Chapter 5 – Symbol of Love

Eirik ran to the Citadel eager to do his lord’s bidding.  It was a special errand he was on and his lord had entrusted it to him.  He approached the entrance and was greeted by Harthedir, one of the Citadel Guard, “Ho there Eirik!  Slow down. Why do you run so quickly!” 

Eirik slowed to speak to Harthedir, one of his favourites of the Guard, “I’m on a special charge from my lord.”

Harthedir’s face grew concerned, for in these troubled times it was bad tidings that often necessitated urgency, “Is the Lord Faramir not well?  We know he was taken to the Houses of Healing after the tragic passing of the Lord Steward, but we have heard little else.  Rumours, nothing more.”

Eirik said, “Be Peaceful, My lord is fine, he grows stronger and stronger.  The King saw to that.” He stated excitedly, warming to his tale. “He healed him, you see.  I was there by his side.  Bergil brought Kingsfoil, I always thought it was a weed, and handed it to the King.  He took it in his hands and crushed it.” His eyes filled with wonder at the memory, “I tell you, Harthedir, the air, it was as if I returned to the meadow outside the gates where my father and I use to fish…”

Harthedir looked at him, “The King you say?  Then the rumours are true.”  He looked at the White Tree, still guarded by four Guardsmen, and felt a nascent hope.  Long had it been since he had any hope and the recent days had been like something created out of nightmares.  So many of his brothers-in-arms had lost their lives.  Now all sat in abeyance, the White City was quiet, pensive, waiting for news. Good or ill, nobody knew.  One thing was for certain, though, he was heartily glad to hear the good tidings of the Lord Faramir.  A good man and leader if ever there was one.  The Guard to a man held him in the highest esteem and unfortunate strange tidings had surrounded him of late. “Well, let me not keep you from your important errand!  Be off with you!”

Hand on heart in parting, Eirik ran towards Faramir’s apartments.  He looked quickly around his lord’s bedchamber, tidy through lack of use, and located the wardrobe.  He was to look for a large black velvet bag.  Spying it in a corner Eirik grabbed it and yanked, causing an old pair of boots to go flying and a few belts to swing perilously on their pegs.  Eirik stilled the belts and replaced the boots carefully and tried to make it look like nothing else had been disturbed.  He picked up the velvet bag.  It was heavy and through a hole in the top flap he could see deep blue velvet and a hint of stars.  He felt the exposed patch and it felt very soft and Eirik wondered what it was that his lord asked him to retrieve.  But that was not his duty; his duty was to get this soft but heavy thing back to his lord.

Faramir sat in his room reading a treatise on healing that the Warden had given him to pass the time.  He had kept company with Eowyn as often as she would allow.  Sometimes they would talk and sometimes not.  Merry did join them once or twice for he did seem to gladden Eowyn’s heart and made her laugh, but for much of the last five days it was just the two walking and waiting. It had been companionable and Faramir flattered himself to say Eowyn did look happier and that shadowed look was not ever present in her eyes. He heard rapping on the door. “Come!” he called.

In walked Eirik carrying an overly large satchel with both hands.  He placed it on an obliging chair and looked at his Lord breathing heavily having run most of the way.  Faramir hid a smile, “Bit heavy was it?” 

Eirik nodded, “Just a little!” he said trying to catch his breath, “What is it?  I touched a small portion of it. It was very soft.  But I didn’t take it out of the satchel!” he hastened to add.

Faramir looked at the lad, waved his hand saying, “It is all right, Eirik.  Thank you for bringing it for me.  Would you like to see what it is?”

Eirik nodded quickly, his brown yet to be shorn curls bobbing up and down.

Faramir got up from the window seat and crossed the room.  He unbuckled the satchel and ran his hand across the deep blue velvet as a memory appeared in his mind’s eye.

~*~*~*~*~

Spring 2988 Minas Tirith

Finduilas looked out over the City from the Citadel.  She could not help but cast her eye towards far away Dol Amroth.  She missed the sea breezes.  They never failed to make her feel alive.  Here in Minas Tirith the wind blew but it was not a healing wind; more like a sharp, biting wind  more often than not coming off the plains from the North. She could never speak of the difference to her husband, the time she did mention it once the look of hurt in his eyes was more than she could bear.  She wrapped the blue mantle that he had made specially for her around her more tightly.  She loved Denethor, it was why she left her seaside home, for love of the tall, proud man she had fallen in love with.  Others thought him arrogant, but she saw another side to him.  Gentle and kind and willing to bade that the winds should not blow so hard that they should trouble his fey and lovely wife.  He would laugh with her and he would listen endlessly to the stories she would tell him.  In their private apartments he was thoughtful and kind.  If he seemed arrogant and strong-willed to the outside world, well that was necessary.  He was the Ruling Steward, people expected much from him.  It was a burden, but he bore it so well.  She admired the way he carried the responsibility for his people.  When Boromir was born, he was so proud of his robust little son.  He would carry him in the ruling chamber where he held audiences and sit him at his feet for all to see.  Boromir was to rule as his father had done and he could start to early, Denethor would tell her, but she could see through that excuse.  He was simply such a proud father he could not to be apart from his boy.

A sadness crossed her face, the same could not be said for his second son.  When Faramir was born it had been a difficult birthing and an early one.  Finduilas had spent weeks in the Houses of the Healing and everyone was unsure if the child would survive.  Those born too early very often did not.  She came through but the doubt and fear that Denethor had endured left a mark on him that he was never quite able dispel entirely.  Whenever she came down with even a sniffle, he would fly off to the healers to discuss with them, coming back with various cures and potions for her.  It was an expression of his love and worry, she accepted that, and she loved him all the more.  With Faramir however it was quite different.  It had been weeks before the healers were confident that the little boy would survive.  Denethor was frightened to even hold the child for fear that he should damage him in anyway.  Finduilas knew his heart and knew it was fear that kept father from son.  As the child grew there was a distance had proven hard to bridge.  It broken her heart to see it, but she was not sure what could be done.  She could hope only that when Faramir was older father and son might get to know each other.  She would make all efforts for this to take place.  But for now, she would be both mother and father to the dear sweet child that Faramir was becoming. 

“My Lady!”  the voice of Faramir’s nurse interrupted her.

“Mariel, yes.  What is it?” she called although she already knew. 

“Mama!”  Faramir ran across the balcony and into his mother’s arms.

Finduilas gathered up the slight five-year-old and held him tightly in her arms turning back and forth gently.  She looked into the big blue eyes and saw traces of tears.  “Oh, my sweet little one.  Why are you so sad, Hmmm!”  She looked at Mariel, and mouthed , “What happened this time?”  The nurse sighed and gave her the look that they both understood.  His father, again.

“Thank you, Mariel.  I will bring him down before the noon meal.”  The nurse bowed slightly and took her leave casting a tender look at her charge who was a dear little thing.  Why his father could not see that was beyond her.  She left pondering the strange ways of her betters, shaking her head.

Finduilas closed her eyes and prayed to the Valar for strength and understanding.  Denethor was a good man and she knew this and she could only ask the Valar to give him understanding when dealing with their second son.  She opened her eyes and found her youngest gazing at her with those big blues, “Mama sad again?  I’m sorry I’ll try to be better…”  She walked over and sat down on the rocking chair that she had brought up here and hugged her little boy.  “Faramir.  You have done nothing wrong.”  She opened the blue mantle and wrapped both of them inside, protected against the wind.  She rocked them both, “You are my son and I could not love you anymore than I do right now.  You will grow to be a strong and kind man, I know this in my heart and I can feel it in yours.  Your father loves you and you must always remember that.  Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Mama.” The big blue eyes looked at her and the little boy nodded.

 “That’s my good boy! You are so very special to me, Faramir.” She smoothed the curls on his forehead and kissed them.  They sat and rocked there for quite some time.

~*~*~*~*~

“My Lord?”

Faramir blinked and then looked at his Squire, “Eirik, I am sorry.” He pulled the large blue mantle out of the satchel and held it for the boy to see before draping it over his arm to stroke it gently, “This mantle belonged to my mother, she died when I was five.  It always brings back many memories.”

Eirik looked at the cloak and judging from the look on his lord’s face, his mother must have been a lovely mum.  It curiously made him miss his own mother, who was blissful still alive even after the horrors of the past weeks and living on the third tier.

“Thank you for bringing this to me, Eirik.”

“I am at your service, My lord.”

“If you could leave me now.  I wish to be alone.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Eirik bowed and placed his hand on heart and a concerned look on his face.

Faramir looked at him, “I’m all right, Eirik.  But I thank you for your concern.”

Eirik bowed again and left.

Faramir looked at the blue mantle.  It was his prize possession.  It has been given to him when he was eight by his father, a rare moment of compassion and understanding.  It had not lasted but he had the mantle of a reminder of that moment as well.

He had sent Eirik after it because he wanted to give it to Eowyn.  He wanted to see her wear it.  It was a reminder of his first happiness and his first grief.  Her sadness spoke to him and he wanted to see her wearing this symbol of love.

~*~*~*~*~*~

That day after the midday meal, Faramir went to the garden and waited.  Eowyn soon came. 

Faramir smiled and then ventured, “You were cold last night, so I brought you this.”  He picked up the mantle from the bench and held it in both hands.

Eowyn gazed upon the mantle.  It was a beautiful piece of work.  Deep blue velvet with silver stars embroidered on the collar, armholes and hem.  She touched it, and her fingers reveled in the softness they found.  “It’s beautiful.” She looked at Faramir, who held such a look of love, that it gave her pause, “I can’t take this.  It is too beautiful.”

Faramir’s face fell just a little, “Oh please.  It was my mother’s.  I want you to have it.  And besides you’re cold.  You need something.”

Eowyn looked at him, this sweet, gentle man, she had nothing to give him. Not even herself.  She was ungentle; doubted; she felt undeserving.  But she allowed him to place it on her shoulders because she saw in his face to deny it would be to hurt him greatly and that was something she could not do. Not after all the kindness he had shown her.

Faramir looked at Eowyn in the blue mantel and she looked more beautiful than he could have possibly imagined.  But she was shivering even as she was wrapped in his mother’s cloak.

Faramir followed her gaze, “Where do you look, Eowyn?”  Though he need not have asked.  The whole city waited for the answer she sought. 

“Does not the Black Gate lie yonder?” she said, voice choked with emotion, “And he does not come? It is seven days since he rode away.”

Something struck Faramir as she spoke, she had said “he” not the army but “he”.  Something Merry had said when first they spoke.  He spoke of the closeness of Eowyn and Aragorn.   He realised a portion of her hurt.  The King who had saved Faramir and given him hope again. It was he that she mourned.

Thunderbolt though it was he put it aside for he could not think upon it at that moment.  He turned to her, stroked her cheek and spoke to make what avowal he could, not knowing how it would be received,  “Seven days, yes.  Please do not think ill of me, but these seven days, filled with uncertainty and foreboding and grief, I have found joy, a joy I never thought to find.  But it is combined with pain, because we know not what will come from the East. It pains me to think that I might lose that joy that I found.  Selfishly I would not have this world ending, losing what I have just found.”  Faramir looked into Eowyn’s eyes searching for anything that might give him hope.

Eowyn’s eyes were grave but kind, knowing that she could not give what she did not have.  “Lose what you have found? I do not know what you could have found.  Come my friend, Let us not speak of such things.  Let us not speak at all. I fear an abyss is before me and know not if there light in back of me.  I await some stroke of doom.”

Faramir looked into her eyes. His heart bereft, “Yes, we all await the stroke of Doom.” And said no more because in that moment all seemed to be held in total stillness not just for them but throughout the City.  Even the rustling of the leaves and wind through the trees, time seemingly stood still.  Unknowingly their hands had sought each other and they waited.  For what they did not know.

~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N:  The reference to when Faramir's father gave him his mother’s mantel is not canon it is in reference to another story I wrote called “A Bond Remembered.”