Chapter Four - Decisions

Eowyn woke early the next morning to the sound of a baby’s cry. Almost without opening her eyes, she was out of bed and through into Melethron’s room. She picked the child up into her arms and returned to her own bed with him. Placing him down in the middle of the bed, she climbed in next to him, whispering him her assurances. She was tired, and sleep was claiming her once more as Melethron hushed. She cuddled him close, but then the feeling that something was not quite right clutched at her.

She extricated herself from Melethron’s grip and sat up. The other side of the bed was empty. It would not have been the first time her husband had not come to bed at all, but she knew for a fact he had definitely been there earlier. He may have simply got up early, but a nagging doubt still ached at her mind.

Pausing to check that Melethron was content, she got out of bed. Her intention was to go down to the library to see if Faramir was there, but as she reached for her gown, she saw the envelope propped on her dressing table. Her name was written on it in his unmistakably beautiful handwriting.

She picked it up, her heart suddenly thundering in her chest. The letter felt ordinary in her hand, but her heart screamed that what it contained was anything but commonplace. She sat down on the bed, took a deep breath and opened it.

Inside there was a letter and a second smaller envelope addressed to Elboron, which Eowyn put gently on the bed beside her. Unfolding the first letter she began to read:

‘My Dearest Eowyn,

Forgive me.’

The feeling of impending doom grew in the depths of her stomach. Impatiently pushing her hair out of her eyes, she continued:

        ‘I wish I had the strength to tell you this yesterday but, as ever, I
        have taken the coward’s way for fear that you, with your common sense
        and practicality, would talk me from the path that I have determined
        to pursue. Forgive me my weakness, my love.

        You know I have struggled with my conscience. You know I have felt
        powerless and unable to determine my course. I cannot stay here and
        let Aragorn and all he has worked for fail, too many good men died
        winning his throne, for me to allow that to happen. Neither can I
        risk endangering his life once more.

        I am therefore resolved at last, I hope to return to Minas Tirith and
        be of some service to my King, but first I must seek out that which
        enslaves me, that which has stolen my purpose and my honour. I must
        confront my fear and win back what I allowed him to take from me so
        easily. I must do this or die in the attempt.

        If I do not return please give the enclosed letter to Elboron – it may
        help him to understand.

        Look for me in the sunset at Henneth Annûn and listen for me in the
        thrill of our children’s voice. But most of all feel me in your own
        heart, for that is the only place where I have ever felt true and
        lasting peace.

I love you, my darling,

Faramir.’

Eowyn sniffed back the tears and re-read the words again. They brought her no comfort.

“Faramir, you fool,” she said finally. “Why must you always face it alone? Why do you still not understand that you have friends who will do whatever it takes to help you through this?”

She jumped from the bed and moved to the wardrobe. She rifled through all of her clothes, violently discarding all until she found what she sought. Her hands worked furiously then as she dressed and beheld herself in the mirror. She could not resist the quiver of pride that rushed through her veins then. It may be twenty years and six children later, but the armour still fitted her form immaculately.

“Greetings, Dernhelm,” she said to her reflection. “I have need of your help.”

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

Faramir walked somewhat stiffly into the roadside inn. It had been a long time since he had spent a whole day in the saddle and his legs were evidencing their displeasure painfully.

Like the Ranger he once was, he had spent a number of days tracking his quarry, and he was now confident that he had found what he sought.

Faramir blinked as his eyes adjusted to the candle lit interior. The Inn Keeper was polite but professional. Although Faramir wore no insignia on his livery, the proprietor’s eyes glinted with recognition as he spoke to his customer, but he said nothing except what was necessary.

After setting his saddlebags in his room, Faramir returned down the rickety stairs to the public bar. He ate a satisfying, if basic, meal and then sat back in the shadows with a mug of ale and waited.

The bar began to fill, as the labourers and workers came in following the end of their working day. The noise level increased steadily as the ale flowed. If anyone noted the stranger in the corner, no one gave any sign of it.

Finally Wormtongue entered, to howls of derision from the other regulars. He swore and whinged at them, but they simply laughed in his face. Spilling his ale as he sought respite from the jeering, Wormtongue turned desperately away from the bar. As he did so, his eyes fell on Faramir. His demeanour changed instantly.

Gone was the pathetic butt of the joke. Wormtongue perceived a soul, he thought, more tortured than his own and took strength from the other’s misfortune. He drew himself up to his full height and moved towards Faramir. This obvious change in posture delighted the watchers, who bombarded him with insults and whistles. He ignored them all as he moved in on his prey.

But Wormtongue had misjudged the ex-Steward greatly, his pride blinded him into misplaced confidence, and he failed to notice the dangerous glint in Faramir’s eye.

“I knew you would come,” Wormtongue said with self-assured glee. “I knew you wouldn’t refuse me.”

Faramir eyed him and indicated he should sit. Wormtongue pulled his ungainly body down on to the chair opposite. The crowd watched for a while but soon lost interest and went back to their own mundane conversations. Most, however, cast numerous, interested glances to the corner where the well-dressed stranger sat with the worm.

“Do you have the money?” Wormtongue asked greedily, still thinking himself master of the situation.

Faramir smiled coldly. “I have had a long ride,” he said. “Let me first refresh my dry throat.”

Wormtongue nodded, his tongue snaking rapidly in and out of his mouth. They sat in silence for a long time. Outwardly Faramir appeared indifferent to his companion, but he actually watched him very closely, noting the small changes in the other’s behaviour that indicated Wormtongue was loosing patience.

Finally, bristling, Wormtongue tried again. “I...”

Faramir raised his hand. “Not yet,” he ordered. Then indicating Wormtongue’s mug he said, “More ale?”

Wormtongue nodded. “All right but....”

Faramir ignored him, stood up and moved to the bar. He left the older man sitting impatiently alone at the table.

The Inn Keeper quickly refilled the two tankards Faramir gave him.

“Begging your pardon, my Lord,” he began as Faramir proffered payment. “But I don’t think the likes of him should be doing business with someone like you.” He nodded to where Wormtongue stared at them distrustfully. “He’s naught but trouble, if you don’t mind me saying, Lord Faramir. It is Lord Faramir, isn’t it?”

Faramir smiled. “Yes, it is. And thank you for your concern, but I know exactly what he is.”

As he passed back the change, the Inn Keeper hesitated, “When are you coming back, Lord? We all miss you. We know it was all just a misunderstanding, particularly those of us veterans who fought for you during the War.”

Faramir took the change. “Where did you fight, soldier?” he asked.

The Inn Keeper’s eyes glistened with pride. “Osgiliath and Minas Tirith, Sir,” he said. “The worst time of my life but somehow, ever since, my heart has never beat so strongly in my chest, as it did then. Fear makes you truly alive.”

Faramir sighed. Instead of replacing the change in his purse, he took out a further gold coin. “I thank you for your service. You and your regulars have a drink on me.”

“Nay, Sir,” the Inn Keeper responded. “It was my duty, and through it all t’was a pleasure to serve you.”

Faramir refused to take back the coin. “Then follow my last order, soldier,” he smiled and turned away from the bar.

“Thank you, Lord!” The Inn Keeper called after him, and there was a general buzz of agreement from the rest of the gathering.

“It makes me sick!” Wormtongue hissed as Faramir placed his drink before him. “You play the nobleman so well, don’t you? If they really knew the blackness in your heart, they would not love you so.”

“And what do you think they would do to you, if they knew you were trying to blackmail me?” Faramir asked as he sat down.

Wormtongue looked distinctly uncomfortable but said nothing.

Faramir took a long draw of his ale and then licked his lips. “’Tis good brew,” he muttered.

“Have you got my money?” Wormtongue pressed, his desperation suddenly evident.

Faramir held him with a long, disapproving stare before answering, “No, I have not.”

Wormtongue gasped in anger and stood up. “You waste my time,” he hissed.

Faramir raised his eyebrows. “On the contrary,” he said mildly. “I am doing you a favour.”

“How so?” Wormtongue asked.

“You have been such good company this night that I have decided not to do what I came here for.”

Wormtongue’s eyes narrowed. He had caught the veiled threat in the other’s tone and for the first time begun to perceive that Faramir was not the desperate soul, he had sought to manipulate days before.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice quavering slightly.

Faramir’s stare was masterful in its cold fury. “I will not kill you, not yet anyway.”

Wormtongue gulped, his mouth suddenly dry. “Kill me?” he said, nervously giggling. “You, kill me? You would not do that.”

Faramir took a deep breath. “I am a patient man, but you have pushed me too far. I have come to the end of my tolerance. I am resolved to finish this, and since I do not care to pay you what you ask, the only way I could see to rid myself of you was to kill you.” His voice was steady and emotionless as he spoke, which made it all the more frightening.

Wormtongue’s laugh was brittle and nervous. “But you are Faramir, son of Denethor!” He tongue was snaking violently as he stared at the other, trying to decide the ex-Steward’s intent. “Besides, I have important information for you,” he whined.

“I don’t need your information,” Faramir said dismissively.

“But....” The fear in his voice was now unmistakeable.

Faramir stood up, and Wormtongue cowered. “I will not kill you because you are such an entertaining drinking partner. Instead I am taking you with me.”

Wormtongue’s eyes were wide and his tongue bobbing uncontrollably. “Take me where?”

“I am going to see a friend of yours,” Faramir moved forward.

Wormtongue stepped backwards and realised that all the other conversation in the Inn had stopped. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that everyone in the place was watching the exchange with interest.

“A friend of mine?” he hissed. “I have no friends!”

Faramir’s smile was grim. “But you do, Grima,” he said. “You’re coming with me to see Saruman.”

“Saruman!” Wormtongue squealed and turned to run but the Inn. Customers had formed an impenetrable wall that he banged against. They forced him back to stand before the ex-Steward.

“I can’t, I can’t...please,” Wormtongue fell to his knees. “He will kill me. You can’t make me go. I am a free man; the King freed me!”

Faramir reached down and picked up the trembling wreck by his collar. Lifting him up, he spoke with grim determination into Wormtongue’s contorted face.

“I tell you this Grima, you should fear me more than you fear the wizard because, in here in front of honourable men, I swear, for all the hurt you have given me and others, I shall be the one will kills you. You have forced me to this. Only the manner and the time of your death need to be decided. Play me false, and believe it will be soon, and it will be slow and painful!”

Wormtongue struggled. “You would not, you could not.” he whined in desperation.

Faramir simply held his gaze, his eyes blazing.

“No, no,” Wormtongue began to cry as he realised the truth in the other’s words.

“Inn Keeper,” Faramir said.

“Aye, Lord Faramir.”

“Would you be so good as to take this scum and lock him up somewhere safe and uncomfortable until the morning, please?”

“It would be an absolute pleasure, my Lord.” The Inn Keeper said as he and a number of men moved forward to comply.

As he passed the cringing figure, Faramir said, “You better spend the night remembering where Saruman is, Wormtongue, because we leave at first light. And if you lead me astray, I shall see you never do so again.”

Wormtongue was still screaming for mercy as the men roughly carried him away to the stables.

Faramir sat back at his table and finished his ale silently. He felt suddenly exhausted and retired to his bed soon afterward.