

Wormtongue spun around to see the other customers were in fact two members of the City Guard. He spluttered and began to squirm.

“I have done nothing wrong!”

“That cloak you brought me last week,” the pawnbroker said. “My wife was suspicious. As her sister is head seamstress at court, we showed it to her, and she recognised it as her own work. She made it for Lord Faramir two winters ago. And if I’m not mistaken this is his sword, the very sword he wielded so bravely in the War of the Ring. How dare you come into my shop and seek to make profit out of the Steward’s loss!”

Wormtongue had begun to shiver. “I don’t now what you’re talking about!” he whined. “I came by these things in good faith!”

The guardsmen laughed. “You’ll have to come up with better than that, maggot! A couple of days in the city dungeons may improve your story. We’ll let you stew until the rest of us have enjoyed the celebrations. Then we will make enquiries to the Lord Faramir.”

“Let me go!” Wormtongue screamed, but they ignored him and pulled him off.

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Eowyn awoke to the sound of retching. Pulling her gown about her she moved through to the bathroom. There she saw her husband sitting on the floor, a bowl in his lap full of the meagre contents of his stomach, his face ashen.

“Faramir!” she soothed as she knelt beside him. “It’s supposed to me with morning sickness!”

He looked up at her, and for a second she saw a rueful smile brighten his face, but it was instantly chased away by despair.

“I cannot do this,” he moaned.

“Do what?” she asked as she lifted the bowl and disposed of its contents.

“Today...... the ceremony......any of it,” he replied hopelessly.

“But you must,” she said trying to keep the shock at his incapacity from her voice. “You are the Steward. I never thought I would have to remind you of your duty Faramir.”

He stood up slowly and made his way to the sink where he stood unsteadily leaning over the bowl.

He had not returned until very the previous night. She had wanted to ask him about the treaty, but he had not come home. Now she could see that he was in no state to explain anything to her - it would just have to wait. So she pushed her concerns to the back of her mind and bore the weight of them herself as if they were too insignificant to burden him. Instead she let practicality rule her. What was important was that Faramir performed his duties that afternoon. All else must take second place behind that, and she must do whatever it took to ensure he fulfilled his duty.

“Faramir,” she said firmly but not ungently. “You need to pull yourself together. Let’s concentrate on what is achievable; there will be plenty of time later to plan for what is not. You have to set your mind to do it, once you do that nothing can stop you, this I know.”

He looked up at her his eyes wide with tears. “I cannot,” he said. “Something is wrong. I can’t...”

She took hold of him by the shoulders as if to instill some of her strength into his diminished spirit.

“Faramir, my love, you have to do this.”

“But....”

“No there can be no buts.” His reluctance chilled her to the marrow. What could it be that was having such an effect on him? But she refused to be swayed. “Do you feel sick still?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“Wash your face with the cold water,” she instructed using the tone of voice she normally reserved for the times when her sons were being particularly difficult.

He complied and splashed the water around his neck and hair.

“Better?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I won’t call for your page darling. The fewer people that know of this the better. Will you let me help you dress?”

He nodded again as they moved back through to the bedroom. He sat on the bed as she fussed around him. Finally she stood back and regarded him.

“That’s better,” she breathed. “Now you look the part. My but you are so handsome!”

He smiled weakly at her. She thought he was going to protest again, but he seemed to have lost his fear for now. She bent and kissed him.

“You can do this, Faramir,” she said. “Just get through today, and then we can find help. Tomorrow morning we will go to the Healers, won’t we?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “Thank you for being here, Eowyn.”

“You know I always will be, my love. I would forgive you anything, for I know the worth of your heart. We will overcome this.”

He gulped, his eyes still cloudy with tears. “You need to get ready.”

“I know,” she smiled. “But I am only a bit player in this, you have a main part, my dear.”

“I won’t let you down, Eowyn,” he promised his voice etched with sincerity.

“I know you won’t. Now you will be all right?”

He nodded. “I think so.” Then his voice was noticeably stronger and his smile wider. “Of course I will be. I need some air.”

He strode purposefully out of the room, no hint of the lack of confidence he had shown only minutes previously.

She watched him go and couldn’t help thinking which of the two men she had just witnessed in his body was her actual husband. It gave her no comfort to realise that neither was the man she had married. She wished with all her heart that the wise, considerate but confident Faramir would return