Co-authored by Raksha

Authors Note: Arwen's conjecture that Faramir might be a descendant of Elrond's brother Elros is inspired by a mention, in THE HISTORY OF MIDDLE- EARTH v.12: The Peoples of Middle-Earth, of Faramir's house, the Hurinionath, descending from royalty.  "the Hurinionath were not in t he direct line of descent from Elendil, [but] they were ultimately of royal origin."   Legolas hailed Faramir's uncle, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, as having elven-blood, in ROTK.

 Chapter 6

 Lightning

The apartments of the Steward were in complete uproar.

Eowyn’s piercing scream had awakened the entire household. Children and servants rushed about everywhere in varying states of both distress and undress, all milling around in the corridors.

The only person who seemed free from the confusion was the Steward himself. Faramir had quelled his own fear and had reverted to his role as Captain. His eyes were steely blue and calm, his voice controlled as he quietly gave his orders.

“Cirion, run to the Houses of Healing and bring the Warden. Wear a cloak, it's raining hard!” His second son nodded, then skidded across the hallway and took the stairs two steps at a time, dressing as he ran.

“Elboron, take charge of the children. Celairiel, be a good girl and obey your brother. Aldor, you and Melethron go with them. Do not fear, your mother will be fine. Stay together.”

Elboron hesitated.

Faramir gripped his elder son’s shoulder. “Look after the little ones, Bron, take them to their nurse and make sure they go back to sleep.” he whispered. “I will see to your mother.”

Elboron nodded. He gathered up his smallest sister, Eirien, in his arms and holding on to Celairiel, he moved down the corridor. Aldor, trying to be grown-up at seven years of age took Melethron, who was still learning to walk, by the hand, and sleepily shuffled after them.

Faramir ran his hand through his hair as he watched them. Then with a gulp, he entered the bedchamber.

Faramir hesitated as his eyes took in the scene before him. A candle had been lit and was flickering weakly, throwing dark forbidding shadows in the corners of the room. Faramir’s eyes were drawn to a wet, dark stain on the floor next to the doorway through to the bathroom. He forced himself to look away.

Hiril, Eowyn's attendant, was leaning over a figure lying on the bed. Faramir’s legs suddenly felt weak and he had to concentrate to walk himself further into the room. His heart hammered in his chest and his mouth dried as he looked at his wife’s prone form curled tautly under the pale linen sheet.

Eowyn’s face was pale, her fair features twisted with pain and her eyes tightly closed.

Faramir glanced at Hiril. “Fetch something to clean her with,” he said hoarsely. "Put some water on the fire to heat it. Soap, too."

Hiril moved away to comply, her face twisted with concern. Faramir sat on the bed beside his lady and stroked her forehead.

“Eowyn,” he whispered. “Eowyn, my love.”

The tormented look on her face relaxed a little as her eyes fluttered open.

“It hurts, Faramir,” she said softly, trying to move her hand down to her stomach area.

Faramir took hold of both her hands; and, raising them to his mouth, he kissed them softly.

“Shush, my love. The healers will be here soon,” he murmured. "Hold on, I am here. I am with you."

Eowyn’s eyes widened and her body convulsed. She gasped as the pain rushed through her.

“The child...Faramir, I fear I will lose it!” she groaned as her body relaxed again.

Faramir tried to calm her. “No, all will be well.” Words were not enough, but they were all he had for his wife now.

“This has never happened before, Faramir!” Eowyn snapped. “I am only six months gone. The babe is too young, he cannot be birthed now.”

She tried to sit up but he eased her back to the bed with gentle firmness. He slipped off the bed and knelt beside her, so his face was at the same level as hers.

“Peace, Eowyn,” he whispered. “I know it is hard but try to stay calm. Think of...Think of riding Steelsheen through the forest at home.”

Faramir brushed the hair from her face and was worried when he noticed how moist and cool her skin felt. Trying to recall the little he had learned about matters pertaining to pregnancy, he wondered if he should fetch her something to drink. Eowyn had always been strong and radiantly healthy during her pregnancies. It had been a joke between them that he had been more worried about her condition than she had ever been even though she carried new life. Eowyn had fretted about the mares' pregnancies, but had never shown much concern, beyond taking simple precautions and eating more carefully, for herself while she was with child.

Faramir had comforted injured, even dying men, before. It was a painful task he had mastered as a leader of Rangers and then other soldiers to whom he owed a commander's concern. He had learned to support his men to the best of his ability when they suffered. But when it was his beloved Eowyn who cried in pain before him, his fear threatened to overwhelm him. He bit down the panic as Eowyn’s body tensed in contraction once more.

“Peace, Eowyn,” he breathed.

Then she let out another scream and grabbed Faramir's hand in an achingly strong grip. He put his other hand over hers. "Hold on, dearest girl," he said, looking into her wide eyes; "Help is coming!"

Suddenly the room was invaded by a confusing throng of people. Their incursion took on an almost dreamlike quality. Faramir found he was being prised from his wife, lifted to his feet and eased slowly backwards. He looked and saw that it was the King who had moved him. He wanted to stay with Eowyn and hold her but Aragorn's strong hands were directing him back to the door.

"Let me help her, mellon nin" his King asked him. Faramir felt a surge of hope. Those hands were the strongest hands in the world; and had pulled him and Eowyn back from the dark brink of death. Surely those hands would heal Eowyn now! She was not entranced by a wizard, it was a human ailment; and the King had healed far worse.

"Please, save them, Aragorn" Faramir whispered. "But, if...if there comes a choice, and Eowyn cannot make it, you must save her first, do not risk her life for the child's."

"I understand, fear not." Aragorn pledged.

Faramir was aware of shadows in his vision as Aragorn took his place at the bedside. But Eowyn's strained face remained the centre of his world.

She looked up at him through wild eyes. “Faramir!” she cried.

Then the door shut in front of him with an abrupt bang. He stood there for a moment, his hands that had been holding hers still hanging in the air before him.

He gulped. Vague sounds came from behind the door but nothing he could make out.

“Will Mother be all right?” Cirion stood beside him, his face mirroring the stunned shock that his father felt.

The breath that Faramir released was ragged. “Of course she will be, Ciri,” he said hoping his voice did not reveal the terror in his heart.

Faramir had just returned to their antechamber after escorting Cirion to his room and watching him fall asleep, when the door to the bedroom opened. Aragorn, his eyes strangely angry, his face exhausted, came forth from the room.

"What has happened?" Faramir asked, alarmed anew by his King's demeanour.

"It is alright, Faramir. Eowyn and the child still live... I...forgive me; I could do nothing. The healers are with her, they...She will be well, you must trust them." And Aragorn moved away, out of the room, almost tripping in his haste to leave.

Faramir's blood ran cold. He had never seen his King retreat in such obvious alarm. Aragorn was obviously not himself. Whether this was but a temporary aberration in Aragorn's behaviour or an indication of a deeper sorrow, such as that which they had spoken of earlier that evening, Faramir could not tell. Perhaps the King was just fatigued. But Faramir could do nothing for him now; his first duty lay here, as did his heart.

“I came as soon as I heard,” said Arwen Undomiel from the threshold of the Steward’s study. “How is she?” The fabled Evenstar looked, as always, beautiful, a tall woman carrying the grace of the Eldar in her face and bearing. She wore a simple dress of pale blue, bound with a silver girdle. Faramir, who had spent the last several hours falling in and out of uneasy slumber, suddenly felt very mortal and very ordinary and definitely in no mood to host the Queen of Arnor and Gondor.

"She is better this morning, my lady" Faramir answered, nodding stiffly. “Please...Sit down.”

She looked at him with sympathy as she did so. It was mid-morning. He was pale and drawn, his clothes crumpled and his hair unkempt. She doubted he had slept at all the previous night. Behind him on the desk she saw a tray that held his untouched breakfast.

“I did not expect you,” he said too curtly. “Given your son's...indisposition.”

“My duty to Eldarion does not replace the love I bear for my friends,” her voice was soothing and calm. "Eowyn and I are as sisters, for we both came to high estate in Gondor from different lands; and we have always tried to help each other. And I know well the love that my Lord has for you. It would please us both if you would call me by my name. We have known each other for too many years to stand on such ceremony. Now, tell me what I may do for Eowyn, and the children, and you."

He sighed and ran a careless hand through his red-gold hair. For all Faramir's years as a Man, and his considerable knowledge, Arwen was many times his elder and he seemed as but a troubled youth to her at that moment. She felt a yearning to take him in her arms as she would her own son if he would but wake, or her brothers.

“The Warden left; I do not know, perhaps an hour ago” Faramir’s voice was dull. “The midwife is still upstairs. The Warden said all was well, the pains have stopped and Eowyn sleeps soundly. She needs to stay abed.”

“And the child?” Arwen asked softly.

Faramir was agitatedly worrying his fingers as he moved to stand by the window. “It is hard to tell,” he said finally, his eyes fixed on some far away point. “The longer the babe stays within, the better the chances, so they tell me.”

Arwen nodded. “If the pains have stopped, there is still hope. Do not fear, you are both strong enough to survive this. Have you seen her?”

He nodded. “I left her but a while ago. She is sleeping. They gave her a little wine, and some water; and it seemed to help.”

She stood up and moved to his side. Although they had known each other for many years, Faramir Denethorion was still something of a puzzle to Arwen. The man had always been polite and respectful, and unfailingly kind to her. Yet the personal pride and dignity that was as inborn in the oldest families of Gondor as it was in the line of Luthien cloaked Faramir like a second skin. She had only seen glimpses of the warmth beneath it. Arwen esteemed the Steward of Gondor for his devotion to her husband, but she had never exchanged more than a few words with him, despite having spent much time with Eowyn and the children. She suspected that if she were to embrace him now she would embarrass him and break the bond she wished instead to forge. So she contented herself with a simple question, “And how are you, Faramir?”

He looked at her. For a moment his eyes betrayed shock at her nearness, as if he had been unaware of her movement and was unsure how she came to be so physically close to him. Then he looked away, instantly masking his feelings, as she knew he would. Raising his eyes to hers once more, he presented a quiet smile.

“I am well,” he said softly.

She regarded him. She knew he would reveal no more to her. Undeterred, she used another approach.

“Aragorn told me of your trip to Mordor, of the green stone that you found there.”

The Steward looked uncomfortable and moved away, still refusing to talk.

Arwen sighed. Why was he so difficult to reach? Most other mortals were only too willing to unburden all their problems to her particularly at a time such as this, but suffering seemed only to heighten Faramir’s reserve. She reminded herself that this was no ordinary man before her. This was the Steward of Gondor, in whose veins the blood of Westernesse ran strong and true. He might even be her own distant kin if the tales of the Hurinionath's descent from her uncle Elros were truthfully told. And both she and Legolas had noticed signs of elven heritage in Faramir and his Dol Amroth kindred. More than that, this was a man who had spent a good part of his life concealing his strongest emotions. Aragorn had won the Steward's trust and comradeship; partially through the bond forged when Aragorn saved the younger man from the Shadow, but mostly through Aragorn's determination to befriend the brother of Boromir the Bold.

“I have thought on my son’s condition for a long time, as you have." Arwen continued. “Eldarion's unnatural sleep seems to me like a map of a strange country; we do not know where we are going, and we are losing our way. Could that strange stone give us the direction we need? I would speak frankly with you; for you were the last to see my child awake in Saruman's fortress."

Faramir held her in his unwavering gaze for a long time. A wise, ancient spirit seemed to gaze out from those blue eyes, reminiscent of Gandalf and the high lords of the Eldar she had known in the days of her youth. Standing there, Arwen Undomiel felt suddenly vulnerable and unsure; how dare he judge her! Yet she had invited him to be honest and had no right to resent his appraisal.

The Steward finally pulled his eyes away and let out another deep sigh. He nodded slowly as if he had come to a decision. Slowly, he opened the pouch on his belt and withdrew a round, clear green stone.

“I fear,” Faramir began, “that this stone might still have some connection to Saruman. Yet I believe that somehow it will serve to aid in Eldarion's recovery. But I know not how. And I almost fear to delve too deeply into whatever mysteries it may hold; for this stone once ensnared me as well as your son."

Arwen held his gaze. At last, Faramir was able to confide in her. She knew that such trust did not come easily to him, and she hoped that she would be able to fulfil the faith he was putting in her.

"I have some experience with stones that hold power," Arwen said. "I bore the Elfstone that our King has taken as his title and symbol, for many years. And my father..."

"The bearer of Vilya, the Ring of Air, mightiest of the Three" Faramir finished for her, then blushed. "Pardon me, my lady." He extended the green stone to her; and Arwen took it.

"No offence taken, Faramir. You have a good memory for Elven lore." She held the stone between thumb and forefinger, turning it in the light that streamed through the window.

After awhile, Arwen looked again on Faramir. "This is plainly no ordinary stone. There is some ancient power within it. Not a power such as that which resided in the Three Rings, or the One, but something of lesser strength. Yet I cannot discern exactly what sort; and it seems to me that I should be able to do so. The stone seems familiar, as if I have known it before." A frown creased the perfection of her brow. She shook her head and her hair fell beautifully about her shoulders.

She gave the stone back to Faramir with a sad smile. "At least it is something. My brothers might be able to tell us more of this stone."

"My lord..." Hiril's voice called from the entrance. Hiril, a dark-haired and diminutive young woman, peered into the study.

"You have not touched your breakfast, lord; what would my lady say!" Hiril declared. She swept into the study with her usual air of peremptory confidence, and seized the offending breakfast tray. "And the Queen here to visit, and no one told me! I shall fetch some tea. My lord, Lady Eowyn has awakened and calls for you."

Faramir pulled himself to his feet. "Pray excuse me, my Queen," he began, then looked again at Arwen. She seemed suddenly to be as tired and lost as he had felt. And he remembered how she had come here in friendship when her own heart must break every day at the sight of her unconscious son. "My lady...Arwen, would you come with me; I am sure that Eowyn would be most glad to see you."

Arwen Undomiel smiled. This time, the smile reached her eyes.